Chris’s songs over the last 20 years or more have been a reminder to find the comic absurdity in many aspects of our society and the campaigns to change it for the better. Reminding us that in being able to laugh at ourselves, we can then feel freer to experiment and enjoy a culture with more complex forms of expression being understood.
He’s gone from risking his own skin walking into dodgy far-right pubs to sing songs making fun of racism, to writing songs making light of the head spinning speed in the 90s in which someone could go from leafleting against fox hunting to being asked to help liberate beagles from a laboratory. He’s poked fun at the history of land ownership and past along tales of drug smugglers robbing their van back from the RUC.
Ideally when it’s fully finished it will contain illustrations, a finished bonus song fan tribute and more commentary from the Captain which I hope to glean from him at some point on a podcast or in conversation.
If you’d like to help illustrate or write the bonus fan tribute hit me up at theosladehome@gmail.com
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lyrics
If you get a piece of toast and it falls to the ground
It will always land butter side down
But if you get a domestic cat
And it falls to the street
It will always land, land upon its feet
Which makes me wonder what would happen if…
I gaffer taped a bit of buttered toast onto the back of a cat… and pegged it out of a tower block.
How would it know how to land?
How would it know how to land?
The cat would try to land upon it’s feet and yet the buttery toast upon it’s back would desperately try to land upon it’s buttery side.
How would it know how to land?
How would it know how to land?
The cat would try to land upon it’s feet and yet the buttery toast would be compelled by the laws of physics to land upon it’s buttery side.
So maybe it would spin forever?
Spinning approximately 18 inches above the ground
That’s where it would be found.
Cat’s with toast on their backs, anti-gravity cats.
Cat’s with toast on their backs, anti-gravity cats.
Cat’s with toast gaffer taped to their backs, turning them into anti-gravity cats.
Cat’s with toast on their backs, anti-gravity cats.
It wouldn’t work with labradors, fat bastards.
It wouldn’t work with labradors, fat bastards.
They’d eat each other’s toast, they’d eat each other’s toast,
Fat fucking bastards, you can’t leave any fucking food, any fucking near them.
But you could use the scabbiest cat’s in the world, not the nice fluffy pet ones, with nice collars.
You could use the shit ones that didn’t cost no dollars, the ones you find in flats that’ve been eating the faces of dead old ladies.
The scabby cats, scabby cats, scabby cats, scabby cats.
You could use the scabby cats, scabby cats, scabby cats, scabby cats.
You wouldn’t even need to use expensive bread, you could use the cheapest happy shopper bread
You’re not going to eat it; it’s just going to get gaffer tapped behind the back of their head
And you could use the cheapest butter in the world, or the cheapest you could find
But it wouldn’t work with margarine, you know that yeah? Buttered toast falls butter side down, but margarine, that don’t work, and do you know why margarine don’t work? It’s only two molecules away from plastic that’s why, that yellow paint, you shouldn’t be putting that shit on your fucking bread man, I’ll tell you why…
Because margarine, is the devil’s spunk
Because margarine, is the devil’s spunk
You don’t want the devil’s jizz on your toast, that’s not the thing you want the most. With his little horny hands all over your toast, you don’t want that shit, you want to just use butter.
And then you can just use the scabbiest cats, throw them out of tower blocks, with toast on their backs, as they fall down to the ground and they start to spin round and fucking round, use them as a turbine.
You could use them as a turbine.
You could power up half the iphones in Swindon, off a tortoise shelled cat, with toast on it’s back.
If you got every scabby cat that no one loves and you threw it out of a window with toast on it’s back, you could soon replace fossil feuls and nuclear power.
I estimate we could do it in an hour.
All we need is some buttered fucking toast, some gaffer tape and cats and then throw them out of the windows, weight until they dropped, attach electrodes as they spin and then begin to harvest energy from the cat turbines.
I don’t know how to get out of this song now, it started out as such a good idea and yeah yeah meow meow, I had two grams of meow meow the other night, fucking shit, but on Thursday, I had two grams of woof woof, much better, aww I’m telling you, I chewed threw a number of toys.
Shit that was the end that.
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