Another Wednesday in Blighty where the streets are paved with flying missiles and the pensions are paved with wishful thinking. While the Royal Navy plays dodgems with helicopters and Reform UK politely hints at a 'reckoning' for traitors, the Bank of England solves the economic crisis by asking the public which fluffy animal they'd like on their worthless tenners. It's a comforting thought that when you're old, broke, and possibly living under a tyranny, at least your pocket change will feature a charming picture of a bumblebee.
Nowak Protests: Officers Injured in Clashes
Pension Crisis: Workers Face Retirement Shortfall
Reform UK Tyranny Warnings and Political Rhetoric
Sultry Sophisti-Grime Noir
🎵 (s)Hit of the Day 🎵
Version 1
Version 2
📜 Lyrics 📜
[Intro]
[Spoken news samples buried in reverb and vinyl crackle]
[Muted Flugelhorn melody over deep sub-bass]
[Verse 1]
Blue lights flash on the exit signs, eleven badges on the floor
The boy's name echoes through the town, another knock upon the door
They're scrubbing documents in Whitehall, deleting lines they can't defend
Don't want to give the wrong idea that racism might be a trend
The heavy hands are out tonight, the thick blue line is holding tight
While ministers perform concern and vanish swiftly out of sight
It's getting hard to separate the tyrant from the fool
When every headline screams of change but nothing moves the dial
[Chorus]
They tell us it's a wrong impression
But the bruises never fade
They're selling us a soft repression
In the mess that they have made
Yeah, it's a wrong impression, baby
When the truth gets in the way
Just look the other direction
While the circus gets replayed
[Verse 2]
Three-quarters of the workforce staring at a blackened screen
Thirty-two grand a year to live? A retrograde wet dream
The pension pot is empty and the lock has rusted shut
We're working till we drop because the capitalists have cut
The Navy's investigating why a chopper hit the ground
The institutions crumble while the vultures gather round
And over in the States some ancient author starts to moan
That technology is satanic and he'd rather be alone
Well James, I think you've got a point, the screen is stealing souls
While poverty goes viral and the government sells tolls
[Bridge]
A Paralympic champion gets asked if she can walk
By some airline bureaucrat who clearly doesn't talk
To anyone with half a brain or decency inside
So now she's fighting penalties for those who take it in their stride
And Nolan's casting Greeks to play... well, anyone but Greeks
While puffins on the banknotes are the highlight of the week
A neurologist is patching up the shattered bits of skull
While angels fear to tread where all these clumsy devils pull
[Chorus]
They tell us it's a wrong impression
But the bruises never fade
They're selling us a soft repression
In the mess that they have made
Yeah, it's a wrong impression, baby
When the truth gets in the way
Just look the other direction
While the circus gets replayed
[Outro]
[Analogue String Machine swells]
Wrong impression...
[Spoken] Just the wrong impression, mate.
[Sub-bass fade with lingering Rhodes chords]
That's what they call it.
[Muted Flugelhorn final flourish]
Wrong impression.
[End]