Hate Mail

by Ste McCabe

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about

All songs written by Ste McCabe except "Bedsitter" written by Soft Cell.

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released October 1, 2008

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about

Ste McCabe Edinburgh, UK

My name is Ste McCabe. I am a one-man band.

I use a distorted guitar, drum machines and a synth to make noises with. I am a politicised queer, feminist, working class bastard and I like to make people dance with my rantings. ... more

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Track Name: Queer Clubbing
It's Ironic but true, I've had all kinds of abuse
But the only ignorance I've suffered lately was from you
I queue up in the cold to be open and free
So why is it I feel bitchy eyes staring at me?
When you have to camp it up just to get inside
Is it any wonder that this is the land of stereotypes?
I don't want to disco dance, and I don't want to celebrate
Being free in our own segregated little way
So when you speak to me don't try to partonise
It doesn't work when there is buggar all behind your eyes
I can't afford your friendship, cannot take your pace
It's lucky that I'd sooner tear the skin from my own face
Your bourgeois pretenses do nothing for me
And I was never really a fan of misogyny
So I'm going home to my unwanted straight friends
Who only ever showed support and love regardless of your trends
Back-stabbing is in, solidarity is out
And now it's only drinking borders that we march about
And when the homophobes come to take us out
They will leave when they see you scratching each other's eyes out.
Track Name: Hate Mail
It seems I can't get away from high browed faces
Talking about abolishing races
I've been around this place for way too long
I know that what you don't understand must be wrong
Well the Daily Mail must make you feel
Like your nasty little ways have mass appeal
You've got style, I must confess
For a piggy little hitler in a floral dress
I've got to get out of here
The smell of middle England gives me The Fear
I'm the story that makes you sick
And what's my crime? Well take your pick
It all seems a little unfair
Earth calling Tory land, anyone there?
You've got wisdom I must conclude
For a sheltered old yuppie who calls ignorance truth
Now one, two, three, four
Who's the piggy that we'll ignore?
Five, six, seven, eight
For all the immigrants who you hate
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve
You and your family values can rot in hell
You've got views, you proudly explain
But you're the hypnotised playing out a therapists game.
Track Name: I'm Not Bitter
Men who know themselves so well, men who have stories to tell
Men like confused little children, hiding, shy and all bewildered
Men who just want to stick in in and throw you out when they are finished
Men who talk about monogamy, lying their way into monotany
I raise a glass to the day we parted, don't spare me, I'm not broken hearted
Maybe I'm no good at this, but you my love are full of bullshit
Men with their hands in their pockets think they can buy you with a double vodka
Men who are so proud of their cocks, well that's amazing, but guess what? I've got one too
Men with money, men with none, this mental illness is too far gone
I can see the tell-tale sign, it's in your trousers when they rise
I raise a glass to the day we parted, don't spare me, I'm not broken hearted
Maybe I'm no good at this, but you my love are full of bullshit
Men who are stupid, men who are smart
Men who look like they're a work of art
Men who are ugly, men who are cute
Men who are serious, men who are aloof
Men who are interesting, men who are bores
Men with principles, men who are whores
Men who are happy, men who are sad
Men who are mature, men who act like lads
Men who are top, men who are bottom
Don't ask me what I am 'cause I've fuckin well forgotten
Men who are straight, bi or gay
Talking about themselves again, well not today
I'm not bitter, no, no, no
No, no no!
Track Name: Fire
I see you in the past, and your pain my love it won't last
This is your way to get them back, but I'm afraid you're on the wrong track
Their rules are rigid and you won't fit in with your crazy plans
Although you push in and you demand, your head is buried in the sand
You won't set the world on fire, the situation's way too die
You will have to make your own space now
You don't have the cash to shine, you can't buy so you'll just hire
Go and make your own space and watch it grow
This town is full of fools trying to fit in with their rules
