Panic at the disco - Build God, then we'll talk

tricky one now (i think) , good luck

Who needs lobotomy when we've got the ITV?
Who needs ECT when there's good old BBC?
Switch on the set, light up the screen,
Fantasise and dream about what you might have been,
Who needs controlling when they've got the cathode ray?
They've got your f***ing soul, now they'll fuse your brains away.
Mindless f***ing morons sit before the set,
Being fed the mindless rubbish they deserve to get.
Can't switch off big brother, they've lost all will to act,
Lost in drab confusion, was it fiction, was it fact?
Another plastic bullet stuns another Irish child,
But no-one's really bothered, no, the telly keeps them mild.
They've lost all sense of feeling to the every hungry glow,
Drained of any substance by the vicious telly blow.
No longer know what's real or ain't, slowly going blind,
They stare into the goggle box while the world goes by, behind.
The Angels are on T.V. tonight, grey puke f***ing s***.
The army occupy Ireland, but the boot will never fit