Pulp – Mis-shapes

In my music listening I am going through a bit of a Britpop revival at the moment, with mixed results (a post about it will emerge at some point…). I do remember at the time being only so/so about the whole thing, as I mostly (unfairly, I expect) associated it with the bloke-ish bravado of Oasis, a band I dislike, or just cute, irritating happy songs. I recall thinking that the Americans were way ahead of anything the Brits were producing (REM, Nirvana, Tori Amos, Hole, Green Day, The Offspring, Rage against the Machine…) with the exception of the Manics and Radiohead, neither of which I associate with Britpop. But I do, for better or worse, have great recall of the well-known Britpop songs of the era and they conjure up so many memories for me (admittedly mostly of cheap cider, sticky dance floors and being groped…).

I always liked Pulp, they were probably the standout group for me, and it is in large part due to their magnificent lyrics. I am always partial to bitchy social commentary in musical form. Whenever I was on a dancefloor in that era there would be a Pulp song. Usually it was either Disco 2000 or Common People, both excellent songs, but sometimes, just occasionally, a particularly great DJ would be in charge and would choose Mis-Shapes instead. That would always be a good night. I would come away feeling like they had played my anthem, and there would usually be one or two others on the dancefloor who felt the same. It is hands down my favourite Pulp song, and it’s as divisive, angry, inspiring, and relevant now as it’s always been. Yes, it is a bit tribal but, my god, it is so accurate.

Provided to YouTube by Universal Music Group Mis-Shapes · Pulp Different Class ℗ 1995 Island Records, a division of Universal Music Operations Limited Released on: 1995-01-01 Producer: Chris Thomas Composer: Steve Mackey Composer: Nick Banks Composer: Russell Senior Composer: Mark Webber Composer: Candida Doyle Composer Lyricist: Jarvis Cocker

Mis-shapes, mistakes, misfits.
Raised on a diet of broken biscuits, oh
We don’t look the same as you,
We don’t do the things you do,
But we live round here too.
Oh really.

Mis-shapes, mistakes, misfits,
We’d like to go to town but we can’t risk it,
Oh ’cause they just want to keep us out.
You could end up with a smash in the mouth
Just for standing out.
Oh really.

Brothers, sisters, can’t you see?
The future’s owned by you and me.
There won’t be fighting in the street.
They think they’ve got us beat,
But revenge is going to be so sweet.

We’re making a move,
We’re making it now,
We’re coming out of the side-lines.
Just put your hands up – it’s a raid yeah.

We want your homes,
We want your lives,
We want the things you won’t allow us.
We won’t use guns,
We won’t use bombs,
We’ll use the one thing we’ve got more of –
That’s our minds.

Check your lucky numbers,
That much money could drag you under, oh.
What’s the point in being rich
If you cant think what to do with it?
‘Cause you’re so bleeding thick.

Oh we weren’t supposed to be,
We learnt too much at school now we
Can’t help but see
That the future that you’ve got mapped out is
Nothing much to shout about.

We’re making a move,
We’re making it now,
We’re coming out of the side-lines.
Just put your hands up – it’s a raid.

We want your homes,
We want your lives,
We want the things you won’t allow us.
We won’t use guns,
We won’t use bombs,
We’ll use the one thing we’ve got more of
That’s our minds.

Brothers, sisters, can’t you see?
The future’s owned by you and me.
There won’t be fighting in the street.
They think they’ve got us beat
But revenge is going to be so sweet.

We’re making a move.
We’re making it now.
We’re coming out of the side-lines.
Just put your hands up – it’s a raid.

We want your homes,
We want your lives,
We want the things you won’t allow us.
We won’t use guns,
We won’t use bombs,
We’ll use the one thing we’ve got more of
That’s our minds. Yeah.
And that’s our minds. Yeah.

Songwriters: Banks, Doyle, Senior, Webber, Cocker, Mackey

For non-commercial use only.

Data from: Musixmatch

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