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Play all songs in lo fiPlay all songs in hi fi gpwaynemp3.com/gpwayne

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    "Shuffle About"genre: Groove
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    Don't need many words to describe this song, which rails against the ritual humiliation of the individual by the state, set to a slithering groove and a jazzy chorus. Featuring Gentleman's Rap, which is basically poetry spoken with strong rhythmic sense, in an english accent. Gosh!
    MP3.com CD: Songs from the Middle Ages - buy it!buy it!
    CD: Songs from the Middle Ages
    Credits: gpwayne

    Story Behind the Song
    Suddenly, right in the middle of your life, you are no longer an automatic asset to potential employers. To make matters worse, when you get unemployment benefit you have to endure a strange hostility and a kind of initiation where you must demonstrate your subservience and how grateful you are for the state's magnanimous hand-out. It needn't be like this, but there's a predjudice behind it...

    Lyrics
    Every second Thursday
    At an un-natural time
    I go to take my place
    In an unbroken line
    Of misplaced machine parts
    The waste of industry
    The dross of commerce
    There we stand
    Cogs with no teeth
    And we shuffle about

    The end of the line
    Is drawn on bullet-proof glass
    Behind which we watch
    Six men drinking tea
    And a woman with thin lips
    In a lifeless dress
    That matches the grey of the walls
    And the cabinets
    And her eyes
    As we shuffle about

    She punches in the code
    Software sighs and dies
    She's pulling my strings from behind the glass
    And there's laughter in her eyes
    So sorry, she intones
    There must be some mistake
    Why don't you join the queue at the enquiry desk
    You won't have long to wait
    And wait…
    And wait…

    Every second Thursday
    For the rest of my time
    I'm going to claim my place
    On this assembly line
    Of rusted machine parts
    Devoid of industry

    …and behind the glass
    in a digital web
    sits spider-woman
    giving terminal time
    to her living dead
    the growing line of
    displaced people
    decrepit and worn like
    untended machines
    the obsolete heart
    of a decaying colossus
    the dance of a derelict
    abandoned, alone
    and all you can do
    tossed away like old salad
    is adjust your dressing
    form a queue

    And shuffle about

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