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> Lyrical, Dope, Phat and Fresh. These are the Words that are Extra Spesh
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The Dismemberment Plan are touring in a couple of weeks, supporting Nirvana, now that Kurt's been found alive and ('Oh, leave the poor Marc alone!' - Ed.)
Sorry to hear that things are aren't too great, mate. Life can pick up though. It just sometimes takes time. I've personally spent years now waiting and striving for a chance at 'Happiness', and even though sometimes it seems to only be getting further away, there are other times when it seems it might yet happen. With patience and that. I mean, hey, at least we aren't personally involved in a war, or having our families massacred, or typing of disease before we're teenagers. We're the lucky ones.
And when that fails, there's always DoDonPachi, old 90s alternative rock records and beer. And hope for the future. Like Parappa the Rapper says, you just gotta believe!
@Runcle: Modest Mouse are playing over here? Gah. I really like 'em too. Been into 'em since just before The Moon And Antarctica came out, like almost everything they've done. Balls. I too, can not afford a ticket.
Sorry to hear that things are aren't too great, mate. Life can pick up though. It just sometimes takes time. I've personally spent years now waiting and striving for a chance at 'Happiness', and even though sometimes it seems to only be getting further away, there are other times when it seems it might yet happen. With patience and that. I mean, hey, at least we aren't personally involved in a war, or having our families massacred, or typing of disease before we're teenagers. We're the lucky ones.
And when that fails, there's always DoDonPachi, old 90s alternative rock records and beer. And hope for the future. Like Parappa the Rapper says, you just gotta believe!
@Runcle: Modest Mouse are playing over here? Gah. I really like 'em too. Been into 'em since just before The Moon And Antarctica came out, like almost everything they've done. Balls. I too, can not afford a ticket.
I did manage to catch the D Plan a couple of times, Joseph's Well in Leeds if I remember rightly, fucking great they were. On one of those occasions I left the venue after midnight and proceeded to do reverse bungee jumping in the city centre. After 12 pints. T'was fun.
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"Guess how many fingers- ok
Guess how many more I can fit there."
From The Dresden Dolls' "Mandy Goes to Med School"
It's a darkly mischievous song, and the joke in that line always makes me smile.
"I know you won't believe it's true
I only went with her 'cause she looks like you"
From Pulp - Babies, much for the way the anguish and frustration and despair all seems to come flooding from Jarvis as he sings it. To be honest I could probably list a whole load of Pulp lyrics that resonate with their working class Northern emotions.
From Do You Remember the First Time?
"Now I don't care what you're doing
No I don't care if you screw him
Oh just as long as you save a piece for me, oh yeah"
Guess how many more I can fit there."
From The Dresden Dolls' "Mandy Goes to Med School"
It's a darkly mischievous song, and the joke in that line always makes me smile.
"I know you won't believe it's true
I only went with her 'cause she looks like you"
From Pulp - Babies, much for the way the anguish and frustration and despair all seems to come flooding from Jarvis as he sings it. To be honest I could probably list a whole load of Pulp lyrics that resonate with their working class Northern emotions.
From Do You Remember the First Time?
"Now I don't care what you're doing
No I don't care if you screw him
Oh just as long as you save a piece for me, oh yeah"
I joke about sex because it's funny when you're frightened.
I could probably list a whole load of Pulp lyrics that resonate with their working class Northern emotions.
The Pulp lyric that always comes to mind first for me, is of 'Dishes':I am not Jesus, though I have the same initials. I am the one who stays at home and does the dishes.
Wonderful little song about finding fame isn't what he had always hoped it would be, and I find the scale played on the chorus to be very addictive...
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cLOUDDEAD - Rifle Eyes
For some really weird reason it makes me think of Buzzbomb by the Dead Kennedys. Anyway, I always liked the way cLOUDDEAD could convey the horror of the everyday.
