Tokyo Damage Report

mp3 post: i forgot to get a rap name!

 


download it here.

Buy it @ Aquarius Records online store. (you'll have to search for "Schultz")


Way back in 2000 I recorded a rap album. Did a couple of shows, too – at Gilman (?!?) and at a "rasputin's records rapper of the year contest" (basically a kind of anyone-can-enter star-search thing). 

 

Fun facts about the album:

1) Most of the songs were made by me improvising on a real drum kit, then sampling and looping bits of it. The bass – same way. I used the primitive 'cut and paste' function of the Roland V800 (digital 8-track studio) to add some loops, but at no time did i fuck with an actual sampler. 

2) This album ("I forgot to get a rap name!") came out way before Obie Trice ("Real name, no gimmicks"), and featured the phrase "cracker please" way before Ice Cube dropped his own "cracker please."  Plus the way Lil Wayne stole my whole "cannibal gay eskimo" image. (sighs). It never rains but it pours, such is life, etc.

3) the songs are arranged in alphabetical order.

4) The lyrics are silly out of neccesity – i couldn't very well perpetrate that I was a gangster, so I made up various other characters who would boast about their escapades in a rap format.

below: doing my thing (in hotpants), performing "pinkbeard" for a crowd of  dudes. There was dry-humping of dudes involved, I think. I knew I wasn't going to win, but my biggest regret was that I obeyed the rules of "no freestyles".  If I'd freestyled, it could have been something more than just a comedy/novelty act. But then again, the hotpants.

Word? My legs were shaved too. And the weirdest moment was yet to come: after the show, when the dude from Murder Dog magazine met my parents.

But that's another story.


CALL ME PINKBEARD, MISTRESS OF THE HIGH SEAS

This beat is interesting because there is no DOWNBEAT. Instead of an accent on the start of each bar, there's an uncomfortable PAUSE. Plus disturbing samples of whips and pitch-shifted screaming. The bass is really me playing bass, but the horn hits are James Brown.

Avast, ye sleazy swabs On the high seas, you're getting robbed
Just for sport I'll make your life "nasty, brutish and short" a la Thomas Hobbes
Even odds I'll leave your whole squad topsy-turvy
Never get scurvy cus I got more apples than Steve Jobs or even Steve Wozniack ….
"Are you a pirate?" Is Bill Cosby black?!?
Ahoy there matey, I'm coming sicker than rabies
Ye just can't fade me, I'm taking out your whole navy
But I'm not just a buccaneer, I'm a fuckin' queer
Going up in rears when I penetrate bodily
Naughtily introduce a cabin boy to the joy of sodomy
Even got the Three Musketeers hot for me
I don't need to be in port for them to be docking me
I don't hit more skins, I hits foreskins
Wenches don't even stimulate my endorphins
Sulfuric acid gets poured in, I make her kids orphans

Yo ho ho and a bottle of cum
And when ye're hanging with the Captain, You gotta be hung!

They calls me Pinkbeard , Mistress of the High Seas
You never seen pirate vessels like these:
Hot pink ships we're wearing lacy slips
Whips and chains everywhere but the brig
Fuck doing a jig, we vogue wearing wigs, dig,
I keep it real, Even my peg leg has a stiletto heel
Right up your rectum, now how that feel?
And when I board your vessel I don't just take over
I give your whole crew a makeover
A big pink dress, you're so small you don't need a gaff
Lose the parrot, it doesn't work with your sash
You make me laugh talking butch in your battle mode
Does your mom know you borrowed her paddleboat?
I'm depressing rappers, making them take Halcyon
They know they can't compete with my lyrical galleon
Acting hard in a kayak, you're gonna get hijacked
Paddling round looking more fruity than an I-Mac
Don't quit your day job arranging posies and lilacs
A big sack of tulips, while I'm making Gs on the high seas Blowing up cruise ships,
With cannons on deck and a fully loaded Tec I wreck the Love Boat
Tie up Captain Stubing with steel tubing and put a live stoat down his throat, when I stroke
I ain't shooting blanks when I'm seeing Issac's pictures in Yank.
Make Grover hand over the bank and then make him walk the plank
A shark don't fuckin' care if he's in congress. …Let's see who bleeds the longest

Yo ho ho and a bottle of cum
And when ye're hanging with the Captain, You gotta be hung!

