Systematic Death Songtext
von Crass

System, system, system
Death in life
System, system, system
The surgeons knife
System, system, system
Hacking at the cord
System, system, system
A child is born

Poor little fucker, poor little kid
Never asked for life, no she never did
Poor little baby, poor little mite
Crying out for food as her parents fight
Crying out for food as her parents fight


System, system, system
Send him to school
System, system, system
Force him to crawl
System, system, system
Teach him how to cheat
System, system, system
Kick him off his feet

Poor little schoolboy, poor little lad
They′ll pat him if he's good and they′ll beat him if he's bad
Poor little kiddy, poor little chap
They'll force feed his mind with their useless crap
They′ll force feed his mind with their useless crap

System, system, system
They′ll teach her how to cook
System, system, system
Teach her how to look
System, system, system
They'll teach her all the tricks
System, system, system
Create another victim for their greasy pricks

Poor little girly, poor little wench
Another little object to prod and pinch
Poor little sweety, poor little filly
They′ll fuck her mind so they can fuck her silly
They'll fuck her mind so they can fuck her silly


System, system, system
He′s grown to be a man
System, system, system
Taugh to fit the plan
System, system, system
Forty years of jobs
System, system, system
Pushing little buttons, pulling little knobs

Poor fucking worker, poor little serf
Working like a mule for half of what he's worth
Poor fucking grafter, poor little gent
Working for the cash that he′s already spent
Working for the cash that he's already spent

He's selling his life
She′s his loyal wife
Timid as a mouse
She′s got her litlle house
He's got his little car
And they share the cocktail bar
She likes to cook his meals
You know, something that appeals
Sometimes he works til late
So his supper has to wait
But she doesn′t really mind
Cos he's getting overtime
He likes to put a bit away
Just for that rainy day
Cos every little counts
As the cost of living mounts
They do the pools each week
Hoping for that lucky break
Then they′d take a trip abroad
Do all the things they can't afford
She′d really like to have a fur
He's like a bigger car
They could buy a bungalow
With a Georgian door for show
He might think of leaving work
But no, he wouldn't like a shirk
He′d much prefer to stay
And get his honest days pay
He′s got a life of work ahead
There's no rest for the dead
She′s tried to make it nice
He's said thankyou once or twice

System, system, system
Deprived of any hope
System, system, system
Taught they couldn′t cope
System, system, system
Slaves right from the start
System, system, system
Til death do them part

Poor little fuckers, what a sorry pair
Had their lives stolen, but they didn't really care
Poor little darlings, just your ordinary folks
Victims of the system and its cruel jokes
Victims of the system and its cruel jokes

The couple views the wreckage
And dreams of home sweet home
They′d almost paid the mortgage
Then the system dropped it's bomb