Quote
a murder of mosquitoes, and moths, and gnats
ravage the florescent flickering ribs of a motel lot flood light.
their frantic trajectories perfectly sketching insane in it’s halogen corona.
no collision... no drinking of bulbs at long last...
just a panicked moon drove dance they bang their insect eyes and mind at in the dark.
note: it takes an extended stay
America’s common black self cleaning line of ants
approximately 1&2/3rd’s hours to completely excavate
the fresh kill carcass of a large New Orleans cricket.
point: minnows have teeth in their throats… (x3)
thrice we passed this truck all packed with pigs...
this truck is always packed with pigs.
you can not tell nor ask a pear tree
that it might only have the bird’s nests happen to its branches.
have you ever marveled through the pretty pith of your turned around eye
at the bug blood gut modern art on the fender of your country crossing rental van?
it then becomes self evident
that nature is responsible...
to peel deer from desert fun...
to sleep through vulture mouths...
it’s femur like a chopstick through the paper.
nightcrawlers all dried up on the summer sun sidewalk.
an ant with a little bit of leaf looks like an ant with an frican mask.
the red raw salmon steak in the gas station urinal.
a full feathered dead pigeon with its entire skull exposed.
a single long stemmed rose resting between two mounted antlers.
a spider spitting web on a styrofoam snowman’s head.
car salesmen asleep in their cars on lunch-break under the highway onramp.
the x-ray of someone’s tumored skull left to scream doom from the gutter
with all the other preventative waste, no name no face.
all the oil drills on some sick sedated rhythmic robot.
rape mode like brain-washed flies at a carcass.
the highway shoulder dead dog’s fly devoured eyeballs,
as garnish to a four lane state road.
and all the southern cali orange trucks headed to somewhere there’s winter.
one armed men changing tires in the shoulder
for pretty ladies and their well dressed daughters;
engine oil boiling, undercarriage eaten by a billion ants of rust,
bacteria gang-banging in the window cracks.
ravage the florescent flickering ribs of a motel lot flood light.
their frantic trajectories perfectly sketching insane in it’s halogen corona.
no collision... no drinking of bulbs at long last...
just a panicked moon drove dance they bang their insect eyes and mind at in the dark.
note: it takes an extended stay
America’s common black self cleaning line of ants
approximately 1&2/3rd’s hours to completely excavate
the fresh kill carcass of a large New Orleans cricket.
point: minnows have teeth in their throats… (x3)
thrice we passed this truck all packed with pigs...
this truck is always packed with pigs.
you can not tell nor ask a pear tree
that it might only have the bird’s nests happen to its branches.
have you ever marveled through the pretty pith of your turned around eye
at the bug blood gut modern art on the fender of your country crossing rental van?
it then becomes self evident
that nature is responsible...
to peel deer from desert fun...
to sleep through vulture mouths...
it’s femur like a chopstick through the paper.
nightcrawlers all dried up on the summer sun sidewalk.
an ant with a little bit of leaf looks like an ant with an frican mask.
the red raw salmon steak in the gas station urinal.
a full feathered dead pigeon with its entire skull exposed.
a single long stemmed rose resting between two mounted antlers.
a spider spitting web on a styrofoam snowman’s head.
car salesmen asleep in their cars on lunch-break under the highway onramp.
the x-ray of someone’s tumored skull left to scream doom from the gutter
with all the other preventative waste, no name no face.
all the oil drills on some sick sedated rhythmic robot.
rape mode like brain-washed flies at a carcass.
the highway shoulder dead dog’s fly devoured eyeballs,
as garnish to a four lane state road.
and all the southern cali orange trucks headed to somewhere there’s winter.
one armed men changing tires in the shoulder
for pretty ladies and their well dressed daughters;
engine oil boiling, undercarriage eaten by a billion ants of rust,
bacteria gang-banging in the window cracks.
For some really weird reason it makes me think of Buzzbomb by the Dead Kennedys. Anyway, I always liked the way cLOUDDEAD could convey the horror of the everyday.
