1. |
Dedition
06:17
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*LYRICS*
Everyone coughs snuffs rocks and rough
then cooks and boils rolling syrup bluff
burning books coil in the scrolling cockscrew
as heating ingridients of the magicians' brew
whou - impervious
shall be thy judgement pure no spurious
and self indulgence is not enduring
in this sludge society - conjuring
volatile hopes by guelphs establishment
reserving to us the worst punishment
possible - a terror perpetual
this conceptual derangery ritual
is over now mind the langery ignition
never ever step out the dedition
The velvet drape is lifted
the tempo song is shifted
much like the times I live on
in a couple weeks it's armageddon
helter skelter outer heaven gradient
war feels so impatient
and we're too impotent
behind the cop militia opponents
but - if war is fought
what is achieved in this gavotte?
murder and moisten hemoglobins
grouped with ignorance goblins
but the real warfare's juncture
lies in the rotten structures
Every musical sequel
is irrelevant mutter
stuttered rhythms
for the Flop40 channel
zoom-pa-pa zoom-pa-pa
it's domestication
frication pop-pop-
it's Disneyfication
parliament's mafia in disguise
who's going to help the poor nation rise?
a tangled up jangle of heroinmaniacs
gulping rohypnol and pharmacs
that help shelve the worker's submission
all of this to kill off the dedition
Settings are set-up now the antics
shall proceed toward the theatrics
rather than doing a reportage
I decided to paint up with this collage
an inner journey to the ignote
disjointed syncopathed blue notes
adorning the soundscape dramatical
forgive my grammaticals
as NOOOW! to the end we plod
it's time to avenge the lamb of God
time's come and the trumpets stroke
# you've got all the signs!
and science is a pervertion
if to derangement is dedicated dedition
On the center the Almighty
On the left the truth lass
on the right the jury class
Eighty Cee - it's the inspection
what you have to say at your own discretion
court in session - silence
SHHH! says the guidance
I think the trillion souls
who walked here were panders casseroles
who played the game of little fopling
unfilthy dandies with discourse boggling
Interesting - now keep espousing
a bunch of poseurs exploding
trying to fell unto thy graces
promising tariffs seraphs and dazes
who shot the serif unto papyrus
knew exactly how to handle the stylus
and so spoke trough thee Almighty
Faether - yes you did Eighty
intelligence's a privilege
conceded to few people it's sacrilege
that backsliders drove down the crowd
into believeing what the hell they woved
secularization and magic fission
is nothing compared to the cause's dedition
The cause the cause - harmony
peace achieved without the armories
as you sung in a song bless
belonging to me my etos and Yes
of course as we all belong
to the same source we the throng
first - how are you dying, Eighty?
Am I Dying? No! ... But... I-I think...
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2. |
Plant Food
04:29
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*LYRICS*
Well - I think I am going overweight
an euphemism is yours oh pretty eight
so please oh please put me straight
Lord Lord - I'm not going to be pleaded this way
So Shall I tell you about my letdown
that brought all of this knockdrown?
shall I tell you I won't act like a clown
Lord Lord - tell your witness...
The big slump begun on monday dawn
with a chopmobile made in Taiwan
for an ignoble scope coping with larding
laidous meat down people's throats
as the cotton cycle of banknotes
no more anecdotes - regarding
that morning - I wagtailed
with my black robe in a psychic jail
hailed by masses - M'Block sallow
where appetite's salty but gets shallow
as your fellow cervello - stomacache
incoming with acne and GM milkshake
fast food! - why is it employed?
employees are droids exploited!
even the schoolboys nowadays empathic
have no time for their own prostatic
urges - sour lime elementaries
shortlived nevermind the alimentaries
as every ingriedient needs some cooking
with a time-span longer than the booking
imprinted by boss beside the durmast
escritoire he wants ME straightforward-
ly fast - be quick mr. dude
but now I'm plant food
CHORUS
Well - I think I am going overweight
an euphemism is yours oh pretty eight
so please oh please put me straight
Lord Lord - I'm not going to be pleaded this way
Well - I think I am about to be obese!
are you obsessed regressed for a niece?
it has no meaning - no meaning - cure me!