With my cutlass I plunder a crew of gutless wonders
Ye landlubbers aren't fit to clean my scuppers
Batton down the hatches, you chickenshit bastards
I'm boarding your ship with a whip to give you fifty lashes,
Matches might burn your frigate to ashes,
So you better show me where your stash is,
It's hidden in the mattress, I go in and grab this; now I got your booty
Then I come right straight back and get your booty!
Even at sea I'm famous for burying my treasure in another man's anus,
Far from painless, I'm sadistic…. in the Pacific And satanic in the Atlantic
Sailing the Sargasso with no gerbil, a parrot's in my asshole
But to quote chairman Mao: "The revolution isn't going to be a tea party,"
You're gonna be sorry, Me hearties, When I take all your ducats,
leave your spleen bobbing in a piss bucket
Cus your idea of a fly rhyme is 'There once was a man from Nantucket.'
Trying to act rugged like a real pirate
Wearing a 2 dollar Cap'n Hook costume you need to be quiet, don't even deny it
Your Kmart price tag is showing, I'm blowing phonies up like the LA riots
Every fucking new jack here perpetrating they're the new Blackbeard
I call you Wackbeard let me make the facts clear
If you take the nines out your rhymes and the Tecs out your technique
Take the shots out your plots and you can't compete
You're weak; I sink your whole fleet cus I'm surly
What's up with your scurvy, looking like a freak
Trying to rap with no teeth in the Great Barrier Reef
While sharks circle beneath for the kill… lyrical skill?
You don't even have a modicum,
You make me sick to my stomach and my duodenum
Your rappin is like laudanum, it put me to sleep
I swear y'all rappers is nothing but sheep,
I'm surprised you ain't got Sherri Lewis' hand up your butt Like Lamb Chop,
While I got a man's cock And Jerry Lewis' hand up my butt.
I'm the slutty professor, the prostate molester, the faster fifi .
There's no limits to my golden showers so call me Master Pee-pee.

Yo ho ho and a bottle of cum
And when ye're hanging with the Captain, You gotta be hung!
 


FUCK A HARPOON

This beat is interesting because it speeds up. . . The start of each bar is about 80 BPM, and by the end of each bar it's 120 BPM. The overall effect is lurching and nauseating, i think. The harmonica is real, but the 'whale noise' is actually a Wookie. When I was re-creating this song, I had to watch the entire RETURN OF THE JEDI film just to get the one Wookie sound back! The bass part is half electric bass, half timpanni. The lyrics were inspired by Finky Bink$ and his partner Begit. They were going to put together an all-whale rap band called, uh. . .THE WHALE$. I was so excited by this totally random concept that I wrote this song to audition. It seemed appropriate to go with ORCA-LOC for my 'whale name'. . .The WHALE$ album never materialized, though. . .

…and you thought whale music was some new age shit for hippies to give birth to
You Jerry Garcia-looking motherfucker, don't make me hurt you
You're more chicken than Frank Perdue, yelling "run away! run away!" like the holy grail
You're bound to fail when you set sail, cus
I'm the wrooooooooooooooooong whale to fuck with
You get struck with the tail
I won't call you Ishmael, you went out like a bitch-male,
You'll wind up dead trying to catch me
I'm bringing more dread than Haille Selassie
And you axe me why I don't do your everyday whale music
I don't play that "Wooooooo wooooooooooooo" shit
I'm on some new shit, that'll make your whole crew shit
When they see 120 feet of carnivore coming hardcore off the ocean floor
While you're sitting on shore eating S'mores

Fuck a harpoon!! Fuck, fuck, fuck a harpoon!

