Paranoia (single)

by Bomb City 7

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Eóin Boylan
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Eóin Boylan Massive, stomping and raucous. I LOVE this tune. Favorite track: Paranoia.
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Released 22nd March 2012, Recorded and Produced by Bomb City 7, Mixed and Masterd by Rocky O'Reilly at Start Together Studios Belfast.


released March 22, 2012



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Bomb City 7 Belfast, UK

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Track Name: Paranoia
Verse 1

My head’s up my fucking hole
Cuz I was lacking self-control
I knew not what shyness is
Now my mouth knows what dryness is
Bright, lights – they frighten me
And doom is all that I can see
But pints, pints – I can’t avoid ya
So fight – this – paranoia


I can’t stand this paranoia

Verse 2

Wake up in a mess…
Alcohol sweats and booze depressed
Cramped up legs – wheezy chest
A night remembered by a guess
So rest, rest…
Dwell on things that you can’t forget
All the silly things you probably said
And top this off with a busted head

Still – no regrets
But I should consider drinking less
Watch what I spend get fit instead
Start my day well hydrated
All I do is whinge…
I gurn like this again and again
I could say this here’s my final binge
But that’s – lies – I love drinkin’

Verse 3

Circulation fucked like Irish Punts
Cottonmouth like cunt of nuns
Stinking breath – lacking funds
Constant fear of what I’ve done
Clothes, soaked like swimming togs
Voice like Alaskan working dogs
My health’s truly up the left
It’s time I pay my drinkers debt

Get water in – plus vitamins
Sip that beer that’s Mexican
Take this pain upon the chin
Pansy’s pop that Anadin
My whole world is caving in
Can’t locate my confidence
I just feel so fucking lonely
Gagging for someone to hold me
Track Name: George Best
Verse 1

He drank like fuck – got a new liver
Next year he’s on the white wine spritzer
They said his body was a perfect match
If he had a conscience he’d have gave it back
He was the Best – and he pissed it away
On birds, drink and celebrity fame
Still all you remember is the way he played
A great example for kids today

Who beat his wife – and drank himself dry
Is this a life to glorify?
A failure – drunken bastard
That’s the cunt we named an airport after
Mike Tyson – raped his wife and
Beat on her with a boxing license
“But sure that’s different – you can’t compare
He’s an animal you wouldn’t dare”

Of course I would…


I don’t like anything about you
You are everything I’d rather not be
Even with your football skills I doubt you
Cuz I know all about the wife that you beat

Verse 2

Harland and Wolff wouldn’t hire teigs
So fuck their cranes!
Why celebrate a culture of hate
Surely we should learn from our mistake
The Titanic – “that’s our biggest achievement”
Ballix – that’s our biggest bereavement
It couldn’t make it – past first sail
So, why the pride for shit that failed?

Fuck a dissident
But our tax finances missing limbs
Paramilitary activity – you deplore
But yer da manufactures missiles in Shorts
His pay packet sorts out your housin’
He mad a short range missile that wiped out thousands
But you brush past what’s greatly wrong
To mourn jobs lost at Raytheon

Of course you did…

Verse 3

Murdoch’s news hooked the 9/11 drama
Fixated by the life and death of Osama
The brutal execution of a wanted man
Business as usual for Uncle Sam
Barack’s praised as the “Free World’s” hero
With a solemn performance at ground zero
As per usual, all is not what it seems
Because he reeks of militarism but speaks of peace

Extreme escalation of the war in Afghanistan
Filling body bags like the fucking Son of Sam
He spent more dollar on nuclear arms
Than George W spent time playing golf on his farm
He does it all with a wink and a smile
Flips the bird to the world as they tow the line
He’s full of hot air like a fucking balloon
Yet his charm and charisma makes you swoon

Verse 4

We’re surrounded by dirt like an Irish potato
Ad hypocritical cunts that that speak out their A-hole
Preaching that pure like they live under a halo
But in the right light true colours shine like dayglo
I try and live my life like a child with Play-Doh
Rocking Reason – Logic – with that Greek cunt Plato
Peppers – cheese – tamata - tomato
Between bread spread with the County of Mayo

I’m confident – cocky – attitude snotty
Every bird I’ve ever went with – dropped me
I rap like a fella getting seconds – sloppy
But red signs on street corners couldn’t stop me
I Knutt’s Corner stall with a crowd of reprobates
And stick to my mates like a roll of Sellotape
Ain’t – life – fucking great?
Is right mate – is right mate