Lord Lord - I'm not going to be pleaded this way
Your exposition holds some lacunas
motivational gaps - per giunta
you argued like you have no feelings
80C - those are not onigiris!
but fat paninies - cows estrangolators
minced together with condensators
beef - no - you lying cantankerous
living on the verge of the dangerous
emotive breakups leading to offshores
slip-escapades cascades of the liquor stores
beefsteak-grumbling as a form of hijacking
to cover down distress and mind slacking
is that true - YES! I admit
I had my moments where the fridge lit
as a puzzle piece of disorder intestinal
that oil's Rohypnol!
disordinate - too obstinate
like Quinto F. Max you procrastinate
the final moment that rushes to the tomb
cause at the end knots come to the comb
then the bomb comes it's called infarct
of myocardium - and you'll be marked
as a parked number of a clinic-pseud
you're plant food
Well - I think I am about to be obese
oh - sure I am obsessed by that niece
I'm obsessed by the cheerleader dressing green
Lord Lord - I'm not going to be pleaded this way
Well - I think I am already overweight
of course you are - oh pretty eight
so please oh please put me straight
Lord Lord - I'm not going to be pleaded this way
So Shall I tell you about my letdown
that brought all of this knockdrown
No more pleadings I don't want to turn around
Lord Lord - Oh then combat that misplay
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3. |
Bellydancer
06:52
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*LYRICS*
Some nefarious regret strikes back upon
the slight fine hair fat of crayons
the foregone conclusion that girls are nymphs
but let's start the story without its glyphs
Meet three girls they're twenty-three
all mistreated just like the grand prix
cheerleaders embodied in little scale
for use and consume of some skittle-snails
the middle age males - in cerebro
male urinecohlistic smellin terrible
brains utero - however they lack of
real emotions - I'm ready to flag off
they bark - are they boys
or even humans as they do employ
the barbarian means that aim to reduce
girls to sex toys - unfunny truce!
Oh Nora Nora with the scent of Larkspur
won't you realize he is in transfer?
but he loves me - he really clunches!
it's not love if he gives back punches
please be discrete and concede defeat
it's all cigs and one thousand cheats
I think that maybe you've lost touch
Eighty Cee - Ooh Let me avouch!
most young boys are all slurred
unripen carpenters half-baked nerds
only lips in mind and no recreation
beside their porno-fueled stagnation
maybe one day they're going to burgeon
oh - by the way I'm still a virgin
so I take advantage on the baldheads
I'm appalled!
Oh Sandra Sandra with the white braces
you brace yourself with that fast-paced thrace
that seems lavish but ravishly sicken
the unlikely cousin of OJ Stimpson
his stingers big - enough objections
he tears you in sections after the flections
He's so hot - like an icicle!
what did he do to your clavicle?
are you in subjection - in some sort
before you think I am some escort
snort your pride up - I'm tied
up and down foreplay's implied
oh - that explains all the arcane
hidden behind - ain't that a shame?
Not for me - that voyeur whims
as I'm the one who maneuvers the whip
Oh Liza Liza with the cutie thatch
does your romance at least match?
not in my case - he's just a rustle
he wants me some kind of indigo mussel
sophisticate hustler - with a wig
he blackmails me so I cannot quit
identikit him - Oh eighty I'd be glad
His name is Valerian but I call him dad
here fells my stomach
my bowels my liver my pancreas my hummock
old doc amok ducks down the throne
a divorced dump with a heart of stone
a Mary Shelley's Frankie jelly comb
that by now rests his entire rhizome
on youporn - and on me on heinkens'
six packs of oblion - oh amen
If he - was - my dad - I would...
What you'd do Eighty?
IF - HE - WAS - MY DAD - I WOULD...
What you'd do Eighty?
If I were the attorney
in the court room so grotty
bibbidy bobbidy boo---
I would give him a smile
and an appeal for a while
bibbidy bobbidy - shoot!
So after this mindly nonsequitur
I ought neither oysters nor tour-
tourettes soubrettes or oysters
Whoop! Shut me in a cloister!
is what is said by the gracious
mannerous people with tribolations
regarding sex life and its playoff
and the caravel has never sailed off
the carousel spins for queer and straights
by 2018 all of us masterbate
without venturing for other trunks
convincing ourselves it is all junk
and Lord that happened on 20-ex-ex
Sorry Eighty I'm pretty perplex
so instead of that I ate lard
to tear apart the fact that...
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4. |
In Dust Real Fancy
04:59
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*LYRICS*
Six in the dawn pillow on my cheecks
brassy butterflies and janduia creeks
I couldn't finish along the level roaming
when I inhaled bad smoke of rubberfoam-
Intoxicated I shut the windows firmly
Close the doors and all the holes firstly
said my dad - I am going to raboten
you're going to work out with that Butane!?
