A380
How do I change this 'custom title' thing then?
“God Save Yugoslav"
(To the tune of God Save the Queen by the Sex Pistols)
Verse 1
God save Yugoslav,
The man without a clue,
He spits on anarchism,
And loves old Marx’s crew.
He’s got a book from Lenin,
And a poster on his wall,
But his brain is out to lunch,
He’s got no sense at all.
Chorus
Urban 75, you're so naïve,
With your anarchist dreams, you're just deceived.
Yugoslav laughs, but he don’t understand,
He’s the dullest Marxist in all the land.
Verse 2
He rants at all the thinkers,
Who fight for something new,
He clings to Marx like gospel,
But don’t know what to do.
Oh, Yugoslav’s a genius,
At least inside his head,
But every time he opens up his mouth,
He proves he’s wrong instead.
Chorus
Urban 75, you're so naïve,
With your anarchist dreams, you're just deceived.
Yugoslav scoffs, but he can’t see,
He’s the punchline to his own parody.
Verse 3
God save Yugoslav,
His brain's a pile of mush,
He shouts down revolution,
While clutching Marx’s crutch.
Oh, he’s a contradiction,
A clown without a show,
He hates all the clever people,
’Cause they’re the ones who know.
Chorus
Urban 75, you're so naïve,
With your anarchist dreams, you're just deceived.
Yugoslav sneers, but he don’t get far,
Just a broke-down Marxist in a second-hand car.
(Outro feedback screeches, Yugoslav curses in the distance...)
(To the tune of God Save the Queen by the Sex Pistols)
Verse 1
God save Yugoslav,
The man without a clue,
He spits on anarchism,
And loves old Marx’s crew.
He’s got a book from Lenin,
And a poster on his wall,
But his brain is out to lunch,
He’s got no sense at all.
Chorus
Urban 75, you're so naïve,
With your anarchist dreams, you're just deceived.
Yugoslav laughs, but he don’t understand,
He’s the dullest Marxist in all the land.
Verse 2
He rants at all the thinkers,
Who fight for something new,
He clings to Marx like gospel,
But don’t know what to do.
Oh, Yugoslav’s a genius,
At least inside his head,
But every time he opens up his mouth,
He proves he’s wrong instead.
Chorus
Urban 75, you're so naïve,
With your anarchist dreams, you're just deceived.
Yugoslav scoffs, but he can’t see,
He’s the punchline to his own parody.
Verse 3
God save Yugoslav,
His brain's a pile of mush,
He shouts down revolution,
While clutching Marx’s crutch.
Oh, he’s a contradiction,
A clown without a show,
He hates all the clever people,
’Cause they’re the ones who know.
Chorus
Urban 75, you're so naïve,
With your anarchist dreams, you're just deceived.
Yugoslav sneers, but he don’t get far,
Just a broke-down Marxist in a second-hand car.
(Outro feedback screeches, Yugoslav curses in the distance...)