And if you can't eat, well you'll just drool but it's a banquet that would poison you
So do something far away from what they expect and when they say
That you're too weird to perform or play, well aren't you used to that anyway?
It's not always what it seems and neither are your fancy dreams
But to succeed you'd have to change forever
Censoring what makes you important will make you acceptable
But you'll forget just what you're fighting for
We won't set the world on fire, the situation's way too dire
We will have to make our own space now
If you want to come in, then don't pay us and bring your own gin
Come to our space and watch it grow.
Track Name: Huyton Scum
Tommo is a hard knock, knows his way 'round here
Everybody moves away when he comes near
Knife in his pocket, hand on his balls
Walking like he doesn't know how to walk at all
Tommo always stoned, don't know what day it is
Which is a shame 'cause sober he's exceptionally thick
Tommo always angry, Tommo never cry
Except when they get serious on "Footballers Wives"
No, he don't like the women, says women are all sluts
Although he's barely touched one 'cause he hasn't got the guts
He don't like the Asians, says they're gonna bomb us all
Although he's barely spoken to a single one at all
He don't like the Polish "cause they'll take all the jobs"
Although he'd rather kill himself than ever get a job
He don't like the dykes, says they're all just like men
Why don't they wanna fuck him like the porno mags say?
Oh!
Tommo is a hard knock, knows his way 'round here
Everybody moves away when he comes near
Knife in his pocket, hand on his balls
Walking like he doesn't know how to walk at all
Tommo always stoned, don't know what day it is
Which is a shame 'cause sober he's exceptionally thick
Tommo always angry, Tommo never cry
Except when they get serious on "Footballers Wives"
No, he don't like the queers, queers make him sick
Even the ones he forces to go down and suck his dick
He don't like the Irish, he don't like the blacks
But when asked to join the BNP he said, "What's that?"
He would hate the working class if he weren't so poor
He would love his granny if she weren't so fucking old
He would love his brother if his brother weren't a "spaz"
He would love his mother if she weren't so fucking fat
Go home!
Go home
No-one loves you, Tommo
Go home
Go home
Oh Tommo, Tommo, just fuck off home!
No one loves you.
Track Name: This Is Not Your Party
I've seen the way that you crawl
Into the backsides of people who expose you
You'd turn you back on it all
To be accessable to all
Don't come and wave the flag 'cause
This is not, not your party
You'd censor everything to sell it out so
This is not, not your party
Honey I've got a long memory
I know what you think about me
Repeat that love-sick line and call it "queer"
I doubt there's all that much between your ears
Thinking "What did age of consent mean anyway? well I don't know"
Don't come and wave the flag 'cause
This is not, not your party
You'd censor everything to sell it out so
This is not, not your party
Don't come and wave the flag 'cause
This is not, not your party
You'd censor everything to sell it out so
This is not, not your party
Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch! x4
If I'm predictable with my same old themes
What does that make an air-head with rock'n'roll dreams?
If it's sexual but with no sexuality
It could be hetero or bestiality
I know you're craving to go far
While my pay-cheque hopes all stop at the bar
And while you're making all the right sounds
I know it's killing you being underground, so
Don't come and wave the flag 'cause
This is not, not your party
You'd censor everything to sell it out so
This is not, not your party
Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch! x4
Track Name: Taxpayers Money
"That's life", that's what they say, sit in your own shit and leave it that way
Is this a bad soap opera on repeat or is it just another day?
Dare you do something new or just sit and smoke the day away?
When life gets stale and it starts to decay I'll always up and run away
To my mistake - you can't hurt me a-ha
To my job - you can't chain me a-ha
To the bank - you're not gonna get my money no
I'm gonna run and I need no-one beside me now
No, I don't know what's coming
But why does that have to be daunting?
I'm running on taxpayers money a-ha
You're in control, you can make your own choice, why do you push away that voice?
No-one's gonna make you happy, not a man who acts like a boy
Because in the end back it will come and spoil the night when it was meant to be fun