Of course - because I work for camorrists
I can't Insist I seek to resist the red mist
hold on a second - it's a sure disease!
by the end you're going to bleed sneeze!
I won't mind said his chief with a topknot
while you sweat I'm going to take my pop Yatch
away light years - to put in my uncles
as I don't mind to aspire the carbuncles!
so you mafioso - don't care about your health!
your codeine decisions that run your commonwealth
may not hurt you - but can hurt my veins
so I might better smack your brains - because!
CHORUS
Etchu - Etchu - Etchu!
Cough - Cough - Cough-Cough! Boom!
Industrial fancy's
dust in my lungs - Bo!
Etchu - Etchu - Etchu!
Cough - Cough - Cough-Cough! Boom!
This wicked ecomafia
is making us breath slugs!
Ecomafia - ecocrime and echo dopplers
the big grey haze menaces all the croppers
it's not enough for mobs the big benumb
may I dig in your garden some venom?
ceremonies and idols and no parsimony
for leaving at least our echosystem in harmony
armored robes on the frigate ghost
shall we need some mafia holocaust?
my bass - a machine that kills fascists
all I hear is sirens howling flashes
so I step on the carpet to fly along
I grabbed the chord and made a twang
and totò piano - was disemboweled!
bring in my gorillas the mob voweled!
ratatatat- with my seven strings
and everywhere there were severed limbs!
wrist wrist pulse - is he awaken!?
said the paramedic - and the swoon is baked!
I was still half naked on my dramatic mattress
with my trachea in gaffe and asmatic distress!
CHORUS
the discourse aims to demonstrate
that demons mafia won't ever prostrate
in front of compassion succession and even survival
of the antropologic self because the arrival's
contemplation is not conceivable
in their druggy minds - uncultivable
terrains now overfloat my dear county
because it feels so good their dirty bounty
as long as one day they fall a-gnawed
they feel so great but they're all gnomes
newborn children - grow with deformities!
Northern Italians are now a minority!
Now wonder about the braindrought planes!
CHORUS
Etchu - Etchu - Etchu!
Cough - Cough - Cough-Cough! Boom!
Industrial fancy's
dusts in my lungs - Bo!
Etchu - Etchu - Etchu!
Cough - Cough - Cough-Cough! Boom!
This wicked ecomafia
is making me dying!
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5. |
No Syndication
06:00
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*LYRICS*
[CHORUS]
No syndication - no vendication
no vendication means - all complications
No syndication - no job vacation
no job vacation - it's nazification
Pension Pension - My foreseen
do you think - the corciege's mean?
the council spills - my fatigue
half-salary for a whole clique
twentiests and teens are unemployed
the retirement - is delayed deployed
are the mechanism and the protections
no protection - no syndication
Doctor doctor - I've got a pain
there's no injury you can't substain
said pale coat - with prosthetic pride
while returning snoozing hiding his bribe
handed over - the pull-over-dozers
from the boardroom - look at the faucets
the middle aged bee uses for her inflation
you finger at the workplace - no syndication
Do you think I'm choola!?
Do you think you're choola!?
Do you think he's choola!?
Do you think she's choola!?
Do you think it's choola!?
Do you think we're choolas!?
Do you think you're choolas!?
All of them are choolas!
Said bad maiden - takes her taxì
my stepmom's car - opportunixic
grumbly crunchy travels so far
and she's capable of doing nascar!
the rebel buddhist - for convenience
makes the whole row - go out of patience
the maghrebese's bliss stinks of infection
no loo - no rules - no syndication!
Big psycho boss - pays with cookies
while transferring cash-ins in Turkey
along with the industry - so low cost
can bake them millions while we boast
career dreaming - storing packets
your YUropean dream is a supermarket
while I'm dying in this concrete
of the mafia regime - no syndication!
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6. |
Hospitoolag
09:06
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Feel the stupor
illness tumor
tomorrows in sublimation
I don't want a reanimation
[normal slow]
every patient goes ignored
in the rusty sunken shrunken ward
where the crooked nurse humans flogs
there aren't enough words for hospitoolag
the mourning relatives are nervous
the nurse offers relative service
the human surface emotions hosts
but not the doctors who drink and roast
as most hospitals are direct toward
the private business and the cowards
of the public zoo bog
turn the place in hospitoolag
Is this a health service's defamation? No -
cousins of the cousins and reccomandation
let the real merit dry and exsiccate
then people die - shall I investigate?
fast rejections bad transplants
rats in the corridor the supplies are scant
medical utensils are dusty - patients are
manacled as maniacs like napoleons
enlit only by the broken neons
assist me please - ooh passherà
we gave huge founds to finance the doctor-ol
and he kills degents with his protocol
as you said privatization
is the sought form of organization
the healthy one is the tool the cog
and the other ones - in hospitoolag!
