(Select an Album)
It's 2006, the consumer’s still pissed
Nate the RA: Hey! Welcome to Mirrielees orientation.
I wrote a song about a fetus named Cletus who tried
The following is an entirely fictional account.
Club promoter: Lars you’re on in ten minutes. You ready?
Call me Ahab, what, monomaniac
And people tried to put us down
My friend Aileen made a time machine
Internet relationships are not real
You can take away my space ship
One night, backstage at Irving Plaza at a Madball show
Move over Kevin Bacon, ‘cause I’ve got a new game
Once upon a time, in the city of Los Angeles...
Hey That's Me
It's off the hook home slice, like a lucky fish. CHORUS I piss Catholics off with my comic in the Daily. “Why’s it called ‘27th Street’?” Man, don’t front me.
CHORUS
Yes I Am an Alien
Bam! I’ll explode, just like I were a bomb
CHORUS Some people say I’m not funny, I say okay,
REPEAT CHORUS You want poetry? Go read Robert Frost,
REPEAT CHORUS
Atom You're Awesome
My girlfriend hates you but I love your stuff.
CHORUS I had a dream
REPEAT CHORUS
Certified
I spot an active drowning victim form a mile away,
CHORUS
And when I act it’s with informed consent,
REPEAT CHORUS
Well they hung John Brown in 1859
CHORUS
Because John Brown was an abolitionist REPEAT CHORUS
So I'm here at Harpers Ferry, waiting for a sign
My Rhymes Rhyme
CHORUS
Hey! I’m all up in your face like a rabid chimp,
REPEAT CHORUS REPEAT CHORUS So get this point right here, it’s perfect clear,
REPEAT CHORUS
Rapbeth (Foul is Fair)
Sometimes Shakespeare's over done.
Thrice the A-flat chord has rung. CHORUS
I never wanted to be a witch,
REPEAT CHORUS
Don't tell me what you want
REPEAT CHORUS
Macbeth: REPEAT CHORUS
The moral of this story is-
Make Way for Ducklings
He’s a No Exit “G” in the place to be,
Well Tom’s a pop culture primate with the IQ of a fetus, CHORUS
Okay quiz time now that our trip is done,
CHORUS Shout outs to Tomohawk,
Humphrey the Whale
CHORUS (DRUM SOLO) CHORUS So you’re not stuck in the
Sarah
I met you in September of 2000,
CHORUS
And when you left it had a deep effect on my life,
REPEAT CHORUS
Escape from Robot Island (featuring MNP)
LARS: August 4th, 1990, kicking it across the bay,
CHORUS
MNP: What’s that you say, boy haven’t you heard?
REPEAT CHORUS
MNP: Hiding out on the tree house floor,
ROBOT: Foolish humans, that won’t work. MNP: So this is what it feels like being the prey?
ROBOT: No! LARS: Shoot! REPEAT CHORUS
1. iGeneration
And people tried to put us down, when iTunes bumped a post-Cold War sound.
CHORUS
See the iGeneration knew organization meant optimization and unification,
REPEAT CHORUS
This is the I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T ge-na-ra-tion, see?
REPEAT CHORUS
Hey England... let's kick it.
Cops without guns and the NME.
CHORUS
I love you England, so let's both ignore
The Florida incident? Democracy at work,
REPEAT CHORUS
Oh snap, you know this track is fly, so get crunked up and don't ask why.
CHORUS
My Dad's named Bob, he toured with me, when a UK label put out my CD.
REPEAT CHORUS
BRIDGE
Because I rock the mike like a hurricane.
REPEAT CHORUS
Once upon a time, in the city of Los Angeles...
Meet Marty, major label A&R scout, forty years old, gut hanginh out.
"Marty... we've got a hit."
CHORUS
Hearts that Hate, Marty goes to their show, up in the club and here we go.
REPEAT CHORUS
Momentum builds, but it all caves in.
"Can you teach me track five Mr. Blake?"
REPEAT CHORUS
9 o'clock class feels like five, asleep at three, so sleep deprived.
CHORUS
Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated, Professor Thomas?
REPEAT CHORUS
Let's say you meet this hot sophomore, she likes you, you can't ignore
REPEAT CHORUS
S-T-A-T sixty, baby.
I'm going to pass this class, so... you know.
Check this C major!
Comin' straight outta Stockholm, a fun boy named Lars,
CHORUS
Straight outta Stockholm, lap-top rap
"But... were you actually born in Stockholm, Lars?"
Comin' straight outta prep school, on the mike at assembly,
REPEAT CHORUS
Download This Song
Won't take it anymore so I’m writing a list
Don't try to resist this paradigm shift
The music revolution cannot be dismissed
$18.98 Iggy Pop CD?
What if I can get it from my sister for free?
It’s all about marketing Clive Davis, see?
If fans buy the shirt then they get the mp3
Music was a product now it is a service
Major record labels why are you trying to hurt us?
Epic’s up in my face like, “Don’t steal our songs Lars,”
While Sony sells the burners that are burning CD-R’s
So Warner, EMI, hear me clearly
Universal Music, update your circuitry
They sue little kids downloading hit songs
They think that makes sense
When they know that it’s wrong!
CHORUS
Hey Mr. Record Man
The joke’s on you
Running your label
Like it was 1992
Hey Mr. Record Man,
Your system can’t compete
It’s the New Artist Model
File transfer complete
Download this song!
Download this song!
Download this song!
I know I'm rhyming fast, but the message is clear
You don’t need a million dollars to launch a career
If your style is unique and you practice what you preach
Minor Threat and Jello both have things to teach!
I've got G5 production, concept videos
Touring with a laptop, rocking packed shows
The old-school major deal? It makes no sense
Indentured servitude, the costs are too immense!
Their finger’s in the dam but the crack keeps on growing
Can’t sell bottled water when it’s freely flowing
Record sales slipping, down 8 percent
Increased download sales, you can't prevent
Satellite radio and video games
Changed the terrain, it will never be same
Did you know in ten years labels won't exist?
Goodbye DVD’s, and compact disks!
REPEAT CHORUS
You know, we just wanted a level playing field.
You’ve overcharged us for music for years, and now we’re
Just trying to find a fair balance. I hate to say it, but…
Welcome to the future.
REPEAT CHORUS
Roomate From Hell
My name’s Nate, and I’ll be your RA for this year. Today,
we’ll be moving into our dorms and building community.
So go get your keys from the main office, come back, and
Get ready to meet your roommates… alright?
He was the roommate from Hell!
He was the roommate from Hell!
MC Lars: Satan was my roommate, so junior year was Hell
He lacked social skills and had a pungent smell
When your roommate is the devil, it can be extremely whack
Putting posters on the wall, of Trapt and Nickelback
Until the break of dawn he’d be mutilating sheep
“It’s 4 a.m. Satan, can you please go to sleep?”
I can’t have girls over when the dorm smells like sterno
When did room 56 become Dante’s inferno?
He likes death and destruction, I like radio and art,
He likes holding down Christians and reading Jean Paul Sartre
While I’m going to class studying my notes
He’s eating baby fetuses and sacrificing goats
He tricks the freshman girls into eating apples
Holding black masses down at the Campus Chapel
Should have never moved in, wish I were dead
Should have found a place off campus on Craig’s List instead
CHORUS
He was the roommate from Hell. His name was Lucifer
Someone call a priest. And bring the crucifer
He was the roommate from Hell. Leaves his pitchfork in my bed
I’m in a satanic panic. ‘Cause he is messing with my head
MC Chris: Yo, pass that giant balloon of helium over here, yo.
Lars: Okay, but wait, Satan that’s too much!
MC Chris: Boy you need a bitch
Not my fault we’re mismatched
You geek out over Beakman's World,
I dig on World of WitchCraft
You’re thinking that I’m riff raff, huffing on a dishrag
I am just a player, play Slayer then I kick back
I know I reek of sulfur, leave the shower curtain open
I come home drunk, make crank calls
To Queens and then Hoboken
But college is like Salem, all these bitches be so smokin’
If you’re thinking that I’m leaving
Then I’m thinking that you’re jokin’!
I gotta share my bunk with this post-punk chump
Calls this place a dump says, “You’ve been through all my stuff,
I wish you’d go to Hell.” I say, “Hey that’s where I’m from!”
Blasts Death Cab and Devo he’s too emo to get crunk
I was a very nice boss down in Paradise Lost
I had very nice bling ‘cause my minions mind floss
To hell with college, this is knowledge at a very high cost
Gotta go do some blow with that ho… Kate Moss!
REPEAT CHORUS
MC Chris: Lars you’re causing laughter
When you call yourself a rapper, dude,
How many Dead Milkman albums
Are there named after you?
I always got beer. I always got weed. Best roommate ever.
If you’d ever ask me!