I know what this will do to you but something's got to break before I do
I don't know what I'm looking for a-ha
They say that happiness is going too far a-ha
I don't know why my feelings change, no/but don't push me while I'm in this state, no
No I don't know what coming
But why does it have to be daunting?
I'm running on taxpayers money a-ha
You're not gonna hold me back a-ha
I'm only a little off-track a-ha
You want attention but you'll have to look elsewhere
I would react, but I don't really care
No I don't know what's coming
But why does that have to be daunting?
I'm running on taxpayers money a-ha
Track Name: Four Puffs And A Shotgun
Licking crumbs up from your table
We're willing now that we are able
In your ridiculous childrens fable
You lock the race-horse in it's stable
And that is how they want us to be
The painful cliches that they call "free"
This is how we earn our money
Another camp joke that isn't funny
With a limp wrist, and a shopping list
I commit to this farce and I'll kiss the straight guy's arse
Horsey runs into the fence
Making jokes at his own expense
Real live people came and went
Now they called televised cliches "past tense"
Humour runs down a one-way street
Of stereotypes and self-defeat
I'll propose something that you'll ignore
It's dyke-free and worse than ever before
So with a limp wrist, and a shopping list
I'll get on my scabby knees and I'll suck the straight guys dick
With a limp wrist, and a shopping list
I commit to this farce and I'll kiss the straight guys arse
Now with a limp wrist, and a shopping list
I'll get on my bloody knees and I'll suck the straight guys dick
With a limp wirist, and a shopping list
I commit to this farce and I'll kiss the straight guys arse/with a limp wrist!
Track Name: Bedsitter
Sunday morning going slowI'm talking to the radio
Clothes and records on the floor
The memories of the night before
Out in club land having fun
And now I'm hiding from the sun
Waiting for a visitor
But no-one know's I'm here for sure
I think it's time to cook a meal
To fill the emptiness I feel
Spend my money going out
I've nothing in I'm left without
Clean my teeth and comb my hair
And look for something new to wear
Start the nightlife over again
And kid myself I'm having fun
Dancing, laughing, drinking, loving
And now I'm all alone
In bedsit land my only home
I look out from my window view
There's really nothing else to do
Read a book maybe write a letter
Mother, things are getting better
Watch the mirror
Count the lines
The battle scars of all the good times
I look around and I can see
A thousand people just like me.
Track Name: Broken Record
I'm moving on and up in my life
So what's that in my back?
Well surely not a knife?
You say that it's all in my mind
If I've been here once I've been here a hundred times
One for the child you mocked
When I was ashamed of the sound of my own voice
One for the broken record
That keeps on playing over and over
Now there's too many to count
For every fuckin day that I walk through town
One for the queers on TV
Playing up to every stereotype they forced upon me
One for the dead bodies
That keep on piling up while were dropping E's
One for these liberal times
Where homophobia is all in a queer's mind
Broken record.
Track Name: Rant (By The Seaside)
If you've got 2 or 3 minutes for my life story
Then sit back while I revel in my glory
It started with football and me running away
Skipping in the back yard and no-one else would play
Well it's not an unusual narrative
For a gay boy in a backward town to find it hard to live
While Thatcher was cooking up the section 28 scheme
And setting up the picture for my teenage years, ok
Find the sickest boy in town
He'll be hiding his arse when I'm around
Think of the sickest rumours
And all of your friends turning Judas
Now you can call me bitter, call me nasty
Hate my guts and make me happy
But I am not about to forget
When teachers turned their backs, and to it I was left
And as for football I remember when and where
Gerrard would call me queer and spit in my hair
So you will forgive me if I turn over
When world cup fever takes the country over
With a flag that's been adopted by a racist party
Find the sickest boy in town
He'll be hiding his arse when I'm around
Think of the sickest rumours
And all of your friends turning Judas
See, it's not about fitting in
Hell I don't even know what the fuck a twink is
See, I know one day that I'll be 65
And with 13 cats, I'll be puking in a high-rise
Dreading my own miserable demise
And saying "Those were the days, those were the days..."
And then I'll laugh myself to death
Ha ha!