Fuck human mc's, whether Asian, Haitian or Caucasian
It's the rapping cetacean who's living larger than Perry Mason
I'm raising Cain all over creation
I'm your master from here to Alaska
Ask da Chief why he has ta
Kill my brother to feel all tribal
Did you ancestor hunt with an M16 rifle?
Get your hand grenade out, your shit's played out
Don't say nothing, just fade out, you get laid out
When I bitch slap you with my tail fin
For killing my whale kin
On the totem pole you're the Lowman like Death Of A Salesman,
You're liked (but not well liked)
I cause heap big ruckus on the mike

Fuck a harpoon!! Fuck, fuck, fuck a harpoon!

I got the skills to fill my grill with billions and billions of krill
Face to face with my maw full of baleen,
You want to vanquish me, kid, quit your daydream,
I shoot a 50 foot stream, out of my blow hole
I ain't a pirate but I still got "Yo Ho"
And his hoe and their hoe, and uh, even her ho, I'm burning hotter than Sterno
With more action than any X-rated media
I get horny like a narwhal; if you don't get it, crack open your fuckin' encyclopedia
It's the aquatic ghetto homie with more dick than Moby
Going up in more vaginas than O.B.
Eating surfers wearing gear from Hobie, and O.P.
Fuck the Source, I got more Force than Obi Wan-Kenobi
Fuck Marine World, they can't hold me.
I escape up the English Channel, a marine mammal not a fish
We suckle from tits straight from the nipple
Call me a shark and wind up a cripple like Ahab
Why? Cus Homie don't uh…. uh…. cus Moby don't play that!

Fuck a harpoon!! Fuck, fuck, fuck a harpoon!

Fuck running MC's, I run seven seas like an admiral
Even Jaws has to run and hide from my mandibles
You must be loony trying to harpoon me
I'm "quicker than the human eye," like Hong Kong Phooey
I don't go crying to Greenpeace for protection
I fart in your general direction, blow a hole in your midsection
Bite off your erection–OOPS, my bad!
It was so small I thought it was a brine shrimp
Got a stable of manatees cus I am the fly pimp
 


I GOT BIGGER HAIR THAN ROBERT SMITH

The beat on this song is just a rip of BAUHAUS' big hit, 'bela lugosi is dead.' I'm rapping in an archaic RUN-DMC style because that was big at the same time that goth was big. Like some 1986 guy was really confused.

I got bigger hair than Robert Smith
Use Aqua-Net for the extra lift
You say Goths can't rap? that's just a myth
I got more flavor than Skippy or Jif

Regular or even chunky style
I spruce up the gloom with a brand new funky style
My rapping is so scary that everyone left
And I named my band Christian Def!

Stole a fat beat from the Sisters of Mercy
Nickname 'Count Vlad' but real name Percy
Slit my wrists and my mom called the nursie
Compared to me even Ian Curtis is perky
What's my name?
Christian DEF

I consider it my duty to imitate Siouxie
You sucker-ass Goths wind up looking like Hootie
You're going bald, you got 3 kids, and
You're still trying to be spooky ? That's dookie!

I'm on the dark side, just like Darth
Your bitch trying to look like Louise Brooks, but she looks more like Garth
Funkin' up the cemetery with my crazy new vibe
Not Samoan but I'm still down with the BOO T.R.I.B.E!

New Jack Goths faint when they see my picture
Why? I'm more 'Scarey' than Richard
In my hooptie hearse I'm driving through the hood
Sucking on a 40 ounce full of type o blood

I got a full clip so's I can slaughter shit
Plus one in the chamber just like Roderick
So duck when I'm firing, I'm loud like a siren
Got more rhymes than Lord Motherfuckin' Byron
What's my name?
Christian DEF

Can I get funky? No problem
Even make Roz Williams shake his ass in his coffin
Gangstas used to be hard but now they fall behind
Cus we got a bigger body count at Columbine

Death rockers are running shit and I'm not bragging
If you got a solid-gold casket, I'm jacking
Fully strapped with these fangs I'm packing
I'm a thugged out Goth and my fishnets are sagging

And to the left, y'all, and to the left, y'all,
because my motherfuckin' name is Christian Def y'all
And to the right, y'all, and to the right, y'all,
Because I prey upon the living at night, y'all!
 


