Whitehouse - Ruthless Babysitting lyrics

So this is what you've spent your time doing Waiting for Sally's daughters to grow up I know you're fond of questions So here's some f**ing answers We'll gently rewrite some history And make believe it's all about empathy and compa**ion But first tell me again in bad f**ing english About your three months as a prostitute The art project gone bad The trip home at christmas to get the money for an abortion 400 Euros in your hand that you swore you couldn't find another way I'd have paid gladly I caught you going through the rubbish again Empty blister packs of sildenafil citrate Why would you want to worship that sickly grey mess? Where's the ecstatic truth in that? The french harlot child promising "soon or never" The paedophile in love gazing at 70s snapshots And feeling very f**ing safe Safe as bright-eyed Anne scribbling by candlelight You cherish the image of her awkwardly posed in the street The photographer's shadow set to swallow her whole Dark as the war itself: a cheap AGFA vermeer For connoisseurs, perverts and enthusiasts And not forgetting: pretentious c*nts like you Or those lucky bundles of warm good nature on summer days in rural France When they peer into the lens Momentarily distracted from the kittens or dressing-up game What do they know about s** beasts and cancer scares? Partial birth abortion and vaginal infection David Bowie in Modern Painters I'll give you f**ing honest Your favourite movie: The War Zone Favourite album covers: Virgin k**er, Houses of the Holy, U2 - Boy Favourite photographer: Dodgson Favourite artists: Balthus, Remarko, anything with a kid in it Favourite Google search: russian orphanage ruthless babysitting elite gymnastics And you got the clap on your fourteenth birthday From that shy friend of your father Who finger-f**ed you in the same car He later s**ed down the gas in Those exquisite books you pestered him for Octavo editions of the poets that sit still unread On the shelf by your bed for dreaming of who-the-f**-knows-what Dirty Jessie's all grown up now today is her c**aine day Even through the haze of co*ks and hip-hop rapist paws She can see we're all still wallowing in the mud However artfully framed on white gallery walls I can look you in the eyes and see what you spend your time doing When it gets dark and messy The band broke up I lost a lot of f**ing weight Your favourite book: The Old Curiosity Shop Not the celebrated rape-snuff of little Nell So much more adorable alive, though preferably sleeping Unwatched and uncared for in the midst of decay The child botanical The angel imperial Not laid out like Jessie or an empty dirty dress You can call me a c*nt if you like 'cause you'll still put the batteries in the baby Like a simpering NAMBLA freak