-
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I get up early when the sleeping pill wakes me
I take a wake up pill and fill with energy
I power on hard and I check my messages
But I don't have any messages
I take a driving pill and head to my car
I drive around a bit cuz work isn't very far
I call my phone and I check my messages
But I don't have any messages
All I know is driving on drugs feels better when they're prescription
All I know is the world looks beautiful, the world looks so damn beautiful
And I feel fantastic
And I never felt as good as how I do right now
Except for maybe when I think of how I felt that day
When I felt the way that I do right now, right now, right now.
And I feel fantastic
And I never felt as good as how I do right now
Except for maybe when I think of how I felt that day
When I felt the way that I do right now, right now, right now.
Work is anything but quiet these days
I try to medicate my concentration haze
I can feel the day unfold in front of me
So I take the stairs and hit the gym
The phone is ringing when I get to my desk
What was a stinging's now a sharp pain in my chest
So I take a Calminex and just chill
And then it's time for lunch again
All I know is work is easy when you don't stress out about deadlines
All I know is I take my medicine I always take my medicine
And I feel fantastic
And I never felt as good as how I do right now
Except for maybe when I think of how I felt that day
When I felt the way that I do right now, right now, right now.
And I feel fantastic
And I never felt as good as how I do right now
Except for maybe when I think of how I felt that day
When I felt the way that I do right now, right now, right now.
Sometimes I'd like to slow things down
Enjoy the moment
But when I look the moment's gone
Work is over but I can't stay to work late
Got to leave and get ready for my second date
With a pretty girl that I met at the pharmacy
Right in the prescription line
I take a pill for my social anxiety
I get a table and a nice bottle of chablis
Now it's getting late and there's still no sign of her
I have another glass of wine
All I know is the wine lasts longer when you don't gotta share it with someone
All I know is my steak tastes better when I take my steak tastes better pill
And I feel fantastic
And I never felt as good as how I do right now
Except for maybe when I think of how I felt that day
When I felt the way that I do right now, right now, right now.
And I feel fantastic
And I never felt as good as how I do right now
Except for maybe when I think of how I felt that day
When I felt the way that I do right now, right now, right now.
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Amesoeurs - La Reine Trayeuse
Translation:
Fucking hell.
Quote
Arpetant les rues du haut de mes échasses
Je surplombe la ville avant que l'on me traque.
Mais je suis petite, séche et tellement combustible.
Quand arrive le soir, les lames ne me ne font plus peur
Raides comme des évêques qui défoncent l'intérieur
Autor de moi le monde crache ses vices
Et en bonne reine trayeuse je recrache
Leur trop plein de hargne.
Mais je suis petite, séche et tellement combustible.
Quand je me fais salir
Meurt un rêve après l'autre.
Tous ces visages noirs ne me mèneront nulle part,
J'offre tout et tout s'ouvre, violemment.
Quand je me cambre tout se force et se dérobe.
Je surplombe la ville avant que l'on me traque.
Mais je suis petite, séche et tellement combustible.
Quand arrive le soir, les lames ne me ne font plus peur
Raides comme des évêques qui défoncent l'intérieur
Autor de moi le monde crache ses vices
Et en bonne reine trayeuse je recrache
Leur trop plein de hargne.
Mais je suis petite, séche et tellement combustible.
Quand je me fais salir
Meurt un rêve après l'autre.
Tous ces visages noirs ne me mèneront nulle part,
J'offre tout et tout s'ouvre, violemment.
Quand je me cambre tout se force et se dérobe.
Translation:
Quote
Traversing the streets atop my stilts,
I overhang the city ahead of the one who stalks me.
But I am small, dry, and so combustible.
When evening arrives, the blades no longer scare me
Stiff as bishops that break the interior
Around me the world splits its vices
And onto the queen whore I spit
All of their spiteful anger
But I am small, dry, and so combustible.
When I get myself dirty
one dream dies after another.
All of these black faces take no part,
I offer it all and everything opens, violently.
When I arch my back they force themselves and slip away.
I overhang the city ahead of the one who stalks me.
But I am small, dry, and so combustible.