21 Concepts
To run for governor before he died
He lived in California but traveled worldwide
It was a big huge hit! Just kidding I lied
There’s the song about the 90’s, I sampled Ace of Base
But kept it off the album in the interest of taste
“Cheyenne Rock City,” a song about touring
But rhymes about Wyoming are really very boring
As for the Churchill song, give me a break!
How many songs about England could my listeners take?
There was a track about women and the drama they bring
“Hot Girls Make Guys Do Really Stupid Things”
Remember “Geeked Out”? You don’t but I do,
“The geek shall inherit the Earth,” it’s true!
I rapped about nerds being cooler than jocks
But if I wanted biased news,
I would have just watched Fox
CHORUS
I’ve got 21 concepts but a hit ain’t one
If you’re having lyric problems I feel bad for you son
I’ve got a list of songs here I once thought were the bomb
But when I laid them down in ProTools
They all came out wrong!
“Las Vegas Invasion” was a sci-fi track
About aliens addicted to playing blackjack
I wrote a song about a kid who made his own flick
But got a bad review in Ranger Rick
I didn’t want to get lynched or punched in mouth
So I didn’t do that song making fun of the South
I did a song about how girls at Stanford are whack
Called “College Is Where Girls Go to Get Fat”
There was the KRS slash Nirvana debut
But the mash-up thing was so 2002
I did an anti-Bush track, and then I did five more
But “Rock Against Bush” was so 2004
I wrote a song about China, how could I go wrong?
I rapped in Cantonese about Mao Zedong
It went um goy, neh ho ma?
Nehih sik ying mun ma?
CHORUS
I’ve got 21 concepts but a hit ain’t one
If you’re having lyric problems I feel bad for you son
I’ve got CD-R of tracks I once thought would be tight
But when I played it for my girl I slept alone that night!
Write a song about a can that gets crushed a lot
Write a dental hygiene jam that says, “brush a lot”
Write a Bill O’Reilly track that says “hush” a lot
No I’m not a player I like Rush a lot!
CHORUS
I’ve got 21 concepts but a single ain’t one
“If you’re still referencing Jay Z I feel bad for you son”
So what’s the secret to hip-hop, jazz, blues and rock?
Step one get out a pad and kill your writer’s block… start!
I’ve got 21 concepts but a hit ain’t one
If you’re having lyric problems I feel bad for you son
I’ve got a list of songs here I once thought were the bomb
But when I laid them down in ProTools
They all came out wrong!
Hot Topic Is Not Punk Rock
(Lars)
Go!
Books about Evanescence
(are not punk rock)
Guns ‘n’ Roses watches
(are not punk rock)
Hello Kitty iPod cases
(are not punk rock)
Rob Zombie lunchboxes
(are not punk rock)
Slipknot binder paper
(is not punk rock)
Tinker Bell pillowcases
(are not punk rock)
Led Zeppelin air fresheners
(are not punk rock)
Tupac incense burners
(are not punk rock)
CHORUS
Hot Topic is not punk rock!
Hot Topic is not punk rock!
Hot Topic is not punk rock!
Hot Topic is not punk rock!
Misfits candle tins
(are not punk rock)
ICP throw blankets
(are not punk rock)
Beaded Elvis curtains
(are not punk rock)
Talking Lamb Chop plush dolls
(are not punk rock)
AC/DC hair clips
(are not punk rock)
SpongeBob wristbands
(are not punk rock)
Sex Pistols boxer shorts
(are not punk rock)
The Dischord back catalogue?
Okay, maybe that’s punk rock… but!
REPEAT CHORUS
Hot Topic uses contrived identification with youth sub-cultures
to manufacture an antiauthoritarian identity and
make millions. That $8 you paid for the Mudvayne poster
would be better spent used for seeing your brother’s
friend’s band. DIY ethics are punk rock! Starting your
own label is punk rock! GG Allin was punk rock! But when
a crass corporate vulture feeds on mass consumer
culture, then spending Mommy’s money is not punk rock!
Rapgirl
Any similarities between people living or dead is entirely
Coincidental… just kidding.
She fell from the sky on a black October night
She wrote these funny songs and every one was tight
She asked me for advice on jump-starting her career
But I’m staring in her eyes as she’s talking in my ear
Suburban rap queen, I wrote this song for you
Suburban rap queen, what’s an MC to do?
Suburban rap queen, every Biggie needs a Kim
Suburban rap queen, sometimes you lose, sometimes you win
CHORUS
Rapgirl, Rapgirl, I like you a lot
You’ve got what it takes to rock that Lars emo spot
Rapgirl, Rapgirl, now tell me what to do
When the playback is too quiet and the
Song’s already through
This is called a breakbeat!
It’s the musical element hip-hop
Was founded on back in 1969.
That’s educational.
She fell from the sky with a superhero icon
We battled in the studio like, “Hey, yo, is this mic on?”
I went down for the count, she went up on the beat
I told her she was hot because stuff like that is sweet
She attacked me with her similes like killer bees at a park
I came back with a metaphor, an angry great white shark
The bass line that she struck threw me flat on my back
So I came back with a track in a lyrical attack
REPEAT CHORUS
Because girls are so confusing, and I guess they’ll always be
I should just become a monk, resign to celibacy
Then I’d never have to worry about what a hug might mean
See these girls who want to be your friend
May be just what they seem
We had burritos in your dorm and talked about Dizzee Rascal
We wrote a song together, recorded it, and that’s all
Romantic love is fear of waking up alone
In Redwood City with platonic voice mail on your phone
REPEAT CHORUS
Rapgirl, Rapgirl (Rapgirl, Rapgirl)
Suburban rap queen,
I wrote this song for you
Rapgirl, Rapgirl (Rapgirl, Rapgirl)
Suburban rap queen,
What’s an MC to do?
Generic Crunk Rap
MC Lars: I guess but… I still got to write some lyrics.
Club promoter: Alright, just remember it’s crunk night.
MC Lars: In that case, I guess it won’t be a problem.
This popular subgenre is brought to you by materialism.
We’d like to thank Bentley, Alizé champagne, and Sean
Jean clothing. We’d like to thank the record industry for
Marketing hip-hop stereotypes to 12 year olds and a pop
Culture that unquestioningly consumes vapid,
Superficial entertainment.
Phrase about my gun, rhyme about my loot
Phrase about these haters I sometimes have to shoot
Rhyme about my clothes,
props to my hometown (Carmel Valley!)
Lyrics that say nothing – cause that’s how we get down
Phrase about my clique, don't step to me punk
Gratuitous rhyme about keeping it crunk
Big ups to our genre, we do it our own way
It’s just too bad our songs don’t have anything to say!
CHROUS
Generic crunk rap! (What) Generic crunk rap! (Yeah)
Generic crunk rap! (What) We don’t mess around
Generic crunk rap! (Yeah) Generic crunk rap! (What)
Generic crunk rap! (Yeah) You like our dirty sound
Buy cars (Get crunk) Take shots (Get crunk)
Have sex (Get crunk) Spend money (Get crunk)
Buy cars (Get crunk) Take shots (Get crunk)
Have sex (Get crunk) Spend money (Get crunk)
Phrase about my car, rhyme about my crew (Volvo!)
Rap about how much more crunk I am than you
Rhyme about my rims, rhyme about my bling
Chorus where I scream cause I don’t know how to sing
Rhyme supporting guns, and also drinking 40’s
Misogynist rhyme about banging lots of shorties
Rhyme about my dough, and then some made up lyrics
Get off the gas you swinga, check the deuce, yo sabiirit
CHORUS
Generic crunk rap! (What) Generic crunk rap! (Yeah)
Generic crunk rap! (What) We don’t mess around
Generic crunk rap! (Yeah) Generic crunk rap! (What)
Generic crunk rap! (Yeah) You like our dirty sound
Buy clothes (Get crunk) Hennesy (Get crunk)
Escalades (Get crunk) Spend money (Get crunk)
Buy cars (Get crunk) Take shots (Get crunk)
Have sex (Get crunk) Spend money (Get crunk)
Grandmaster Flash, I’m sorry but we’re killing hip-hop
KRS, I’m sorry but we’re killing hip-hop
Run-DMC, I’m sorry but we’re killing hip-hop
But who can argue with the charts
When we’re sitting at the top?
Rakim, I’m sorry but we’re killing hip-hop
Chuck D, I’m sorry but we’re killing hip-hop
De La Soul, I’m sorry but we’re killing hip-hop
And we’re making so much money
That we ain’t about to stop!
Coca Cola! (Get crunk) Nike! (Get crunk)
McDonalds! (Get crunk) Disney! (Get crunk)
Fox Network! (Get crunk) Armani! (Get crunk)
Gap Clothing! (Get crunk) Mercedes! (Get crunk)
DKNY! (Get crunk) Courvoisier! (Get crunk)
Prada! (Get crunk) Wal-Mart! (Get crunk)
Chucky Cheese! (Get crunk) Ralph Lauren! (Get crunk)
G-Unit sneakers! (Get crunk) Louis Vuitton! (Get crunk)
I’m just playing Lil Jon. You know I love you.