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7. |
Wizz Bolero
05:08
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*LYRICS*
Throw in the trashbin the bleeding bible
and memorize this song with a misleading title
shrunken drunken punk encrusted shurikens
are urticant - they sizzle in the airwaves
raves on raves - the hot thread urges
racism skin feels - and genetic purges
are pursued by consumers of long boot
due to financial crysis burning the roots
of society - the security isn't granted
freedom less freedom - the bomb has been planted
paranoia soliloquia - grandia utopia
did you ever consider!?
superiority - of the race is relative
inequality sketched through appelatives
which are configured in a mannequin
representing a matrioska of pasqualin
holding stereotypes - and lines fixed
generic jargon hatred for who'se mixed
black is bad it's said by pranksters
but all italians are thought as gangsters
so before you speak think as a mirror
reflect back the thoughts becoming clearer
bolero bolero bolero - violcence's unmatched
don't count your boobies until they are hatched
double speed off - this thread
goes against the ingrain and skinheads
don't you think it's a maneuver to bother
the northern people in committing manslaughter?
drink at the tavern! dance the disco!
you blame others for the guilts of the fisco
so cub the cups cut the ties sliced zero
barbed wired in the Wizard's Bolero
Romance - Sad Romans...
It would be bad if a government
decides to chop us wops under covenant
on the basis we are all criminals
the problem exists - but the subliminals
aren't felt by the millenial youthful
stuck into thinking murder's beautiful
as the gang thang is glamourized
who'se going to help the poor nation rise? [playback]
them!? damn! - what a logic
drives them into acting as analogic
controllers handheld by the populistic
the term is inexact - opportunistic
who sold their bung as first grade grape
but they're sentenced of underage rape
another scrape - the rindondanza
who further fuels this mob bonanza
that says - drugs are good - corruption either
it says it's right to be called a nero
and it says - it's right for wops to flee
so we can mess the old ones until they bleed
the leet reproduce - produce in cycles
and you're obtuse hopeless and balalaikal
I'm jobless - fight! don't be recycled
these idle tribal trifles are bridles
journalists whisper about fabled oasis
where tables are golden and so the basis
but in such lands hands are sawn off
if you crush a critic - mitical scoff
whimsical cuisine - life isn't mildred
is this the future you wish for your children?
you'd better graduate - and seek positions
gradually devastating this Wizz Boleros
CHORUS
You glamorize past - blast off my sister
you praise Mussolini and hail Adolf Hitler
this ego bolero now makes me itch
as your mascolinity is the first bitch
I'm going to sedate as a dogcatcher
remember at the times of Margaret Thatcher
how in media portrayal the distressed damsel
was a dumb blonde with a pink parasol
so the men should have been Shwarz-zillas
praise the muscles - eat no tortillas
oh - show no emotions be the cock-rock
but I don't support these notions Rococò
so don't shoot the top - scan the pyramid
all the way down below its summit
and at its base lies the disgrace
of the shaman norms for the human derby
Eighty Cee - you're in counterdiction
your previous depictions were sinful
pissful baloons in the first efforts
I came up of age in the meanwhile!
so I no longer - approve those methods
thinking the far right is so blissful
remaining polite I make this prediction
the world itself won't be so chirpy
in the near future if who militates
doesn't take actions that concentrate
the extertions - in the new generations
love love love love must be embraced
you ought to dissolve this widespread hate
and construe virtues with every mate
fragmentation is an obstacle - hero!
and now we shall proceed with "X-Tincture"!
