Rat Patrol

hardcore punk from the netherlands since 1988

Rat Patrol

Painkiller

PAINKILLER:

Slimy toad smiles at me from the screen, tries to look important with her 'Call TV'. Playing with a fruit machine... while I'm sitting on the couch with a terrible hangover. Oh ... I feel bad, got a pain in the head. Small talk bullshit interrupted by commercials, worthless gametime with empty headed contestants who got nothing better to do than call this bitch on a Sunday morning. But it's worth the money man, win a mixer or a car stereo... and the toad with her nice tits squeezes out twenty persons in a row. Oh ... I feel sick with an urge to vomit. Come on and play, and pay my wage. Make a call, Make Call TV! I feel bad, got a pain in the head. I feel sick, with an urge to vomit. The flashes on the screen take my braincells astray, guess painkillers will be my friends today... (Words: Jansel; Music: Jansel/Rat Patrol)

 

SMART CARD:

There's no more need for you to think, your conscious minds are near extinct, for now we have this clever chip, decides for you what's cool & hip. Every home deserves this card, no need for you to be smart. Buy it at your local store, try and use it, you'll want more... By the way, forgot to tell you, you'll have to pay for what is due. Your life is ours now, no need to fight, smart cards seize power overnight. Every home deserves this card, no need for you to be smart. Buy it at your local store, try and use it, you'll want more... Smart cards control your every move. To buy your goods they must approve. What to watch on television is now entirely their decision. Chipcards for chipmunks, degenerating human kind. The only way to kill these bastards is to creep up from behind. (Words: Roelsel; Music: Jansel/Rat Patrol)

 

WET-LIPPED TURD:

'Sieg Heil' in the streets, 'SS' on the wall; if Janmaat is a Democrat, the Pope's a left-wing radical. You may call shit perfume, but it still smells like hell. Centre Democrats are Nazis, they want to keep it hidden well. Attractive to the skinheads - repulsive to the Jews. These fucks with no ideas - still try to make the news. Hardly taken serious - but still extremely dangerous. Their leader is a mongoloid - how come I'm paranoid. Turn on my TV to watch the eight o'clock news, and just before it starts I see this wet-lipped turd... He calls himself a Democrat, expresses nasty views. He tries to look respectable by using empty words. Claim to come up with the answer (appealing to you): Send them back where they belong (throw 'em out). Who believes this line of bullshit (do you?!) deserves to get fucked by a bull (fucked up real bad)! (Words: Roelsel; Music: Pjotr/Jansel/Rat patrol)

 

BOB & EVELYN:

A couple of sociologists, they held this strange inquiry into the sexual behaviour and other private habits of American men and women. Up came Bob and up came Evelyn, looniest couple I ever saw, looniest couple you'll ever see. They made the Oprah Winfrey Show, discussed their love-life on TV. They were not alone, however, they were surrounded by other loonies who got into an argument on how to hang up toilet paper; some wanted to watch the little figures American paper seems to have. "Hello Bob, hi Evelyn, what's it like to have sex at the office?" "Well, Oprah, it's just great to lie down with your ass all stapled". "Sounds real good, but explain how you manage to not tear up your panties?" "It's quite simple, leave them off, keep the staples in case of an emergency". The idiots went on and on, discussed the way to put on shoes: First a sock and then a shoe or first both socks and then both shoes. Sock, shoe was the best solution, said a man with a serious face; should they set your house on fire, you could always hop away ... (Words: Roelsel; Music: Henry/Pjotr/Rat Patrol)

 

YOUR EYES:

Your eyes are burning I can't control. Flames are burning a hole in me. Your eyes are burning deep inside, flames are licking I'm lost in your eyes, your eyes. Your eyes are burning deep inside. Eyes... your eyes. Life is flowing through my veins. Life ... life. Burning eyes, they laugh and they cry. Caressing and provoking, inquiring and convincing, frightened and searching. One-sixteenth Chinese, and fifteen other beautiful faces. Burning eyes that laugh and cry, flames are making me... shy. Your eyes are burning deep inside. Eyes... your eyes. Life is flowing through my veins. Life... life. Your eyes are burning I can't control. Eyes... your eyes. Keep looking straight in... One sixteenth Chinese, and fifteen other beautiful faces. Beautiful eyes that laugh and cry. Beautiful eyes and I wonder: How will they get by? (Words: Henry; Music: Pjotr/Rat Patrol)

