1. |
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Genetic mutations rot in stomachs from the factory lines / animal prison execution will block the bowels in time / rows and rows of plastic commodities will corrupt your mind / excess consumption aides in death but still is not a crime / a faceless market won't be blamed for murder and genocide /
Ancient corporate burial grounds
Human remains fossilized with plastic bag neckties / undersized, withered skulls house fiber-optic lines / side-by-side the neon signs protrude as bloodshot eyes / implanted deep within the ear synthetic remote device / such grotesque renovations came from devious minds
Ancient corporate burial grounds
All that we will be is buried in a plastic bag in the boot of an SUV / showing no signs of organic life, just merchandise machines / no connection to reality, just fucking a flickering screen / ancient corporate burial grounds is all that we will be
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2. |
Cars
00:56
|
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Damn right I'm in your way! All the way all fucking day, laughing at your clumsy steel crate. Struggling to negotiate a blocked up artery, driving round and round the block for park supremacy -- the epitome of stupidity!
As I fly by from A to B on my nimble single speed, 1 driver with 4 spare seats screams out of jealousy. Boxed in and backed up and paying through the teeth, the joke's on you not me -- I ride for free.
Damn right I'm in your way, all the way all fucking day laughing at your clumsy steel crate.
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3. |
George Street Neurosis
01:27
|
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Yuppie Longboard
Cellphone ringtone
Radio core
8 piece sushi
24 hour
city oak tree
fungicide breath
ciggy butt brain
the main street
is driving me insane
|
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4. |
Hairy Shame
04:40
|
|||
I am not supposed to be skinny, white and hairy
for I am supposed to be tanned, buff and shiny
at least that's what the TV and the magazines are showing me
|
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5. |
Fuckin H8rd
01:24
|
|||
Open the lines of hatred
let those synapses fire
stain the ECG red
Shake that cranium – make it hurt.
Crush the eye sockets
under my iron belted brow
turn my skin grey
with fuckin' hatred
Led weights pull my lips
walking the streets
grinding down my molars
with fuckin' hatred
Stuff my ears with felt
Mute the world outside
and stab my memories
with fuckin' hatred
Fantastic films roll in my head
of triumph, victory
and the words I never said
in fuckin' hatred
|
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6. |
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Radiation leaks and floats on the wind
Across the sea, and in front of me
Rubbish clings to black winter tree limbs
Behind the hills' silhouette, the sun sinks
It burns. It burns. It burns
Yellow rain falls on sunken iron roofs
Seeping through clothes; sinking into skin
It burns. It burns. It burns
Caricature no, conjecture no, Facts alone
What's the weather going to bring?
It's four generations' future told
they will be mutants, they will grow new limbs
they will piss in tubes and shit in bags
they will spend their days in wheelchairs
their parents will outlive their children
Their children will burn. Their land will burn
|
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7. |
The Power of Conformity
03:01
|
|||
When the lads are in are in our suits, we dominate the footpath space. When we're out on the booze, we always get our way. Like soldiers dripping out of a UNIMOG, our unified appearance white washes you all. Me and the Chads are going hunting for pussy, dressed up in ladies Sunday best
We are the thug-youth wing of the Hawks. We are the long, bling clad, arm of the law. My generalisations are just and come from a grounded place. I've discussed them thoroughly with my family and work mates. I feel entitled to explain the opinions of all drivers because I'm 45 and have a license and I can safely say, being male, that every guy on earth likes chasing tail.
Our gang is the punks!
our gang is the Chads!
Our gang is our school!
Our gang is the moms!
Our gang is the troops!
|
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8. |
Nostadium
02:54
|
|||
To Spend the Days of an Easy Life Asleep
Build the tower of a dream,
it's a viscous scene
On a square of turf gladiators clash
while the owners kiss on a pile of cash
A culture of victory, a culture of loss
needs to capture golden trinkets at any cost
The idol's head was squashed
into the dirt
Retribution!! Revenge and victory
played to a patriotic symphony
Symphony's funny here like a phony
symphony, or forgotten sympathy
life's reduced to a game in this sickest tragedy.
A simple game with simple rules
produces the necessary metaphors
For the easy life in which we sleep all day
and awaken in the weekend to watch professionals play
Stadium! I call you, Theatre of Distraction
Hegemonic Construction
Monument to Destruction
And above all,
A steaming pile of shit on the face of the earth,
A money making scam for Malcom Farry
The Farry friends
And other scummy fucks who'd be better off dead.
|
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9. |
Tern Away
04:55
|
|||
Tern Lost
Under the pewter surface, the sea is a rich mystery
for sure we don't know the nutrient sum of the great sunder.
sword fish, ray and marlin
slicing through the sun
is the gannet's beak cutting
loose the tale of blue fin
krill pumps, wheezing
before moonlit baleen
lifeless, white coral reefs are
the starving grimace of Oceania
Yargh! Counting down to bounty's end
from infinity and centuries
to decades and days
Coconut crabs make fine entrées
for whale and wasabi mayonnaise.
The sparkling jewels of the sea's glare
will soon be the only fare
for the deeps have been scoured
free of life and crystal clear.
Nothing will escape our nets. Nothing can escape our mighty gaff.
Flayed white bodies still signify life;
our epicurean bellies must be satisfied.
The port tolls billion-tonne bells
as we harvest the sea floor to gorge ourselves.
The Caspian is greener than ever before;
it's currents have swung to the north,
the pressure rises with the water;
our boats moor high above the jetty boards.
The villagers sing of fish no more,
no more
|
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10. |
Queen's Mug
02:25
|
|||
Her head is detached from her body
but not spiked on the palace gates
it's burning a hole in my pocket from the purchase that I just made
a nice reminder to me
of the bodies piled up
on the land that was cleared and claimed,
an army, a fucking flag,
an inbred imperial brain
Orchestrated speech for TV not begging for forgiveness, not a guilty plea...
"Merry fucking Christmas. Thank you for your obedience, cheers for all your money, thank you for not forgetting us. So here's to death for prosperity and more wealth for my rich family, without you... we would not exist"
will we have her head, or burn the flag instead
ignoring them doesn't work, and waving flags just makes it worse
Celebrity status grand baby's mainstream the regime
fight for the nation, fuck for the nation
in a glossy magazine
a fairytale tabloid porno for the patriots and the regal fanatics
and the whities with no other dreams
will we have her head, or burn the flag instead
ignoring them doesn't work, and waving flags just makes it worse
|
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