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Lyrics

Below you will find all of our lyrics painstakingly transcribed in chronological order.

DEMO

1)We Broke The PA Hello.  How have you been?  It hasn’t been too long.  But something’s gone awry.  There’s something wrong.  Everyone’s on edge. The danger’s gone.  We riot.  When we should break PA’s.  Our music is so soothing.  Our movement is not moving.  We plug our mic’s into clear channels.  They buy it.  Now we’re dismantled.  We don’t need a microphone.  We scream loud enough on our own.

2) I Like The Way You Look But Not You
Turn your tassels baby and spread your tan-lined legs.  Pinning paper hearts on designer clothes is just so fucking teenage.  Love me do, he loves me not.  Deep in love with love, oh sweet romantic thoughts.  Laugh and dance through sweet romance and cherry pop your way to popularity.  Turn your tassels baby and spread your tan-lined legs.  Snort lines of coke through a plastic nose and purge purge purge away.  Beauty so skin deep leaves only shallowness as the popular decay.  The high school known sit on a flimsy thrown and abort their lives each day.  And you sing to yourself on repeat: I love me.

3) 90266
In warm-hearted houses the fireplace is always bright and it’s always Christmas Eve, dreaming of white Christmas nights.  Candles twinkle love like stars stolen from the sky, making houses happy, who cares about the world outside?  Jonny get’s great grades and Daddy gets great head.  Maria raised the kids.  Mommy just tucks them into bed.  The TV’s on from 9 to 5 every single day.  Their water’s pure and their god is good, as long as they obey.  Somewhere beneath the malls under miles of tax returns…hidden behind a white picket fence and masked by what they earn…cloistered by the walls of stucco mansions and expensive cars…the foundation’s made of shit and what you have is all you are.

4) MacKinnon
I want to say what words just can’t.  I wish today was not today.  Maybe she could take it back…I’ve smashed the lights out and climbed the hill behind my house and felt the asphalt chill.  There were lonely kids and swing-setting suns, closed bedroom doors and a life undone.  I keep the time with the stroke of a dried-out pen.  If she is written here, maybe she is never dead.  I’m holding on so tight to letting go.  And moving on from here is going, oh, so slow.  This beat heartbeats-up every last thing.  And there is nothing left, and nothing left to sing.  And there is nothing that I can say except I wish today was not today.  And I know this gives you nothing at all.  But that’s all I have, nothing, that’s all.  So I’ll give you everything in two “nothing” words: I’m sorry.

5) Did You Just Say “Faggot”?
I call shenanigans. We should know better. We should know better than this by now.

6) We Have More Sense Than Lies
And lately, well I’ve been feeling down.  It’s like there’s no more room for a hopeful sound.  I need to believe in something new.  To believe in me like I believe in you.  We’ve had our hands held much too tight.  We’ve been more wrong than we’ve ever been right.  Can’t rest our hopes on a hanging chad.  We need much more than just one punk rock band.  Clenched fists and blackened eyes.  Break wide open our heads and fix our broken minds.  We’re crossing fingers and we hope for the best. We’ve lost our anger.  We’ve been suppressed.  And we can’t just hold our breath.  Sit back and sing along.  Pretend that it’s all okay when we know we’re wrong.  And this is not a call to arms.  Just a hope that we might try.  That we might try.  To use our heads and open eyes.  We have more sense than lies.  We have more sense than lies.  And nothing changes if we don’t change ourselves.  Bombs burst my trust away.  Red glares and empty stares.  We need something to say.  We need to start to care. And we can’t just hold our breath.  Sit back and sing along.  Pretend that it’s all okay.  When we know we’re wrong.  We must change.  Ourselves.

S/T EP

1) My Whole Entire Unit
Safe.  So safe.  So safe that we don’t mean a goddamn thing.  There is no more danger, there’s no more danger here.  We’re safe.  A waste.  We’re no longer something to fear.  There’s so much left to sing about, there’s so much more to say.  But we say less and less with each passing day.  I thought we’d break down walls.  I thought we’d rise above.  That we’d conquer the world.  That what we did was secret.  Fuck a pretty product.  And fuck a pretty tune.  This is ugly fucking music from an ugly fucking room.  We have stopped our digging.  There’s no more underground.  We sing: nothing, regurgitated gimmicky sounds.  All our ears are plugged with the hottest of hot air.  And we might actually make a difference if only we would ever dare.  We just sing the same old shit.  I won’t let us fool ourselves.  I won’t keep up the charade.  We could do so much more.  Change much more than we’ve changed.  Your mohawk don’t mean a thing.  Your studded belt don’t mean a thing.  And your test press don’t mean a goddamn thing to me.  Punk rock don’t mean a thing.  Punk rock don’t mean a thing.  Punk rock don’t mean a goddamn thing to me.  Can you use your brain?  We can.  Can you start to think?  We can.  Can you raise your voice?  Can you be dangerous?  Yes, we can.

2) 90266
In warm-hearted houses the fireplace is always bright.  And it’s always Christmas Eve, dreaming of white Christmas nights.  Candles twinkle love: like stars stolen from the sky, making houses happy.  Who cares about the world outside?  Johnny gets good grades and Daddy gets great head.  Maria raised the kids; Mommy just tucks them into bed.  The TV’s on from nine to five every single day.  Their water’s pure and their god is good, as long as they obey.  Somewhere beneath the malls, under miles of tax returns, hidden behind a white picket fence, and masked by what they earn.  Cloistered by the walls of stucco mansions and expensive cars.  The foundation’s made of shit and what you have is all you are.

