Tokyo Damage Report

mp3 post: Fish Supply Failing



 

download here.

 


BAND: FISH SUPPLY FAILING
ALBUM: BLOTTALGORE
YEAR: 1999 OR 97?
PERSONEL: crow (guitar, vox), me (drums, bass, vox), ange (occasional belly-dance drums).
 
 
 
FISH SUPPLY FAILING (one of the many thousands of bandnames left-over from the epic Finger Lickin’ Grout marketing and focus-group sessions) was the sort of rappin’ side-project of Adjetive Noun. Except it had nothing to do with the Noun. Well, besides the Noun never being able to get gigs, so we were bored. Me and Crow (the guitarist of Adjetive Noun, formerly of Abnormal Growth)  had some free time, so we formed a two-man rapping and rocking band. Maybe “band” is a bit strong of a word for it. It was more like a musical game, based on lyrics. The rules of the game were: one guy would write a line (the more absurd the better), and the other guy would have to write the second line. The second line would have to a) rhyme, and (much more difficult), b) somehow make sense of the first line. Using this “exquisite corpse MC” technique, we were able to come up with stuff like:
 
fillet my penis and serve it to Prince / this is by far the worst of Heloise’s hints
 
or
 
I get busy with baboons and messy with marmosets / I get more mammal ass than your average farmer gets
 
or
 
i’m going to  circumnavigate my bladder just like jerry lewis /
a felon like magellan, navigating like a nudist
 
Then we’d write music using the Abnormal Growth method of trying to use a different genre for every song.

 
Blottalgore was the second demo from FISH SUPPLY FAILING. The title comes from the two basic themes of the record: BLOT (the famous Viking sacrifice) and Al Gore (the famous Presidential sacrifice).
 

It was originally going to be just BLOT, but. . . well. . .. Al Gore just took over! The Al Gore theme was neither an endorsement of dude, nor a rebuke. It was just like, after noticing that we’d name-checked Gore twice, we became aware that there were about a DOZEN other lyrics elsewhere on the album, that SOUNDED VERY CLOSE TO AL GORE: “alligator”, “alamode”, “a whore”, etc. And we resolved to not let this rad coincidence go to waste, quickly changing all the lines to be AL GORE, whether it made any sense or not – including the title of the whole album! Basically we were doing a parody of our own songs, before they were even finished.
 

LYRICS AND  PRODUCTION NOTES;

 

BLOT INTRO:


We begin by making a musical “sacrifice” to all the “gods” that make up the F.S.F. “pantheon” ? the  fellas that keep cropping up in our lyrics. The chomping sound is because  blot -according to Wikipedia – often “took the form of a sacramental meal or feast.”  So we’re offering an overview of our world, and thanking the people at the same time. The opening sample is, I believe, Leslie Nielsen.


SATAN CAVORTS THROUGH THE MEMBRANE

he dwells inside a sickle-cell
planning a scheme to tickle Hell
Satan cavorts through the membrane
but gets rather surly sitting in traffic in Brisbane
so the sickle cell pops out of Kissinger’s earlobe
and lodges up his butt when he gets his ass probe
finding a polyp, he flirts like a trollop:
“if you don’t come with me, babe, i’ll give you such a wallop…!”
at his behest they elope through his breasts
and go back in thru his urethra to invite more guests
like a gay sperm cell dressed as Marie Antoinette
he’s huffing an puffing like a crazy with Tourette’s
keeping a ribosome and DNA as pets
he’s catchin hemoglobin in his nets
and eats till he gows to the size of a Kobold
then bursts through Kisssinger cus he is so bold!
like “Alien in Brisbane Part II:  The Hurting!”
or “Harold and Maude”  meets “Godzilla” in “the Splurting!!”

 


KUMQUATS AND QUARKS (CIRCUMNAVIGATE MY BLADDER JUST LIKE JERRY LEWIS)

The song opens with an odd bass  – actually a sine-wave from an electric tuner, recorded through a wah-wah pedal.

Also: just for a change, we are singing the raps on this one. Probably it would be more of a switcheroo if the song were not at the beginning of the album, but oh well!

The bell is an actual cow-bell (the kind that hangs round the cow’s neck).

The violin is probably the first time I’d ever picked up one in my life. Thanks to cut-and-paste technology, my sloppy fuckups can be repeated with mechanical precision on every measure.