MMMANIAC WITH AN IGLOO

The beat here is a waltz. This is the only song where the bass is fake. Guitar's real though. this dates back to '93.

So you want to rub noses
Like the Eskimoses
I suppose dis might shock you
A walk through my psychosis
It grows like osmosis
Not a good prognosis
I grab my harpoon and serve you like Hostess
I'm a Maniac With an Igloo
not a shack or a lean-to
I'm not making fondue
I'm waving a harpoon
you say, "Watch where you're aimin' dat!"
But I don't give a fuck; I'm an Eskimo maniac
Serial killer, the Norman Bates of the Arctic
I don't hesitates to start shit
When I kick
Now I got blood on my Mukluks
Tough luck, dumbfuck
I'll make you upchuck when I
Swing, diddy, swing, diddy, swing with my nunchucks
Don't play by the handbook, so motherfuck Nannook
Jeff Keedy needs to go the fuck back to Cranbrook
Give you a hotfoot to see if you're flammable
They call me a cannibal
And it's so true
You're next for my home brew cus I need some mo' stew
Nibble your toes and compose an ode to
Death and destruction
I have no compunctions
About taking my truncheons to schmucks with no clue
Leaving them code blue
I scrape 'em like tofu from beneath my snowshoe
I go through
A sucker like a hot knife through butter so
Lock all your doors and shut all your shutters
You'll wind up in gutters cus I swings the mad putter
Like Arnold Palmer, or the Mad Bomber
Step to me kid and you know you're a goner
I'm fearless, I'm fearless, like Richard Ramierez
When I'm not on the mic rocking
I'm out night stalking
Step up son and wind up like Stephen Hawking!


OTHER PEOPLES' HYPOTHALAMI

Another '93 rhyme. . . .and  another wacky 'no-downbeat' beat. There's a sample of a trumpet imitating a horse. I actually coudln't re-locate the original sample so I went nuts and just sampled the old version of this album, horn, drums, bass, and all! The vocals are too low in the mix, I'm sorry.

The lyrics are about some medi-evil duke who is a perverted alchemist. He thinks he can make an immortality potion if he takes bodies of peasants killed by The Plague, and cuts out their hypothalami. (a little lump of tissue in the center of your brain, by the way. Controls the body's response to heat, among other things. . . ) Then he sticks them, well just read the lyrics.

Complete the
Funk exam, (an A-plus jam), a
Ramalama ding dong, anthropoid like
King Kong. Sing a song of sixpence,
Pocket full of lint. By dint of my
Intelligent flow, I go mo' than a stint
(More analogous to an eon).
I freeze your hypothalamus with freon,
Ya peon.
I'm the lord o' the manor, waving my banner
It says "Bad Mama Jamma."
East of Alabama, and right by Avalon
I have a long arm cus I'm the law, like
Judge Dredd, but if I have a grudge I don't bust lead.
I behead, and keep your noggin.
My hip-hoppin's so funky that it's still noddin'.
Trodden
Down masses can't resist.
I won't desist until they don't exist any longer.
I'm stronger so I find a new land to conquer
And rob their glands cus I'm bonkers.
Lands
I dominate by Divine Right
I got it all like a hermaphrodite
Quite
Frankly, I might rank me the
Number one Lord, I get bored with my fief I want
Another one
Horde
Of rabble greets me, babbling they should teach me
A lesson, but did I mention that I'm a conniver?
I improvise like MacGuyvver.
Thinking fast, I ask if they can fight good.
Then I co-opt 'em and give 'em all a knight hood.
Now instead of swiping me with axes, they're collecting my taxes
Just for a teeny-tiny cut of the gross
I'm a Limey so what, can I boast?
I got a money glut, shillings up my butt.
A big bank maker, rolling in dough like some epileptic baker.
Shaker
Furniture is so functional.
Antiquitarian, agrarian cultures are so punctual
Up at dawn, toiling in boiling heat, cutting wheat til dusk
Then husk til day-break, it may make your heart freeze
If you're P.C. but in reality I exploit any breed or creed
Heed
The lyrical lines or bleed from a spherical cavity
In your torso, it had to be a rock,
Chock full of morsels
From my catapult
Turning a happy man into a sad adult….
Bad result for you, but it's the Dark Ages.
Single deaths don't even make the back pages
Outrageous brutality is the status quo, Bro
So the plague is the baddest show in town
What a letdown– only one in three hit the ground.
Infected, collected– what's the sound?
Bells tolling, wheels rolling
"Bring out your dead, cus they're getting swollen!"
And all their loot gets stolen: that's your pay for risking delay
But to me, it's just another business delay

