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My name is Malcolm McLaren
I have brought you many things in my time
But the most successful of all
Was an invention of mine they called punk rock

Anarchy! Anarchy!

Ah, let me start from the beginning
Find just out four kids
Make sure they hate each other
Make sure they can't play

There was Steve Jones
Eighteen years of age
A brilliant cateburglar
I nominated him guitarist

Light the fire!
There’s a fire, fire, fire, fire

Ah, there was another fellow, Paul Cook
Seventeen years of age
A phenomenal acrobat in A-1 condition
Always on time, he had to provide the beats

Fuck the rich up the arse!

Lurking in the corner of the shop
I noticed this Dickensian figure
Had it not been for his clear hair
I’d have thought him
Something out of “David Copperfierd”
I took the opportunity of confonting him
He pretended to think me an idiot, pushed me aside
When I learned he was Irish
And Steve saw his green teeth
We call him Johnny Rotten

Then there was Sidney, with a natural terrorist
Working in the clubs ensured him
That every gig the group played
Ended up in an unpredictable, bloody mess
Bashing and jumping all about
He invented the Pogo

I call them the Sex Pistols

With the line-up complete
We immediately set about
Putting our plan into effect
To swindle our way
To the top of the Rock ’n’ Roll industry
It was a plan that within two years
Was to bring us close to a million pounds

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