Also, Tom Arraya “makes a noise like a Hessian,” along with Frank Zappa.

kumquats and quarks, and things that seem neato
like pat robertson in a speedo
showing his bulge like my uncle vito
barfing up a refried ghandi burrito
singing falsetto in the warsaw ghetto
“If I were a rich maaaaaaaaaaaaaaan” like Paul Dianno
rockin like reagan and menachem begin
but when I bust shots, you’ll wind up like sadat
or a sadistic hawaiian, perot, or pol pot
sailing a yacht “straight up your poop chute,
i-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi!”….I put the

naughty back in nautical when I get scatalogical
using a proctoscope instead of a monocle

this here’s a chronicle of my ill-fated
escapade   I confess it made no sense
cus i’m mad, i’m mad as  as a hatter i’m going to
circumnavigate my bladder just like jerry lewis
a felon like magellan, navigating like a nudist
or amerigo vespuchi, who’s somewhat of a hoochie
him and marco polo going doggie style with
“poochie the rocking dawggg”:  he’s the crudest!

a creepin’ and a crawlin’ like savvy bhuddist
I’m gonna spank your tuchus with george lucas
he’s coughing up mucus on the seat of your bloomers
now i’m going to sit and dine on your tumors
selling all your humors to the good humor man:
black bile, green bile, blood and lymph glands
hands down i’m the klown making’ em go ‘Boo Hiss!’
with a toga like brutus, and a tutu like desmond

am I looking GQ?  no question
here’s today’s lesson:  make a noise like a hessian
“yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”  it’s your duty
to get the poker from colonel mustard and kill hootie
shaking my booty on an ark made of leather
sharing my cooties with birds of a feather
I’m a postulating prophet sitting on my toffet
if a smurf comes my way i’m going to grease it up and boff it


FEED THE EXTRA PARTS TO AL GORE LATER


This kind of stop-and-start, call-and-response song is known as a “cake-walk.” (most famously, “Mannish Boy” by Muddy Waters and “Moving To Flordida” by the Butthole Surfers).

But instead of alternating vocals and instruments, we flip the script: it’s  vocals AND instruments alternating with the SOUND EFFECTS of the vocals.

For instance, the line “Lemmy’s hijacking the lute from a quadriplegic troubadour” is followed by the sound of a lute being hijacked by Lemmy.

Then at the end, it does something else. The transition is in five/four time and involves an elevator full of fetuses.

I crashed my schooner into hugh hefner’s gnu  (boom!   Moooo!)
so he plays a funeral dirge on his digerey-dooo  (mmmmmmmbnmnmnnm)
australian ditties make me wanna cut a rug  so I jump off the deck      (whoosh, thud)
and start doing the frug  (go go 60’s music)
dance a hoochie koochie with kristi yamaguchi   (turning japanese)
who pulls off her mask and reveals that she’s el duce (four-f club)
I yell:  shiver me timbers and lance all me boils (shivering noise, splat)
save all the juice for the thirsty mohels (glug glug glug glug)
they’re going head-hunting with the wild men of borneo  (hugga mugga, hugga mugga!!!)
screaming ‘lookout!!!” like ronnie james dio (sabbath sample)
back in the lab I syntheszye an elk   (construction noises, elk sample)
with an  ovum of cher and the sperm of lawrence whelk  (what the hell does lawrence whelk sound like??)
it’s ogling the boobs of a wealthy old dowager  (boioioioiong!!)
pretending they’re the  moles of lemmy kilminister (ace of spades)
lemmy’s heisting the lute from a quadraplegic trubador  (plucking lute noises)
chop off his arms and legs and stick them in the humidor  (whack whack, thud)
then file’em down till they’re nothing but a stub   (filing sounds)
put ‘em in my shorts as I sail down to the club  (sailing and waves)
where darth vader lapdances are all a the rage  (kazoo strip music)
obi juan’s on the pole and chubacca’s in a cage  (wookie noise)
gilligan won’t stop giving me head so  (theme song plus slurping)
we made him jack off with the greatful dead  (??)
now he’s eating pavarotti’s weenie garnished with scallopini  (chomp chomp)
regurgitates it twice and feeds it to fellini  (bleaaaaaaaah, “bene!!”)
who whips out his camera and films a naked shirley feeney  (theme, plus whistling)
I try to leave cus the scene was getting too steamy   (slamming door, footsteps)
but three legged fetuses clogged the escalator  (crying plus mechanical buzz)
and the doorway’s blocked by mulatto masturbators  (rythmic grunting)
so I scrape the dead babies off and head for the elevator (scraping)
so I can  feed all the extra parts to al gore later
so I can  feed all the extra parts to al gore later
so I can  feed all the extra parts to al gore later
so I can  feed all the extra parts to al gore later
 


42ND

 


For this tune, we upped the ante:  not only did we have to finish each others’ rhymes, but we had to do it within a forty-second time limit. That’s why the ticking (using my Dad’s cooking timer which is in the shape of a cow- hence the song-ending MOO). 