3) Did You Just Say “Faggot”?
I call shenanigans.  We should know better.  We should know better.  We should know better.  We should know better.  We should know better than this by now.

4) Neo Neo-Nazis (Stop F.ucking S.hit U.p)
I came, I saw them smash that chair over his head.  And I, I thought that he was dead.  But we should not, can not, will not accept this anymore.  There’s right and wrong.  And now a line is drawn.  Stop fucking shit up.  Stop fucking shit up. Stop fucking shit up.   Stop fucking shit up.  We’re gonna get beat up (and it’ll only prove our point). Stop fucking shit up.  Stop fucking shit up.  Stop fucking shit up.  (Please) stop fucking shit up.  And what they call righteous, I call right.  And we know that they aren’t right.  They’re wrong, wrong, wrong.  And the only thing that they will ever flex is their macho, macho arms; their manly, manly pecs.  But they will never, ever flex their goddamned heads.  So flex your head.  Stop fucking shit up.

5)  I Like The Way You Look, But I Don’t Like You
Turn your tassels baby, and spread your tan-lined legs.  Pinning paper hearts on designer clothes is just so fucking teenage.  Love me do, he loves me not.  Deep in love with love.  Oh, sweet romantic thoughts.  Laugh and dance through sweet romance, and cherry-pop your way to popularity.  Turn your tassels baby, and spread your tan-lined legs.  Snort lines of coke through a plastic nose, and purge, purge, purge away.  Beauty so skin deep leaves only shallowness as the popular decay.  The high school known sit on a flimsy throne, and abort their lives each day.  And you sing to yourself on repeat: I love me, me, me.

6)Yes Ticketmassa’
They rape what we love.  “These kids, they have no clue where their cash is going to.  I’ll sit back, I’ll have the last of laughs, I’ll rape the thing they love.”  They rape what we love.  Bright lights.  Fifteen mics.  Process-fee what’s ours away.  No stage is the only stage for me.  No stage is the only stage for me.  No stage is the only stage for me.  No stage is the only stage for me.  Eat my shit.

7) Stella Lost Her Grooves
So this is goodbye.  I never thought I’d see this day, I never thought it’d be this way.  This ain’t a phase.  They’ll never know just what you meant to us, they won’t even know that you’re gone.  This ain’t a phase.  No, to all of them this was just a phase; they won’t ever know they were wrong.  Hell no, this ain’t a phase.  Here’s one for the record books: another tale of small town woe.  This city squeezes until we just can’t breathe, until we’ve got no place left to go.  Just 13-years old.  Nowhere to go.  Nowhere to turn, still so much left to learn.  So I found my purpose in those liner notes, that tiny room.  In stacks of records we trust, god bless those sacred grooves.  Hell no, this ain’t a phase.  I’m going to stay this way.  They can’t evict this place from inside me.  You may be gone but you won’t ever be forgotten.  Here’s one for the record store. Hell no, this ain’t a phase.  I’m going to stay this way.  No place has ever meant more.  You may be gone but you won’t ever be forgotten.  They may close your doors.  They may shut you down.  But they can never kill this rebel sound.  Your gift to me is my gift to you.

ANGER

1) We Broke The P.A.
Hello. How have you been? It hasn’t been too long. But something’s gone awry. There’s something wrong. Everyone’s on edge. The danger is gone. We riot when we should break P.A.’s. Our music is so soothing. Our movement is not moving. We plug our mic’s into clear channels. They buy it, now we’re dismantled. We don’t need a microphone. We scream loud enough on our own.

2) Power Chord Blues
Liars. Liars. All you bands should just retire. You sing the songs of hypocrites. Like nuns with guns or chicks with dicks. Two. Four. Six. Eight. Buy our shit and regurgitate. I’m so bored with all of us. Kill yourselves. Please. I’m down here on my knees. I’m begging darlin’ ease my worried mind. What makes you think you have something to say that has not been said in a much better way? I’ve got power chord blues, ears jammed with feedback. Songs with no soul and even less of a sack. Went to the record store and what the fuck did I find? Thousands of records by thousands of kids with overpriced budgets but not one hint of a mind. Ludwig would be crying. Cash would slit your throat. Dee Dee wound up dying. Biz would hate your flow. Talk, talk, talk, talk but you’ve nothing to say. My headphones hate you. Silence is golden when you sound like my shit. My stereo hates you. Say something new or say nothing at all. My eardrums hate all you Guitar Center punks with broken record syndrome. Songs of straight edge and friends, shit we already know. What’s the point? Knock, knock, knock. Who’s there? It’s me! Every song from 1983. I heard myself on your LP’s. No way! I did! It couldn’t be! See, we mix Cro-Mags with The Clash! Well it sounds like every other piece of trash. Aren’t you tired? Don’t you want something new? Take back 1983. While you’re at it, take the rest of punk rock, too. I want more.

3) A Missed Chance for a Meaningful Abortion
Eat shit. Well. None of you have to live with me twenty-four hours a day. But if you did you’d understand why I am not okay. I can’t stand ten of ten people that I see. It’s like this world took a shit for a billion years and shat it all right down on me. The ugly ones, the pretty ones, the ones with all the brains. Inner-city foster kids that dream of false-front hip-hop fame. Liposuction soccer moms. Bar mitzvah birthday boys. Darwin was right until you came along. How could poor Darwin have been so wrong? Kids at shows. Red. Men with in-ear phones. Rum. NRA boys. Red. And fake-n-bake gals. Rum. Your daddy didn’t want you. There was a pinhole in the condom. Fucks who don’t read. Red. Bands with a guarantee. Rum. Monster truck bros. Red. And fuck-me-boots ho’s. Rum. Your mommy was on the pill but she just forgot one. Spread your legs open so I can ram the hanger up into your crotch and kill your kids before it’s too late.