Ahab
Obsessed with success unlike Steve Wozniak
On the hunt for this mammal that once took my leg
With my warn down crew and my man Queequeg
“You’re never going to find him!” He’s a big sperm whale
“The ocean is enormous!” Shut up, we’re setting sail
This scar that you see that runs down my face
Has scarred my soul and inspired this chase
Mental sickness has got me on the run
Full speed ahead! This is American fun
There is wisdom that is woe, so welcome to my life
It was fine until Moby scarred me like a knife
Towards thee I sail, thou unconquering whale
To stab my spear into your white tail
The first one to stop him gets this gold doubloon
Now excuse me while I go be melancholy in my room!
CHORUS
(Got a low low feeling around me)
Bad trip thanks to Moby Dick!
(And a stone cold feeling inside)
Peg leg, sperm whale, jaw bone, what!
(And I just can’t stop messing my mind up)
Whale crash so fast
(Or wasting my time)
Oh no, oh no!
The ship’s got a hole, plug it up, plug it up!
“We’re never going to find this white whale,
Are we captain?”
Hey Ishmael… can I call you annoying?
Grown up Beluga in the deep blue sea
Swims so fast and swims so free
With the heaven above, Moby Dick stressing me
And this crazy drenched crew below
Call it idiot pride, or call me Oedipus
My main tragic flaw… “But what about us?”
It’s your battle too, crew, man vs. beast
At least have respect as we sail south and east
And north and west, look I’m doing my best
While the rain keeps pouring
we’re exhausted and stressed
Pip went insane when he almost drowned,
So profound when he shrieks like a little sailor clown
Random ships we met warned us of our doom
They said our boat would be our tomb
Near the Mariana Trench, deep and oceanic
We spotted Moby Dick so white and titanic
REPEAT CHORUS
I said, “You took my leg, and for that you must die!”
I threw my spear and hit Moby in the eye
He charged the boat, it began to sink
I said, “How about that? Hubris really stinks!”
I didn’t think that it would end like this
Pride met fate, this captain got dissed
Let it be a lesson, revenge is never sweet
So I stomp my peg to this Supergrass beat!
REPEAT CHORUS
(Got a low low feeling around me)
That’s it, thanks to Moby Dick!
(And a stone cold feeling inside)
Peg leg, sperm whale, jaw bone, what!
(And I just can’t stop messing my mind up)
Whale crash so fast
(Or wasting my time)
Oh no, oh no!
The ship’s got a hole, plug it up, plug it up!
iGeneration
When iTunes bumped a post-Cold War sound
My generation sat at the Mecca of malls,
Times Square, I'm there, Viacom installs
So we hit the net while the Trade Center fell
New York met Hollywood, we ran like hell
No Vietnam for us, yo, Iraq it's on
So who agreed upon this cowboy Genghis Khan?
The choice made, baby. Hey we'd take it back
logged in dropped out, MTV took track
They sold it back to us and claimed no correlation
The iMac, iPod, iGeneration
And I'm waiting for the day we can get out
The world is ours, that's the story no doubt
Want to be more than info super highway traffic
want to be more than a walking demographic!
CHORUS
"Hey! You're part of it" Talking about the iGeneration
"Yeah! You're part of it" Talking about my iGeneration
See the iGeneration knew organization
meant optimization and unification
When imagination gave participation
In creation of culture a manifestation
The Berlin Wall fell and out we came
The post-Cold War kids laid claim to AIM.
LOL, OMG, yo, BRB. Space, colon, dash, closed parenthesis
We sat at our laptops and typed away,
and found that we each had something to say
Web-logged our fears, our hopes and dreams
Individuated by digital means
Fiber optic lenses, DVD, Coca Cola, Disney and Mickey D's.
Flat mass culture, the norm that took hold
I hope I die before I get sold
REPEAT CHORUS
This is the I-N-T-E. R-N-E-T ge-na-ra-tion, see?
This is the I-N-T-E. R-N-E-T ge-na-ra-tion, see?
If I Had a Time Machine, That Would Be Fresh
But was keen on keeping it shiny clean
To travel back in time had always been my dream
So I hatched a scheme and jacked the pod like Ween
AD 33 maybe you would see me
Telling Jesus his friend Judas was untrustworthy
You think that’s fresh? Well just you’d wait
I’d battle rap Chaucer in 1388. I’d tell Lincoln in 1865
Going out to plays alone was somewhat unwise
In 1963, I’d make JFK’s day
I’d say, “before you go to Dallas, wear this helmet, okay?”
In 2001, I’d make the world alright,
I’d go back to 9-11, and cancel all flights
In my time machine, you couldn’t get with me
Because E equals this squared MC
CHORUS
My T-to-the-I-to-the-M-to-the-E. M-A to the C-H-I-N-E
My T-to-the-I-to-the-M-to-the-E. M-A to the C-H-I-N-E
Hey Albert Einstein. Throw your hands in the air.
Props on that whole Theory of Relativity thing.
REPEAT CHORUS
Internet Relationships (Are Not Real Relationships)
Your heart people steal but identities conceal
So here’s a tale of warning for girls and boys
Laptop computers can be dangerous toys
DARYL47: In the chat room, I inspect. Who’s here tonight? ASL check
CarolBabe69: I’m 20/f from the UK. Send me an IM and I’ll make your day
DARYL47: I’m 22 and my name is Daryl
CarolBabe69: Nice to meet you Daryl my name is Carol
DARYL47: What do you like Carol?
CarolBabe69: I like to go to shows. I collect comic books and vintage clothes
What do you like?
DARYL47: I like to skate. I play rock guitar, but I’m not that great
I like to go on dates and I like to stay up late
I live in San Francisco and hang on the Haight
CarolBabe69: Do you like the Golden Gate?
DARYL47: I did when I was eight
CarolBabe69: Maybe I can come and visit?
DARYL47: Maybe you should wait
See I’m really forty-seven, I have kids and a wife
I weight 300 pounds and I really hate my life
CarolBabe69: Are you serious?
DARYL47: Yes
CarolBabe69: Well, I’ve got a secret too. I’m not 20 years old, I’m really 32
I only have one leg and I like to sniff glue
DARYL47: You lied to me Carol
CarolBabe69: Well, you lied to me too
CHORUS
It’s not normal to have an Internet girlfriend.
Online relationships are really just pretend
Unplug your heart, upgrade your system.
Get, get off the Internet
Bob went on MySpace for hours a day.
Talking to girls from Moscow to LA
But people can surprise you from behind a screen
Listen to this verse and you’ll see what I mean
SueChick1990: Hi, I’m Susie, I like your profile
I checked out your pics and I like your smile
BOBSTER MAN: Sounds good Susie, I’ll be your friend
We can message each other again and again
SueChick1990: Comment on my pics and post on my page
Join my groups and guess my age!
BOBSTER MAN: You must be 18, how could you not?
You can’t be in high school you’re just too hot
SueChick1990: Let me send you pics for your personal collection
I hope they inspire you and give you a smile
Susie sent Bob pics that were borderline obscene
The cops showed up at his door – she was only 16
REPEAT CHORUS
If you don’t believe us here’s a final story
About a boy named Marcus and his online girlfriend Lori
Behind the monitor, truth is hidden from your eyes
Marcus didn’t know but he was in for a surprise
MARCUSP: We’ve been dating for a while but let’s cut to the chase
I don’t know what you look like, and I want to see your face
Laurie69: But what does it matter? You know who I am inside
MARCUSP: What if you’re not a woman and this whole time you lied?
Laurie69: You got me there, I’m not really a female
I’m a guy who pretends to be a girl through email
MARCUS: So this is why it’s bad to meet women online
Living life behind the screen is a total waste of time!
REPEAT CHORUS
Internet Relationships (Are Not Real Relationships)
space Game
You can take away my space suit
You can even take away my space lasers
But you can never, ever take away my space game
I broke through the carbonite that’s how I got free
Jabba, back up, because there’s no stopping me
Post-modern player, sample-tastic.
Flow’s ekphrastic, I get drastic
Hey, watch the plastic, yo, I name check
And leave you drowned in space oobleck
Player of the future, watch me go!
Sith girls scream when they hear my flow
These alien chicks reproduce with spores
So I go where no MC has gone before
Hey Fry, look, we can still be friends
I won’t ask Leela out again. Sci-fi, I try, I fly solo
Shoot your landspeeder up just like Bolo
“What’s with Lars, and what’s with his name?”
Never mind that ish, ‘cause I’ve got space game!