The decision to use a sample from the musical “42nd Street” was a no-brainer.

Also a rule: we were rhyming 3 lines, not 2.  So that’s why we chose a beat that ‘s 3 measures long. The bridge at 2:10 uses a drum-machine  “bell” tone, which is  bent chromatically down by assigning each bent pitch to 6 adjoining drum pads, thus turning it into a sort of helium xylophone – a technique later employed by Ween on “Spinal Meningitis.”


The ending is my favorite part: Crow plays a guitar solo, I scratch a harmonica using a thrift-store turntable with no crossfader, and play the a sample of the word “William Casey” over and over , like a percussion instrument. For 8 minutes.

coming through your butt like Vaclav Havel
gouging my nose on the remains of your felafel
the pain was so fun I could write a novel ‘bout how my
anal spelunkin’ disgraced my fellow eunuchs
but i’ll show you my nub when I flip up my tunics
battling the fringe as I fight some punics
Carthage is my enemy , from Rome I do hail
screaming through the tuba in an e flat scale
coming up to Jesus with some wood and some nails
I’m a pompous ass not a pompous pilate
never quit sailing cus I’m the staunchest pirate
I’ll kill that scurvy swab with a Richard Simmons diet
got so many planks for you to walk
“so jump ye matey!”  the parrot done squalk
and sing a long With cap’n Dio as he says “We Rock!!!”
first mate Eddie Vedder: call for the cabin boy
with Gorbachev’s dick it’s good to add soy
riding Freddie Mercury’s mustache like a toy
coming up your colon with a UV meter
bashing my testicles with an egg beater
pumping fluid out of Rod Stewart liter after liter
we sailing to Tonga in our Tonka tug boat
delivering 25 kilos of spastic stoats
which we’ll all freebase until we bloat
10 seconds to write a rhyme is not enough
I take a bite out of mimes like a rabid McGruff
this is far less commercial than a Daddy named Puff
 with a giraffe flambe i’m getting pretty tasty
hiding my ass from the sun makes it white and pasty
my funk styles are secret like William Casey!

coming through your butt like Vaclav Havel
the pain was so fun I could write a novel
about the time I was poor and pawned all my baubles
I’m a poor disgrace to my fellow eunuchs
cus I have a big schlong dangling ‘neath my tunics
battling the fringe as I fight some punics
Carthage is my enemy , from Rome I do hail
screaming through the tuba in an e flat scale
coming up to Jesus with some wood and some nails
I’m a pompous ass not a pompous pilate
never quit sailing cus I’m the staunchest pirate
I’ll kill that scurvy swab with a Richard Simmons diet
got so many planks for you to walk
“so jump ye matey!”  the parrot done squalk
and sing a long With cap’n Dio as he says “We Rock!!!”
first mate Eddie Vedder: call for the cabin boy
with Gorbachev’s dick it’s good to add soy
riding Freddie Mercury’s mustache like a toy
coming up your colon with a UV meter
bashing my testicles with an egg beater
pumping fluid out of Rod Stewart liter after liter
we sailing to Tonga in our Tonka tug boat
delivering 25 kilos of spastic stoats
which we’ll all freebase until we bloat
10 seconds to write a rhyme is not enough
maybe if you write little i’ll call your bluff
this is far less commercial than a Dddy named Puff
we need to finish this malajusted rhyme
like stephen hawkings, ang gives us but a brief history of time
I guess that’s a crime, we’ll all turn into mimes
 with a giraffe flambe i’m getting pretty tasty
hiding my ass from the sun makes it all white and pasty
my funk styles are secret like William Casey!
 


TWO FISTED NAZI MASTURBATOR

 Crow had a bunch of faux- Metallica riffs lying around, so we poured them into a blender and added rapping WITH KING DIAMOND SCREAMS. 

Also at 5:40 it veers into a Sonic Youth thing for NO REASON, and, to make matters worse, we throw a half-speed “Walk This Way”  riff over the whole thing, while rapping about Jiffy Lube enemas.