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8. |
X-Tinture
14:15
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* (Approximative Lyric transcription, those were formulated on the moment)
We are on the brink of the next cataclysm
as this is not a century for idealism
the pandemic population drinks ischemic pills
yearning the valhalla while fighting windmills
all the stoic outgoings can't achieve extra nodes
thy art not going to be astronauts
since thou cannot achieve hyperbolic affairs
unless you sit by the abbot's altairs
and so this is the death of the American dream
mirrored by screens screech streams and podcast gleams
walls are raised and praised and so collapse the gates
someone screams but the sound sublimates
subhumane strains or crests for the liege
who constitute zero point one of the percenteage
the Ancien Regime found the way to feature
pointless riddles in the agenda of the extintion
republics are legit for dynastic divine
holy rights which rely on daily strichnine
consumed by the masses basses on the twelfth
bar of meridiana hourglass and theft
of someone else's life is not punished
equally - law itself has been astonished
indeed the rich lives and clips clochardi
justice is embodied by a Hammurabi
Europe has felt - goals get no gelt
teenage schoolgirls suicide with a belt
teach me a spell, how to handle
these succumbing situation of church candles
if all silent minutes would be summed up
world would be in silence - boom bap!
every day the ozone is losing its tissue
I guess it doesn't matter for the extintion
now hang-glide beyond the Delta
beside darlings who by now swelter
for knowing what I'm going to chant
my message - don't be a plant!
all is taught - is being a vase
for the super liquidator man-plaice
in your case - it's an osmosis
of child proverbs by a parentress
who never stood next to yous
and you and you and you - adieu!
the elite titti the babylonian
the manmade doll dign o' smithsonian
saying "marry my acquaintance"!
third world dilemma the maintenance
whose mislaid trust lies in affliction
and so all women are in extintion
no more blateration from the preludio
now it's mind fabrecation in the red studio
my own shrink yields to feed his ink
and here I proceed with my dreaming film
please - where God has fallen into?
the postmodern process which was "dipinto"
"painted" in tainted northern Italian vernacular
you caught me in a period which reads particular
fragmentation's the intention the span attention
halved and halted cabled under suspention
by mom and dad pet girlfriend friends cells spasm
but most of all my self inflicted orgasms
(screams) deliriant
like datura so sature it is viridian
like my pocket my sockets my maturation oh idiot
you 80C grammelot X-Tincture!
Fail fail fail fail!
Fail fail fail fail!
Frail frail frail frail!
bail bail bail bail!
No and no and no and no
No and no and no and no
No and no and no and no
No and no and no and no
I want to die!
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9. |
Anagogy
06:24
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*LYRICS*
Amidst the path that runs the circuit
I've found myself on a split biforcute
left or right - right or left?
being tied to idiocy or having some cleft
the pun circus's over - what's anagogy
first leave outside the end's analogy
with my cadency compile the questionnaire
and stop being a psychedelic yandere
now think -- about the research
folks beseech to reach a church
unhortodoxy toxic truth ribboned
and knowledge itself has been disowned
the search for the truth is personal
physical mental cervical cervixal
c'mon! the listener's weary
at least listen to my visceral theory
all living things that breath and tremble
are embodied in the same ensemble
now assemble - the clue's fragments
puzzle shards - and now augment
the musical scale and the mind so sature
the trait-d-union is the nature
mother universe in equilibrium
is that God? I guess so - or it's delirium
And now break loose...!
The status quo - my auditorium
Qui pro quo - stop latinorum
post me a toast boast the costs of living
is that useful? or is it deceiving?
what is perceiving is that the men uber
whose ego inflated's a pus-filled cucumber
is cruel and thinks about dominating
the womb he came from - igniferating
IE burning - the definition is pollution
to cover up -- its own delusions
but death elusion is far from being a solution
it's all seclusion -- (and dissolution)
Here you are - Sephora
wondergirl Edera
deleterious and object-
-ified - what's the project
implied in this
society of mis-
-ery and hobbits
angst for profit
tell me oh tell me
riddles anselmi
you sell me facts rotten
facsimile cotton
staples for granted
maples are slanted
for digging downside
the particles suicide
I think the oligarcas
with monopoly and maracas
are dying mudholes
so they destroy us all
but the course won't be siphoned
by some pervert divert I-Phoned
trillionaires ball bones and phantalogy
as phisics wins them all in anagogy
Listen! This guy drums like crazy...!
Be brave 80C - polite and keep steering
but I'm unuseful - it's like
finding a Pizza in Honshu
how can I save someone that doesn't want to?
please - let me leave a suggestion
do no harm and do not live in tension
keep existing well - if you bother
will be good for you and for the others
but don't bother for slaughter - what a mess
isn't that supposed to be selfishness?
no - it's fishy-less-ness - survival
keep going on though this extintion festival
don't be lazy - fight - for who'se close
with dosed love respect do not enclose
into your shell - shell yeah - continue
do not care about success venues
nor pride nor lust nor avarice or anger
and guard yourself from who'se a munger
difficult times come and go alongway
the important thing is never be strayed
do not accomplish dreams but objectives
and shelter away from the projectiles
karma up - holy spirit - it's all analogy
be all in one with the Nous anagogy
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10. |
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*LYRICS*
Blangis Blangis - Down your throath
what's the matter you most loath?
