The Christians to the lions sold out every night.

Put all the pervs in jail, bring back the birch and cat-o-nine tails.

Long ago life was clean, sex was bad and obscene, and the rich were so mean. Stately homes for the Lords, croquet lawns, village greens, Victoria was my queen.

When I wrote the song, I had the sea near Bombay in mind. We stayed at a hotel by the sea, and the fishermen come up at five in the morning and they were all chanting. And we went on the beach and we got chased by a mad dog-big as a donkey. ... I think that songwriting changed when groups started spending more time in the studio. ... I've written so many songs about Englishmen, I have to go elsewhere. ... Our repertoire consisted of rhythm and blues, sort of country rhythm and blues, Sonny Terry things.

I like surfers. Their imagery, it's great.

In the end you become part of everything you hate, basically.

Powerman don't need to fight, powerman don't need guns, powerman got money on his side.