St. Patrick says, “snakes don’t taste like chicken”
used pam on the griddle so the boa won’t be stickin
then we throw on donald trump to make it finger lickin
pickin off my scab with my forefinger and flickin
I am saint paddy marinating a viper
and rocking out hard with bands like stryper
snack on a diamond back in my yellow leotard
or a pallatable python with a sirape full of lard

‘chim-chimmery’ I say
like an old schooler
i’m a fool for the hula and
cooler than don schulla:
dolphin coach
 i’m not gauche,
 i’m so classy
like haile sellasse,
with jane pratt
doing the nasty
on the cover
of the new sassy

i fricasee a chickadee and shellac some similac
i’m back in black, I hit the sack
I take prozac and brie like ralph nader, i’m a
two fisted rapper like a nazi masturbator
oh no here I go through another dimension
dissecting jimmy carter with the help of jim henson
riding on a zebra saying ‘vote for lloyd benson’
playing strip poker with the trilateral commission

with a smith and wesson
each ricky lake a lesson
or we’ll put her in a car
with an angry-looking hatian
prohibit
that yenta like
 I was carrie nation
i’m so cuckolded
I got horns
like satan’s

im the scourge of the sea, can’t you see i’m dead serious

delerious punks that emerge from below
go ‘yo ho d’oh!’ and run perot off the poop deck
eject the redneck cus i fogot the alamo
cold getting stupid like a retarded eskimo
I sail the sargasso in my hydraulic galleon
I yodel like a yogi eating super-spicy scallions
with a brie chaser, i’m not a free baser
cus I listen to erasure while I tattoo you with a razor
(d, b, c, g)
the damage is major like the britain’s ole pm
now living in a lean-to in front of the un
he pulled a smelt from his belt and said ‘god bless the indians!!’
my avant-garde prose is much worse than tom pynchon’s
  (solo:  b,d, f#, c, d, b, c, g)

i’ll give the leather turnip to the angry patrons
cooked in tabasco cus i’m such a cajun
staging a revolt with my .45 colt
and my uzi named suzi , gonnna turn you into a debolt
now you’re a quad cus of my fussilade looking like
quasimodo, cus i ran you over with
my desoto, cus I drive loco on the
run from sherrif lobo! and hold your condo in escrow

with my 45 colt, turn you into a debolt
now you’re a quad cus of my fusilade
looking like Quasimodo cus I ran you over with me DeSoto
cus I drive loco on the run from Sherriff Lobo
and hold your condo in escrow…
Condo!  Escrow!  Eskimo!!!

i’m donning my bonnet as I throw down the gauntlet
i’ll beat alex haley with a shillaylee and a grommet
till he vomits, whew, make him do the soft shoe
tap dance manouvre, shuffle through the louvre
and if you break dance on the mona lisa, we’ll grease ya
wesson, canola, crisco and jiffy lube
kissinger’s got the bag
if vanna white’s got the tube
it’s a debonair derriere enema spree
I wear my catheter with flair but still smell like pee

i’m frumpy, i’m grumpy, I recite my rhymes loudly
eat a knish full of fish and kick your ass proudly
doun’t doubt me, i’m fiendish; have you ever seen this?
a man pull a tapeworm straight out of his penis?
got a squid in my pants, it makes me feel jockular
wearing rainbow suspenders cus mork is so popular
with velvet lederhosen lined with alpine goat fur
I got a lowrider chariot like my man ben hur

or pinochet’s prostate which makes a tone in b-flat
please toot the gland elsewere cus I don’t wanna see that…

so be a good boy or we’ll throw you in the pee vat
 


EVIL  ZOOKEEPER


Probably the best lyrics on the whole thing. And not just because I drop the slang "Hubba-hoes" (a prehistoric Oakland term for crack whore – bonus points to anyone  who can tell me which rappers first put that snap on wax!)

Ange once again adds her doom-bek skillz, but she was late for belly-dance practice, so she only had time to play 2 bars of doom-bek. I looped them in the Roland, and we laid everything else on top of that.

Working at the zoo selling smack to all the gibbons
wear tapeworms in my hair cus I can’t afford ribbons
I feed ‘blot’ to the lions cus it makes me chipper
when Jaques Cousteau comes over that’s when i’m pimping Flipper

I get busy with baboons and messy with marmosets
I get more mammal ass than your average farmer gets

spanking the girraffes makes me get gooey
with my leather mask on I resemble Honk Kong Phooey
i’m feeeding Eskimo babies to the hungry polar bears
dosed their mukluks with LSD to take ‘em unawares

i’m the evil zookeeper torturing all the animals
i’ll sadddle up and elephant and yell “check it out, i’m Hannibal!!’
when i’m angry I tip over water buffallo
PETA protests but I just say ‘Shut up you hubba-hoes!”

