Detected Stuff Or Otherwise

by Various Artists



various stuff by various artists (including Mr Sok)
detected somehow by Ack!Ack!Ack! Records


released April 25, 2016

vocals by G.W. Sok
music by the Various Artists Involved



all rights reserved


G.W. Sok Amsterdam, The Netherlands

G.W. Sok co-founded The Ex in 1979 and was their singer and lyricist for 30 years. (See for their discography.) Since 2009 he is involved in various other musical projects, such as Detective Instinct (UK), Zoikle (NL), Beukorkest (NL), Cannibales & Vahinés (F), King Chsmpion Sounds (UK/NL), Filiamotsa (F)... ... more


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Track Name: G.W. Sok & the 3talians - Dew

A car passes by and stops near school
I carry your history books in a bag
you treasure your marbles like money
I cover my past wrapped in a flag

The things that we did for a living
we'll have to live with that or vanish or lie
the good life, isn't that what we long for
it's not just easy as American pie

Oh yes we die die die, death comes to all
fact is, change is the only Eternal
any flower girl will sprinkle daisy petals
like a personal gesture, clear as dew, maternal
Track Name: Detective Instinct - Gangrene

This country is crumbling to pieces
due to stupidity and slackness
it has itself an empire stolen
by the ancestors of Europe’s scum
who massacred the people, the innocent
who drugged their conscience…

And this poor rich continent developed
into a bastion of Modern Violence
slyly and invisibly conducted by a Big Clan
infecting the men in their masculinity
infecting the women in their femininity
they both don’t want to be parents anymore

It turns the women into
spoilt and spineless
cigarette-sucking, pleasure-seeking
poppy music loving
hysterically eye-rolling
foolishly finger-snapping
cool, empty armoured
whiskey drinking, clean
tranquilizers swallowing women
accompanied by dynamic
cigarette-smoking, alcohol-drinking
muscleless men
put up to buy cars
luxuries, brands wear
prostitutes, clothes
perfumes, holiday trips
insurances, more luxuries
and speedboats;

Smiling owners of Objects
gripped by Great Alienation
and the latent fear for their material future
carried away by a rhythm that no heart can endure
ruthlessly able to wreck the strongest nerves

Infected men
infected women
full-time serving on the Big Machine…
Track Name: Detective Instinct - Lore Of The Lamb

I was in prison, long ago
it was the first grade and
I had to take a well-you-know
the law says you must first raise your hand
and ask the teacher for permission
so I, obeyer of the lore of the lamb
am busy raising my hand to the führer
who says yes Thomas what is it?
and I, Thomas, I say

I… have-to-take-a… I mean, may-I-go

Didn’t you go yesterday, she says
and I say yes ma’am Mrs Parsley, Sir
but I have to go again today
but she says
it’s no, and I say eh?
and again she says no, but I go anyway
except that I do it not outside, but in my pants
why else would I have said

I… have-to-take-a… I mean, may-I-go

Six years old I was
and yet I guess that even then
I already knew the rule
I must obey and rule by law
and stick to all the regulations
of the lore of the lamb
otherwise I’m going to shit my pants
So next time
she’ll know I have to go, because
I’m gonna shit her pants
not mine
Track Name: Detective Instinct - Goof King W

So, basically, right, there once was this King, who was looking for a party. But all he saw was fucking snow. Meanwhile the frost was freezing his balls off. And then, as the moon shone bright that night, he suddenly noticed a poor old bugger looking for a chippy or something.

Apparently the King couldn't believe his eyes. Never seen a peasant before, I suppose. "For fuck's sake, what's that?” he asked. "Where the fuck does that come from?" And his servant said: "Oh, that guy he lives eh... over there, under the mountain-trees... You know, where Saint Agnes always used to piss like a dog."

"Well, you know what," the King then said, "let's bring that chap some bottles of booze and, eh... something to eat, and a couple of logs for the fire. So we can have a party, at hís place... Ha ha ha, let's go!" And thus they went, the King and his servant, into the fucking freezing cold.

After a little while, though, the servant started to complain. About the dark, the cold, the heavy wind... "Sire,” he said, “I'm really getting tired..." "Nonsense," the King replied. "Just tread in my footsteps, young man. 'Cause they will warm your feet like never before. Yohoho, and on we go!"

Now, according to the original story, this King became a Saint, right? Because he wanted to do some good to some poor fella. But obviously, the King was as mad as a nutter. No one in his right frame of mind would set off in the middle of the night, in the midst of winter, to carry all that shit by foot to a place really hard to reach. While, in the very first verse already, he could have simply invited that bloke in, for a meal...
But yeah, that would make a really lousy Christmas Song, eh?
Track Name: Detective Instinct - 2-2-3 Fridges

A car per person, will that be the rule
or a private jet for every other fool
and does each home need 10 rooms and a swimming pool
and why do we think that two to three fridges are cool
and these homes with those rooms, where we gonna build them?
and once they are built, how we're gonna fill them?

