Regreso Del Mal Rock
the songs on this album are:
Graveyard of Lost Romantics
Equalizer / introduction
Bat’tle / AWAKEN remix [ft: D.C. Ty the Monster]
AWAKEN your mind / interlude
F. W. Y. W. F. [ft: Pablo Fiasco of the Scotch Bonnets, H.R., and the Pietasters]
Song of Bajazeth
Anacostia Sinderellah
Action Jackson
Homeless Nights
Granada Winston
Ozymandi-Strummer
Thunk Rock
13-13 / interlude
Gettin’ Rid of Bodies
Death Comes in 3s
For the Dead [ft: Lady Moet Beast]/ conclusion: we Cruddy Rite
the lyrics on this album are
Graveyard of Lost Romantics:
Tom Waits and Patti Smith swapping stories on the pedistal,
enter the Graveyard of Lost Romantics
Marvin and Curtis, singing those inner-city blues
down in the Graveyard of Lost Romantics
Bob the Jester’s leaning on the windowsill
looking over the Graveyard of Lost Romantics
Arlo and Woody Guthrey are there
gravediggers in the Graveyard of Lost Romantics
LET’S RAISE SOME SPIRITS
I’d turn on the radio, but it doesn’t turn me on
I’m talking about the wasteland of commercial music
more interested in Coltrane and taking Giant Steps
into the Graveyard of Lost Romantics
Deep in the Graveyard of Lost Romantics
Equalizer / introduction
What is Madness Really?
Curled in your sick-bed, cancer in your brain
no medication will ever save you
Welcome to the Great Equalizer
What is Madness Really; What is Madness;
What is Madness but the Great Equalizer
Crouched in the trenches, grip your mask and gun
visions of your fallen comrades
Welcome to the Great Equalizer
What is Madness Really; What is Madness;
What is Madness but the Great Equalizer
Eh– Lyricists’ Watch is not Fooling Around. So before the Return of the Bad Rock smacks you upside the head, Know This: this was an all sober recording, and you can catch us every Monday at 7pm EST on on Cruddy Rite Radio….
Bat’tle / AWAKEN remix [ft: D.C. Ty the Monster]
Bat’tle–
the bullets bounce off of my bullet-proof chest
well you say who’s that coming, well I say who’s next
yeah I got secrets, I play it close to the vest
as for altered states of consciousness…
I’m a schizophrenic mess.
Bat’tle–
My Frozen Body, My Frozen Soles,
Two Black Eyes, My Bloody Nose
the bullets bounce off of my bullet-proof chest
well, you say who’s that coming, well, I say who’s next
yeah I got secrets, I play it close to the vest
as for altered states of consciousness…
I’m a schizophrenic mess.
Bat’tle–
My frozen body, My Frozen Soles,
Two Black Eyes, My Bloody Nose
sing it for me boys…
Bat’tle–
BULLETS
Bat’tle–
My Frozen Body, My Frozen Soles,
Two Black Eyes, My Bloody Nose
AWAKEN your mind / interlude
Awaken, Awaken, Awaken,
Awaken, Awaken, Awaken, Awaken, Awaken, Awaken
your mind
You think I’m joking when I say Bad Rock? Ohh, there used to be Bad Rock, once, but you have gravely disappointed me. I bet you pussy-footin’ rock’n’rollers ain’t even wearing Boots when you play guitar, and you M.C.s with no back up drummer… (hock-spit) you’re worthless, kill yourself. And if I catch you groping in the Mosh Pit, I’m gonna Kick you in Your FACE. And I’ll enjoy that!
F. W. Y. W. F. [ft: Pablo Fiasco of the Scotch Bonnets, H.R., and the Pietasters]
Be’le’ Dat
Fuck who you wanna fuck, dog, fuck who you wanna fuck;
kill who you wanna kill, dog, kill who you wanna kill;
mace who you wanna mace, girl, mace who you wanna mace;
fuck who you wanna fuck, dog, fuck who you wanna fuck.
Fuck who you wanna fuck, dog, fuck who you wanna fuck;
kill who you wanna kill, dog, kill who you wanna kill;
mace who you wanna mace, girl, mace who you wanna mace;
fuck who you wanna fuck, girl, fuck who you wanna fuck.
Fuck who you wanna fuck, girl, fuck who you wanna fuck;
kill who you wanna kill, girl, kill who you wanna kill;
mace who you wanna mace, dog, mace who you wanna mace;
fuck who you wanna fuck, dog, fuck who you wanna fuck.
I’m inclined to be, like, he needs to follow the chick, here.
Song of Bajazeth
My enemy has taken all away from me
my satin gown, emperor’s crown, away from me
my fondest love, brightness of the sun, away from me
And it feels so good to open up to Hate.
My enemy has constantly defeated me
I’ve lost my might, my would-be wife, depleated me
now they want peace, want me to cease, entreated me
And it feels so good to open up to Hate.
A mockery has been made out of me
my enemy will know more see his victory
I’ll bash my brain upon this cage he keeps me
And it feels so good to open up to Hate.