……You might say I'm an asshole, safe in my castle, yelling:
"Keep dying, cus I need a new passel of hypothalami!"
And if I get caught, I've got a psycho-alibi
But who'd apprehend me? Offend me and I'll rend thee
Limb from limb. Grim Reaper is prim and proper compared to me
The head lopper: you're scared to be near a
Hip-hopper operating so carelessly
Fearlessly dissecting a section gives me an erection
Expand my selection,
Collection of glands for twisted romance
I'm sick like Gilles de Rays, a disgrace to France
My Frog analog: He's kinda odd…
Flipping young kids like Pogs
But west of the channel, I confess that I handle
Parts of the endocrine system
To get me all loopy and spend my own jism
Like fission I get hot with a plot or a mission
But far from impossible, so fuck Tom Cruise
More bad news: I'm irresponsible and sexually freaky
Like Siegfried and Roy, but not so sneaky:
I repeat my joy at every opportunity to unleash my lunacy
With impunity, and then I'm soon to be
Inheriting more glands; maybe it's your glands
I don't ignore glands that live above the neck
Pale li'l specks, I collect, inject like Ben-Wa balls in my rectum
Squeeze 'em, skeeze 'em, eject 'em and freeze 'em
In my museum of madness, but with a method:
Death'd be waiting for me 'round the corner, but I said:
"Fuck a coroner!"
Cus dying's for pawns. I go on and on
I'm strong and wrong like Nomeansno are
But so far I ain't been corrected
Collected all the endocrine organs, I'm evil like Morgan
LaFey, my prot?g?. We inveigh
Against morality in pursuit of immortality
In a fit of hubris, I said "Fuck Anubis!"
I'm not going to the underworld cus I'm the rudest
Motherfucker since Judas, I thought you knew this:
I've got a mean streak like a rabid nudist
Let's do this cus I deserve to be preserved
For posterity, I dare to be defying the laws of God
Trying to cause an odd reaction
Taxing serfs for organs, which I'm porking with relish
May I embellish how I do this?
Ejaculate juices, so it can marinate
Those who debate, break like Sharon Tate
It's the alchemist, with the lyrical catalyst
Battle this? You must be loco
So go play possum like Pogo,
Or I'll call my Yeomen, to split you wide open
I'm hopin' to complete alchemical feats
Cheat the Reaper with liter after liter of potions and lotions
Flowing out of beakers,
To come back from the dead like Woody in "Sleeper."
Jeepers
Creepers
Where'd you get those peep– er, I mean hypothalami?
How am I doing so far?
I'm blowing my Shofar, but I'm not atoning
I'm boning
Glands in my land, in my fief, like a thief I've got plans
For your property. Who's stopping me? Mocking me
Is a capital crime. It's time to wind up the rack or
Smack you in a gibbet. Grab the 9-iron, guess what?
your head is a divot. I'm livid. I'm trouble like triffids.
I'm causing many modes of harm.
It says "Bad mother fucker" on my coat of arms
Can I……………….

……………Pause for some vivisection?
I drop my drawers and cleave your neck in twain.
Sticking my dick in, I pop like champagne.
You might complain that it's kinky to
Fuck a brain when it's all dead and stinky, but
I'm psycho like Hinkley, so motherfuck Jodie
You know me
I'm down with O.P….
H!!

Other People's Hypothalami!
 


