Jonathan Hitchcock - Vhata Vas Hyah

Get Behind Thee, Satan

By High Society

Running through checkers, jumping and hopping
Raise your arms and drop your shopping!
Let's throw some Che Guevara styles,
And start a revolution in the aisles!
They will never take us alive,
We'll take control of till number five.
We'll make our motives understood,
Raising riot till they lower the prices of canned goods!
Singing stirring anthems for a brave new land,
With a gun in one hand and some Omo in the other hand
Fighting the struggle like Nkosazana Zuma
We'll show them what it means to be a militant consumer
Like Lenin, Castro and Chairman Mao
Let's bag our freedom now!

Because society is like a sick oil spillage
Coming to your village, to rape and pillage
Breaking all the vows that you're making, forsaken
Get behind thee, Satan. Get behind thee, Satan!

Existential dilemma can be remedied
All you need is a notebook and some cali weed
I write ridiculous rhymes, it's all my fault:
I don't have to leave my room to revolt.
I'm revolting... Against your attitude
I find it insulting - it makes me rude
So, good luck to all you empty-headed ravers,
And let's just hope that God will save us
From these conglomerates of investment bankers
Dealers, lawyers, pushers and wankers
Masturbating on the human race
Concentrating on the telly rate
But I just relax
And pay my tax
And watch the world collapse

Because, society is like a sick oil spillage
Coming to your village, to rape and pillage
Breaking all the vows that you're making, forsaken
Get behind thee, Satan. Get behind thee, Satan!