CHORUS
Darth Maul can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
Boba Fett can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
Vader can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
Space player bowling up like dynamite
Dr. Smith can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
Q can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
Even Hal can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
Because I’ve got space game and it feels all right
In 2112, all the players play on
Everyone bumps Rush and that “Tom Sawyer” song
I took the red pill, and high fived Neo
Hey what should I sample? “If it sells pick Dio!”
Yo Morpheus, look, you’re a real cyber punk
But your friend Trinity has junk in the trunk
And I’m from Mars, and she’s from Venus
She has ovaries and I have a light saber
‘Cause I get more play than Captain Kirk
He found out and went berserk like a jealous jerk
But no puny Vulcan death grip can paralyze me
I said beam me up Scotty, and then I got free
Princess Leia said that my flows are tight
So I said I supposed she can spend the night
A long time ago in a galaxy far away…
MC Lars got some space age play!
CHORUS
T1000 can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
Magneto can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
Even Zod can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
It’s tight, don’t even try to bite, the sci-fi style I incite
Mr. Spock can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
The Wrath of Khan can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
The Borg can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
Because I’ve got space game and it feels all right
MC Lars: Yo DJ Hal! Bring that beat back
Hal 9000: I’m sorry Lars, I’m afraid I can’t do that
MC Lars: So what can you do?
Hal 9000: I can play this awesome guitar solo
This song is futuristic, so hardcore
Hey T.S. Eliot! Please shut the door
Because modernism is so passé
The postmodern revolution is here to stay
In the house tonight because of Frank Lloyd Wright
The bass goes “boom!” like dynamite
“Yo, Wright was a modernist!”
Yeah I know that, all right,
But you can’t rhyme “Bob Venturi’ with “dynamite”
See it’s Guernica Part II when I storm the stage
I draw fans like Warhol draws soup cans on the page
Did I say postmodern? Well, that was a lie!
I’ve been post-postmodern since junior high
CHORUS
Ezra Pound can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
Virginia Wolfe can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
Joseph Conrad can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
I excite the modern mind like a ray of light
Franz Kafka can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
Wallace Stevens can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
E.E. Cummings can’t stop me (I’m on fire tonight)
I’ve got postmodern game and it feels all right
Yes I’m an alien, I come from outer space
Yes I’m an alien, I came to rock this place
The Dialogue
Lars: Hey yo Ill Bill – will you sign this for me?
I found it at Amoeba it’s the Green CD
Bill: No doubt kid, what’s your name?
Lars: It’s MC Lars
Bill: Word, Howie Abrams is a mutual friend of ours
He played me your joint Lars: What’d you think of it?
Bill: I think it’s bugged out, it’s hot
Lars: Thanks, I like your last record a lot. Your lyrics are
Graphic, much like your brother Necro, is he psycho?
Bill: I don’t know, it really depends though
He’s Psychological, half psycho, half logical,
Half businessman, half put-them-in-the-hospital
Lars: Business and art, there’s a very fine line
There’s the person that you are
And the person when you rhyme
But the best MC’s bring both intertwined
Bill: I agree, that’s when the best of both worlds collide
When the realness pops off one time for your mind,
And your words cause the people in the crowd to riot
CHORUS
As many places I’ve been. As many people I’ve met
As many haters I’ve dissed. There’s people that I respect
As many times as I’ve failed. As many times as I’ve won
As many lives as I touch. The dialogue has begun
Bill: I grew up on heavy metal and hip-hop
The energy was the same to me, it was insane to me
It made me want to rage against the machine
Pick up a guitar and scream into the mic like Run-DMC
Lars: Nine Inch Nails, Primus, “Weird Al,” and King Missile
Influenced me like a postmodern epistle
Geeked out on my Performa looping digital drums
Playing rock guitar in punk bands just for fun
Who’s your favorite rapper? Bill: Rakim, G Rap and Kane
KRS, EPMD, NWA, Public Enemy, Shante and LL Cool J
I could keep naming MC’s all day,
What type of metal stuff you listen to?
Lars: Old school Slayer CD’s, Biohazard and
Bile were the bands for me
The first time that I ever heard Chuck D
Was the Anthrax CD, “Attack of the Killer B’s”… chorus!
REPEAT CHORUS
Lars: So Bill, what’s your take on censorship?
Politicians on a church/state fusion tip?
Bill: I speaks my mind while kids I went to high school with
Bleed on the sands of Kabul hit, it’s bullshit,
Lars what you think of it?
Lars: Out in Iraq, a lack of dialogue
Between the people is whack!
Bill: In fact I speak militant like Black Panthers
These gas prices got my people
With seeds having to gank pampers
Lars: The answer is not plutocracy.
The answers is not hypocrisy,
The answers is true democracy
Bill: The answer is the dialogue constantly
REPEAT CHORUS
Lars: Hey yo Bill, we should do a track together
Bill: Word, word, let’s do that
Lars: Wait, we just did
Six Degrees of Kurt Cobain
It’s called “Six Degrees of Kurt Cobain”
The man was an icon of Generation X
A sound between Joy Division and NOFX (what?)
Let’s dissect this album called “Nevermind”
Produced by Butch Vig of Garbage not Sublime
Butch toured with U2, who wrote a song called “Bad,”
Just like Michael Jackson, this next part is rad
“Weird Al” made fun of “Bad,” and Nirvana too
It brings us back to Kurt (here we go) (round two)
Kurt was in a band with Mr. Dave Grohl
Dave was in Scream, that’s the band not the movie
Courtney loved to scream for a band called Hole
She married Kurt Cobain and had a troubled soul
Some people said she killed him, but that could be a lie
Kurt wrote a song called “I Hate Myself and Want to Die”
Courtney Love landed “Man on the Moon”
Where Jim Carrey sang a song
From the Mighty Mouse cartoon
Danger Mouse not Mighty Mouse worked with the Beatles
He mixed them with Jay Z the whole thing was illegal
Speaking of illegal Jack White did some time
He hit another guy and assault is a crime
So “Get Behind Me Satan” was loved by Rolling Stone
Which leaves us with a cover: Kurt Cobain all alone.
Issue 897… check the cover.
Signing Emo
"Marty, Marty listen to me.
Bring me something the kids will cry for
Get out there, and get us stoked!"
Meet Marty, major label A&R scout
Forty years old, gut hanging out
Red Ferrari, Marty living in L.A.
Bumps another line to get through the day
Dumped by his girl, he paid for her liposuction
His friends call him "Money," in his introduction
And Marty knows nothing but claims to know it all
Lose the flat screen TV if he drops the ball
You’re as good as your last hit, find the next big thing
If he doesn't bring the bling, his cell phone won't ring
What's the trend, what's new? What's a label scout to do?
Office life, Marty 11:32
The label pres. calls and yells, "Sign more emo!"
How about screamo? "If it sells, sign Nemo,"
"We're down 2%, and BMG knows,
My Daughter likes Dashboard, so get me one of those!"
He checks AP.net, the Scout and more
Yelling band names to his assistant through the door
The kids like this, who cares if it's great?
So he signs a band called Hearts that Hate
"Marty... we've got a hit!"
CHORUS
Cry tonight. My hands around your hands
I won't let you die tonight
Cry tonight. My heart's in your hands
I won't let you...
Hearts that Hate, Marty goes to their show,
Up in the club and here we go
Marty sees a girl in a Simple Plan shirt
With a Senses Fail boy, ha! that’ll never work
He finds his label friends in the corner they huddle
An emo cattle auction, they penetrate the bubble
They talk about Victory and signing TBS
Dissing the same bands they just tried to impress
So the lights go down, the crowd starts to scream
Hearts that Hate have hit the scene
Blake on vocals, and lead guitar
He does a backflip, "Look how different we are!"
They show up at the studio to record it
A TRL, Billboard Modern Rock hit
They auto-tune Blake, but he can't tell
He says, "I've got perfect pitch, damn I sing well"
ProTools, Logic, cut, copy, paste,
Quantized solos and quantized bass
Signed, sealed, delivered and sent,
Across the U.S. and the single went
REPEAT CHORUS
Momentum builds, but it all caves in
Industrial comes back, the pres. needs a NIN
Marty finds a new band called "Fetal Coil"
And Hearts that Hate try to keep their fans loyal
They re-work their sound for album number two
As "Machines of Hate” but their career is through
They break up and work pushing mops and brooms
Blake gives guitar lessons in his living room
Blake gives guitar lessons in his living room
Blake gives guitar lessons in his living room
"Can you teach me track five Mr. Blake?"
"Hey, I wrote that song and it goes like this!"
REPEAT CHORUS
1. Hey That's Me
2. Yes I Am an Alien
3. Atom You're Awesome
4. Certified
5. Mr. Wormsly's Addiction
6. The Séance at Harpers Ferry
7. My Rhymes Rhyme
8. Rapbeth (Foul is Fair)
9. Make Way for Ducklings
10. Humphrey the Whale
11. Sarah
12. Escape from Robot Island (featuring MNP)
[Back To Albums]
All I wish is that you taste this like a Swedish dish.