 

PIG-FACED:

Peace reigns, freedom reigns, democracy rules. Our whole world is falling apart, we're creating enemies where there aren't any. Guns give power, power gives fear; it's our job to make sure that the other side keeps on fighting. Whatever side... How can we stop the military industrial complex flourishing without clear-cut, fucking, pigfaced, scumsucking evil breathing down our necks? Guns give power, power gives fear, feels nice, doesn't it? (Words: Jansel, with a little help from Mickey Rourke in White Sands; Music: Jansel/Rat Patrol)

 

CONFESSIONS OF A PERVERT:

Hi there, I'm a child molester, my mind is utterly sick. Whenever I see babes or infants I ram them with my dick. SM, piss-sex, rubber dolls, nothing seems to work. Haven't found a thing to jerk. Abuse the pure and innocent, solution to my little problem... Oh, yes I know it's dangerous: what if they found out. Would the people form a lynch mob, or would they wipe me out? ...oooohhh yes baaabyyy, you're just to narrow. Split you wide open with my love arrow... These lyrics turn your stomach over, perversion or sick fantasy? This world is full of child molesters, to them this is reality. Kiddie porn's an industry, Holland's one monopoly. Let this be an ugly dream so that we can wake up with a scream. (Words: Roelsel; Music: Pjotr/Jansel/Rat Patrol)

 

EASY WAY OUT:

If you hate drug abusers send them to Thailand; caught with one shot they'll be shot in the head. If you hate judges send them to Italy; give them a week and they'll be found dead. If you hate gypsies send them to Hungary; racists and Nazis will know how to deal with them. For each person you don't like there's a place to send him off to, let others solve all your problems, easy way out if you don't know what to do... If you hate children send them to Chernobyl; they'll become radiant just before your eyes. If you hate AIDS patients send them to Cuba; they'll put them in cages and bid them goodbye. If you hate Bosnians send them to Holland; our deserted boot camps have plenty of space. Our barracks will certainly look so familiar; a military setting, such a nice place. (Words: Roelsel; Music: Jansel/Rat Patrol)

 

LIFE SUCKS:

What the fuck has happened to you man? Slaving your ass away for a job with no pay. But you've got to keep up, or your boss will quit your job, so you block out the things your inner voice is saying... Asshole! And when you come home you find out your wife is as fat as she ever was, and your kids keep yelling, nagging and fighting. And sometimes you wish they got hit by a truck and die so that you'd get back the things you once wished for in life... At night you try to forget by taking the bottle of JD, 'cause it makes your mind flow and feel free. When your wife tries to kiss you, you turn away your face, 'cause even a fuck doesn't make you feel good nowadays... The headaches in the morning make you chew codeine for breakfast. And at 10 a.m. you get that long awaited call from your boss, saying your career is over, starting today. And lame as ever you get in your car, wondering what the family might say... You sorry shit! So you take another shot of coke. 'cause it makes your mind blow. It gives you new power, doing a 100 miles an hour. And now you understand why the water isn't wet and the sky isn't blue and the birds are all dead. And your life starts anew... Today is your luck, ghostriding a truck. Life sucks. (Words: Jansel; Music: Jansel/Rat Patrol)

 

PETER:

My grandma died at 84, her body just gave up. Lay in a coma for a week, and then her heart just stopped. Had a good life, man & kids, and so she died in peace. It was a matter of old age, she simply went to sleep. Peter died at 23, got smashed up by a truck. There was no reason for his death, just ran into bad luck. One moment he was full of life, the next his lights popped out. He'll never reach the aims he had, it makes me want to shout. I didn't know him very well, but I liked him a lot. I often met him in the pub where we would drink and talk. No time to say goodbye to him, that's why I wrote this song. It's my way to make amends, Peter, man, so long... (Word: Roelsel; Music : Pjotr/Rat Patrol)

 

(don't mortgage your) SOUL:

Now there is pros and there is cons and there is wrong and there is right - rough and smooth, relaxed and uptight. Confusing options, facts galore, but no one's there to show the door - rough and smooth relaxed and uptight. There's no fucking way you can live through another day is the first thought seeping into mind, as your belly rumbles and ripples at the feeling of being one of a kind. The nasty thing of having a brain is running the risk of going insane - still the beautiful thing about it though is that you will never really know. But before you try to do yourself in, remember even one of a kind has kin - still the terrible truth about it though is that you might never really know. So when you wake a with your mind a reelin', try to live the day on your heart pure feelin'. Hang on sit tight have your own way, every dog will have it's day. And so one day you'll have yours. Yes, you might have yours today! (Words: Mario; Music: Pjotr/Rat Patrol)

 

JUST A COUGH:

I've got these ulcers, they keep on creeping out. I try to hide them, wear make up all around. It doesn't stop (pus still coming out), it doesn't cure (there must be something more). I've got these ulcers and they just don't cure, I've got these ulcers... I start coughing, take some medicine. Try to stop it, but it's stronger than me. My lungs are bursting (this ain't just a cold), feel like choking (feel like shit). Feel like dying, feel like shit, feel like dying... So much talent, so much bright light (still the usual allocation goes on). The money and the power for those in control (still no cure from my frights). We've got all the means and all the power (yet we keep them from those who need). We've got all the means and all the power... We can win this battle, pack together and fight. They're ain't no pain to high to end this plague. Or are we still living in the Middle Ages (when they really didn't have the means)? Wake up please and open your eyes, or do you think that aids is god sent?! (Words: Henry; Music: Pjotr/Rat Patrol)

 

BURNOUT:

I suffer from these severe back and neck problems, I'm dizzy and I got these terrible headaches. My hands and feet sometimes feel totally numb, and at night I get these awful shakes. Listen man, my wife fucks the neighbour, and my daughter dates this nigger. My son's a highschool dropout, and my financial problems keep getting bigger. Can't -- Deal -- With -- It! Why does this have to happen to me? I'm a nice guy, I don't mess around. Don't date other women, and don't go out. I watch TV every evening. Get my eight hours daily sleep. I'm never too late for work, and don't fuck every week! Don't drink, don't smoke, eat healthy, wash my hands when they are filthy. Don't bother my wife and kids, so why am I in this shit? People call me a terrible bore, and my doctor calls me a nag. Don't know what to live for any more; better order a body bag ... (Words: Jansel; Music: Jansel/Rat Patrol)

 

AMSTERDAM CENTRAL:

Standing at the meeting point, waiting for a friend of mine. Just gave her a phonecall, told her that my train had arrived. Have to wait for ten minutes while she is on her way, light up a fag and open a beer and the world looks just OK. Amsterdam Central, a place to keep on moving. Amsterdam Central, so innocent looking. But if you take your time to watch, this place is not so nice. A filthy and corrupted station, a hellhole full of vice. The moment I stop moving I am no longer safe here. Creeps and assholes are closing in, looking at my beer. My cigarette draws attention and I feel I'm being watched, in this crowded public building I suddenly feel lost. First comes up a junkie who is barely able to walk. Her interest is my wallet, she doesn't want to talk. When I tell her to fuck off she tries to get aggressive, but when I make one move, she's suddenly so submissive... I'm pestered by junks and drunks, up comes a guy from Germany. Tries to be polite while begging, eine zigarette, he's asking me. Five steps away, three faggot boys, who seem to think I'm interested. If I were gay instead of straight I wouldn't give a shit. Men and women mind their business, no one sees what's going on, underneath this tranquil surface lies a hideous looking swamp. Degenerates roam the platforms looking for an easy prey. The best solution we have to offer is to simply look the other way. (Words: Roelsel; Music: Pjotr/Jansel/Rat Patrol) .

