We Hate Southern Rock (Britpop)

Chorus

We hate Southern Rock

All that twang and thunder, give it up

We hate Southern Rock

You need six guitars just to make one song

We've got the Beatles, Stones and Who

We've got the Kinks and Bowie too

You can keep your dusty Southern Rock

We'll show you how it's bloody done

Verse 1

First time I heard that slide guitar cry

I thought, "Christ, is this the best you've got?"

Three chords, blue jeans and a pickup truck

A six-minute solo and a whole lot of luck

You call it raw, you call it real

We call it something you hear at a county fair

While you're busy tuning up that twelve-string thing

We're writing hooks that everybody sings

Pre-Chorus

You got your whiskey, you got your road

You got another song about carrying a heavy load

We've got London rain and electric dreams

And records that changed what a guitar could mean

You need the South to tell you where you're from

We just pick up a guitar and fucking become someone

Chorus

We hate Southern Rock

All that twang and thunder, give it up

We hate Southern Rock

You need six guitars just to make one song

We've got the Beatles, Stones and Who

We've got the Kinks and Bowie too

You can keep your dusty Southern Rock

We'll show you how it's bloody done

Verse 2

Allman's playing down in Georgia tonight

Another man in sunglasses screaming about his life

The Allmans stretch one song past half past three

While everyone waits for the bloody melody

Dixie thunder, Southern pride

Another eagle flying on the album side

Meanwhile back home in a London pub

Someone's writing a song that'll outlive all of us

Pre-Chorus

You've got your bayou, you've got your blues

You've got a hundred different ways to say "I'm from the South"

We've got Manchester, London, Liverpool

Sheffield, Birmingham — now that's a proper school

You bring your boots and your bottle of Jack

We'll bring a Marshall and never look back

Chorus

We hate Southern Rock

All that twang and thunder, give it up

We hate Southern Rock

You need six guitars just to make one song

We've got the Beatles, Stones and Who

We've got the Kinks and Bowie too

You can keep your dusty Southern Rock

We'll show you how it's bloody done

Bridge

Double neck and a whiskey glass

Another guitar solo — oh, what a blast

Slide it left, then slide it right

Same bloody riff every Friday night

You call that freedom, we call that filler

Give us a microphone and we'll make it killer

You built a highway, we built a scene

You built a bar band, we built the British dream

Final Chorus

We hate Southern Rock

All that twang and thunder, give it up

We hate Southern Rock

You need six guitars just to make one song

We've got the Beatles, Stones and Who

We've got the Kinks and Bowie too

We've got punk, we've got Britpop

We've got records that refuse to stop

We hate Southern Rock

So keep your cowboy clichés and truck-stop blues

We hate Southern Rock

England's got a better song for you

You can keep your Southern Rock

We'll keep the bloody radio

We hate Southern Rock

And that's all you need to know