We lay claim to human genes
public archives, village greens
and we retreat to our gated communities
with sensors, guards, and closed-circuit TVs
we're not even surprised
why so many fences rise
we just lock ourselves in to lock others out
forgetting like fuck what life is all about
and all the junk we collect are substitutes and fractions
of what we used to call human interaction
we're not even surprised
why so many fences rise

Talk to your neighbours instead of to your telly
think with your heart and not with your belly
the nuts in our heads, are they brains or jelly
why not admit that the rats are too smelly
the rats are too smelly?
the rats are too smelly!...

When do we start facing all the damage we've done
when do we stop pretending that in fact there is none
when do we start doing things right instead of wrong
when do we stop pretending we can solve it with a song
talk to your neighbours instead of to your telly
think with your heart and not with your belly
the nuts in our heads, are they brains or just jelly
the rats, they are smelly
Track Name: Detective Instinct - Rid

There are many ways to kill someone
there are many ways to kill somebody
and all these ways, one must agree
have a lifelong guarantee

Let someone bite the bullet
stick a knife into his chest
do not cure him from his illness
health is such a costly pest

Don't put hunger on the menu
just deny him decent food
make him work himself almost to death
and then give him the boot

Stack him in a lousy home
and cage him like a rat
drive him towards suicide 
and that's the end of that

Or send him to war etcetera
hush-hush, rush don't hesitate
because only a little of all this 
is forbidden by the state

There are many ways to kill someone
there are many ways to kill somebody
and most of these, the judge agrees
have lifelong guarantees
Track Name: Detective Instinct - ABC & She

Apart from missing the
essential elemental skill
that comes in handy when applied to
a certain kind of cutting-up technique,
which one sometimes borrows
from this guy called Burroughs,
I can’t say I’m quite unique
in overestimating man’s abilities
to underestimate the toughness
of his very own physique.

Yesterday, at the DIY HQ,
I sliced my finger by mistake,
and thus this finger started vomiting
streams of blood, in all directions.
I got soaked in red substance,
and had to swim to the kitchen,
and cling to the sink
screaming for help.

Then luckily there was She,
rowing towards me.
With scissors, cheers, and yells of support.
And bountiful boxes of band-aid.
Bob Geldof nowhere in sight, of course.
But yes, She,
the true Mother of All Band-Aids,
saved me from drowning as such.
So, thank you.
Thank you thank you, thank you.
Very. Bleeding. Much.
Track Name: Detective Instinct - Crack-Attack

And as the leopardskin cat in the back of the limo said attack
with its driver going nuts about some cocoa
I felt even better than alive in this surreal free drive
but at the crack of dawn, everything was gone
and I ended up on a No Go lawn

"Keep off the grass"? well, kiss my ass
but going up in smoke is even less a joke

'Cause it's a crack-attack
hey man, where's the turning back?
it's a crack-attack, yeah
it's a this is where it's at
it's a No Go zone
don't just stand there like that, you know you're on your own
wanna be a wreck? then don't fight back
this is the dawn of crack, better get it off your back
it's a black'n'deckered backstab
a whacking cheap wrecking smack
the great leap back...
the i'm-not-alright-Jack
'cause it's a crack-attack

And though some uncool cat's dice raised the price
of this tempting paradise
from my stomach to my head, my heart said "do it"
I had to float and fly and feel the need to wallow in this extra seat
till I came home from the ball with a vicious fall
back into the circle that blew it all

'Cause it's a crack-attack...

Oh such euphoric oblivion
this invincible intoxication
then the unavoidable uncool collapse
I thought I could handle any situation
but with no way out I would have gone insane
the biggest kick was to remove the pain

Well I didn't count the score
of the times that I swore not to do it anymore
as it kept coming back like a pain in the neck
'cause it's a crack-attack
It's a crack-attack, Jack
but you see, I fought back
not sure if I'm cured but I've stood the test
it doesn't mean I'm better than the rest
I'm just not dead and I didn't go insane
there are other ways to deal with pain
Track Name: G.W. Sok - Watte?

Het kan best zo wezen dat ik vroeger wellicht
iets teveel zoop en iets teveel snoof
en dat ik sinds m’n jongste jaren
in geen een van de mij aangeboden goden geloof
en dat ik het destijds met m’n ouders
alleen eens was over onze generatiekloof
en dat ik veel van m’n praatjes jatte uit boeken
van een vast wel vage filosoof
en dat ik toen zeer regelmatig zonder een kaartje
de tram, trein of metro instoof
en dat ik al punkconcertenbezoekend
veel te weinig watten in m’n oren schoof
en dat ik op-en-neer dansend
de heen-en-weer-waai hippie in mezelf wegwoof
en dat ik thuis stiekem steeds vaker de volumeknop
steeds weer een stukkie verder verschoof
en dat ik ook nu nog geregeld de kleedkamerkoelkast
vol wijn, bier en whisky wegroof
en dat ik mezelf daarmee ook tijdens m’n werk
op stimulerende wijze verdoof
en dat ik daarna tot niets meer in staat ben
en zodoende niemand nog ooit iets beloof
en dat ik mij daarom, zelfs voor geen goud nee
nooit en te nimmer voor eikels uitsloof

En toch ben ik nu ontroerd, ontdaan, ontluisterd
door het inzicht dat in mijn gezichtsveld schoof
hoe meer ik beschreeuwd word, en keihard befluisterd
hoe meer ik hoor zeggen... nee, punk is niet doof