Anacostia Sinderellah
Hit Me!
I met her on the corner in the streetlamps’ glow
where K street intersects with Massachucetts’ avenue
she wore a black dress didn’t run to her thigh
I said, hey lovely we should go for a ride.
I wanna see money and power, she then cried,
you wear your glass slippers, I’ll wear my black tie,
she turned to me trembling with fear in her eye,
I must be back ‘cross the river ‘fore the stroke of Midnight, well–
Behind these iron gates, girl…
the Social Elite control the fate of the world
then out to that balcony with moonlight turmoil
she looked in my eyes and my head start to swirl, but–
She broke from my arms the first stroke of the clock
down that marble staircase to her dangerous block
I stumbled to the corner, still a-reeling in shock
how many romances must be ruined by the clock? well–
SAXOPHONE
Let’s Rock–
‘Cause Lyricists’ Watch is here to clean up.
Action Jackson
a’ight, cool
Action Jackson, gotta get up n’ go
Action Jackson, gotta get up n’ go
So you take the lighter fluid
and you pour it on your jacket
and you light it on fire
and you skateboard down the parking lot
Action Jackson, gotta get up n’ go
Action Jackson, gotta get up n’ go
GO-eeoh-eeoh-eeoh
GO-eeoh-eeoh-eeoh
Action Jackson, gotta get up n’ go
Action Jackson, gotta get up n’ go
So you take off both your boots
and you start to climb the skyscraper
and your 15 stories tall
and you can’t get down
Action Jackson, gotta get up n’ go
Action Jackson, gotta get up n’ go
GO-eeoh-eeoh-eeoh
GO-eeoh-eeoh-eeoh
Action Jackson, gotta get up n’ go
Action Jackson, gotta get up n’ go
So you take the flight of rum
and you pour it on the ground
and you’re kicked outta the club for no reason
so you piss on a cop car
Action Jackson, gotta get up n’ go
Action Jackson, gotta get up n’ go
GO-eeoh-eeoh-eeoh
GO-eeoh-eeoh-eeoh
Homeless Nights
Homeless Nights, Homeless Nights
oh-oh, oh, oh-oh oh-oh
Went to New Orlean after the Hurricane, now,
saw the waterline and the falling window panes
and Michael Brown’s still the face of shame
there’re refugees in America, now, girl.
Homeless Nights, Homeless Nights
oh-oh, oh, oh-oh oh-oh
Followed that refugee trail to Dallas
met a man named Michael who’s hands were callused
he said all they needed was tools and opportunity,
his wife said all they needed was mass group-disaster therapy, now
Homeless Nights, Homeless Nights
oh-oh, oh, oh-oh oh-oh
Homeless Nights, Homeless Nights
oh-oh, oh, oh-oh oh-oh
Walking one day by old-man Cheney’s abode, yeah,
smoked a cigarette by the side of the road
the S.S. showed ’cause there were patches on my clothes,
I learned even the Secret Service used to listen to Minor Threat–
now That’s some Investigative Reporting, Mother-Fucker…
Homeless Nights, oh-oh, oh, oh-oh oh-oh
Woke up on a park bench, must’a been the other side of the continent,
I remember ’cause the Pacific Ocean sounds in reverse,
woke up by a homeless guy, wouldn’t you know he’s from Maryland
we recycled all night for a half-pint and some Black Tar
— CUT IT
Granada Winston
When I go back to Grenada
gonna quit these working ways.
Gonna live the life that’s easy
till I’m resting in my grave.
Well, the Boss take all the money
for the sweat that rolls down my back.
Gonna cast my net in the ocean
eat all the fish that I catch.
Don’t Work too hard, boy.
Don’t Kill Yourself, boy.
Well, you see I am an Old Man, now,
let me give a Young Man some advice.
Don’t you work so hard all your life,
just to end in a bodybag.
Don’t work too hard, boy.
Don’t kill yourself, boy.
Ozymandi-Strummer
I was walking through the desert on my own
vultures circling
then I felt alone,
death was imminent.
Saw a Broken Statue,
no head, no hands,
and that statue read:
Look on my Works ye mighty, and DANCE…
DANCE…
Saw a Broken Statue,
no head, no hands,
and that statue read:
Look on my Name ye mighty: Ozymandi-Strummer
Thunk Rock
This is Lyricists’ Watch/ This is Lyricists’ Watch
Donde estan mis cubanos? donde estan mis venezuelanos?
donde estan mis chinos?
Y parra mis primos comunistos, tengo NUEVOS
y los nuevos no son nuevos. Comunisismo es un experimento FALTA.
Capitalism is not going away,
so make your money now and then build a big grave.
Capitalism is not going away,
so make your money now and then build a big grave.
Capitalism is not going away,
so make your money now and then give it away.
Capitalism is not going away…
eh, away…
So you like money, huh?
You know a monetary system I could get behind–
The pebble, the pebble, the big shiny pebble,
the pebble, the pebble, or clamshell.
The pebble, the pebble, the big shiny pebble,
the pebble, the pebble, or clamshell.
The pebble… or clamshell.