4) Gashing In
Clits and dicks. Clits and dicks ruin every night. Hudson Jeans and birth control. Perfume and the alcohol. Versus. Marshall stacks and sing-along’s. Myspace, Dunks, male chauvinists. Estrogen. Testosterone. My hormones ruin every night. And I’ve no one to blame but me, myself and I can’t stand bars, shows, or my dick. Should have stayed in. Read a book instead.

5) Half Brother, All Cop.
Ten-four. Over and out. Eat shit. Here’s my shadow of a doubt. Got a “fuck you” brewing for a man that’s half of me. We used to be half-brothers but now all he is is LAPD. Went from bullying me to bullying the world. Just a bigot with a badge. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you. What you do makes me abhor you. We’re through. A necessary evil but an evil just the same. The law’s on your side but that don’t make it sane. Code blue! I’ve heard you say wetback. I’ve heard you say beaner. And behind my back you probably call me a nigger. Fuck you. Man in blue. What you gonna do? We’re coming after you. Man in blue. Get a clue. Nine one one. Let’s have some fun. Why should I listen to you? Six six six. You arrogant prick. You break more laws than I do. Nine one one. Oh, what a masculine gun! I will not listen to you. Six six six sixty cease and desist! In my perfect world there would be no police. Yet we would still function in relative peace.

6) My Wonder Years Never Got Cancelled
Just like I hate Fenders. Just like I can’t stand the snow. Just like my hand-me-down truck that I miss so much, even with no stereo. And just like fucking with a condom on, though I’ve got no fucking disease. Like getting tested for a brand new girl who just turns around and leaves. Like full-time school, a part time job, and a niece I never see. Like headwinds. Girls with boyfriends. No money for no TV. Just like that headstone with my name engraved from a generation passed. Like being twenty-three on Thursday. Like growing up too goddamn fast. Like a cell phone full of numbers but not one soul I want to call. Just like half-read books read by well-read eyes that pretend to have read them all. Like following a dream that cripples you with debt. Like laughing at a joke that hasn’t caught up with you yet. Because I once new why in those Kris Kross days. Spin the bottle and she moves in mysterious ways. Like a stupor. A Winnie Cooper. But now nothing makes sense to me.

7) Break Beat
But enough about me already. Who needs one more love song to get them through the night? Who needs a sucker, a rich motherfucker to croon into the mic about a redhead girl with a conman’s charm? Who needs a broken heart? Who needs another Sergeant Pepper? Another tearful tune about how good she blows? Her perfume on your clothes? How it was too good to be true? Who needs desperate guys with creative minds who turn dark cloud girls into something silver-lined? Who needs string sections? Sweeping three part harmonies? Who needs a slow dance? Love at first glance? Who needs woe is me? When there’s dead mothers and friends that slit their wrist. Who needs kids like me? Broken hearts beat just fine. Broken hearts beat just fine. And even my broken heart will be just fine. Broken hearts beat just fine.

8 ) Shop Till You Drop Dead
You sang to me that “you are free,” the “music is boring you to death.” But for me, you see, it’s just the goddamn kids. Us boring, boring, boring, boring, spoiled-rotten kids. Take. Take, take, take. Don’t give back shit. All spoils. All gains. Just dicks. No brains. More pills. Less pain. Just amber waves of grain. We stuff our mouths until we burst. This is consumerism at its very worst.
Our hands stuffed so deep into the cookie jar. And no, we will not share. We all have too much. We haven’t one desire. Us boring, boring self-righteous kids. Throw us to the fire. New sneakers, smaller cell phones, faster cars with larger rims. We filthy, stinking, scholarship punks. We watch them struggle for what we’re just given. I have nothing to complain about, but I know I’ll still complain. I’m so bored with us have-everything kids. Put a razor to our veins.

9) War? What War?
Oh damsels, don’t distress! You’ll see your brave boys soon! They’re winning wars on Gulf War tours and staving off the doom! Hooah! Semper Fi! Oh pretty, pretty girls. Dry your sad, sad eyes. There’s terror still, we have to kill! The towelheads must die! Our guns. Just toys. For brainless soldier boys. Who bomb. Who maim. Who kill in my name. Kill in our name. Oh young strapping lads, with blue blood in your veins. You’ve shock and awed their savage gods. Only our glory shall remain! Oh glory! Hallelujah! God shed his grace on we: the proud, the few, the me’s and you’s, who pretend not to see. Our guns. Just toys. For brainless solider boys. Who bomb. Who maim. Who kill now in our name. There’s no honor in fighting voluntary wars. I’ve never felt so ashamed to be American. And really I’m no better than those  camo-wearing pricks. I’ve never felt so ashamed to be American. I think less about this war than who’ll be next to suck my dick. I’ve never felt so ashamed to be American. When really I should break every trigger-pulling finger. I’ve never felt so ashamed to be American. Of every heartless, grim-faced, trigger-pulling fuck that thinks he’s doing me some kind of favor. I’ve never felt so ashamed to be American. You fucking assholes. Fuck wars. Fuck soldiers. Fuck yellow ribbons, too. Fuck authors and musicians. Fuck me. Fuck you. Presidents don’t pull triggers, so don’t blaming Capitol Hill. It’s hearty boys just like me that are signing up to kill. So fuck the Army, the Navy, the Air Force and Marines. The boys and girls that spill the blood that are just like me. Except the kill. And then they die. And I don’t care. We don’t care. I won’t. I won’t. We won’t take lives.