I get busy with baboons and messy with marmosets
I get more mammal ass than your average farmer gets

when the zoo shuts down I begin my nightly wing ding:
what I did with Ling Ling would put me in Sing Sing
beastiality is a very moral addiction:
knocking up animals to save them from extinction

it’s not easy convincing an ibex to try sex
deep throat a dingo all the way down my neck
first I went into a mole hole
then I went into a mole hole

what do you get when you cross a man and a crow?
when it hatches i’ll let you know
i’m kickin all the chicken and tickling rhinos
when the lions are hungry they also get to eat winoes

if i’m feeling really scary I go into the aviary
I perform Santarian rites with canaries
so I can see the future in their entrials
I see me swindling seals and killing whales

I see the SPCA is about to stage a raid
and feed me to alligators in the Everglades
so it’s time to make my escape
ride a crazed wildebeest to the Bering Straits


P.T. BURZUM

This is the only song with a real, sampler-and-drum-machine “rap beat” to it.

The sample is from the soundtrack of DIVA, a French art film about  some crimes and a rollerskating Vietnamese girl who steals records which are hidden inside naked pictures of herself.

Anyway,  I hella “chopped” this sample (i.e. a 2-bar sample got cut into pieces which were reassembled out of sequence) way before the concept of “chopping” was invented. Damn it! 

Then I added some wah-wah bass, some really low-quality tympanni, and rounded things off with a nice Einsturzende Neubauten sample of a skill-saw, which I tweaked so it plays a little melody.

E.N.’s music was terrible as music, but as fodder for samples it still can’t be fuckin’ beat.

  There’s a lot of references in this song to “benches”. This comes from the rapper AMG’s one-hit-wonder song “Bitch Betta Have My Money,” popular at the time, which we mis-heard as “Bench Betta Have My Monkey.”  This phrase was repeated ad nauseum during the entire time we wrote and recorded the album. 

like Louis and Clark I explore fast food
with my apron on, i’m the pizza dude
crude oil pours from my hairy breeches
and if you piss me off i’m gonna feed you leeches

to suck out toxins from my lox’n
bagels i’ll decorate my store with O’Keefes and
 Nagels… incontinent, I can’t control my
kegels   with a diaper on I impersonate

Hegel late to work and driving like
Evel Kenevil Run over a
Nazi like I was Ellie Wiesel
fuck tom petty I play my raps on the p.a.
i’m a borderline psycho so give me lots of leeway

all you customers get out of my store
i’ll shove a shmear in your rear till my wrists are sore
tie you to the booth and call you a whore
selling botulistic lox from the days of yore

Like PT barnum  this is the greatest
show on earth  I’ll harm ‘em, cus they’re the
biggest hoes on earth

I want some slamon in my yarmukle and make it snappy
i’ll damage ya cus ‘hamische’ is schmaltzy and sappy
let me smack up my manager cus it will make me happy
my pappy  done tole me when I was in kneepants:

“don’t eat the kelp or other sea-plants”

just eat fast tood till you blocks a colon
give me a salami enema which makes my poopoo rollin

then take the ground beef and make myself a Golem

but I break it down cus that shit’s not kosher
and your rancid mozzarella draws the wrath of OSHA
no sir, odin, we’re fresh out of blot
for 5 bucks a shot you’re not getting ambrosia

strictly the hardcore grease and lard core
and if I eat too much it’ll make my alimentary canal sore
busting more rhymes than an animated al gore
now what you dis my fast food style for?

the food is stale but the lyrics are fresh
a circumcizer with the bagel slicer and make a big mess

Like PT barnum  this is the greatest show on earth
I’ll harm ‘em, cus they’re the biggest hoes on earth

I’ll cook that pizza the way I want to
pete moss in the sauce, and  dioxin in the fondue
bust nuts in the crust for all the nagging shit i’ve
 gone through my restaraunt’s too snooty,

hock a loogey in the lox cause we will,
we will taunt you like a
montague laughing at a capulet
if I was dr. strange i’d melt you down with my amulet

Like PT barnum  this is the greatest show on earth
I’ll harm ‘em, cus they’re the biggest hoes on earth


BANSHEE @ THE FISH FRY


As long as we had Ange and Lance Ozanix in the “studio”, and in keeping with our rule of “different genre for every song,” we decided to do an improvised jam with them. This was a  counterpoint all the super-pro-quality beats and inhumanly technical prog which comprised the rest of our fuckin’ repotoire. 

This tune was written and recorded in  around 3 minutes, and sounds it. 

