You are what you read but all you read is your feed You are what you watch just YouTube and Tiktoks You are what you listen to, Model T music Written by robots, use it or lose it
Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out
They sold the lifestyle, you bought the tat Broken tomorrow, never mind that They sold the sizzle, but you bought the sausage Stare at the screen, that’s where the slop is
Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out
You know where this ends In the arms of your virtual girlfriend
Slop in, slop out, Model T music Slop in, slop out, Model T music Slop in, slop out Model T music
A date with Suno, where will you go She steals the tunes, just so you know It’s all a remix, Model T music Written by robots, use it or lose it
Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out
You know where this ends In the arms of your virtual girlfriend
Slop in, slop out, Model T music Slop in, slop out, Model T music Slop in, slop out Model T music
Your grandad shot at nazis taxed the rich and built the NHS You mum fought for equality and fairness, nonetheless we sleepwalked into the arms of bastard billionaires Now you hang flags from lampposts and mouth pantomime prayers
Dogs, pigs, three-year-old kids Eating one the law forbids Convention says the second is Similarly deterred While of the tragic third Consumption is preferred Which is absurd When you consider The pig desires to not be dinner As much as the kid Would rather not get et And don’t forget the dog Who one simply does not eat While he snoozes at your feet Why not let All three be free To snooze and play And not be tea
Where will the musos go When Suno makes the tunes Where will the brushes go When the artist is AI Who will make the art When the robot eats the artists When the robot is a thief Then the art is just a lie
Where will the authors go When the program writes the novels Who will draw cartoons When the satire is AI Who will make the art When the robot eats the artists When the robot is a thief Then the art is just a lie
When the art is just a lie When the art is just a lie Who will sing songs by and by Write the books that make you cry Paint the most amazing sky When the art is just a lie
When computers take to stages In empty concert halls And galleries are filled With no feelings at all How then to be human When the art is all AI When the art has no soul When the art is just a lie
When the art is just a lie When the art is just a lie Who will sing songs by and by Write the books that make you cry Paint the most amazing sky When the art is just a lie
He died for his country The first of the fallen From Operation Raise The Colours
The tributes came pouring in From football hooligans And casual sisters and brothers
Banned for life from Bristol City Now he’s banned in Bristol City from life He leaves behind Michele, his wife He leaves his ladders to the flag committee
His life was colourful, it’s said Like the roundabouts he painted red And the thoughts rushing through his head With the pavement straight ahead
He died for his country The first of the fallen From Operation Raise The Colours
My advice: don’t hang the flags at all But if you do, get some footed help from others
Peter The Homeless Santa Plotted up outside the Little Tesco We exchange the usual banter But there’s not much room for a Ho, Ho, Ho He’d be better off in a stable But stable ain’t what he’s got Peter The Homeless Santa Is in his usual spot
Peter The Homeless Santa Has a beard that’s not exactly white as snow But it’s gone greyer quicker Than an indoor beard would go Peter The Homeless Santa Is making a list, he’s checking it twice A tenner would be lovely A sandwich might be nice
He ain’t got a reindeer, he ain’t got a sleigh He ain’t even got a safe place to stay It might as well be Christmas every day ‘Cause every day’s the same on the streets
Peter The Homeless Santa Gets a wave as people come and go Some might stop for a few words But he has no use for mistletoe Peter The Homeless Santa No stocking, no Christmas tree Peter The Homeless Santa Three missing pay checks could be you or me
He ain’t got a reindeer, he ain’t got a sleigh He ain’t even got a safe place to stay It might as well be Christmas every day ‘Cause every day’s the same on the streets
Every Christmas, Santa Had a gift for me in his sack So Outside Little Tesco I try to give Santa a little back
He ain’t got a reindeer, he ain’t got a sleigh He ain’t even got a safe place to stay It might as well be Christmas every day ‘Cause every day’s the same on the streets
Rachel likes astronomy, looking at the stars Imagining that she can see Jupiter and Mars In the vast expanse of space, she can contemplate her soul But in the New Austerity Inn There’s just a black hole
So, Rachel put the price of the beer up Rachel put a penny on a pint of ale Rachel put the price of the beer up But in the New Austerity Inn It tastes just as stale
Free beer tomorrow says the sign behind the bar But today, no brandy, no cigar You can only have what you can afford And in the New Austerity Inn The price has soared
You can’t have it if you can’t afford it It doesn’t matter that she’s already poured it You said you’d find another pub, but Rachel ignored it Saying you can’t have it if you can’t afford it
Rachel put the price of the beer up Rachel put a penny on a pint of ale Rachel put the price of the beer up But in the New Austerity Inn It tastes just as stale
It’s licensee responsible, the alehouse of the possible This is what it’s like, she says, when grown-ups run the pub But if the beer is undrinkable, they’ll drink the unthinkable In the Old Flag up the road, with Nigel and his club
You can’t have it if you can’t afford it It doesn’t matter that she’s already poured it You said you’d find another pub, but Rachel ignored it Saying you can’t have it if you can’t afford it
Rachel put the price of the beer up Rachel put a penny on a pint of ale Rachel put the price of the beer up But in the New Austerity Inn It tastes just as stale