It's the L-A-R-S, H-O double-R I-S...
and I represent CV, and yes I must confess:
I’m back 2003 and the snare drum pumps.
Back up, Kris Kross, it’s my turn to jump.
See I’m a Libra and I’m balanced,
rocking it like Ritchie Valens,
and I’m up to this fresh session,
yes I’m up to this fresh challenge.
And I’m thinking, and I’m writing,
and I’m rapping, and I’ll fighting
all the layers of green apathy
clogging up the zone.
Because I’ll analyze your world,
I’ll analyze your head.
I’ll readjust your paradigm with this microphone.
I was chilling in my ’88 south on 101,
with the woofer in the back bumping P.E. number one.
Free-styling in a genre I didn’t create,
props to Melle Mel, Chuck D, and all eight
hundred thousand MC’s on whose shoulders I stand.
I’m just a white kid with a plastic jammie in his hand!
See this MC here spends his life feeling fine,
but doesn’t often get off in a straight line.
Fine, time will tell where he’s headed.
It’s up to chance, like Gretel’s path is breaded.
Your criticism? I’m above it! Your BS? Let’s rubber glove it!
Take your heroin and shove it… life you’ve got to love it.
So get this, steal this, deal this, peel this away,
I made this song out of my brain neurons and clay.
It helped my brain chill for a week and a day,
until one day it stopped working like the city of Pompeii.
But it’s okay, hey, because I roll it home.
Knick knack paddy whack, my sonic range his grown.
Profound like Antoine De Saint Exuperey,
when I rock the chorus of this song I say…
“Lars Horris,” hey that’s me!
Part Swedish, part Australian, full fun boy G.
“Lars Horris,” hey that’s me!
I scored 1430 on my SAT’s.
“Lars Horris,” hey that’s me!
I’ll rock the CoHo like 1-2-3.
“Lars Horris,” hey that’s me!
I drop English and math and biology.
Jorge Cham might do “PhD,” but can he ever try to rock the mike like me?
And I’m weird like Al, don’t attend Cal, D.J.’s my buddy. Who’s Mike?
Josh plays bass and I take wedding vows,
to my hip-hop rhymes that I’m busting now.
And I satisfy women like GER’s,
I advocate the destruction of SUV cars.
I think Israel and Palestine should get along.
I sampled Nine Inch Nails for this song.
And I’m so post-modern, I don’t even exist.
Did you hear that P. Diddy?
You just got dissed!
It’s the twenty-first century, MC’s please,
you’re killing hip-hop when you sample the Bee Gees!
Most MC’s today rap about five things:
narcotics, cars, girls, clothes, and the bling bling.
Delusions of grandeur in full swing,
fascist self focus and diamond rings.
But if Martin Luther King were alive today,
how would he weigh the decay displayed?
Homogenized identities, ourselves betrayed,
there’s more to rap than just getting paid.
And there’s more to life than MTV and Reeses Pieces,
and when I sit in silence, my love for life increases.
It feels great to pull the plug on the family TV,
and make my own niche in society.
And while I freak this beat, you’re doing spoken word,
trying to get your naked voice heard.
If I didn’t know ProTools, I’d be like you
and I could just do spoken word if I wanted to.
“Lars Horris,” hey that’s me!
You might see me on the street bumping Run-DMC.
“Lars Horris,” hey that’s me!
After my BA I’ll get my PhD.
“Lars Horris,” hey that’s me!
Metaphysically fly like John Donne’s “The Flea.”
“Lars Horris,” hey that’s me!
Rewriting Bronte like Wide Sargasso Sea.
flying over Vietnam high with my Uncle Tom.
Or sitting in a cabin having a sip of tea,
while a parrot sings a song in the minor key of C,
to inspire me, so we will see,
this neurotic harmony that develops sonically.
I’ll be writing my plan out with a needle,
I’ll make you twist and shout and think I was Beatle.
Like Lennon or Stalin in a car that won’t start,
if your Volvo is stallin’ then you need to learn the art
of mechanics. Don’t panic, even though I’m galvanic!
I’m the only non-Hispanic on the Mexican Titanic.
My loops go round and round, just like a carousel,
coming out my BR-8, like I was William Tell.
If you haven’t heard my name, I hope it rings a bell,
because I’m the only guy
who knows what happened at Roswell.
Yes I’m an alien, I come from outer space.
Yes I’m an alien, I’m going to rock this place.
I can’t sell records here, I’m huge in the UK.
British people tell me to keep rocking on,
you might have heard me down in London
rocking heads with this song.
I was sad when I found out about Santa Claus,
so I made like Tim Allen and broke some local laws.
I moved way up north and grew a beard,
now relatives and friends think I’m kind of weird.
But did you think I was heretic when I danced in that church
like an unemployed crustacean chewing on a birch?
I’m addicted to shark meat and books by Mark Twain
and eating Novocain shipped from the Ukraine.
My name’s not Matthew, but thanks for asking!
I live in California, because I’m not Alaskan.
But that’s okay, what can I say?
My real home is actually light years away.
the simile in hip-hop is essentially lost,
like a tearful pallbearer carrying a body,
or a giant pink Care Bare acting snotty.
Where can it go? I just don’t know,
but check out this funky alphabet flow:
it’s like A-B-C-D-E-F-G-
H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P, and ICP on LSD
or ABC or MTV or the new PC
you got for free from
Circuit City in Albuquerque.
I be the VIP MC on this CD,
the name’s MC Lars Horris, as you can see.
So where do I start, and where do I begin?
Yo, it’s tough to be a funky fresh alien.
I listen to it all the time, I can’t get enough.
I dig your first CD (your debut),
and “Society of People Named Elihu.”
And “Making Love” is fresh, this much is true,
but “Redefining Music” is funky and new.
And so I crank it up, turn it up,
and pump up the bass.
The package’s synth lines are up in my face.
I listen to it when I drive any place.
Up yours to anyone who says I’ve got bad taste!
Atom’s music rocks, with nerdy soul.
His new-wave-synth-punk is never dull.
Atom, you’re awesome.
when I was in grade school
that Rob Halford, he kissed me, see fool.
And I was welcomed to the family with Connor,
it was undercover funny just like a longer
keyboard that Enya played.
So I pumped iron and I got paid
when I owned the Redskins
with the Ghetto Boys,
breaking down the walls with kilogram toys.
And we sang to Madonna, all night long,
I opened up my heart, I opened it strong
to Tim Allen, who’s not that funny,
in Philadelphia where I made lots of money
as a goalie, sixteen-hundred pounds.
Chillling on the ice rink so profound,
upside down from here on the map,
sick of people who give me crap.
So I put them on an island in the middle of the sea,
and it was just Atom, Atom and me.
I save old men in seas like Hemmingway.
The swimming pool not taken?
Watch out for Frost,
don’t get busted like Milton,
or paradise will be lost.
It’s like that, and that’s the way it is.
Don’t Run-DMC, walk like the other kids.
And if you get in trouble, I use a contact dive,
I extent my rescue tube to keep you alive.
If you’re submerged, I’ll dive feet first,
and bring you to a backboard, never to a hearse.
Because DOA victims are for amateurs,
I do it my safe way, you do it yours,
like Raley’s or Lucky’s or Albertsons.
Did the victim hurt his neck? I’m going in.
I support your chin, airway and spine,
with my head-splint technique everything is fine.
My EAP is CPR after those rescue breaths,
then I’ll check your airway for respiratory arrest.
Then it’s sweep, ventilation, and abdominal thrusts,
I get the pool toy out I can, will, and must.
Prepared for emergencies I’ve got my life together,
and understand my job keeps you alive like Eddie Vedder.
If you’re a stressed-out mom
who keeps her children fettered,
your kids are safe today, see, no lifeguard is better.
Ten times as reliable mature and fitter
than your average lifeguard as a water babysitter,
Betsy Weeks trained me well at Roble Gym,
and I’m slamming into swim safety, not a Slim Jim.
Lifeguarding at the pool, lake, or the sea,
I keep both eyes on your progeny.
The Red Cross has got my back like 1-2-3,
because I’m C-E-R-T-F-I-E-D.
if you won’t cooperate, I circumvent
and call the cops, best recognize
it’s not wise to distract me as I scrutinize
the pool, it’s called scanning, best take a hint
and shut your mouth, you don’t matter like lint.
Larry Flint might argue that your
voice means nothing, but I be like Bush
and say for safety it means nothing.
I’m disciplined and talented at what I do,
and hope to say the same for my lifeguard crew,
because unlike the Insane Clown Posse,
we practice our skills repeatedly
and don’t cash in on tentative integrity
or fire dope producers for more money.
Wait, what, where was I?
I guess I got side-tracked
dissing Detroit high school drop-outs
with new albums that are whack.
