wake in the morning the hold of the anchor the walk of the cunning the hole in the ship it s easy to be firemen in a house made of brick spit the puss from your mouth you bastard you ruin my dress when you talk given a sentence laid on a plate shake hands and eat the shit the acquitted were hard rung through a dripping cloth laugh like an empty can with a string seven times you wrap your craven tongue around a torch swine they wallow they scuttle there a paradise of muck hens they cackle they love to talk they love their suffering