When evening arrives, the blades no longer scare me
Stiff as bishops that break the interior
Around me the world splits its vices
And onto the queen whore I spit
All of their spiteful anger
But I am small, dry, and so combustible.
When I get myself dirty
one dream dies after another.
All of these black faces take no part,
I offer it all and everything opens, violently.
When I arch my back they force themselves and slip away.
Fucking hell.
Fresh from spamming the video thread with Beck stuff here's some of my favourite lyrics. Of his.
Dead Melodies: a laugh, a joke, a sentiment wasted...
Nobody's Fault But My Own: Who could ever be so cruel, blame the Devil for the things you do/It's such a selfish way to lose, the way you lose these wasted blues...
Guess I'm Doing Fine: Now I bade a friend farewell, I can do whatever pleases me...
I Think I'm In Love: What if it's wrong? What if it's wrong To pray in vain? What does it mean To fake your death? To wake up tainted?
Dead Melodies: a laugh, a joke, a sentiment wasted...
Nobody's Fault But My Own: Who could ever be so cruel, blame the Devil for the things you do/It's such a selfish way to lose, the way you lose these wasted blues...
Guess I'm Doing Fine: Now I bade a friend farewell, I can do whatever pleases me...
I Think I'm In Love: What if it's wrong? What if it's wrong To pray in vain? What does it mean To fake your death? To wake up tainted?
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Anyone who knows me at all will instantly know why I love this song as much as I do.
Diseases of Yore, by MC Frontalot
You don’t meet a lot of people in emergency rooms
who’ve got ANTHRACOSIS, CONSUMPTION
or WOMB FEVER. June Cleaver never suffered.
She had the penicillin, no expiration when she mothered
her no-good little death-proof brats.
Living little ones once were preciouser than that.
Living anybody used to be a miracle, yo.
You’d get et by the festering hysterical flow
of madnesses and bad diseases of mole,
lung, eye, and humor, spirit and soul.
All these afflictions engender aversions:
I catch GREEN SICKNESS to match with the virgins;
SCROFULA coughs that I cast askance;
ever since BLACK SCURVY, I can’t wear pants.
And I can’t but dance with glee that it’s not then now.
“I bet you got the TARANTISM.” – and how!
Maybe you’ll never die,
maybe you’re going to live forever
and never have anything wrong with you,
and until you do,
you won’t worry about it.
‘Cause you’re probably fine;
maybe you should pretend to forget to remember
the bullet that’s meant for you,
until it’s overdue,
and it runs you through.
I got GALLOPING DROPSY and CHEESE WASHER’S LUNG.
Leaves me with ASTHENIA, THE CROUP, and a dung heap
of unbearably fetid excreta, from which I get re-infected.
Nice to meetcha—how about a hug? I swear my ICHOR is down
and I got over the PESTILENCE. It was intense. I astound
the historians. I’m PICARDY SWEATY.
Just ran out of leeches (that I need) (such as for bloodletting).
It’s upsetting! There, I’m upset!
Dose of FRENCH DISTEMPER throbbing up in my head!
I don’t go into BILIOUS FLUX just yet, but about to
give out a shout to the CHOLERA. Doubt you
could follow a charting of the manifold ways I’m ill:
ILIAC PASSION, SPELTER’S CHILL,
WEAVER’S BOTTOM, and a MELANCHOLY ACHE.
If my fever doesn’t break, raise a glass at the wake.
Yea verily, shouldn’t ought to put in the belly
AGUE CAKE with the COLLOID JELLY.
Now you come telling me check in the mind,
that all of these infirmities combined define a
time-traveling hypochondria epidemic (one I suffer under).
But on the other side of the globe from affluence,
THE DEATH is still thriving. Thus, contract thence.
Diseases of Yore, by MC Frontalot
You don’t meet a lot of people in emergency rooms
who’ve got ANTHRACOSIS, CONSUMPTION
or WOMB FEVER. June Cleaver never suffered.
She had the penicillin, no expiration when she mothered
her no-good little death-proof brats.
Living little ones once were preciouser than that.
Living anybody used to be a miracle, yo.