10) The Tiki House
If home is where the heart is then my heart’s a Tiki House. A Misfits land of Peter Pans and acne never looked that great to me. The kids, the kids, the kids, the kids. By the fucking kids. The kids, the kids, the kids, the kids. For the fucking kids.

11) The Great Wall of California
Tell June Gloom I’ll see her soon. I’ve got two lungs filled with smog and this Bo Kimble sort of heart. Cause there’s an actor signing laws instead of autographs. And I’m stuck, in a rut, between an ass and an elephant. We vote for things we don’t believe. We build a wall. To keep them out. Cause we hate aliens. Raise high that wall. Till we can’t see out. We’re locking ourselves in. A broken home ith a three car garage. And every California dream is just an earthquake or a fancy mirage. From small pox and guns. Ya basta. To La Cienega slums. Basta ya. Now our votes are at fault. Ya basta. Can I get a witness? Amen! Live and let live. Basta ya. Then tax more the rich. Ya basta. Till your borders mean shit. Basta ya. Enough already.

12) Naysayer
I saw Jesus and the Devil and they were sitting in a tree. Blasphemy! No! A-S-S-H-O-L-E. L-I-C-K-I-N-G. Amen! Jesus and the Devil are exactly the same thing. They mean shit to me. I’ll believe it when I see it.

13) (D)anger(s)
We’re full of shit. Anger ain’t a mood, it’s a goddamn way of life. It’s why we drive twenty straight hours up the five. To play for twenty kids in the basement of a house. Kids that are angry and alive. That threaten us with knives. But one black eye does not a blind man make. No. Cause I feel fed-up every morning and let-down every night. And in a world with so much wrong, there must be better things to fight. Cause And the truth is I’ve wasted too much time making excuses for this stupid music of mine. When there’s still popes and wars, I think my mother’s got it right: we’re all just angry, angry kids with the most shortsighted of lives. One black eye does not a blind man make. There’s more to fight than big mouth kids like me. Punch my face until your fingers break. It’s time to fight the real enemy. Anger ain’t a mood, it’s a goddamn way of life.

14) We Have More Sense Than Lies
And lately, well I’ve been feeling down. It’s like there’s no more room for a hopeful sound. I need to believe in something new. To believe in me like I believe in you. We’ve had our hands held much too tight. We’ve been more wrong than we’ve ever been right. Can’t place our hopes on a hanging chad. We need much more than just one punk rock band. Clenched fists and blackened eyes. Break wide open our heads and fix our broken minds. We’re crossing fingers and we hope for the best. We’ve lost our anger. We’ve been suppressed. And we can’t just hold our breath. Sit back and sing along. Pretend that it’s all okay when we know we’re wrong. And this is not a call to arms. Just a hope that we might try. To use our heads and open eyes. We have more sense than lies. We have more sense than lies. And nothing changes if we don’t change ourselves. Bombs burst my trust away. Red glares and empty stares. We need something to say. We need to start to care. And we can’t just hold our breath. Sit back and sing along. Pretend that it’s all okay. When we know we’re wrong. We must change. Ourselves.

Messy, Isn’t It?

1) Stay-At-Home Mom

Why didn’t you kill yourself today?
What cross, what coupon, what cathode ray
Put the joie de vivre in your diseased heart?
How Anne Hathaway,
How Peg Bundy
Thou art.
Hey Sugar:
Prove to me that the air you breathe
Wasn’t better served by the leaves of a tree.
You’re but a breeder,
Tax break receiver
With menopause sweats
A TV tray and a mosh pit son
Who wastes the marrow of his bones
Jumping into these drums.
Please tell him:
Don’t stand so (no)
Don’t stand so (close)
Don’t stand so close to me.
See, I know your children
Because I’ve been your children
And us children, hopeful children
Ain’t worth the stretch marks baby.
‘Cause we may sing these songs of protest,
Cast our ballots, too
Forgo meat and
Ride our bikes and
Get our band’s stupid tattoo
But it means nothing,
Nothing,
When we get eaten by the sun.
Que sera
Que sera
For, whatever there is will soon be all gone.
So what’s wrong
With a song
That asks wherefore and why have you lived this long?
A purpose?
You want a reason?
Stop believing.
Or stop needing the answers.
There are no answers
Except the sun, the sun, the sun.
While you sit on your couch
And wait up for your boy
We’re polluting his mind with this
(noise).

2) I’ll Clap When I’m Impressed

If it ain’t broke, then break it.
Destroy it.
Smash a hammer through your stucco,
Dismantle,
Sledgehammer it.
A la Sacco,
A la Vanzetti,
A la me gone berserk
With my head in the clouds
Nursing acid rain bowels,
Me stuck in traffic after work.
Where each car seems just like a coffin,
Just like a hearse.
We just can’t go on like this:
Clinging to paychecks just like they were your mother’s tits.
(Buck by buck)
Straighten your A’s.
(Cent by cent)
Straighten your laces.
(Bill by bill)
Straighten your shirt.
We’re better.
We’re better off.
We’re better off dead
Than burning out.
Buck by buck.
Cent by cent.
Bill by bill.
Until your dead.
Pay for your water,
Pay for your gas,
You pay for everything,
Even your death.
Choking on the barrel of a gun
(Choking on the barrel of a gun)
Sounds like much more fun.
Lock, stock and choking on the barrel of a gun.
Take the motherfucking money,
I’ll spill the blood.