So allow me to give you some sound financial advice–
invest in tombstones…
13-13 / interlude
Cowards
Insignificant
Owners of nothing
HEY ISIS: WHAT!
All I see, is a bunch of homeless folks,
running around with guns.
They ain’t done nothing.
And that depends on what your definition of is is
Cowards
Insignificant
Owners of nothing
I execute mother-fuckers everyday.
Verbally.
Cowards
Insignificant
Owners of nothing
You ain’t no Goddess I know.
Goddesses I know don’t ride tanks.
Goddesses I know prefer skateboards.
In case my message is unclear, this is my death-fuck, to all who would bust-up statues, to all who would slaughter journalists, to all who would want to lock someone up– death-fuck to you, does that translate?– Death-fuck. I got mad-pride for all my Purple Hearts, all my Rape Survivors, all my Sober alcoholics; but growing-up a skater-punk in the mid-Atlantic, we got stickers on our ramps that say, Enlistment Officers Lie. And your Drill Sergeant should be kicked in the nuts at every opportunity! That’s mad funny, yo.
Gettin’ Rid of Bodies
Gettin’ Rid of Bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
You ready to get rid of some bodies?
The Skull: the lye. The Ribs: the lye. The Limbs: the lye. The Spine: the lye.
Gettin’ Rid of Bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
Voto en mis elecciones comunidades
The Congress: the vote. The School Board: the vote. The Senete: the vote. But not the President, he’s a person, not a political BODY
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
You ready to get rid of some bodies?
Trans-corporation means leaving your body behind, but this is a fiction in our lifetime, so I’m not talking trans-corporation, I’m talking–
Gettin’ Rid of Bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
We’re gettin’ rid of bodies
GETTIN’ RID OF BODIES
Death Comes in 3s
Death Comes in threes.
Whom do you know?
What are you made of?
Whom do you know?
!YEAH!
Death Comes in threes.
How is your luck?
What are you made of?
How is your luck?
Death comes in threes.
Whom do you know?
What are you made of?
Whom do you know?
!YEAH!
Love comes in threes.
Whom do you love?
Can you love?
Who raised you how?
!YEAH! YEAH.
YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH.
yeah.
For the Dead [ft: Lady Moet Beast]/ conclusion: we Cruddy Rite
This song…
is for the dead.
The dead, the dead, the dead, the dead
this song is for the dead
the dead, the dead, the dead, the dead
Step-up to the microphone.
Sing about your dead-folk.
You got eight bars, so
make ‘um count.
The dead, the dead, the dead, the dead
this song is for the dead
the dead, the dead, the dead, the dead
Man, my friend Rockwell, he was a real Punk-Rock dude, I tell you that.
He liked to drink cranberry and vodka, and he smoked, well, he smoked everything, but
he studied Marxism and Socialism, and he taught Social Studies, and
now, now, now, now, now
He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead
this song, this song is for the dead
the dead, the dead, the dead, the dead
My grandparents, Paul and Christine Wick, they were alive,
and they saved their love letters to each other, and they were married fourty years,
and now, now, now, now
They’re dead, the dead, the dead, the dead
this song, this song is respect for the dead
the dead, the dead, the dead, this song is for the dead
[Steve] Yeah, my friend Belcher, he was a big player on the airwaves.
He used to get their goat by coming up with a phrase like,
I know just what you’re talking about but I just wanna say
[belch] Whoopie!– hahahahaha
The dead, the dead, the dead, the dead
this song is for the dead
the dead, the dead, the dead, the dead
Spill cups for my homies and ancestors laid to rest
Take a couple sips, feel the burn in my chest
Yesterday’s celebrity becomes today’s legend
the same’ll come for me in 50 years, I reckon
Burn herbs, lit candles, sow prayers, bow heads
–I’m dead–
I’m dead, dead, the dead
this verse is the last of the song
the dead, the dead, the dead, the dead
The dead, the dead, the dead, the dead
this song will be again at our next show
the dead, the dead, the dead, the dead
–the dead.
Are you Not Entertained? Are you Not Entertained.
Lyricists’ Watch is not fooling around.
‘Cause if you’re fuckin’ with the Lyricists’ Watch, you’re fuckin’ with the Cruddy Crankerz, you’re fuckin’ with Mr. Nickles and Dimes, you’re fuckin’ with my hard hittin’ skater punks like Alex V. and Edvin, you’re fuckin’ with my MAD man Andrew P., you’re fuckin’ with man Harvey with the Foghorn Leghorn T-shirt– you know he don’t take no guff from nobody when he’s wearing that Foghorn Leghorn T-shirt– you’re fuckin’ with the World-Famous Tony Blunt, you’re fuckin’ with the family business, you’re fuckin’ with my peaceful mother fucker C-Music– you know the baddest gangsters don’t lift a finger to blitz the fuck out you– you’re fuckin’ with the Firm of Ali, Dey, and El
and you’re fuckin’ with me. And if you haven’t heard already…
I’m not fooling around.
You have been listening to Lyricists’ Watch,
and now, back to the Moeham Report
end of lyrics