You’d get et by the festering hysterical flow
of madnesses and bad diseases of mole,
lung, eye, and humor, spirit and soul.
All these afflictions engender aversions:
I catch GREEN SICKNESS to match with the virgins;
SCROFULA coughs that I cast askance;
ever since BLACK SCURVY, I can’t wear pants.
And I can’t but dance with glee that it’s not then now.
“I bet you got the TARANTISM.” – and how!
Maybe you’ll never die,
maybe you’re going to live forever
and never have anything wrong with you,
and until you do,
you won’t worry about it.
‘Cause you’re probably fine;
maybe you should pretend to forget to remember
the bullet that’s meant for you,
until it’s overdue,
and it runs you through.
I got GALLOPING DROPSY and CHEESE WASHER’S LUNG.
Leaves me with ASTHENIA, THE CROUP, and a dung heap
of unbearably fetid excreta, from which I get re-infected.
Nice to meetcha—how about a hug? I swear my ICHOR is down
and I got over the PESTILENCE. It was intense. I astound
the historians. I’m PICARDY SWEATY.
Just ran out of leeches (that I need) (such as for bloodletting).
It’s upsetting! There, I’m upset!
Dose of FRENCH DISTEMPER throbbing up in my head!
I don’t go into BILIOUS FLUX just yet, but about to
give out a shout to the CHOLERA. Doubt you
could follow a charting of the manifold ways I’m ill:
ILIAC PASSION, SPELTER’S CHILL,
WEAVER’S BOTTOM, and a MELANCHOLY ACHE.
If my fever doesn’t break, raise a glass at the wake.
Yea verily, shouldn’t ought to put in the belly
AGUE CAKE with the COLLOID JELLY.
Now you come telling me check in the mind,
that all of these infirmities combined define a
time-traveling hypochondria epidemic (one I suffer under).
But on the other side of the globe from affluence,
THE DEATH is still thriving. Thus, contract thence.
I got GALLOPING DROPSY and CHEESE WASHER’S LUNG.
That really is your ideal song, yes. Although I'm rather perturbed by the notion of being 'Picardy Sweaty'. Perturbed and aroused. -
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Nostalgia for an Age that Never Existed, by Jello Biafra
Fake '50s clothes
Fake '50s food
Classic gas-guzzling dream cars
In more ads on the tube
Fake home-made cookies
Like mommy used to make
Nostalgia for an age
That never existed
Do you remember
Art-deco knick-knacks and flings
The stars on the silver screen
Made you forget Hooverville
View the world
Through Time-Life and Nick at Nite
Nostalgia for an age
That never existed
All the stars had a pretty face
Children and Negroes knew their place (note - if this line offends anyone, feel free to edit it out)
Blocks of happy families
With moms and dads all in love
Or are these wholesome memories
Really from reruns on TV
And ads in old garage sale magazines
Fake sixties
Mask our leaders' sleaze
Is it really a new beginning
With confederate Kennedys?
Fake Camelot
Before everything went wrong
Nostalgia for an age
That never existed
Do you remember
The Summer of Love
Vietnam, mini-skirts and drugs
Rebellion was so much fun
Tell your own kids
Just Say No to that
Nostalgia for an age
That never existed
Turn that MTV racket off
So your folks can listen to "classic" rock
Mellow out to the same old songs
Again and again and again
Do you wonder or even care
How you wound up such a square
If ya can't stand the Big Chill
Get out of the freezer
Can't stand the Big Chill
Get out of the freezer
Everything old is new again
It all comes back, just wait your turn
But somehow the magic's always missing
Giving up on future dreams
To dwell on rosy memories
Will make sure your best days
Are in the past
Nostalgia for an age that never existed
Nostalgia for an age that never existed
Do you remember
Being the first punk in your town
Outlaw #1
For the t-shirt you had on
Now you stay home
Mad at the whole scene
For refusing to freeze
In 1983
Why can't all the old bands reform
Stick to playing their old songs
It ain't punk
If it ain't just like the old days
That was then, this is now
Suckling up to the sacred cow
Can leave ya stuck in the mud
With its remains
Nostalgia for an age that never existed
Nostalgia for an age that never existed
Fake '50s clothes
Fake '50s food
Classic gas-guzzling dream cars
In more ads on the tube
Fake home-made cookies
Like mommy used to make
Nostalgia for an age
That never existed
Do you remember
Art-deco knick-knacks and flings
The stars on the silver screen
Made you forget Hooverville
View the world
Through Time-Life and Nick at Nite
Nostalgia for an age
That never existed
All the stars had a pretty face
Children and Negroes knew their place (note - if this line offends anyone, feel free to edit it out)
Blocks of happy families
With moms and dads all in love
Or are these wholesome memories
Really from reruns on TV
And ads in old garage sale magazines
Fake sixties
Mask our leaders' sleaze
Is it really a new beginning
With confederate Kennedys?
