Text:
Napalm Death Enemy Of The Music Business

Mitch harris Blunt / on the cutting / edge This is a stylistic disaster Or so I'm told Won't meet your estimations Do well to fold Can't keep up To the

Battered frantic, dressed in tragedy Reach the point where time caught up, why me? Paths we chose, the sorrows we cause It's all forgotten instantly as

Such a smug parasite Snug in the comfort zone We stepped back and watched While you violated Our effects, our spirits, our souls Opportunist scum Think

The rats on this earth Have nothing on you An insect to those which Crawl the sewers Devourer Plunderer Deceptor Sniff out a scheme and leave The scraps

: Abstinence works for me, not for them Intolerance, far worse things? This makes no sense Get high on me and mine Take the poison Raise a voice? The

: Everything fits nicely into place Higher powers take the lead Middleman sit, pondering his worth One great scheme to stem (the) objective urge Decision

: So drawn? I warm to the fire in their hearts This ain't romantic gesturing It's a hand to head the charge To the indifference of the preening, idle

/ rebel's seen the light Re-a/ djusted? Disowned his staunch defiance. The Anti-Christ shifts to the right He wears his ?x? and reviled mine. Music

: Serve my head on a plate Pulp my heart with ill will I did trust you, led to lust you, to be duped Thanks for fucking nothing! Serve my head on a