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Crass:Systematic Death Lyrics

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Systematic Death

This song is by Crass and appears on the album Penis Envy (1981).

This song has been covered by Jeffrey Lewis under the title "Systematic Death".
System, system, system - Death in life!
System, system, system - The surgeon's 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.
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.
Fuck her mind so they can fuck her silly!

System, system, system - He's grown to be a man.
System, system, system - Taught 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 litle 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'd 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 day's pay.
He's got a life of work ahead - there's no rest for the dead.
And she's tried to make it nice, he's said "Thank you," once or twice.

System, system, system - Deprived of any hope.
System, system, system - Taught they couldn't cope. (I know!)
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 it's cruel jokes.
Victims of the system and it's cruel jokes!

The couple views the wreckage, and dreams of home sweet home;
They'd almost paid the mortgage, when the system dropped its bomb.

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