Pigface - The Breakfast Conspiracy lyrics
[Pigface - The Breakfast Conspiracy lyrics]
Gonna tell you a story
Of some kind of a breakfast conspiracy
Breakfast in bed, sir?
Breakfast in bed, sir?
Ah, no thanks, not today in fact
I'd far rather be sitting in
A distinctly upright position
So that I may at least have the
Ghost of a chance to digest
What I don't mind telling you
Is completely inedible slop
Lovingly and habitually prepared and served
By the thugs and vagabonds
Who are the so-called staff
Of this institution
Finished with the menu, sir?
Yes, yes, I shall enjoy
Soft cakes, toast, tea, scrambled eggs
Strawberry jam mind you, I can't complain
Before I came here I thought
Scrambled eggs were supposed to be brown
And crispy at the bottom
And dull yellow at the top
My mother, god bless her
Cannot boil a fucking kettle
Without burnin the water inside
When I came here it's a
Different story, you know, oh yes
A whole different deck of cards
Scrambled eggs arrive with the consistency
Of a moth swimming about
In a foul yellow liquid
I wonder where that came from?
I would like to put forth my theory
My own inside story, if you will
You wanted to know what I think
I think that every morning as we sleep
Our beloved kitchen staff gathers
Around the scrambled eggs
Like some pagan cult offering homage
To a false icon
First, the head chef, the cult leader
Ritualistically stands on an
Institutional chair, opens the fly of his
Institutional trousers, pulls out his
Institutional willy
And urinates in our breakfast hA HA HA!
They're just a bunch of loonies
What do they care?
Half the bloody time they end up
Throwing it on the floor
Or worse still, at each other
Of some kind of a breakfast conspiracy
Breakfast in bed, sir?
Breakfast in bed, sir?
Ah, no thanks, not today in fact
I'd far rather be sitting in
A distinctly upright position
So that I may at least have the
Ghost of a chance to digest
What I don't mind telling you
Is completely inedible slop
Lovingly and habitually prepared and served
By the thugs and vagabonds
Who are the so-called staff
Of this institution
Finished with the menu, sir?
Yes, yes, I shall enjoy
Soft cakes, toast, tea, scrambled eggs
Strawberry jam mind you, I can't complain
Before I came here I thought
Scrambled eggs were supposed to be brown
And crispy at the bottom
And dull yellow at the top
My mother, god bless her
Cannot boil a fucking kettle
Without burnin the water inside
When I came here it's a
Different story, you know, oh yes
A whole different deck of cards
Scrambled eggs arrive with the consistency
Of a moth swimming about
In a foul yellow liquid
I wonder where that came from?
I would like to put forth my theory
My own inside story, if you will
You wanted to know what I think
I think that every morning as we sleep
Our beloved kitchen staff gathers
Around the scrambled eggs
Like some pagan cult offering homage
To a false icon
First, the head chef, the cult leader
Ritualistically stands on an
Institutional chair, opens the fly of his
Institutional trousers, pulls out his
Institutional willy
And urinates in our breakfast hA HA HA!
They're just a bunch of loonies
What do they care?
Half the bloody time they end up
Throwing it on the floor
Or worse still, at each other