Je suis le man with the Pentatheucho
and of thousands prints you can smell its echo
bacon sausiers - saucers cymande
from the atlantic clothed up Armandi
pancreatic - a disgusting ethos
commercialized problems as an extended ego
thanatos is my favourite
my brute own dish which ain't flavorite
by dozens or thrizens bookbindings
fluck the rest and collect your findings
when I say canary - a cheep cheep
cheep cheep cheep am I so sweet? sheep!?
pray - my sanitary's regional
and the stuff I display is very personal
merciful no - unique experience not-faux
and therefore it won't fit like gloves
to every beverly bernardette hey Viridianas
did the U-Boats write some more panzanas?
You can't rest all day fantasizing
R.P.G.s, anal sex and mesmerizing
the intertitles by the media villain
I am not superstitious as short Hellen
the angelette majorette madonna
f*** the pork God and the minigonna
miniskirts outskirts all skirts
and the coughs the queefs the clit and sperms
as you talk and talk and talk impassive
doing nothing of said stuff you lascive
torax sniffing borax relax and shrill
let yourself go for a week downhill
but once is day eight bring back the tome
leave off the genocides and horrordromes
as mind scapegoats are insinuations
fruitless and tasteless - oh sorry?
it's like the widow crying on baptistery
complaining about this and that misery
to every beverly bernardette hey Viridianas
did the U-Boats hear more panzanas?
By this point the naiff fatigues
"call the anti defamation league"
they prosegue whisper and mutter
censor my unpoetry it's freedom murder
I find the sublime in what's utter
to living beings believing in order
as a thing which is unobtrusive
located outside history - intrusive
thoughts and anti-weird sentiments
toward the unusual queer and genuine
a.k.a. spontaneous unharmful groups
I think the beauty lies in the margins
the river's banks - the antipodes
for which you suggest the antithodes
toss off the cathode and rather gather
toghether all by one - no one waffer
would do that and so eighty says
there won't be joyous days of maize
for every beverly bernardette as Viridianas
but for the ones who... cool it!
U-Boats did this - U-Boats did treachery
I'm more worried of arsonry and mysteries
surrounding the fact of why in a sudden
everyone starts to care worried and muddened
it's too late to demonstrate clemency
after decades of unwillingness and unefficiency
you come here prostrated blobbing
a wild bunch of toadies lobbying
it was true for me I seriously thought
that crimes and injustice could be fought
but heroes are metaphores from Hollywood
like Kaesar Mussolini and Jesus too
so let no one in any time declare
what the truth is in the earthenware
what am I doing is homespun
vernacular in motion it's simply fun
that's why pop sucks a hint rained
is that personality in no way remained
in every beverly bernardette - Arcadi!
Did the U-Boats strip off your canary?
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11. |
Lick the Wounds
08:20
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*LYRICS*
Tweet-tweet's a symbol
squeeze a splash cymbal
grapheme by grapheme
now here's the scheme
please the scene changes
you witness phalanges
armed of Samsungs
who licks the wounds
ex-disco psy-leeches
all scratches and peaches
more divorces than strands
these are their trends
months with two lovers
weeks in the hinterland
kids to reprimand
and smart drugs to recover
no more companies
without mind boundaries
they are just feebles
with treason algorhythms
that after half decade
blue as Gatorade
they beg-ya moo-moo
you lick the wounds
To every misbehavior
corresponds no favour
stop jargon stop jiving
this is unbelieveing
unbelievable dreary
so much a harakiri
to your neo cortex
is required - a vortex
of pelvic's twists
could tie both wrists
of a person - scuffles
on quarrels all shuffles
then - the unfaithful
six finger strings pulls
poor fools who would
jump out the firehood
for their allure
now they look like Cavour
but then comes an end
as puppeteers overspends
all their resources
in spite of recourses
you left me marooned
shut up and now shoo
Alessia Alessia
Makossa Countessa
count your cunts roster
you're an impostor
or better impostress
as no S.M.S.