3) A Pyramid of Empties

Last call, last round.
Roofie’s on the house.
Make sure that you’ve got your hair pulled back
Or your dad just might have
To pull your freshly drowned and maimed chunks of liver Out from your bangs.
Out from your bangs and he won’t understand
Why the check he wrote to pay for your books
Went straight up your button nose instead.
Jeremy spoke in class today and this is what he said:
I raped Alice in chains with my nine inch nail
And now her reading rainbow‘s dead.
Schools for facts and figures.
Schools to multiply the odds of our demise.
No child gets left behind.
SATs to nonox-9.
From juicebox days to Columbine.
A pyramid of emtpies,
We’re prime candidates for cyanide.
It’s my fault for fucking up the kids.
It’s my fault for buying in.
It’s all my fault.
From the cradle to the grave:
Like a production line for gorgeous brains.
To be wild, oh, to break free.
To forsake all that they’re teaching me to be.
It’s all my fault.
(It’s all your fault.)
I’m all to blame.

4) Saved By The Buoyancy of Citrus

I’m in the red
I’ve got the blues
I’m token black,
An early greying fool.
I need an orange
I need a lime
I need a last name that don’t feel like such a crime.
I feel 16
I feel 60
I feel 9 to 5.
So sick of rent checks
So sick of life vests
So sick of 5 foot 9.
Once was lost but now am drowned.

5) Check, Please

“You clean up nice,”
she says to me with this
smug ass grin that means
she knows just how much
porn that it takes to get me off nowadays.
As the chance of a kiss disappears from her brain,
we bite and chew this night away.
“I like your new haircut,”
I say but what I mean is,
“Eat shit.”
This ain’t what they mean by love
and I don’t seem the type that likes himself enough
to be loved.
Mademoiselle, sil vous plait, please excuse all the flesh I once ate.
But, avec moi, c’est la vie, my humble new diet ain’t changing a thing.
What’s compassion? What’s a rouse? Cause I still ain’t stuck in a bed with you.
I’d rather dine alone.
If meat is murder, what is love?
“Let’s do this again sometime.”
“Your place or mine?”
If meat is murder, what the fuck is love?

6) Opposable

Base.
How low can we go?

Fuck the Beatles, I’m an animal
An upright ape with opposable thumbs
To hold the clubs
To hold the guns
Swing low sweet chariot
God bless my DNA
Drunk drive my Chevy to the levee
Let the flood come and sweep me away
No this ain’t the apocalypse
It’s the way shit has always been
From Sodom to Saddam
Attila to Tienenmen
A quarter million years of human being
A quarter million years as a human stain
We use ten percent of our gorgeous brains
And leave the rest up to cocaine
Lucy in the sky
Got her hands on a new shotgun
Lucy in the sky
Got her hands on a Remington
Lucy in the sky
Her shiny diamonds drenched in blood
And I know where the wild things are
Don’t look far
Don’t look far
‘Cause I got wisdom in my teeth
And terror in my wars
Yes, I know where the wild things are
Don’t look far.
Don’t look far.
There’s a reason that it’s hard to look in the mirror.
There’s a reason that it’s hard to go to the zoo
And there’s a reason you want to pry open the cage
See, you should be there, too.

7) Cure For Cancer

It’s all downhill
from here, old man.
Auf wiedersehen.
Two steps forward,
six feet underground.
Standing O,
Take a bow.
Lab coats,
machines
and all the chemotherapy
don’t seem
to me
an answer to these tears you long to see.
So i ain’t crying no more.
I’d pull out the plug
if i could muster up the love.
No one wants memories of
skid marks
pants pissed.
Jim Beam,
Mary Jane.
Wherefore art thou Kevorkian?
No way,
Jose,
it’s not for me
this life spent basking in you agony.
Give me the longest walks.
Prescribe for me the shortest piers.
I ain’t going out like that.
No way, not me, I’d rather die
And as I stood there by his bed,
bowls of Jell-O, crusts of bread,
stared straight into his eyes
and I wanted him to die.
And I felt the shame
Of such, such naiveté
that someone young,
that someone dumb,
someone my age
could feel so callously
to want to piss in the fountains of youth,
to dance all night on the graves of the dead,
to want to tear those pink ribbons to shreds.
And as he lay there in his bed,
80 pounds, half dead,
He said, “Bink, please hold my hand…
I don’ think that you understand…
Oh, puneta, I’ve done all that I can
and I don’t want to die.”
You’re gonna die
You’re gonna die.
You’re gonna.

8 ) Cure For AIDS

You are going to die
Your parents, your children
They’re all going to die
Slow, painful
With a methadone drip
Ain’t no Trojan I know
Don’t change nothing at all
Not some latex
Not some cocktail of pills
No T-cells
No Magic
No hospital bills
A cure ain’t a cure if a cure don’t change nothing at all.
You’re still going to die.
Cause death is still waiting
Death ain’t got nothing but time
No bloodwork
No serum
Will keep you alive
So stop waiting
Stop wasting your time
Fuck bareback
Fuck till you choke on your
Life ain’t worth living if all that you want is a
Cure ain’t a cure if a cure don’t change nothing at
All of my life double knotted by fear
And sometimes this fear is what keeps me here
I want to live a life drenched in the rain
No umbrella
No condom
And not vaccine
I want to live a life drenched in the rain
I’d rather die young than die young at heart.

9) Straight As She Wants To Be

A kiss is a kiss is a kiss.
Regardless of Joseph Smith.
And what I wouldn’t give to love a woman like she does…
A kiss is a kiss is a kiss is a kiss.
On the lips.
Or on the lips.

