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in a tiny inner-city pub, the amps were being stacked leads were getting wound up, it was full of pissed anzacs got no more gigs for tuesday nights, said the barman to the star we're putting pokies in the lounge and strippers in the bar the star, he raised his fingers and said, "fuck this fuckin hole" but to his faithful roadie he says, it's the death of rock and roll
there ain't a single place that's left to play amplified guitar every place is serving long blacks and become a become a tapist bar his dirty denim jacket was gaffered and turning black hair was missing on his forehead but it reached right down his back i don't blame that barman bastard he told his roadie, "hey, fuck no" i blame all those faggot wankers, who are playing this techno
brothers couldn't work it out, get fucked, they can kiss my rotten ass work out what happened to real music, is what i'd like to ask everything is all machine, run with middy and lay dash, but all they do is go ping ping ping like a truck that's backing back who the fuck are the chemical brothers, that they now call the shots goldies the name of the light beer, elastica holds up socks the roadies sat there silent next to the ejaculating star what's the fucken point of drum and bass, if no one can play guitar?
have you seen those fucken clubbers, with their peroxided dreds? dressed up in fucking adidas, like fucking fucked fuckheads i wouldn't drop a tab of E, if you fuckin paid me man i got the guts for LSD, and the only jungle i know is man these roadies sat still silent, but then he finally began to speak actually star, i maybe shoulda told you this last week but i scored a job as DJ at the latest techno club i'm sick of working with a loser, see ya later bob
well the roadie owned the PA and the roadie owned the ute, the roadie told star to get out or he'd bash one up his shoot and there on that cold freeway, star walked along alone of course he got kicked out halfway between emergency telephones
CHORUS aussie aussie, (aussie guitar) aussie, (aussie guitar) aussie, (aussie guitar) aussie, (aussie guitar) aussie, (what a man, what a man, what a man)
"fuck ya's all", said star aloud in the emergency stopping lane to quote from that chick juliet, hey what's in her name? a good song's just a good song, just the same as long ago but dressing up as something new and suddenly you're picasso every white bald pommy cunt, thinks that you're so hip read MNE from ten years ago and there's all the same dickslip prodigy are just the band who are getting it just this year rolling stones got no more cred. than fucken new idea
stars anguish voice rolls in grief as he cryed unto the moon in the end when all is said and done, a tune's just a fucking tune star played his amp far too loud, his hearing was sorta gone so he never heard the grinding squeal as the truckie put the brakes on 26 road train wheels, played a tune upon his head "he just wondered into the traffic", the distraught driver said the cops had seen it all before, the ambels washed the freeway clean there ain't no contest when you put a man against a machine
aussie aussie (aussie guitar) aussie (aussie guitar) aussie (what a man, what a man, what a man) aussie aussie aussie, (aussie guitar) aussie, aussie, aussie, (it's a man against machine)
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