was in content sincere
thou shall not persevere
months were sixty
those years were misty
but yards after yards
I've carried forward
my life - but your butt
I'm sorry - your brain
is still stuck within
the next idiot's foreskin
you're still liable
of fraud you sable
satin inside all gall
drunk on alcohol
your tribolations
were made by your actions
who'se the cause of its wounds
should blame itself
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12. |
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*LYRICS*
What's the cause of this insanity!?
it's a lost cause hiss Eighty!
loss of ego bold words of stencils
humans are molded as some utensils
whose voice has spoke who disclaims!?
please return from whence you came
the devil speaks peaks my flesh statue
the one unbeaten in the breakthrough
it's greed! greed! greed the obbrobrium
brown goaty fuzz and tail of opossum
with a scary muzzle drowning saliva
sconfitto tu fosti su codesta riva
the goatee gnawed with a cobaltic buzz
its breath's antartic and germs blush
meet me at the crossroads when it's twelve
and I'll make you a king amongst the elves
trembling and frantic against the barbaric
is Lord stuck in the chamber iperbaric?
it doesn't exist - and goodness neither
in the wee wee hours whispers the breather
minimized but glossy I responded steadily
flush off Satan Belzebub or Lilith
or whomever else is renown
to slush off reason and motions down...
CHORUS
It's pretty lonesome, and it makes no sense...
Kill the migrants! No! I won't
I'm your friend! what do you flaunt!?
it's so easy for the external hosanning
actions rarefactions and extreme panning
but are you involved!? on whose side!?
let me slice ya with my piedmont style!
and no - I'm not reacting as ridiculous
to run off the problem- I'm meticulous!
Bomb-blasting suits won't shield the malignant
you show poignant brutes and the pregnant
mothers exhausted prostituted on the TV
violence as common as sugar sweets
and in the web streams and the platformers
the former Doom clones or the performers
hence you youth you praise the assassins
emotion-less-ness and stupidity's excessive
but I won't stay passive twisting my spigot
becoming lascive fanatic a formless bigot
I'd rather construe virtue and experience
rather than fake towns guarded by Valkiryens
and yes videogames are in part responsable
along with bullies and the antenna portable
it seems to me compassion is in a dustbin
waiting for the garbage service to... bzzzzt!
CHORUS
It's pretty lonesome and it makes no sense
I said it ain't no consone and it makes no sense
yeeeees - and I'm a perished verb tense
let's do it do it do it
So here you are - disbelieving
so here you spar seeking the seizing
or you run bike swim in the triathlon
looking for an El-Dorado or Avalon
in a bynomial you spend a price
for some nonexistant paradises
chimical carnal and the cavil latency
stop pawing for the travel agency
without seeking first the worst
of the country you're going to thirst
and you find out the hollows are stubbles
whoa - it wallows in the same troubles
malnutrition corruption and smog
mondo is mondo - it's all a bog
because capitalism cannot survive
without crime slavery and the wildfires
neither communism anarchy or monarchy
because the establishment is starchy
so instead of breaking the bone marrow
do good face to bad game and swallow
leave away the pessimism and negative
idiots townspeople - it's effective
never alone - always in good company
be kindhearted and play some Tomboli
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13. |
Rapiers
04:44
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*LYRICS*
Let's explore the compound
forms - mounded sound norms
three plus three plus three
jumping streaking pulse won't you agree
with me Eighty Cee is redundant
on the cloven's lips rice is abundant
I shall not hover as much as jazz
as the more you cover it the flatter it gets
NOW! Let's recover the gospel
left aside sidequels in the hostel
owned by Hegel - Gosh a twinning!
it was the bad devil since the beginning
of Disk One - a cajolying swindle
towards me poor me and here I dwindle
brindle bra fetished and narvalic
the Antichrist so revealed gets sistolic
Zoom zoom zoom make me slove
get down this sort of slope or hatred
will haunt you for life enduring
Uh - let's put the earflaps for this torturing
The triparted entity Hey Andrede
Visit me - please me with it in Mede
Thirty kilometers of riddled asphaults
and my automobile does many sommersaults
so much buffeting and no buttering
once arrived in there the trio is muttering
by the chinese cafeteria
about old seventh grade mates and hysteria
concerning their relationvessels
gossip tattlers Ameba-alike and sessile
since their birthday a bunch of goons
and I'm thinking they must be "Terroons"
How wrongful I was with that concept
that wants southlanders with an insects
sized brain - instead it's a matter
of use and costumes tradition and the latter
IS FAULTY! and they're even northern
female bairns neither salty nor quern
but they're acting as provincial lodgers
with the holy shroud of their rumps' postures
Rapiers rapiers Rap Apples
I don't want to sipsup your stagional scandals
on regional dimension the Hamlet
is the reason of the stagnation of scarlet
liquid tissue resulting incestuous
practice among distant relatives infectious
symptoms of stupidity akin to pellagra
arise among the poulation - the blue Viagra
in the pharmacies has evaporated
along with politeness cleanness corporated
societies in the sprawls are brainwashing
their inhabitants however the squashing
half-rural places small as a borough
could be either heavens or mud - archipelago
wee towns from the charts is smearing
due to big bad buttermoths who are interfering
hence do not lose every kind of contact
with the external reality so please portract
the healthy tradition leaving off magic
and superstitions and life will be less tragic
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14. |
Come Brain Or Come Slime
04:15
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*LYRICS*
CHORUS
Come brain or come slime!