RAP-METAL IS FUNNY

Some rappers have gotten famous for their 'off-beat' vocal styles. I decided to go them one better by creating   a drumbeat that was totally off-beat, but RAP IN SYNCH with it. Ho ho ho. The guitar noises were created by making the strings totally slack.

Written in 2000. Which explains but does not excuse the dated references to RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE. but whatever, i still hate that fucking band.

Your rap-metal imitations are comical
You're almost as funny as reruns of Luann in the SF Chronicle
Why you try to hug the testicle of a vegetable?
A big snack of Korn Nuts, why don't you swing on John Zorn's nuts?
But you can only copy from each other….you're clones
With double y chromosomes, I'm thinking maybe you got the same mother
Your styles is inbred, how you gonna act black looking like a fuckin' skinhead?
God damn, I'd think twice
If my favorite bands had the same producer as Vanilla Ice,
now you're giving up your butt for half-price, You funk-metal swingers!
Wearing mink stoles with hairy legs, looking like Klinger,
Trying to get a Section 8, with erections going straight up your sphincter,
Expect some hate from this crazy-ass singer,
You a lazy-ass singer cus you're scared to be yourself:
You buy your vocal effects right off the shelf from Trent Reznor,
He told me he likes it better when you take out your dentures.
Meanwhile, I'm having adventures with your old lady.
Come home and she's smothered in gravy and pork chops, now you hate me.
I go to Haiti and make me a voodoo doll
And stab it in the eyeball.
Your eye falls out your skull in a concert hall, while you scream "Dagnabbit!!"
Some fat fanzine dude grabs it and wants to know, can you autograph it?
(That's really fucked up.)
I been from New Orleans to Grand Rapids
From S.F. to Soho,
I have yet to find a band with a more complete checklist of no-no's
Your style is stale like a 1972 Ho-ho covered in grease and roaches
Getting toasted with Sterno by a toothless old hobo, and even he don't want seconds
I'm wreckin' your time-share condo
Erasing the master tapes of your solo, while you say "Oh-oh"
Try and stop me throwing copies of your promo
Into the commode till it explodes cus they're sloppy
You ain't no Tom Joad, with grapes of wrath,
You're taking bubble bath with members of Depeche Mode, you're getting rode.
So now you're mad; you want to murder me
You punch so light I thought you was trying to flirt with me
Can Curly beat you on every mental IQ test known to mankind? Soitanly!
You funk fakers! You ain't never heard'a these bands like Ohio Players,
or War, you ain't hard core….Straight Vanilla flavored,
You ain't illa….Your little sister hangs out with ravers
On your heaviest day headbanging, you secretly wanna be as hard as Jim Neighbors
You should "begin again!"
Take those baggy pants to the fuckin' tailor
Get some nice suits made up like the JB's,
Maybe you heard the Godfather, but turned it off cus he wasn't all distorted and peaking
You never even heard real metal like Dark Throne or Weakling
Desperately Seeking Success, but you never found 'cess'.
Fess up you ain't really hard
A New York singer still getting your ass beat by a dwarf mime in a leotard
and your guitarist ain't even help while you're lying on the pavement crying
He's trying to tune down from E to drop D to drop C
What the fuck does it matter which key you go "Juh-juh" in?
Why don't you tune down to 5 hertz?
Then I don't have to hear your guitar sounding worse
You ain't even diverse,
Your every verse on every song remains the same without exception
You shoulda became a clone of Led Zeppelin, but you didn't wanta risk it:
Play it safe and suck a limp biscuit
A tisket
A tasket,
What's up with your pop being a midget mascot?
In a chicken costume, he's got a hatchet
I'll make like the Jerky Boys and rap your fuckin' skull in with a ratchet, sizzle chest
Nevertheless you profess to being cutting edge, underground, AND cutting edge, ho
RUN DMC was doing that style back when you were wetting beds, ho!
na na na NA, na na na NAAA-nuuh! Walk this way and raising hell,
Now I smell rectums on your breath…you ain't so def,
But Def Jam invented that whole plan as a marketing scam, funk metal was a pop crossover
Fifteen years before you claimed it's hardcore, so I'm taking your props over.
You get tossed over by a one knot zephyr, light as a feather,
If I wanted to hear something heavy, I'd listen to your moms talk: she's a heifer.
Never funky,
You can't syncopate it…I hated your whole album,
Howcum if you're so hard you sound note for note like Mr. Mister?
Your drummer will never be a tenth as funky as Black Sabbath's The Wizard,
Bill Ward, but you get ignored.
Fuck your cheesy one finger power chord…You're living measly!
Trying to flirt, show your skull tattoo to a VJ
Think you're down with hip hop cus you get a DJ to scratch 3 seconds on a fuckin' chorus?
Make like Natasha and suck on my Boris
I'm "Badenov" for all you Vanilla Ice clone whippersnappers
Back in the 80's you all wanted to sound like the Chili Peppers, BENCH!
I'll put you under that bridge, with cement foot gear
Look here,
Pantera's Dime Bag Daryl Hannah sucks my urine like root beer.
Fuck no, you can't have a straw. Get it raw.
It's weird that I saw Boy George break your fuckin' jaw and steal your beard…
what's up with that?
Your singer backstage with a cat-in-the-hat drinking a smart drink of wee-wee,
Saying your next CD will sound just like The Orb, While he makes out with Reverend Norb…
(You knew about that, right?)
Your Depends are failing to absorb, now your shit's spreading like bad trends.
Friends tell you to switch to colostomy bags, but you don't listen
You need to be quittin' your Black Sabbath fake riffin',
get back in the kitchen and bake me some Zingers,
Your homie couldn't play like Tony Iommi if he had twelve fingers: You're slipping.
The only Machine Head you're getting is the head of the vibrator you're sitting on.
I could do a whole song on the next band I'm shitting on.
Slaves to the machine, I mean
Rave Against the Machine, I slays your whole team
You betrays your whole scheme by trying to portray
You're red like Che,
Still get overpaid when you play, and sound more feminine than Sade
Like the Mighty Thor, "I say thee nay, villain!!"
Bob Dylan smacked you up for stealing his nasal whiney style…
Zack de la Phoney, you can snack on my sac de la cojones
He's telling me to phone his moms cus she's lonely
I ain't got time to fuck your mother
She's gotta stand in line, and take a number
See, my schedule is kind of tight this summer
Whatever A&R man signed you made a blunder
He must wonder if it was worth the blow job
I ain't fooled by your snow job
If it wasn't for dog pornos, you wouldn't have no job whatsoever
You're in leather you're getting schnauzers
Kid, you're going lower than Bowzer
 