Back on track, here’s the point:
I’m safe like “what!”
Making sure the chemical room door’s always shut.
See that gardener’s dirty trowel?
Well, I don’t. I’m too busy making
sure your kids stay afloat.
And see that dude who kind of looks like Shrek,
but imported like badly dubbed French Star Trek?
Nope, I double check
the bubble trek from your kid’s lungs.
The shovel speck or
smuggled Shrek distract no one
like me, I don’t notice, no, just your kids.
But did I see that kid run? Oh yes I did!
Peripherally, so I’m a lay the smack down
and turn their smiles into one collective frown.
“Hey kids, stop running! You know the rule!”
Yes I’m a tool from lifeguard school
but safety is cool here at the pool,
and trust me on the sunscreen, don’t be a fool.
The Séance at Harpers Ferry
After his revolt did not go fine.
Trying to free the slaves was a noble cause,
Like putting one's faith in the Wizard of Oz.
And I know they've got John Brown in the ground,
Yet I know his story's not fully text-book bound.
And I know his body's a molderin' away,
And I know his rifles have long turned to clay.
But I figure it's time to bring him some respect,
After all his spirit must be quite abject
After being lynched for humanitarian deeds,
Giving Brown a hand is exactly what he needs.
So I'm here in West Virginia with my Oujia Board,
To bring back faith in a soldier long ignored.
It's possible you'd think my intentions are scary,
With this séance that I'm having at Harpers Ferry.
'Cause now I'm channeling John Brown's ghost.
He did his thing at Harpers Ferry, though he missed
The opportunity to lead a slave revolt
Because the West Virginian army made him holt.
He got caught by some racists who weren't down
With his liberal liberation, much too profound.
He was saving the souls of a suppressed race,
Society cut him down, shoved their morals in face.
They said John Brown, John Brown
Just surrender now.
John Brown, John Brown,
We just don't know how
You could ever think you'd get away with this.
His public execution was their ultimate diss.
To communicate with John Brown, through his mind.
And I'm focusing on his very brave deeds
Occasional respect is what the dead need.
Then all of a sudden, he appears to me
Like I'm Macbeth, and he's the witches three.
He looks into my eyes, like they're two jars
And says, "Hello, you must be Lars."
And I'm quite surprise to see Brown today,
Levitating like Slimer, and pale as clay.
Yet he looks tired, and he looks warn,
The expression in his eyes is somewhat forlorn.
I ask him for advice on racial harmony
He tells me to continue fighting bigotry.
He says we can look forward to a new society,
And that he digs the song I did with B.
Roses are red, violets are blue.
My rhymes rhyme, but yours don’t.
I’ll eat shrimp on a blimp but I ain’t no wimp.
I send American flags to Ho Chi Minh,
and Bart Simpson toys to Sam Kinison.
If you’re akin to sin, you may just win,
unless you buy a condom that’s made of lamb skin.
I’m down with you of course and your friend Ian,
although half of this rap is Indo European.
I translated it so it would make sense
to all you ladies and gents but there’s no evidence
if I’m going too fast or if I’m going too slow.
You can always press “repeat” on this funky fresh flow.
Though you may not even know if I mean what I say,
it’s legit when I tell you this homey don’t play.
So sit back and relax and pop open a Coke,
compared to me, 50 Cent, your rhymes are a joke.
Word, word, word to your mother and your father too,
and props to anyone who keeps staying true.
And shout outs to my homeys across the globe, accept diversity but diss a homophobe.
The only way to understanding is to embrace the truth,
we’re all creatures of God, Buddha, Allah, and Zeus.
We’re only here for a bit, so make the best of it.
Don’t look back in sixty years
to see your life was… garbage!
But the point I’m trying to make is that
my flows are so def like a big milkshake.
I don’t mean to brag, I don’t mean to boast,
but the Sugarhill Gang is misquoted the most.
props to anyone who bought “Nothing to Fear.”
Shout outs to Wesley Willis, Atom G., and John Hall.
Word to MC Paul Barman, hey return my call!
What’s up to Jerry Garcia, Hendrix, Morrison and Zappa,
word to Devo, “Weird Al,” and those girls from Abba.
I hope you have a good day and that you’re feeling swell,
even though the music industry can be hell.
His constant sadness is no fun.
The comic relief's the best part
Fans just can't wait for it to start.
The pain inside Macbeth is clear-
It seems to bring a heavy tear.
The story's tragic, most the time...
Who needs free verse when you've got rhymes?
What's hip from Macbeth, you say?
Comic relief, on any day!
And so we'll take the funny parts
And understand just where they start.
We'll take the rhymes that stick out most.
And loop them twice (so not to boast).
We've got this sound for MTV,
We introduce the Witches Three.
Thrice, and once the symbol chimed.
Producer cries, "Tis time, 'tis time."
Producer cries, "Tis time, 'tis time."
Round about the record goes;
Into which our lyrics go.
Bass line which did like (we not)
Did not go into our pot.
Double, double, toil and trouble.
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair;
We must warn you, Macbeth, beware.
Casting spells gives me an itch.
I'm allergic to my cat
And this black robe makes me look fat.
Bringing apparitions is
Not really the type of bis.
I want to be in for good.
I would quit, if I could.
But saying that "I'm out of here,"
Is not something that people hear.
So we're stuck here for a few more years.
Never mind Hectate's jeers.
(Want you really really want),
Macbeth, if you want to get ahead.
Try to stay away form murder
And be happy with your power
If you want to get to act six keeping your head.
We know that power is bad
When it makes all of your
Loved ones sad (so sad)
We guess Malcolm won't be too glad
When he sees what you did to his dad.
If it were done when 'tis done,
then 'twere well
If were done quickly.
And so now I ponder about killing
this guy and inheriting even more power.
And so, if I do do these evil deeds,
I will probably suffer
horribly, as we all know the
importance of karma.
And power corrupts, obviously,
so I am determined, I guess
to stay away from slaying Duncan,
and stick to living a peaceful life.
But wait...
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand?
Come, let me clutch thee,
and in doing so, I will kill Duncan.
My strange and self-abuse
Is the initiate fear that wants hard use.
We are yet but young in deed,
We are yet but young in deed.
lighten up and try to give
A new perspective to your life,
It's not all darkness pain and strife
Don't caught up in superstition
or swallowed by old tradition,
Thesbians would be completer
shouting "Macbeth" in the theatre.
he goes to Stanford University.
And since Kindergarten he acquired knowledge,
and after twelve grade he went straight to college.
social IQ twenty-five; you know that I mean this.
Between his DVD’s clogged arteries and MP3’s,
he’s got this antisocial mental brain disease.
And I want to break him out, want to show him the world.
Want to get him blazed, want to get him a girl.
Want to take him camping down in Ventana.
Want to enlighten him, like the Dalai Llama.
He’d otherwise never known the beauty to be seen
beyond his flat-panel PC LCD screen.
But would he care if I took him by the hand,
planned on a trip to Brain-Expansion Land?
I don’t mean to be a pushy REI creep,
but you’ll thank me when you’re chilling six feet deep
and the worms crawl in and the worms crawl out
and the worms play PS2 on your snout.
No doubt, what I’m about is helping you,
to lively up yourself like Marley would do.
,br>And we’re picking up more people as we go,
introverted sad humans, no internal glow.
We’ve got to keep driving, cars out of our way!
I’ve got nascent cargo here on life’s highway.
As precious as small birds straight out the shell,
check the chorus, the metaphor explains itself well.
Make way for ducklings,
make way for these introverted ducklings.
Make way for ducklings;
soon they’ll be existentialist heroes.
you all grew socially, learned and had fun. Question one,
“You’re in class with a hottie named Sue,
and one day she walks in and sits next to you.
Her shirt says ‘the Sopranos,’ and you dig that show,
there might be a connection between you two,” so,
do you (A) say, “Hey, I like your shirt,”
(B) look away, outside at the dirt,
(C) send her an e-mail, later that day, with a link to a fan site you think is okay, or
(D) make a joke about HBO’s
popular, uncensored mafia shows,
and catch Sue’s attention with your cultured wit,
working it like Matt Groening works it.
Well the answer is (D), obviously,
negative points if you said (B) or (C).
Next question, “Let’s say you’re a dad with two small kids,
and you’re chilling on vacation like your own family did.
And you go to Boston, because it’s fun,
and you go to the park and walk or run.
And then you see some birds, walking past,
not too slow or not too fast.”
Do you (A) say, “Kids! Check it out,
these birds are mobile, without a doubt,”
or (B) say nothing and be like, “Whatever,
I’ve seen cooked birds that look better,”
or (C) toss the birds some candy or fish,
well the answer is (D), and (D) is this:
Make way for ducklings,
make way for those migrating ducklings.
Make way for ducklings;
because now you’re an existentialist hero.
shout outs to the Moonies.
Truck Records is in effect.