Fake Camelot
Before everything went wrong
Nostalgia for an age
That never existed
Do you remember
The Summer of Love
Vietnam, mini-skirts and drugs
Rebellion was so much fun
Tell your own kids
Just Say No to that
Nostalgia for an age
That never existed
Turn that MTV racket off
So your folks can listen to "classic" rock
Mellow out to the same old songs
Again and again and again
Do you wonder or even care
How you wound up such a square
If ya can't stand the Big Chill
Get out of the freezer
Can't stand the Big Chill
Get out of the freezer
Everything old is new again
It all comes back, just wait your turn
But somehow the magic's always missing
Giving up on future dreams
To dwell on rosy memories
Will make sure your best days
Are in the past
Nostalgia for an age that never existed
Nostalgia for an age that never existed
Do you remember
Being the first punk in your town
Outlaw #1
For the t-shirt you had on
Now you stay home
Mad at the whole scene
For refusing to freeze
In 1983
Why can't all the old bands reform
Stick to playing their old songs
It ain't punk
If it ain't just like the old days
That was then, this is now
Suckling up to the sacred cow
Can leave ya stuck in the mud
With its remains
Nostalgia for an age that never existed
Nostalgia for an age that never existed
You try to shape the world to what you want the world to be.
Carving your name a thousand times won't bring you back to me.
We are Sex Bob-Omb and we are here to make you think about death and get sad and stuff.
Something I should cram into the "Whatcha Listenin' To?" thread aussi:
This Girl That I Know (The Information, by Beck)
A phat/phunky sound like someone hitting the end of a drainpipe with a big leather dictionary. Top song.
This Girl That I Know (The Information, by Beck)
A phat/phunky sound like someone hitting the end of a drainpipe with a big leather dictionary. Top song.
A phat/phunky sound like someone hitting the end of a drainpipe with a big leather dictionary. Top song.
Wonderful description 
I keep returning time and time again to 'The Hope That House Built' by Future of the Left.
Quote
In the end everybody wins, as long as we remember there's a reason for incredible wealth (incredible wealth)
Incredible luck (incredible luck)
Don't despair, life is just a dream and nobody can judge us If we choose to face it gradually (it gradually)
Makes everything right (means nothing can beat us)
Come join, come join our hopeless cause
Come join, come join our lost cause
(x2)
Turn around, face our deepest fears, re-imagine God as just a mental illness looming owards (appearing towards)
The end of our days (the end of our days)
Think again, how could we go wrong, with supernatural creatures who control our fate?
Could anyone tell? (could anyone tell?) Would anyone care ? (would anyone care?)
Come join, come join our hopeless cause
Come join, come join our lost cause
(x2)
The feeling steps, the fools behind
And back in the ground, we look at our hands and wonder aloud, could anyone choose to die?
(In the end everybody wins, in the end everybody wins)
(x4)
We look at our hands and wonder aloud could anyone choose to die
Incredible luck (incredible luck)
Don't despair, life is just a dream and nobody can judge us If we choose to face it gradually (it gradually)
Makes everything right (means nothing can beat us)
Come join, come join our hopeless cause
Come join, come join our lost cause
(x2)
Turn around, face our deepest fears, re-imagine God as just a mental illness looming owards (appearing towards)
The end of our days (the end of our days)
Think again, how could we go wrong, with supernatural creatures who control our fate?