STALKING MAURY POVITCH

OK, here's the world's first rap IN SEVEN. The shaker is a mason jar full of coffee beans. There's toy flutes in the mix, played backwards. The lyrics are this weird Oedipal drama featuring Maury, his wife Connie, and myself. This is– regrettably– the only real 'storytelling' rhyme on this album.

Here's another off-kilter story
About a sick little bastard named Maury Povitch,
Asked me for my autograph and I said, "Hell no, bitch!"
You no-talent TV tabloid Jerry Springer ringer I break your thumb and two of your fingers
Now you make the devil sign at all times with splints on
Kid you need to go hide out just like Thomas Pynchon
I mean lay low, You're way low for TV let alone basketball
Drag your midget ass and cheap suits to a David Lynch casting call
Talking backwards….
Need to quit, you're washed up, go in a Deicide pit and get moshed up; kid you're old !
Go get a job selling Viagra like Bob Dole
Fuck your talk show, me and a pissed-off, upstaged Geraldo are going to roll
Up on your stage, on BMX bikes under klieg lights fuck using the hand brakes,
We pop wheelies on your face, I'm taking over, hit the road,
"Tonight's episode: short, Semitic, cheap-suit-wearing, trailer-trash-exploiting, prosthetic-chin-cleft-having, wig-flaunting , Rikki-Lake-wanting-to-be schmucks, and the tire irons they get impaled on…"
But I get flailed on,…when security comes crawling out the wood work,
Put me in choke holds, you're saying 'Good work!' as medics strap you to a gurney,
I don't need no stinking attorney I play the judge tapes of your show and he lets me go.