Shout outs to you,
thank you for listening to this song.
Humphrey the Whale should have GPS,
Humphrey the Whale should get GPS.
Sacramento Delta, Humphrey!
Fresh water is not good for marine mammals.
So stay out of the Sacramento Delta
and swim in the San Francisco Bay
where you belong…
because it’s not healthy,
and this is the end of my song,
Humphrey.
my heart skipped a beat with feelings profound and
I gave you my soul and virginity.
I loved you so much; you were the world to me.
Seventeen months together and then we separated,
due to college and commitments the fantasy faded.
It was hard as hell, winter quarter for me,
even though in the long run it made us free.
And I’m not mad at you, wait, yes I am,
I just wish one more time I could hold your hand
and say, “Sarah, take care, until the end.
I want you to know I’ll always be your friend.”
I can’t pretend the year never occurred,
you always said we’d be in touch,
you gave me your word.
But the full moon’s dark,
and Garland’s gone,
and I’m tearing up your pictures
as I’m writing this song.
Sarah, I can’t seem to find the key,
we tossed together into the Velvet Sea,
you said you’d always be there,
but it wasn’t true.
But I’m over you, Sarah, I’m over you.
cutting me sharply like a serrated knife.
But Sarah I’ve rolled forward and my head’s in the stars,
but some mornings when it’s cold, I’ll wonder how you are.
It went sour like our showers together turning cold,
and I’ll reminisce with passion
when my face is gray and old.
Or so I’m told we all do when we turn eighty-two,
I’ll think of high school, Pebble Beach, and you.
It’s true I’m doing fine
though you’re sometimes on my mind,
your adolescent body, acceptable to fine.
But nothing gold can stay and dawn goes down today,
and Sarah you’ll have cellulite and crow’s feet some day.
Okay, hey I still love you, it’s true,
and I hope Whitman College is good to you.
Things are okay now, though they used to seem wrong,
I’m over you like Sidney writing Laura’s last song.
when we went straight to that island
on that momentous day.
To explore it, not ignore it, like Christopher C.
MNP and Lars H., pioneers adrift at sea.
And so we went ashore,
knowing not what was in store,
‘till there came a crazy noise that we could not ignore.
Fourteen robo-primates, they came straight for us,
nasty and ugly, like a zit brimming with puss.
So we hopped into our boat, hoping it would float,
‘till we found a robo-monkey had chewed it like a goat.
And a big hole remained at the bottom of our craft,
as it began to sink, the robo-creatures laughed.
Then out of the woods came more robots by the dozens,
daddies, mommies, aunts, and uncles, grandmas, grandpas, and cousins…
whole robo-families, thirsting for blood.
Vampiric evil machines caked in oil, grease, and blood.
Escape from Robot Island,
we’ll take them to the desert
trip their circuits and fry them.
Can’t stay in Robot Island,
these robots are maniacal,
let’s beat them up and hide them.
Get out of Robot Island,
don’t want to be your robo-lunch,
your robo-canned-food-blend.
Delete Robot Island, you evil R2D2’s,
now it’s time to meet your end.
Call me a stupid-ass white boy, flip me the bird?
I want to smack you right now in the face,
but they’re locked on me, stalking this place.
Today has been a scary day,
these robots they don’t want to play,
their bodies are metallic gray,
their wires look like plastic hay.
These robots chased us through the night,
everybody knows that I put up a fight
to the different kinds, they blow my mind,
giant eyeball watching me reading my mind.
There are fury ones with blades
coming out of their fur,
robots riding chariots just like Ben-Hur,
a ton that will toss you in a chasm,
balls that drill you like in Phantasm.
Tall ones, short ones, round ones, long ones,
little ones, green ones, right ones, wrongs.
Batteries not included, these things attack,
Model ZX goes for your sack.
Big metal teeth ain’t too friendly.
Mechanical death? That’s not for me!
All the different Doomsday Machines,
we have to stop them with live-or-die means.
They have their cold metallic hearts,
soulless just like Kinkade's art,
we need to learn to play the part,
getting out alive is where we’ll start.
Saving ourselves, see that is our mission,
like I’m running from the firm in the novel by Grisham.
Or Tommyknockers, by Mr. King,
on the run and this ain’t no dream.
evil bots knocking at the door.
LARS: We climbed up here to get away
and we’ve been stuck all night and day.
MNP: We built a gun, quadruple barreled,
quiver filled with acid arrows.
LARS: There was a chainsaw that we found,
like Ash we wielded it around.
MNP: We used it like a robot shank,
little did we know the chain would break.
LARS: We hat a copper melting pot,
filled with oil very hot.
MNP: It burned right through the wooden planks,
they climbed up and they said, “Thanks.”
LARS: They want violence, not harmless pranks.
MNP: Run, Lars, run, just like Tom Hanks.
ROBOT: Foolish humans, time to die,
we’ll gobble you up like ham on rye.
LARS: We’ve done everything that we can do;
it was up to me, now it’s up to you.
MNP: The arrows, we still have those,
let’s fire them and see how it goes.
We’ll get you both, prepare to hurt.
Your blood will drip,
your blood will spurt and
you’ll be six feet under dirt.
The early bot gets the human, or so they say.
LARS: Wait! It’s time to die? I don’t want to go yet!
I never went to Russia or owned a private jet.
I never kissed a lion or went bowling nude,
I’ve never gone hang gliding or had hamster food.
MNP: Pull yourself together man,
you’re getting me annoyed.
Let’s not go out in shame!
Let’s go out shooting droids.
You forgot about my Remington
taped to my Smith & Wesson,
my aim is next to perfect,
let’s teach these things a lesson.
Stop!
MNP: Yes, I’m about to do it.
LARS: Go! MNP: Ha!
LARS: Nice, but we’re not half-way through it.
There’s eight-hundred more,
and you’ve only got two bullets.
MNP: If anyone can make it,
MNP and Lars can do it.
LARS: You’re right MNP,
let’s overcome our fears,
machines won’t run humanity
like twisted engineers.
2. UK Visa Versa
3. Hurricane Fresh
4. Signing Emo
5. Stat-60
6. Straight Outta Stockholm
7. Mr. Raven
[Back To Albums]
iGeneration
My generation sat the mecca of malls, Times Square, I'm there, Viacom installs.
So we hit the net while the Trade Center fell, New York met Hollywood, we ran like hell.
No Vietnam for us, yo, Iraq it's on. So who agree upon this cowboy Genghis Khan?
The choice made, baby. Hey we'd take it back, logged in dropped out, MTV took track.
They sold it back to us and claimed no correlation. The iMac, iPod, iGeneration.
And I'm waiting for the day we can get out. The world is ours, that's the story no doubt.
Want to be more info super highway traffic, want to be more than a walking demographic!
"Hey! You're part of it." Talking about the iGeneration.
"Yeah! You're part of it." Talking about my iGeneration.
When imagination gave participation in creation of culture a manifestation.
The Berlin Wall fell and out we came, the post-Cold War kids laid claim to AIM.
LOL, OMG, yo, BRB. Space, colon, dash, closed parenthesis.
We sat at our laptops and typed away, and found that we each had something to say.
Web-logged our fears, our hopes and dreams. Individuated by digital means.
Fiber optic lenses, DVD, Coca Cola, Disney and Mickey D's.
Flat mass culture, the norm that took holdÉ I hope I die before I get sold.
This is the I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T ge-na-ra-tion, see?
UK Visa Versa
Should I watch the BBC or should I watch the BBC?
Look at these crazy coins, is this Lord of the Rings?
Pounds and pence and Princes and Queens?
Flipside experience, well not really.
More familiar than Russia or Chile.
Up for cricket or squash, or the London zoo?
Look, you hate George Bush and we do too.
Fab music scene, though, UK bands are ace,
And you guys are the most polite of the human race.
Fish and chips, crumpets, bangers and mash,
Shakespeare, Donne, Sid Vicious and the Clash.
You love our movies, we kind of like yours.
We love the way you talk, "please help help us in these wars."
You stopped staying "fab," we stopped saying "groovy,"
Our Scotland is Canada; you saw the South Park movie.
I love England and visa versa,
American perspective in these Visa verses.
Tea time? Jolly good! Caffeine rush.
Look, a red a phone booth and a double-decker bus.
The Boston Tea Party, and that silly East Coast war.
Oxford, London, and Guildford too,
Rockin' your P.A.'s when I come to visit you.
But we've still got love for your boy Edmund Burke.
If it weren't for us, you'd be speaking German,
But then we gave you Hanson and Pee Wee Herman.
You gave us the Beatles, and you gave us the Who
We gave you Kris Kross and Vanilla Ice too.
You gave us "Chicken Run" and the Teletubies,
We gave you McDonald's and got you chubby.
You think we're all Trailer Trash obnoxious and noisy.
But that's just Springer, Ricki Lake, and Boise.
