&c. &c. &c.

Happy birthday MSG
Happy birthday gizzard

Ahmadi, get me a coffee!

At the bottom of your list
there’s a memo SMS
about a mincing of words
And now your loved ones have all turned to turds

Ahmadi, get me a coffee

The tourists are too busy
with the sound of birds
And the headgear of marginalized Kurds

Ahmadi, hurry, more sweet black coffee

Magazine Dreams

We all want to run our own magazines
you want to put yourself on all the front covers
Write our shitty columns be our own putrid crowds
own perfect lovers
My mixtapes and amateur porn and home movies
and MySpace pics don’t cut it

I want to stage my nipple slip and hear the clamour of a hundred hungry dicks
Can’t fuck these Gucci hips
Can’t read these Photoshopped lips

I want to stage my nipple slip and hear the clamour of a hundred hungry dicks
Can’t hear my LFA mix
Can’t feel the glossy public licks

I want to stage my nipple slip and hear the clamour of a hundred hungry dicks

Magazine Dreams

Wash Your Face

It starts in the thick of a criminal case
and you get your fill of families and guns and mace
No-one tells the greyhounds they’re part of any race
You’ll be a Good Jew, save your money, smile, wear your brace
stay chaste

Generate your genealogy, cut and paste
Suck up all the seeds and slime, make no waste
make haste

Baby’s got no blue blood, wrap him in lace
The country holds few heros, send them to space
in good grace

Running round in circles
trading quips with Goebels
Baby knows his place

Repined Bastards! (In Dust We Trust)

We’re going to let a supermarket rule our nation
Can’t warn my kids but for an issue of trust
If not for ourselves, for the next generation
Customer service … is a must

I’ve got to shout to spite you to coerce your attention
& give the monkeys opportunities to vent their disgust
Don’t bother to think of any word for any more than a second
You’ve heard it all … I’ve had my fun

What hurts me most is the communal elation
Surefire cement misunderstanding twixt us
A supposedly successful operation
You can’t differentiate caked blood and rust

I take the map’s legend and replace ‘civilization’
With the honest artist’s impression of dust
In dust we trust

Platotectonics

This world is nothing but arbitrary calculations
Angels hold the keys, computers, equations
Might be you say something to me like “Look, Barney, it’s OK”
Believe you me too, me too, I hear this kind of shit every day
in every word you say
in every impossible way

But you’re too quick to underestimate
the subliminal ancient art
Of taking one man and his dog
and making them fall apart

And as he sat there unravelling
he watched the process from the start
Amongst Original Sin and dark matter
he never saw a heart

Of Dictators And Drummers

Different girls
different rates
Different boys
different baits
Different harams & hells
different hates
Different faiths, fears, different futures
different fates

It is the role of men to
below and shout
Obscenities that worms would
well do without
Place the blame on banal ancient
bastard Krauts
And avoid the shame that drips from gushing
Sin-semen spout

And I know we won’t work this out
Without the lives of millions to argue about
Nor politicians to pay to shout but
You will hear me out

I am Thatcher
I am Keith Moon
I am Bonaparte’s boyfriend

…

He cut his chidrens’ hands off
nobody noticed
I know you’re so keen to point out that
now we all know this and I
Know he was a monster but that
monster meant something to me
I know he was a monster but that
monster meant something to me

Overthrow the humans
Overthrow the humans
Over – Copy – Their day is done