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70's Rock Must Die (15.02.2000)
15.02.2000
1.
2.
3.
. . .


I was cruisin' in a car
Down Melrose Boulevard
When I stopped all the traffic
I was laughin' so hard
Standin' on the corner
Was this rock n roll dude
In leather pants thinkin' he was cool
He had the jacket
He had the shades
Farrah Fawcett hair
Or was that a wig
Face like a turtle
Trying in vain to look stoned
You could tell he'd been practicing
At home in the mirror
He'd probably been posing like that all day
Didn't matter that is was a hundred degrees
In the shade

Well c'mawn, well c'mawn
Seventies rock must die
Well c'mawn, well c'mawn
Seventies rock must die

Bogus bands, plastic rock stars
Stupid clothes and the worst made cars
Country rock making us all sick
While John Travolta wags his double-knit prick

Being a teen back than
Man, it was a drag
Bicentennial and no one burned the flag
You think we live in pretty desperate times
When people wanna go back to nineteen seventy five
My Saturday Night Fever fantasy
Lock the Bee Gees in a Pinto
And ram it from the rear
Burn, baby

Well c'mawn, well c'mawn
Seventies rock must die
Well c'mawn, well c'mawn
Seventies rock must die

Suck my ego, pay to play
Got nothing more to say
As we sell you a stairway to boredom

Look around at the hip people
Set in their ways
Reaching back to the things they used to say they hate
Young old brats playing fossil rock
Pistols reunions pass for rebellion

Radio and TV gettin' to damn bland
With collegiate boy Neil Young copy bands
Underground's becoming an alternative joke
Even Aerosmith hates all the Aerosmith clones
I know they don't make 'em like the Son of Sam
But even punks wanna go back to seventy seven

Well c'mawn, well c'mawn
Seventies rock must die
Well c'mawn, well c'mawn
Seventies rock must die

. . .


Hello my dear
Can I peel your skin
Put it in my mouth
And bite it
I am the gallant captain
Of the Volcanus two thousand

Fell down the trash chute
At my job
Woke up on this garbage barge
Thousand tons of urban waste
Is now our pirate ship

Fire from the catapults
Pampers squashed in great big balls
Clustered globs of medical waste
Rain down on cafes

Give us all your treasure now
Or we'll paint your whole town brown
Everywhere they're glad to pay
Se we'll go away

Yeah, yeah
We wipe the world

Join hands and dance
Curl up our toes
And squish sludge into wine

Drink and belch
Gene Simmons style
Methane goes down just fine

Rule the world from the high seas
Kidnap dwindling vaccines
No one dares blow up our ship
They'd have to clean the mess

Yeah, yeah, yeah
We wipe the world
Yeah
We wipe the world

Hundred sixty million tons
Of American trash each year
Thousand football fields
Thirty stories high
Where will you put it all

Not in my backyard
Not in my backyard
Oh god

While your head's in virtual sand
More of our ships sail each day
You all do your part so well
Feed us trash and we will blackmail

Two billion tires
Bottles and cans
And paper plates
Sixteen billion diapers
They all gotta go someplace

'Nuff aluminum
In three months
To build airline fleets

Take a hint from
Your local roach
Join us and mutate

Yeah, yeah, yeah
We wipe the world
Yeah, yeah, yeah
We wipe the world
Yeah, yeah, yeah
We wipe the world

. . .


Six hundred sixty six, Dunkin' Donuts
A twenty inch veggie pizza from Gumby's
Extra jalapenos on the side
And a case of Asahi Dry

I wish to speak with Timothy Leary
Lemmy, Jello, and Ice Cube Too
Carton of Lucky's with filters
And bring a CNN news crew

Talahasse, Florida
Four AM, June 14, '91
Capitol Building's occupied
Broke the glass, walked right inside

Wouldn't be advisable to enter
You don't know the number of hostiles
Or it anyone's got guns
Or is there's hostages

?
This whole world is disturbing me
I wanna cut a rap record each month
And mail my little pinkie to George Bush


Sharpshooters on surrounding roofs
Traffic blocked off by SWAT troops
Evacuate the people inside
Pretend we're CNN, say Leary's died

I just want to speak my mind
More to you than just one sound bite

Twelve forty five, he emerged unharmed
J.D. in one hand, in the other, cigars
Hendrix t-shirt and his underwear on
Guess what, he never had no gun

Agh, agh
Where are my friends
Where are you
Where are you
I can't believe it's come to this

I only broadcast my freakout to the world
I was a prisoner for twenty two years
When I broke through that door, I was free
Not to mention pretty damn lucky
(Nowadays, boy, you'd just get shot)

. . .


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