Luyện nghe bài hát Nineteen Eighty Bore

Who needs lobotomy when got the ITV
Who ECT when there's good old BBC?
Switch on the set, light up the
and dream about what you might have been
Who needs controlling they've got the cathode ray
got your fucking soul, now they'll fuse your brains away
Mindless fucking sit before the set
Being fed the mindless they deserve to get
Can't off big brother, they've lost all will to act
Lost in confusion, was it fiction, was it fact?
Another plastic stuns another Irish child
But no-one's bothered, no, the telly keeps them mild
lost all sense of feeling to the every hungry glow
Drained of any substance by the vicious blow
No longer know what's real or ain't, slowly blind
They stare into the goggle box while the goes by, behind
The Angels are on T.V. tonight, grey fucking shit
They army occupy Ireland, but the boot never fit
Was it Coronation Street? Or was it
Oh it fucking matter, Paul Daniels'll keep us merry
Yes, I've heard of Bobby Sands, wasn't it Farm?
Yes, that's right, he was by a cow
I it didn't do him no harm
And wasn't the terrible, good thing it wasn't for real
Of course I've of H-Block, it's the baccy with man appeal
Deeper and deeper and deeper, layer upon
Illusion, confusion, is there left who can care?
Yes, the Abbey cares for you
Nat West, and
brings out the Branston bren-guns
Let's spice it up some
The Sweeney are cruising Brixton, created Belfast
And J.R.'s advising Thatcher on lighting, up and cast
A camera lenses point at the people's pain
As millions of mindless watch the action replay again
replay again
Softly, softly, your life, you're held in it's brilliant glow
Softly, softly, feeding on the you you'll never know
You're reduced to nothing, but an empty media game
Big Brother ain't watching you mate, you're fucking him