1. |
Young Turks
04:03
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YOUNG TURKS
young turks
forty-odd feet
of kerosine fuel
fires the hot young turks
muscled athletes
jocked up on caffeine
fires the well-hung jerks
pansy wholewheat
a pacifists treat
fires the fat houseworker
my turk of a mule
packing coca paste
could not equel
the yule log fuel fire
of the hot young turks
young turks
stank like camels
hung like chinchillas
burly young gorillas
hair-net latinos
drag racing their camaros
[guitar solo]
young turks
forty-odd feet
of kerosine fuel
fires the hot young turks
courtly quad teats
of seventeen school
girls in their taut clung shirts
pussy-wipped pete
raised on wolverine stool
sired in a low-slung yurt
swarthy vice-squad secretes
nitrosamine drool
fired in the dot com bubble burst
salty cod treats
swimming in the cesspools
expired when caught, hung, and burnt
warty roughshod feet
in mujahedeen school
fundamentalistani turkmenistani
sporty soccer cleat
of propylene ghouls
rikitikitavi
fatty on my feet
stiffy in my bleep
roiling out a burp
printing out a spreadsheet
of philistine boolean
algebra of whatnot and whatnot
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2. |
I Married a Prostitute
02:27
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3. |
Baby Mother
02:21
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4. |
Consumerism
01:01
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CONSUMERISM
shopping
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5. |
Militarism
00:54
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MILITARISM
don’t mess with Texas
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6. |
Fist
02:12
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FIST
fist, the fist, the fist
glorious fist
this fist, my fist
mountains of mist
conceal what I'm holding in my fist
a gift, for you
you're catching the drift
a fist, for you
no whipping boy, me
I ball up my fist
and bust your lip
that lip, your lip
I can't explain
how my train of thoughts
deteriorates into hate
and I want to say:
"hey, come my way"
when I really mean:
"you sucker, come get puckered"
cause here comes your friend, fist
fist, the fist, the fist
I gave you the gist
my story is this:
the grist for this mill
is bloodied and scabbed,
a face full of fist, of fist, yeah
the fist, ‘cest moi’, its me
I’m wrapped around with fingers
eine Fause ist
eine Klugel des Fleisches
brütend in eine ‘pirouet’
I can’t explain… (etc.)
that’s it, you mother, kapeesh?
go sleep with the fish
and dream of my fist
fist, and a fist, and a fist up your ass!
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7. |
De Profundis
04:20
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DE PROFUNDIS
De profundis clamavi ad te
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8. |
Count To Twelve
03:54
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9. |
Dark Grey Matter
05:22
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10. |
Deo Gracias Anglia
03:30
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DEO GRACIAS ANGLIA
Owre kynge went forth to Nor-man-dy
With grace and myght of chy-val-ry;
Ther God for hym wrought merv-'lus-ly,
where-fore Eng-londe may calle and cry:
Deo gracias Anglia
Deo gracias Anglia
Redde pro victoria
He sette a sege, for soothe for say,
To Har-flu toune with ry'l a-ray
That toun he wan and made a-fray
That Fraunce shal rywe til Domes-day;
Deo gracias Anglia
Now gra-cious God he keep oure kynge,
His pe-ple and alle his wel-wyll-ynge,
Yes give hym goode lyfe and gode end-yng;
That we with merth mow save-ly synge:
Deo gracias Anglia
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11. |
Cloaca Maxima
04:36
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Ben Sommer Boston, Massachusetts
I am a composer, performer, and writer. I’m also a pent-up curmudgeon. I vent on political and economic matters in both my writing and my music. bensommer.com/bio
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