10) Under The Affluence

Couch surfing will break your back
and there’s not one night
in ten lonely years
that she’s gone to sleep
in her bed upstairs.
It’s piled high with clothes
that no longer fit.
Old christmas gifts
with tags still affixed.
She sleeps on the couch
and she dreams like a slave.
Dreams of her mortgage
it’s jaws clamped round her vertebrae.
She’s hollow,
she’d dyeing,
she’s menopause-ing away.
Hey there, good looking
what’s that microwave got cooking
for you and me tonight?
‘Cause it seems like
you just might
stick your salt and pepper head inside.
That you might scream,
that you might
die just like Sylvia,
die as a slave,
die a single mother,
a bleak divorcee.
Dig under her affluence and this is what you’ll find:
five beds, four baths, three kids, do the math.
Just debt, regret, empty nest, a broken back.
I was not worth throwing away all of your dreams.

11) Teenage Porno Hunter

A small ziploc bag is all that it takes
for a father to seem less a man than mistake.
‘Cause that’s not the type of thing that you want to find
under bed
when your horny
and fifteen
with smut and pornography mind.
You want blow jobs not blow,
rather cum than cry.

12) Goliath

And if I raise my hand
It’s cause I don’t understand
Why all the grown-ups that I know
Believe in boy kings and this giant man
I’d gladly bow my head
Just show me the bones
I’m sorry Mrs. Steves
I just can’t stand it down here on my knees
I like magic
Magicians
The parting of the sea
But your god ain’t wrought nothing but blasphemy
Swear I’d gladly bow my head
Just show me dem bones
I like stained glass
I like grape juice
But I like questions
And I like proof
Bones
Oh, where are the bones?
Someone show me his bones
Please!
I’ve seen pharaohs
I’ve seen dodos
I’ve seen dinosaur bones
Full of marrow
Bones to fill the grave
Oh, someone show me his bones
So I can show someone my faith
Slings and stones
May break my bones
But these fables
These tales
This book won’t save my soul
Hell she hath no fury like an East Orange man’s firstborn
Goddamn me
Reprimand me
My detention set me free!

13) (Messy, Isn’t It?)

(instrumental)

14) Bottom Of The 9th Ward

It’s raining, it’s pouring,
this story’s getting oh so boring.
And what else did you expect?
When it rains, someone always gets wet.
So it’s searchlights
or the shadows.
With a newscast like that, Dan, I’d rather the gallow.
‘Cause i ain’t seen a life vest in days
that ain’t strapped round the eyewitness men
making dayjobs out of your dismay.
When the saints go marching into the streets
it’s too bad they won’t know how to swim.
It’s pouring.
it’s raining,
but from this couch it seems much more like entertaining.
Oh, what the fuck’s wrong with me?
All these bodies float ’round my head, your town
and i still sleep so damned flawlessly.
When the saints go marching into the streets
I’ll be the one fast asleep.
Too selfish to weep.
If I could, yes I would, but it seems I can’t.
I’m sorry.
When the revolution comes to this land
(Oh lord, I want to be in that number)
When we rich go out and stack those sandbags
(I want to be in that number)
When we all have enough water to drink
(Please, please let me be in that number)
When our leaders learn to cry at our feet
(I want to be in that number)
When the saints go marching in.

15) Tarantula Type

This sickness that’s inside of me
Ain’t a sickness that’s easy to see
No rash, no runs, no potpourri
Of symptoms
Of woes
No bloody stool
No bloody nose
Just cause you can’t see it’s there
Don’t mean that that shit isn’t there
Stitched into this birthday suit
Oh grandmother, how I miss you
Like a banshee
Sid and Nancy
My double helix is coming unglued
It’s in your blood
It clogs your veins
Eats your gorgeous brains
And it will drag you straight to your grave
Quick
A head in the clouds
Is a foot in the grave
A head in the clouds
Is a foot in the grave
But a foot in the grave is where I’d rather be
If a head in the clouds means I’m sick
I’m not sick
You’re the one that’s sick
Rick, serve me my goddamn breakfast.

16) What Goes Up

I was there
I sucked the bodies up my nose
Asbestos
And femurs
And nylon pantyhose
I should have cried
I tried to cry
I should have cry
I could not cry
Not saying it’s good
Not saying it’s right
But I guess my body don’t trade tears
For the pinstripe kind of life
What goes up
Liars
Liars
Set my skinny jeans (suit and tie) on fire
Ashes, ashes
We all fall downtown
What goes up…

17) No Vonneguts, No Glory

Cowboys or indians?
Pinkerton to Taliban,
Tijuana to Nicaragua:
It smells like fear.
Vietnam to Afghanistan:
It tastes like tears.
They’re crying, crying, they’re crying their eyes.
They’re dying, dying, they’re dying to stay alive.
I have a dream,
I’m down on my knees,
choking,
gagging.
I hear a voice
stuck on repeat
it says,
“Place your right hand over your heart,
ready, begin,”
But I won’t.
I won’t pledge.
I won’t pledge allegiance ’til
You pledge to never kill another human being
N.R.A. to Enola Gay:
The end is near.
Yes, I object,
just like Vonnegut,
I’ll have none of it:
long live Ice-9.