Could anyone tell? (could anyone tell?) Would anyone care ? (would anyone care?)
Come join, come join our hopeless cause
Come join, come join our lost cause
(x2)
The feeling steps, the fools behind
And back in the ground, we look at our hands and wonder aloud, could anyone choose to die?
(In the end everybody wins, in the end everybody wins)
(x4)
We look at our hands and wonder aloud could anyone choose to die
It always makes me cry but it is a beautiful song:
If this day was the last
We'll shout....we'll sing
We'll call this day the first
Until it's true.
We Are Safe Inside While They Burn Down The House: Rest Now Weary Head. They also do a phenomenal version of The Chemical Brother's Born Sllippy.
If this day was the last
We'll shout....we'll sing
We'll call this day the first
Until it's true.
We Are Safe Inside While They Burn Down The House: Rest Now Weary Head. They also do a phenomenal version of The Chemical Brother's Born Sllippy.
It always makes me cry but it is a beautiful song:
If this day was the last
We'll shout....we'll sing
We'll call this day the first
Until it's true.
We Are Safe Inside While They Burn Down The House: Rest Now Weary Head. They also do a phenomenal version of The Chemical Brother's Born Sllippy.
If this day was the last
We'll shout....we'll sing
We'll call this day the first
Until it's true.
We Are Safe Inside While They Burn Down The House: Rest Now Weary Head. They also do a phenomenal version of The Chemical Brother's Born Sllippy.
1) Who do?
2) Underworld did Born Sllippy.
3) It's 'Born Slippy'.
4) Teach you to compare me to Tugboat, fucker!
It always makes me cry but it is a beautiful song:
If this day was the last
We'll shout....we'll sing
We'll call this day the first
Until it's true.
We Are Safe Inside While They Burn Down The House: Rest Now Weary Head. They also do a phenomenal version of The Chemical Brother's Born Sllippy.
If this day was the last
We'll shout....we'll sing
We'll call this day the first
Until it's true.
We Are Safe Inside While They Burn Down The House: Rest Now Weary Head. They also do a phenomenal version of The Chemical Brother's Born Sllippy.
1) Who do?
2) Underworld did Born Sllippy.
3) It's 'Born Slippy'.
4) Teach you to compare me to Tugboat, fucker!
1/. You Will Get Well Soon.
2/. Yes. My titishness is visible from space
3/. See 2/.
4/. You can tug me off anytime. Except for the times that imply rampant homosexuality.
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I like that FOTL song, I think you linked them before, CUS in some distant topic....
I really like the lyrics in that Jello Biafra song too, I'm going to find it to listen.
I really like the lyrics in that Jello Biafra song too, I'm going to find it to listen.
I joke about sex because it's funny when you're frightened.
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Quote
Lamb of God - Omerta
Whoever appeals to the law against his fellow man is either a fool or a coward. Whoever cannot take care of himself without that law is both. For a wounded man shall say to his assailant, "If I Live, I will kill you. If I Die, You are forgiven." Such is the Rule of Honor.
Whoever appeals to the law against his fellow man is either a fool or a coward. Whoever cannot take care of himself without that law is both. For a wounded man shall say to his assailant, "If I Live, I will kill you. If I Die, You are forgiven." Such is the Rule of Honor.
Saw them live last week. They were awesome. No, actually, they were AWESOME with a capital AWESOME and a side of awesomesauce.
Hamburger-related injuries are on the rise
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I keep returning time and time again to 'The Hope That House Built' by Future of the Left.
That album has a number of wonderful lyrics, I especially like Stand By Your Manatee with
Quote
Only the good die young
Except for when they don't
It's not exactly fair
Except for when they don't
It's not exactly fair
A lot of it is the slightly bizarre delivery, the way they sort of sound almost disappointed in themselves for not rhyming.