Back To The Motor League - текст песни
Back To The Motor League
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I like to party fucking hard. i like my rock and roll the same. don't give a fuck if
i burn out. don't give a fuck if i fade away. so back to the motor-league with me
before i'm forced to face t
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Ath of a well-heeled buying public who live vicariously through tortured-artist
college-rock and floor-punching macho pabulum. back to the motor league i go. once
thought i drew a lucky hand. tu
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Out to be a live grenade of play-acting "anarchists" and
mommy's-little-skinheads, death-threats and sycophants and wieners drunk on
straight-edge. fuck off. who cares? i'd rather hi-l
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Rip-tiks than listen to your bullshit. fuck off. who cares about your stupid scenes,
your shitty zines, the straw-men you build up to burn. it never ceases to amaze me
and as i'm suffering your
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Ction it reminds me of my own race to redress my own sad history of mouthed feet.
eaten hats. teated bulls. amish phone-books. drunken brawls. but what have we here?
15 years later it still reek
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Ў®swill and chickenshit conformists wi
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Th their fists in the air; like-father, like-son "rebelsЎ± bloated on korn,
eminems and bizkits. lord, hear our prayer: take back your amy grant mosh-crews and
your fair-weather politics. b
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Ry my hair and stick me on a ten-speed. back to the motor league. i guess life is
just a popularity contest. success, the ability to perform within a framework of
obedience. just ask the candy-c
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Joy-cam rock-bands selling shoes for venture-capitalists, silencing competing
messages, rounding off the jagged edges. today is good day to die.
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