18) (Love Poem)

(original poem by Richard Brautigan)

19) The El Segundo Blue Butterfly Habitat Preserve

I’ve seen the jet planes crash
and oil tankers galore.
I’ve seen Mexicans in boxer shorts
with Pacific Ocean pompadours.
I’ve seen gay penguins fuck
and bison roam through golden gates.
Seen dogs die on my welcome mat.
Seen my best friend’s girlfriend masturbate.
I’ve seen half-empty beds
(what good are dreams?)
I’ve seen friends stuck with mortgages
(what good are dreams?)
(thanks for nothing)
I’ve seen men make more out of dreams
(what good are dreams?)
(good for nothing)
Than dreams’ll ever make of them.
And clearly, wearily
life is but a scheme
where you say there’s
blue butterflies
where blue butterflies have never been.
Some with Uncle Sam
Me?
My uncle rick:
All I see is scattergoods
and all I smell is shit.
What good are dreams?
What good are dreams if they come true?
He says, what good are your dreams if all your dreams come true?

Five O’Clock Shadows at the Edge of the Western World

1) The Mourning Routine

Rise and shine.  And then one day you’re thirty and life tries to pass you by.  Rise and shine.  And the sun gives like and Injun’, and trades what dreams may come for bloodshot eyes.  Just shut the blinds.  Go back to sleep.  Perchance to dream.  Perchance to be or not to be: aye, there’s the rub.  When all our friends wear a suit and tie the knot with grace and breastfeed the chubby face of their conjoined DNA… Oh, what if they’ve got it right?  ‘Cause then one day you’re thirty, your bed feels like a grave.  I can’t get up today.  And the indent in her pillow is all the proof you have of dreams she was willing to…  Leave behind your troubles.  Lullabye your blacks and blues.  That’s what they whispered as they rocked you to sleep.  And you know what they said?  Well, none of it was true.  ‘Cause sleep is but a thief and dreams are but a whore.  Sunrise.  Sunshine.  And I will rise.  And I will shut the blinds.

2) (Santa Anas)

3) Midnight Traffic

A grinding halt on the North 405.  Just trying to escape, that’s when I hear you sigh: “I hate this fucking town.  I hope I never come back.”  You roll your window up.  And it’s so plain to see, like we’re staring into the bright side of this moon.  And we’re just running away in the dead of the night.  But we’re stuck in reverse in a sea of crimson lights.  We sit in silence.  You turn the volume up.  I check the rearview and see the fire trucks.  We don’t say nothin’, but that says everything.  And we ain’t moving…  Somehow the miles, they grow between.  Like the distance, the years, and all the places that we’ve been… The basements, the graves, it’s an endless pile-up of love, of hate, of midnight traffic in my guts.  And it’s so obvious to me the things I once could not see.  We’re just running away in the dead of the night.  But we’re stuck in reverse amidst emergency lights.  The lights are flashing, the siren sounds, and through the jaws of life the blood spreads thick on the ground.  But we ain’t stopping.  And we ain’t turning around.  I’ve got my foot to the floor, head first straight into midnight traffic.  No, we ain’t turning around.  We ain’t stopping, no, and we ain’t turning around.

4) Puncture Wound

What if this was the best day of your life?  Gone without you knowing in the blink of vandal eyes?  Knife in hand, caution to the wind.  Prowl, mauraude, slash tires, unhinge.  In a cold vein world without a pulse, you’ve got to plunge the knife.  Keep stabbing.  Drain the blood and spill the guts… Drain my Goodyears, drain them of their life.  Slash.  Don’t think twice.  Never once look back.  Leave your stain and plunge the knife.  Late for work, at a dead-end in the road.  A puncture.  A wound.  A blessing à la mode.  In a cold vein world without a pulse, you’ve got to plunge the knife.  Keep stabbing.  Drain the blood and eat the flesh.  Sink deep your teeth and dine all through the night.  Drain the blood.  Spill the guts.  Then plunge the knife straight into the heart of my safe little life.  Of my sacred routine.  I’m jealous of boys who trade day jobs for midnights and rage through the night without remorse or hindsight.  But I’m a coward.  I’ve slackened my spine.  Pay my bills, go to school, get a job, fall in line.  But I want to drink all the blood.  And I want to eat all the flesh.  And I want to spill all the guts.  You slashed through my tire but punctured my chest.

5) Eureka! Moments

Some they dig for praises.  Some they dig for gold.  Some they dig their whole damn life and dig exactly as they’re told.  Some boys they find fortune.  Some men find only pain.  I dig because I want nothing to do with the quo that such status maintains.  So give me dirt or give me death.  Godspeed ye underground!  Please put me six feet down.

6) 5 O’Clock Shadows at the Edge of the Western World

“Go west.  Die young,” she whispered soft through her Santa Ana lungs.  She finds the faults, tan-lines the girls.  Puts a five o’clock shadow at the edge of the western world.  Her palms spring straight to heaven.  Her love is a dog from hell.  And the back seats that she’s shared with me, they ain’t going to well.  Her cars are pooled, her earth is quaked, and her crips are drenched in bloods.  And the giants swim by in blues and greys as we godbless the aqueducts.  I’ve drawn a million breaths, and every single one was more asthmatic than the last.  Go west.  Die young.  Sunburn my skin and un-requite my love.  We were hand-in-hand, one last caress.  We raise a toast to the valley of death.  There’s a condom in her gutter, and babies in her trash.  And the pigs once tried to kill a King near this westbound overpass.  But I come here to watch the planes as they come and go.  And she smogs my air and salts my sea and reminds me that I’m home.  I’ve been cut.  Trojan-horsed.  Every cut cut deeper, deeper than the first.  Thirsty and miserable.  I guess I wasn’t made for these times.  Songs to aging children come: teen creeps lost in another state of mind.  And now we dance, and now we sink.  When the music’s fucking over we all must bleed.  Go west.  Die young.  Suburban homes and nausea.  May grey.  June gloom.  Tequila sunset, I’ve been waiting for you.  Fuck armageddon, ‘cause this is hell.  And if you listen real close she’s got secrets to tell.  Go west.  Die young.  Drive your five o’clock shadow straight into the western sun.

