Mother? Mother? Mother?



Chorus: She's the anti-mother, mother is that you?

She's the anti-mother, mother, mother is that you?



It's Myra Hindley on the cover

Your very own sweet anti-mother

There she is, on the pages of The Star

Ain't that just the place you wish you were?

Let her rot in hell, is what you said

Let her rot, let her starve, you'd see her dead

Let her out but don't forget to tell you where she is

The chance to screw her is a chance you wouldn't miss

Let her suffer, give her pain is the verdict you gave

You just can't wait to piss on her grave

You pretend that you're horrified

Make out that you care

But really you wish that you had been there

You say you can't bear the thought of what she did

But you'd do it to her, you'd see her dead

Tell me, what is the difference between her and you

You say that you would kill her

Well, what else would you do?

Don't you see that the violence has no end?

Isn't limited by rules?

Don't you see as angels preaching

You're nothing but the fools

Fools step in where angels fear to tread

You see, to kill others is the ethic of the dead



Chorus



The single mug shot from the past

Ensures your fantasy can last and last

It gives you the chance to air your hate

Because she got there first, you were too late

Hindley's crime was to do what others think

Took her anger and her prejudice and pushed it to the brink

Then you goodly christian people, with your sickly mask of love

Would tear that woman limb from limb, you'd never get enough

So you keep the story alive, so you can make yourselves believe

That you are so much better than her

But you aren't, that's YOUR GUILT laying there.



Chorus