We're friendly and fake and proud of our nation,
Overweight, wasting gas, hedonic civilization.
We're sue-happy mad overworked compulsive winners,
Strong facade but insecure, just think Seymour Skinner.
We're obsessed with image, old age and fat,
Technology, death, and our dogs and cats,
The superbowl, shopping, S.U.V.Õs and money,
Santa Claus, hygiene and the Easter Bunny.
But bigger is better and we love our T.V.
From L.A. to Boston, to Nashville, Tennessee.
And yes 1/4 of Americans own guns
In case you come back to punish your sons.
But Mother Britain listen, there's still a tie that binds us,
The U.S. isn't perfect, you donÕt have to remind us.
Hurricane Fresh
Post-rap, post-punk, post-Kurt Cobain, post Kool Moe Dee post-House of Pain.
Chuck D told me I had to be me so I bought the Public Enemy CD.
I ripped one track in .mp3, "ill Lars Ulrich came after me.
I said, "ItÕs me your lost nephew", he said, "No way, that canÕt be true."
I kicked him with my Converse shoe all the way to Timbuktu.
Of Wolf and Ulrich, Sad But True, he lived there for a year or two.
He mastered Puppetry alone, justice for Sean Fanning clones.
Now that's fresh. Now that's fresh, that's fresh (get fresh).
Now that's fresh, that's fresh (I get fresh).
Now that's fresh, that's fresh (get fresh). Now that's fresh.,
I got mad props from the BBC, but hip-hop heads still donÕt get me.
So I take a chance, I rhyme white but so what? I like James Brown and Beyonce's butt.
Whatever your race I'll Friendster you and rent two Spike Lee NetFlix too.
And I still rock shows and try to dance, still rock Simpsons underpants.
And I still like Rush and Dr. Dre. I still keep bumping N.W.A.
I get fresh on the mike like a milkman on duty,
So burn this disco to the ground and baby shake that booty.
I attack the track like a Steve Segal movie. 3D fresh, not 2D fruity.
05 so live, I've been doing this for years,
making money 'cause I'm funny with this music of the spheres.
And I dance! Hey, watch me dance.
Goofy MC's can't be me even if they had the chance.
Pondora have you seen Persephone?
Hades rabies got me going like KRS-One.
Why is that? (I don't know) MC's act like they don't know.
I poison this track with a Scorpion flow.
Because I rock the mike like a hurricane.
Because I rock the mike like a hurricane.
Because I rock the mike, hurricane fresh!
Signing Emo
(featuring Hearts that Hate)
"Marty, Marty listen to me. Bring me something the kids will cry for.
Get out there, and get us stoked!"
Red Ferrari, Marty livinh in L.A. bumps another line to get through the day.
Dumped by his girl, he paid for her liposuction,
His friends call him "Money", in his introduction.
And Marty knows nothing but claims to know it all,
Lose the flat screen TV if he drops the ball.
YouÕre as good as your last hit, find the next big thing.
If he doesn't bring the bling, his cell phone won't ring.
What's the trend, what's new? What's a label scout to do? Office life, Marty 11:32.
The label pres. calls and yells, "Sign more emo!"
How about screamo? "If it sells, sign Nemo,"
"We're down 2%, and BMG knows,
My Daughter likes Dashboard, so get me one of those!"
He checks AP.net, the Scout and more,
yelling band names to his assistant through the door.
The kids like this, who cares if it's great?
So he signs a band called Hearts that Hate.
Cry tonight. My hands around your hands.
I won't let you die tonight.
Cry tonight. My heart's in your hands.
I won't let you...
Marty sees a girl in a Simple Plan shirt with a Senses Fail boy, thatÕll never work.
He finds his label friends in the corner they huddle,
An emo cattle auction, they penetrate the bubble.
They talk about Victory and signing TBS,
Dissing the same bands they just tried to impress.
So the lights go down, the crowd starts to scream,
Hearts that Hate have hit the scene.
Blake on vocals, and lead guitar,
He does a backflip, "Look how different we are!"
They show up at the studio to record it,
A TRL, Billboard Modern Rock hit.
They auto-tune Blake, but he can't tell.
He says, "I've got perfect pitch, damn I sing well."
ProTools, Logic, cut, copy, paste, quantized solos and quantized bass.
Signed, sealed, deliver and sent, across the U.S. and the single went...
Industrial comes back, the pres. needs a NIN.
Marty finds a new band called "Fetal Coil"
And Hearts that Hate try to keep their fans loyal.
They re-work their sound for album number two,
As "Machines of Hate," but their career is through.
They break up and work pushing mops and brooms,
Blake gives guitar lessons in his living room.
Blake gives guitar lessons in his living room,
Blake gives guitar lessons in his living room.
"Hey, I wrote that song and it goes like this!"
Stat-60
STAT-60 satisfies 2C, the math GER, not the one for me.
The Central Limit Theorem? Speak English.
The Sum of Squares? I don't need this.
But I'm positive, studying hard, gotta pass this, no holds barred.
But essay due last Thursday man, Moby Dick I understand.
Up 'till five in the library, Meyer Lair, kind of scary.
Asleep at eight then up at ten, missed the lecture can't pretend,
I get the null hypothesis... on Tuesday's test, I was dissed.
Got STAT-60 on my mind,
In my notes and in my rhymes.
Chi-squared values all the time,
Easy quarter? Not this time.
Never are the quiz score grades ever inflated, but you taught this:
You get involved in radio, work really hard, get your own show.
But whoops, you slip, and play a track, uncensored as matter of fact.
The FCC gets on your back, the station manager says it's whack.
The probability that youÕll loose your show on 90.1? 1.0.
Let's say that you're late for class, racing down peddling fast.
You live in A, class is at B, integrate time and velocity.
The probability that you'll crash your bike,
In White Plaza on the way to Psych, .34 on your cell phone, .85 if you hit a cone.
X the months that you date, P the probability that it's great.
You break up but you still kiss, you're not discrete it's continuous.
Late night hook ups nebulous, thin line friendship no big fuss.
Weekly sessions on the phone, made the right choice, you're on your own.
Good to be single all alone, degrees of freedom you can't clone.
But calculate E of X, you're at a party you see your ex,
The probability that your heart breaks in 2
She's with someone new and it's not you.
S-T-A-T sixty, baby.
S-T-A-T sixty, baby.
S-T-A-T sixty.
Straight Outta Stockholm
Survived Loma Prieta, Mad Cow, and SARS.
I hit you with these flows like your name was Nancy Kerrigan
Here and back and there again, atypical American.
Third generation Swedish, second gen. Aussie,
Am I street enough for this? Sometimes I'm "Paranoid" like Ozzy.
See it used to be punk rock for about four years,
I played lead guitar, we dissed Britney Spears,
Amphoteric the name, Central Cali band,
Local shows, t-shirts, EP's, no plan,
Just chilling with the crew slamming power chords,
They wanted more guitars but I got bored.
I was born to rock heads and fill them too,
But did the world really need another Blink 182?
Stuck on this Earth like glue since 1982,
Cooked up my own post-modern salmagundi stew.
Straight outta Stockholm, lap-top rap,
American iconoclast, alien boom-bap,
Cali's my home, baby, West Coast boy,
I get more love than Helen of Troy.
American iconoclast, alien boom-bap,
I make rap fun, friendly, fresh and new
MC Lars in the place, yeah boy, I thought you knew!
No, but my family on my Mom's side is Swedish-American.
"Uh... okay."
Class clown, straight A's, running KSPB.
Pebble Beach, sheltered high school, like a nun on Mars
The Horris was Dr. Quin, Heavyweights gave me Lars.
"So how do you spell it? Yo, what's the website?"
Is it really that hard? "Morris" with an H - alright!
And okay yo today see I'm still experimenting,
Venting & presenting never misrepresenting.
And it's not quite rap, not quite pop,
Alien hip-hop Lars punk rock,
If I make the big time I'll still sit up in my room,
My brain on the keyboard and I'll try to resume,
Such a great story that I'll always behold,
I'll look back on this when I'm 80 years old.
London, New York, UK tour, NY demo,
Tickled as can be, when I tickle you like Elmo.
So much to say, new sounds to try,
Laptop, costumes, local buzz, and why?
Don't ask me, buddy, but you're bumpin' me now!
Amalgam for the future revolution like Mao.
You're right when I grab the mike, I do what I like,
I sit with a pen by the full moon light.
Euphonic epiphany like Keat's lyre trope,
I am it, iambic's rap's last hope.
My Grandma says I have rhyme talent, and I love her.
I flow lethal, Weapon? Lyrical like Danny Glover.
I flip your paradigm manhole cover,
Mutant reptiles, surprised what you discover.
But I still like Bob Dylan more than any MC.
Most depress me, like Hepatitis B.
Reverse them like Pi when they step to me
Nine five one four one point three.