27 Comments leave one →
  1. sean brennan permalink
    April 26, 2010 10:15 pm

    i just found out about dangers today and i love it! i miss music with thoughtful lyrics that matter. i wish you all of the luck possible and i hope someday that you come to buffalo, ny.

  2. cody permalink
    June 1, 2010 9:23 am

    lyrics are soooo sickkkk.

  3. brad permalink
    July 6, 2010 10:27 am

    absolutely phenomenal.

  4. Cormac permalink
    July 8, 2010 3:48 pm

    Please come back to Vermont. You know we all love you here.

  5. Lemon permalink
    July 16, 2010 8:06 pm

    Best band of all-time. Best lyrics ever written. The end. Come to the northeast.

  6. outta step permalink
    October 21, 2010 5:28 am

    “anger aint a mood, its a goddamn way of life”

    why didnt i kill myself today? cause i rode my skateboard around late at night with a couple cans of spray paint and dangers blasting through my headphones..

    and as corny as this sounds, THANK YOU. for fucking everything you do..

  7. November 4, 2010 3:01 pm

    Very refreshing to see such intelligent, mature thought back in hardcore. I also enjoy your ability to weave references and self-deprecation into something you can shout along to. Thank you for making the effort, please play somewhere in Southern Ontario in the near future.

  8. Aaron permalink
    January 16, 2011 6:19 am

    things couldnt get more raw and straight to your face than this!
    fucking amazing! so fucking smart!
    so that’s about it, the fucking smartest lyrics ever writen in hardcore! PERIOD.

  9. luke permalink
    April 4, 2011 11:38 am

    you can come back to australia whenever you like

  10. Sam permalink
    May 25, 2011 4:48 pm

    I’m sitting at work battling sleep, spilling cola down my shirt and I cant stop reading along to your songs. Best lyrics in hardcore? I sure think so…

  11. July 11, 2011 11:24 am

    Thank you Dangers, I didn’t know about Change.org until I looked up your website. I, myself, am a human rights activist. Also, your music makes me happy and pissed off at the same time, which I think is good.

  12. Erica permalink
    August 4, 2011 6:27 am

    Thank you. Thank you for getting me through 9-5. Bill payments that’s aren’t mine. Being genuine and constantly getting shit. Two years of empty beds. People who take what that can. Thank you for making me feel like I am not defective

    Thank you

  13. Chris permalink
    November 18, 2011 9:44 pm

    I don’t think “thank yous” are what you guys were looking for when you left a comment box at the bottom of this page, although I am inclined to do as many have above me ^^^ and say thank you….Thank you. Thank you for being as enraged as I am by the current state of affairs around the world – pollution, corruption, organized crime (politics), over medication of our youth, bogus legal system(s), disease, famine, ignorance….benign neglect…The list goes on and on…Regardless through music, one of the only true forms of expression, you guys are able to convey the collective feelings of many through one unified voice – the voice of the dissatisfied, the pissed off and angry. The voice of those willing to say “things aren’t alright and I’m not alright with that.” We all need to get educated, open our eyes and view the current socioeconomic paradigm for what it really is….. a fucking fraud.

    Together we can create change. Thank you for being a part of the solution.

    PS – I cannot fucking wait for your shows in SF in January. Scars may result….in a good way.

  14. christian permalink
    January 18, 2012 5:00 pm

    Your music is incredible. PLEASE your nationally, and if you do come to Alabama

  15. March 5, 2012 7:26 am

    Today, I realized the album title was in reference to Brautigan’s suicide note. Pretty chilling, to say the least.

    • egaR permalink
      June 26, 2012 5:09 pm

      This just blow my mind. It’s kind of sad.
      But nevertheless, it’s a great album! Loving the Danger(s).

  16. egaR permalink
    August 21, 2012 11:50 am

    http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/aug/15/i-wish-my-mother-aborted-me?fb=native&CMP=FBCNETTXT9038
    that’s kind of a missed chance for an abortion

  17. September 14, 2013 3:18 am

    you guys are too fuckin rule for spreadin every message with intent to make it clear to anyone. best band on earth. check this out…. some people got shot in my neighborhood then like… the unveriverse told me 2 do this…… http://tinypic.com/view.php?pic=9kv1nr&s=5#.UjQ200nnaP8 gforce rollin from the 719 square life state fucking satalites flyin to mars from boulder up NW u should check it sometime we got science n numerology of the stars ya

  18. Kai permalink
    December 18, 2013 10:29 am

    You guys fully pulled it out of the bag agin.

  19. ZER0LACKIN permalink
    January 14, 2014 10:56 am

    YOU GUYS ARE AFRAIDCORE.

  20. August 7, 2014 5:40 pm

    My brother recommended I would possibly like this
    website. He used to be totally right. This submit actually made my
    day. You can not imagine simply how a lot time I had spent for this info!
    Thank you!

  21. Devin Humphrey permalink
    November 17, 2014 3:36 am

    I read these every once in a while and am always amazed at how much feeling is conveyed.

  22. January 6, 2015 2:06 am

    Today i spent 300 dollars for platinium roulette system , i hope that i will earn my first $$$ online

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