by Andy Partridge

Hey, short back and sides, just whose side you on?
Which team did you pick now the whistle's gone?

We are the bland leading the bland,
Leading the lame to dance the steps of dead men.
Bland leading the deaf,
Leading the the dumb to sing the songs of white bread.
Bland leading the bland.

Hey, you skinny freak,what makes you a star?
Can't you be like us, much less fuss by far?

We are the bland leading the blonde,
Leading the vacuous in vicious circles.
Blend in with the bland
Leading the band to play the tunes of grey-backed jerks,
Leading the jokes who poke the jam inside our boring doughnuts.

And you know we can't complain, oh no.

But if we did complain,
We might find in our freed up brains,
The mains plug for the power to make things better.
But if we don't complain,
It means that we accept the chains,
And I want to rise,
Yeah, I want to rise.
I want to rise, 
Yeah I want to rise above the

Bland leading the blonde

And you know we can't complain,
And you know we can't complain.
That's why things will stay the same.
Oh no!

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