Now I'm back to square one, while Povitch is in a penthouse brothel spanking bare buns
Snorting cocaine out of Rupaul's ass crack, while I plan my counterattack
An obsessive villain, with blueprints of the NBC building I'm plotting a killing,
Sneaking in through air ducts to bring danger to your chamber,
In the roof I'm like a fire sprinkler urinating on your pregnant hillbillies in the green room Now it's a yellow room. I change your whole tune
Audience is wondering what's taking so long, what's wrong is you can't find your toupee, Running round bald as I sashay down the hall wearing it as a merkin
Pantsless, in full view of the crew…duck in the NBC broom closet and I'm jerkin
You shouldn't'a made fun of me now you're living in great fear
Make like Shakespeare and get thee to a nunnery, put on a wimple
Before I surrender to the temptation of fucking you in your grotesquely huge chin dimple
On the evening news. giving views… ABC, NBC, prime time replay on Nightline,
Ted Koppel observe my spooge.

Sentenced to 3 years at Bellvue, getting cards from Hinkley saying "Get Well Soon",
You get nervous when I plea bargain down to community service;
I still got the same purpose; that just means I cap you while wearing a orange vest.
Like trash by the side of the highway except I'm cleaning up the motherfuckin' airwaves…
Fuck Maury, you're scared, on TV saying you're sorry… you want your legs back….
"Don't leave me this way" like the Communards…
That shit just bores me, now you've got bodyguards
Getting paranoid scared YOU'LL be making money for the OTHER tabloids:
"Weak talk show host kidnapped by Unidentified Frying Rapper, got a Big Foot….
in the ass now his career's deader than Elvis"
With my crazy Mafia uncle's car bomb to set your chariot on fire a la Vangelis
Cower, you poltroon! That's no idle threat…someday soon you'll vanish from the set
Ain't found till 3 days after when the janitor finds your body swinging from the rafter
What a disaster, neck snapped…you were hung,
How'd you ever get the balls to marry Connie Chung?
How do you know what she wants? You're whiter than a Viking
Looking for Suzy Wong trying to be a Rice King; that's wrong
Just cus she's got low self esteem and an Electra-Daddy complex
You buy her a Rolex and then hit her up for the sex
But after the wedding ring's on she finds out there's something wrong with your Ding-Dong
You're the King of Clap, you got a royal drip
Can't get your wife pregnant cus your mohel slipped
"Oy Gevalt!" now people starin'… you got a nub; your marriage is barren
I'm not caring until you got the nerve to blame the whole thing on Connie
You a bigger punk than Donny, I swear to God
In all honesty, I'm stalking you like the King of Komedy
I'm your own personal hater sending you spooky messages on your text pager
"I'll see you later"… send you to meet your Savior with less mercy than Slayer,
Ambush your bodyguards in the elevator with sarin gas
Like Shoko Ashahara …..they won't live to see tomorrow
It's all in my plan with language of the damned like
"Harbinger of Sorrow" …. psycho like Manson
I come through the roof with my gas mask on
In time to see you expire like Mike Bascom
You might think it's indecency, when I'm screaming in your dying ear :
"Tell me the frequency!!"
Drag the body through sewers to the Hayatt Regency
It's a caper, I'm Forging adoption papers with your fingerprints for conspiracy
The cops come, fuck that, Now I'm legal don't have to run…
Calling Connie Chung saying "I'm your new adopted son"
 

3 comments Tags: ,

3 Comments so far

  1. Tim Drage September 2nd, 2010 7:12 am

    So great that you're posting this stuff! ^_^

  2. chris catfood September 2nd, 2010 10:25 am

    i actually found this CD at thrillhouse records in san francisco last summer!

  3. sephim September 3rd, 2010 6:56 am

    I think this is still available through Aquarius and at last contact (May this year), there were 4 copies left of Stalin Claus Superstar…

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