Lance had such a hard time pronouncing Menachem Begin (around 2 minutes out of the 3 consisted of us coaching him), that  I turned “Menachem” into the intro just to mess with him.

i’m running down the road and screaming like a banshee
didn’t look where I was going so I ran into a shanty
where I saw Menachem Begin pulling down his panties
doing an Israelei striptease in front of some irish dandies
they were playing marbles with Sammy Davis’ glass eye
along with seven Texas Rangers who were eating apple pie
Ronald Reagan’s shaving heads making all the girls cry
and he combines the hair in a strange fetish coating bass for the big fish fry
he’s kicking all the asses of the nation’s yoiyth
yes he’s quite unconventional and a bit uncouth
he’s putting a cap in their asses like William Booth


MR. MAGOO PROTRUDES FROM MY RECTUM

This starts with a slow tribal beat, of the kind that Butthole Surfers used to rock with two stand-up drummers ( i.e. the pivotal tune The Shah Sleeps In Lee Harvey’s Grave, etc.)

The horns are sampled from a mariachi CD which I picked out of the 50cent bin for just this purpose.

The amazing sassy, whooping noise which ties the whole tune together is a sound effect of “Submarine Alarm Horn.”

The high-pitched grinding is my folks’ electric can-opener which just happened to be in the same key as the submarine horn AND at  rotor was at the same tempo!

Lance Ozanix does a guest-appearance as the voice of Pinochet.

 

Mr. Magoo protrudes from my rectum
kick me in the tummy; maybe that’ll eject him
watch his body richochet off General Pinochet
And fall in a ditch where John Bobbit’s penis lay
as he flew, he yanked out my condalomas
I feel like i’m passing  venitian gondolas
I said, hold on, you give’em back to me fast
and explain your presence in the crack of my ass

why’d you crawl up, are you just mindless?
or did you get lost cus of your comical blindness
he said, I’ll be blunt, like allen funt i’ll be  candid…
 I’m the sleep bandit can you stand it
I’m a rectal invader whose going up your mudflaps
I said you made me have a anal prolapse
so I need to get a bag for colostomy
cause a cartoon character got lost in me

im a martyr to my sphincter like a diharettic jesus
cus of a little bald bastard looking like a fetus
you’re an uncouth cartoon sodomist
even tex avery would never have thought of this
pinochet’s confused, he keeps saying ‘y que?
why don’t we come back to chile and have us a 3 way!’
so I tooted his prostate it made a sound in b-flat
but I had to quit cus it kept making feedback

so now my ears are sore and my ass is too
all cus of a fool named mr. magoo

so I get mad and pull out my mauser
magoo jumps down a  well like  a midget dowser
saying, wait, hold on, let’s make a deal:
that’ll make us richer than shaquille o neal
you got rectal cysts from syphillus
i’m holding them in my shitty fist
if you blast my ass you lose these  condolomas
but if you haul me up we can go down to soma

they’re no less vulgar than our whole damn culture so i
declare ‘em modern art and sell ‘em to moma
we’ll charge  ‘em for a million and not a dime less
and pablo picasso can kiss my ass
I said you’re crazy we cant do that, cus the
right wing NEA will never give us a grant
besides you reek of feces, you’re out of hand
you need to get washed up like robert plant

quoth magoo I got a scheme, even though its shystie
ill crawl up jesse helms’s sexy ole hinie
from inside I control and manipulate him
he’s on the senate floor spraypainting hail satan
jesse votes yes, and we get fat dough
now it’s time to take the show on the road
we come to your town and magoo will hunker
and then emerge with a trophy like a shitty spelunker

I go deep and finds some long lost lasanga
I gold plate it and sell it to Sha Na Na
I gets more hole than andy warhol
i’m an artistic genius with a mighty sore hole
now I’m a millionare because of my deriere
That’s when we got the call from a current affair
You’re far too tasteful we’re waiting for springer
so we can costar with lance the skitzo singer
 


BEHIND THE WALL OF SLEEP (AS MISHEARD BY SCHULTZ)


1)    it’s a FISH SUPPLY FAILING rule we have to have one a-capella thing per album. (we got a lot of rules)
2)    The lyrics are  entirely based on what I THOUGHT ozzy was saying.

