Mother? Mother? Mother?      Chorus:   She's the anti mother, mother is that you?   She's the anti mother, mother, mother is that you?      It's Myra Hindley on the cover,   your very own sweet anti mother.   There she is on the pages of the Star,   ain't that just the place you wish you were?   Let her rot in hell is what you said,   let her rot,   let her starve,   you'd see her dead.   Let her out but don't forget to tell you where she is,   the chance to screw her is a chance you wouldn't miss.   Let her suffer,   give her pain is the verdict you gave,   you just can't wait to piss on her grave.   You pretend that you're really horrified,   make out that you care,   but really you wish you had been there.   You say you can't bear the thought of what she did,   but you'd do it to her,   you'd see her dead.   Tell me,   what is the different between her and you?   You say that you would kill her.   well, what else would you do?   Don't you see that violence has no end?   isn't limited by rules?   Don't you see as angels preaching you're nothing but the fools?   Fools step in,   where angels fear to tread,   you see,   to kill others is the ethic of the dead.      Chorus      That single mug shot from the past   ensures your fantasy can last and last.   It gives you the chance to air your hate   because she got there first,   you were too late.   Hyndley's crime was to do what others think,   took her anger and her prejudice   and pushed it to the brink.   Then you goodly christian people,   with your sickly mask of love,   would tear that woman limb from limb,   you never got enough.   So you keep from the story alive,   so you can make yourselves believe,   that you are much better than her.   But you aren't,   that's your GUILT laying there.      Chorus