Grayson Industries - I'm taking control of your life

music audio cd - 10 tracks 1985



Intro: Hey, this man is impressing you, he's got the lot. Cartier, British Telecom, organised religion, the armed forces the works. And all working for him. he understands the structure, dammit he IS the structure (and he's helped sink warships too). And he's taking you out for a meal. perhaps he wants to buy something. Perhaps he wants to sell, But whatever: he's giving you a run down of his history, man to man, from the early days of the primal horde to right now. And what's more HE'S INSISTING THAT YOU JOIN THE CLUB. You are one lucky guy. This is the boss, the head, the Papa, the Works, and it's like you're up on a mountain top being offered everything below you. An offer it's hard to refuse.


Git Down


You know he's got those things, those important things that make all the difference in a man. He's got style, he's got grace, a large account and a certain poise that we know only too well comes with success. American Express he said and I said that will do nicely and smiled in a winning way. He looked at me severely, almost like a father and I thought I love it when they look like that, dignified and stern, one who can hold his drink and hold his own in any conversation. A man's man. But sensitive you know and very good at games. A man with problems but still with time for you and me. And, although the dollar is really far too strong and he's holding down some revolution, he leant right over and lit my cigarette.


He said:  Why is it that we can never be happy together except when we meet indoors? he knew about all sorts of things, things that would have an effect all over the globe, and mines plutonium too with those strong arms and glistening tendons in his neck; small links in a perfect chain stretched all the way to Capitol Hill. And the Dignity of Labour is a con, he said, so pour me another drink in another strangers' bar, for we are in perfect control.


And one day, the brothers, damn their syphilitic eyes! the brothers who had been driven out came back along the old dirt road that leads out of this town (that leads out of any town - all towns are the same you know, no matter where you go) and they killed and devoured their father and so made an end to the patriarchal hoard. And say don't you think that this wine, although a fine vintage and Christ's blood too is perhaps a trifle corked? I said nothing, not wanting to be shown up in a strange room and chewed upon a little bread. He summoned over the waiter and said: Look I paid for this and am no doubt better hung than you, so bring me another bottle and we'll strip off our skins back down to the animal. Impressed me that, a man who knows his way around a restaurant.


He had lovely teeth and said he could play the trumpet well.


We are in perfect control he said, even during the act of love, although I do not know if these lonely copulations may not be our tragedy as we trace the scars of failure on each others' sweaty skins....but I received early training in running the colonies and have helped sink warships too.


They hated their father - although, with hum, they worked man to man and got drunk together as buddies do whilst the old man dribbled laughter at his jokes - for he presented an obstacle in the path of their craving for power and to their sexual desires. Although the old man said: all the women really want is a man to let them know who's boss, who is big in his field, who works out in the gym to keep in form his glistening tendons and his strong and tender arms that are so strong (he said) that they could encircle to globe like wireless and squeeze out farts with the force of his love. That's how it is with a man with an executive jet.


Outside I get worried though inside I feel safe.


And, although I know that he would squeeze the trigger of a gun that was held against my head if he thought that this is what he had to do, I trust that guy. For he is a Buddy, through and through, and buddies hang together and are in perfect control; both sixty minute men who know what's for, we're on first name terms and still we find time to make the perfect evening dish and perfect small patterns of domination. We play with guns, confidently drive fast cars, and, he said: you know I could tear that bastards spine out with these naked hands.


Get  Down. Get Down,


Lyrics and vocals: Richard Grayson
Music arrangement and production: David Barratt

© Richard Grayson/David Barratt 1985