FEZZES, CONES WITHIN THE SHOWER
DEADLY PETALS FITS LATE SCOUR
FACES SHINE A DEADLY SMILE
AH, COMEON, YOU JULIA CHILD!
CHILDREN NUMB FROM HEAD TO TOE
I SEE SOME WITH FROSTY NOAM
HERMANN GOERING, CHIA SORROW
WHERE’S THE GLORY HOLE TOMORROW?
WHIZZER SPIRO WITH NO BRIS
WINDOW THE FALL INTO KNEES
TAKE YOUR WARM AFRO, BOSS!
ADD YOUR BODY, TWO ACROSS
NO FUN DOG-NESS HAS SPRING LAYS
WAR IS SLEEPY TOADTHAT MIGHT
WARREN’S KNEE IS FLY AND BROKEN
SUNSHINE SEEN YOUR WIENER WALKING!
 


IT'S THE NOUN, BITCH!

Since we were in the Noun at the time, it only made sense to do a cross-over tune with all the members.

Since Adjetive Noun was a very offensive band, the only logical format for a Noun Rap was the most offensive, hated form of music: rap-metal.

This was deliberate. 

The riffs in this song are all from the Noun’s song, but slowed down and limp-biskit-ized. 

I couldn’t resist adding the melody from Carmina Burana- for some reason it fits perfectly over the Noun’s chorus.

  Also, the drums are kind of wild. . . I was reciting the lyrics as I drummed, so the drum fills exactly match the syllables of the rhymes.

Also on the breaks?  I sampled the Noun’s live shows.

The outro is ridiculous too. . . besides rap-metal, the other music punks hate most is techno, so the song gradually morphs into a Kraftwerk version just to be terrible.

KERB 2 AKA lieberman = K
STEVE = S
CROW = C

k    one to the two to the six to the eight
c    i’m Mui Mui MacGrrrrrrrrrrregor the Samoan-Scottish crate
s    carrying eight tons of Polynesian haggis
k    always get my pork products blessed by the rabbis
k    laying down the law like Moses in the Bible
c    drinking with Jesus getting drunk on highballs
c    my god lays prostrate getting sucked by Betty Crocker
s    my prostrate’s popping like Orovile Reddenbacher
c     Wee Willy Wonka, sucking on the Tonka
s     with your Wayne Newton mullet, you’re still sayin’ “Danke!”
k     grow that mullet like you really mean buisness
s    I got a yule log and it ain’t even Christmas
j    nor easter, chauuka, quanza or purim
c     if the pencil in the ass don’t help, nothing will cure him
s     #2 Ticonderoga, made from the finest elm
k     trading mascara with the Fuhrer Jesse Helms
s    tugging our beards like some smart-ass philosophers
c    mooning the priest cus we’re so very jocular!
k    eenie meenie miney mo, rob that bank!
c    and kick Winona Rider’s ass cus she’s a fuckin’ skank
s    napalming Pengrove and nuking Petaluma
j    we’ll rock Sebastapol cus they got so many tunas
s    turn on a dime and proceed through Cotati
k     the famous stomping grounds of the Bavarian Illuminati
k    taking special care as i’m shooting tennis players
c     listening to Sade shen she used to sing in Slayer
s     like, “the final COMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAND!!”
k    I play bass in the baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand!
s    we’re in the Noun and so we hate the Kids
j     and the Man and the church and the record biz
c    growing bonsai trees out of Diesel Boy’s butt
s    chop up J Church and serve ‘em as cold cuts
s    overthrow the fuzz and pester the man
c    Oscar the Grouch macking in a tuna can
k    rolling like  tank and we’re flowing like a quatrain
c    burning Schlong records and snorting lots of cocaine
c     pooping in the sheets on Park Avenue
s     let Phil Collins clean up my residue
s    smellin’ Boris Yeltsin and suckin on Skittles
k    chomping on your ass like your pup and Tender Vittles

 


BOUNDING 'ROUND THE TUNDRA


This is the only song where I wrote all the lyrics : the only rule this time was that every single line had to rhyme with MONGOLIAN: a surprisingly large amount of words.

The music is (like MAGOO) a sort of tribal beat, but this time imitating the the reverb-drenched,  mid-rangey production  of Dub producer Lee 'scratch' Perry, by way of  ILL COMMUNICATION.

bounding round the tundra like a hyper mongolian
knocking down fools like they was bowling pins
eating mao mix with a hungry ho chi minh
I get paid in lire, yen and semolians
got an enema it was full of plutonium
my ass is glowing — don’t know if I can hold it in
gave a sex change to napoleon
he’s got his hands down his pants —he’s feeling his fallopians
carved a breakdancing klingon out of cubic zirchonium
I am the king of glutemates, there is none higher, call me monosodium
pigging out with the kaiser, hes a roly poly hun
we’re bugging our waiter, ‘is our cannoli done?’
with a fezzless head        im an undercover anatolian
like I said in 91 ———i’m doper than opium
disfigure a vj with flaming petrolium
make him snort agent orange, a toxic defoliant
abnormal growth live at the hammersmith odeon
they say I cohabit with the unholy one
crazy wack beats I keep on composing em
this one’s in a mode called aeolian
masturbating ewoks spurt on the linoleum
they all got herpes from a dirty old obi one
I bet my rostrum could beat up your podium
got an abe lincoln costume from tom jamgocian!
 