 

SHOT BY A DREAM:

Death and destruction, violence in the streets. They're hunting me down, make me run around. Forms and bullets are all I can see. My abilities don't match society's needs. And all the time they say I'm free. And all the time it's the American Dream. No right to live, no right to be. They're just pretending, a box is my home. I'm the new outlaw, I haven't got a name. I'm the new outlaw, just a pawn in their game. And all the time they say I'm free. And all the time it's the American Dream. They say they're not planning my life from A to Z. They say they're not planning my life from A to Z. They say they're not planning my life from A to Z, keep on convincing me I'm absolutely free. And all the time they say I'm free. All the time I feel shot by a dream. They say they're not planning my life from A to Z. The gave me the impression they're not in control. So without a place, without a name. No right to live no right to be. They say they're not planning my life from A to Z. So without a place without a name, I'm the new outlaw, a face without a name. I'm the new outlaw, someone's stepping stone. And all the time they say I'm free. All the time I feel shot by a dream. (Words: Henry; Music: Jansel/Pjotr/Rat Patrol)

 

OUT OF TOUCH (Locked Up part 2):

I sit down, unable to sleep at night. The entire world is screwing my mind. My day's work is an endless fight, want to hit the bottle and drink myself blind. Sense of growing old, getting out of touch, leaves me feeling cold, identity's been sold. I own a car and I own a house. Supposed to be in luck to have a steady job. I do what's expected, turn into a grey mouse. Learned a whole new language, hear me talking Snob. Reduced into a dull boy from all work and no play. A numbskull career chaser with nothing left to say. Sick and tired of this shit, I'm searching for my passion. My days of climbing barricades, they seem so out of fashion. Sucked up by the system, its current is so strong. What the fuck am I doing, the system is still wrong. (Words: Roelsel; Music: Pjotr/Rat Patrol)

 

NO HABLA (TEX MEX):

An all-American fat fuck wanted to get rid of some tax. Decided to spend his holidays at all-Caribbean Mex. Bought a return ticket to Can-MF-cun, got into the Royal Plaza with all the other American goons. Didn't care about culture, just wanted to get a tan. And a room with airco, not one with a ceiling fan. 'What about ancient history, the injuns have been faded away, the biggest part of Mexico now belongs to the USA'. I'm not gonna eat them taco and beans shit, just get myself a Big Mac. I'm not gonna drink double X, just Budweiser and Jack. So I'm gonna swim and sun and eat my own decent dish. Fuck them stupid Latinos, they don't even habla English. No fucking habla. American corporations, just bought their way in. They even got Hard Rock Cafe and Pat O'Briens Inn. Forget about that Injun shit, modern mex is the Western way. They're not going to invest in rebels, only in the Caribbean bay. What about Zedillo, what about the PRI? Intimidation and harassment, so what if injuns die. They're a minority in society, the poor will have to go. What about culture and identity, the money is in Acapulco... Cactus juice don't make me loose man. Gonna buy me some snakeskin boots from Vera Cruz. For me no tapas from Chiapas, investment is the only way. In a Caribbean bay, supported by the USA. (Words: Jansel; Music: Jansel/Rat Patrol)

 

RAT PATROL:

We could use those men in tan. You say what do we know. Whoah oh oh oh oh oh. Whoah oh oh oh oh oh. What do we need to take control, we could use the rat patrol. What's that coming over the dune? Yea well that's what we know. Whoah oh oh oh oh oh. Whoah oh oh oh oh oh. Chasing them in halftracks, across the sand flats. Got a nice pine box for that desert fox. Machine guns blaring, and Arabs staring, wondering why the Westerners are there. Its the same old story, and it never ends. It'll happen again. Whoah oh oh oh oh...... (repeat) (John Haggerty/Naked Raygun)

 

DRUNK:

It's Saturday night and you're not there, the whole day has been rotten. I tell myself this evening will be fun, but I don't convince myself. I sit in the corner with self-pity, telling myself how weak I am. I get my first beer and I think of you, but that just makes everything worse... How can I enjoy myself, I might as well get drunk. Beer makes me forget all my troubles and I just want to have some fun. It's Saturday night and I'm sitting here, I think I've had enough. The beer didn't have the right effect, everything got worse. I say to myself 'should I go home or stay just a little longer', I feel much up to suicide, I'm just so goddamn drunk... How could I enjoy myself, I did get drunk. The booze didn't have the right effect and I feel fucking terrible. It's Saturday night and I'm lying here, vomiting in the gutter. Just thinking by myself, what have I done, what have I done. I feel so sick and I'm asking myself 'what is the reason for this', why did I fucking do it, why did I fucking do it, I didn't want it. I want to go home but I can't walk, I'm just so goddamned drunk... What have I done ... (Words: Jansel; Music: Jansel/Deluxe Green)