THE HORRID RHYMES

 

Probably the funkiest thing on here.

Things to know: there’s no downbeat! The accents fall just before and after the one. 

The “P-toooin, P-tooon” noise in the left speaker is a snare distorted until it made an overtone in key with the song.

The bridge was a nod to Crow’s beloved Grateful Dead.

The funnest part of recording was:  the whistle on the chorus. Although it sounds like a bad DJ cross-fading a record which is slowing down, actually it’s me playing (live!) one of those little whistles that a-capella groups use to get in tune. And while I’m playing it with one hand, I’m speeding up the recording with the other. That’s shit is hard to do and stay in time, G!

I got the horrid rhymes, but mine’s are worse
I got the horrid rhymes, but mine’s are worse
I got the horrid hymes, but mine’s are worse
than a quadraplegic mime’s; we’re verbally cursed

my verse is badder than marcell marceau
doing charades when he’s just a torso
badder than a peep show for the blind?
more so!  it’s a malajusted rhyme

booger, burger, bergen, burzum, ahhhhhhhhhhh!
bannannaramma, mamma-jamma, slam-a tuna raw
wash the Winnebago with the blood of King Diamond
who lost his soul to satan over a rigged game of Simon

I spooged out the image of Christ on the sidewalk
now he’s stuck to the bottoms of my converse high-tops
pick the pieces of feces off phyllis diller’s face
as she vows vengeance on an incontenent Ace of Bass

eat that turnip or i’ll sell you to the czar
legal name is Blackbeard, but my friends just call me “Arrrrrrr!”
fillet my penis and serve it to Prince
this is by far the worst of Heloise’s hints

I got the horrid rhymes, but mine’s are worse
I got the horrid rhymes, but mine’s are worse
I got the horrid hymes, but mine’s are worse
than a quadraplegic mime’s; we’re verbally cursed

Brachiating belgians high on dope:
got burned cus they smoked and swang on the same hemp rope
parading ‘round the airport in nothing but felt
a) cus I hijacked a blanket from Linus van Pelt
b)  “Anything to declare?” just a Daryl Hannah pelt

Kick the anatolian while he is hunkering
With a crazy kung fu move like Dolph Lungren
Choke the chiuawa with that bratwurst on rye
and use its little skull as a ball in Jai Alai

scream “oh shit!” when we tackle unitarians,
pour battery acid on the lousy librarians
i’m picking up the pieces of the disemboweled clown
put ‘em in me haggis and wolf it on down

bob ross starts burning churches in Norway
to publicize his ‘wet-on-wet’ corpse paints in the hardcore way
broke all the crayolas in jesse jackson’s set
cus he said ‘hymietown’ and claimed it was just tourette’s

I got the horrid rhymes, but mine’s are worse
I got the horrid rhymes, but mine’s are worse
I got the horrid hymes, but mine’s are worse
than a quadraplegic mime’s; we’re verbally cursed

blonde bombshells being shot through the cannon
they felt really guilty,  after reading too much Fanon
scrape up the remains and serve em with some dannons
a yogurty flavor with chunks of john fogerty
he’s a sinister rocker with stevie nicks in his locker
reanimates her using parts from betty crocker
going down to cabo to sell Hagar some acid
him and lucky eddie fry so hard they capsize in  lake placid
sit on the bed and play with ed asner
bow down beofre him and start shouting “MASTER! MASTER!!”

 

2 comments Tags: , , , , ,

2 Comments so far

  1. sephim October 28th, 2010 4:56 am

    I've actually had this downloaded for a while and until I read it here today, I HAD NO IDEA YOU WERE DOING MISINTERPRETED LYRICS FOR WALL OF SLEEP!!!
    Awesome.

  2. Hugh Codding October 28th, 2010 12:58 pm

    For "Behind The Wall of Sleep" you forgot to mention that Lance sang the Ozzy lyrics.  That decision was made because he was "Ozzy" in a handful of Black Sabbath tribute bands.
    Also Lance had to be coached on saying Ticonderoga. 

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