Come brain or come slime!
cease your soul - Eighty!
Oh babe - fed me your own time!
Come brain or come slime!
don't come slime but come brain!
contain the drain - Eight!
and repair what's not fine!
Uga-chacka Uga-chacka goes sonando
in a millimetric polyrhythmic crazy mambo
Jumbo jump-on jerk on Rhotic erotica
mumbles the devil ravelling subsonica
apathical sounds of haedonysm
trying to severe my C.P.U. with a schism
please the liege kill the morbid yawn
the torbid howling wolf moans at dawn
No way - no more temptations from the hypnotist
that metamorphs me into Caesar the somnambulist
temptating tryst furry beast-alike vampyr
I'm not going to slay you as a martyr
I'm going instead to butch ya in jigsaws
and dig your horns in Guinea Bissau's sauce
so glissando from unreal to tangible
I'm going to tear you apart until you are sensible
CHORUS
Insinuations Insinuations
Insinuations Insinuations
Insinuations Insinuations
Send me a song titled Insinuations
Cease the anaphora protaphoric foxtrot
as this fosforic anti-angel makes you rot
like the worm on the rod for fishing
for catching uber sturgeons super-swishing
swimming in the lake called capitalism
consumerism's chrism the cataclism-oh
oh - do you seriously hold that gifts
you acquire will heal all your misfits?
ask the heirs ammassed in the dancehall
if the money spent saved their Netherlands
drugs videogames sport and even art
are a waste of years and are a mart
CHORUS
So save the dough as it's said by the mob
because one day your plough is going to blob
and stop due to the prionic ammines
hystrionic carbohydrates and mescalines
kneeling monoxide and toxic sludge
and that day you're going to meet the real judge
who doesn't give the indult for his cult
unless you prove you became an adult
as birds whistle and hustle in the nest
and skunks kink out once they fall from the crest
what's next is building the needed tools
for your ship that has to avoid all the deadly whirlpools
dislocated and misplaced on the winding peninsula
so wing away from the cellar of vinicula
cellphones and vinyl and disks and pickups
all of those don't belong to the grown-ups
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15. |
Quail In The Tower
04:47
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*LYRICS*
I was going - to write a number
about fools who fall in a hype slumber
plumbers' fetishism or dish related
Spielberg's Jaws in the redlight store
but no - that number would be ill-fated
so instead I move war like a commodore
toward a subject subject to adversity
the controversies on University
where you pay a lot for a rotten pulp
subbosed to grant ya a better job
Hah, it's worthwile! - No - Voilà!
the capital spent goes straight to the 'ndragheta
and then the awoval - the recognition
is yet suspicious - an imbibition
of prestigious paper with filligree
but only reccomended agree on your pedigree
and the italian status - is Zed-Grade
so do not expect - a foreign aide
the graduation it's waistepaper abroad
italians are ants you arthropode
buttlicking pounces the new aristhocracy
I don't believe anymore in meritocracy
and in democracy by profs under thorazine
dyacetyl cocaine filled impostors on a magazine
are a chosen cast much like the elite
of the academic culture overpaid by greed
let's steer this stir - the validation power
lies in quails on top of a castle
Now let's analize - the components
the teachers - left-wing exponents
who idolize Marx but they aren't workers
but sedentary scriveners succumbed lurkers
who had all the cosiness of the earnings
of mom and dad who were yearning
capitals and capitals - this classifies
their class as lackeys who falsifie
the curricula of their consanguineous
relatives and children and the indigenous
who aspire to a better position
are fraudly tricked into submission
with bureaucratical maneuvers
unless you're open to lend your louver
to the first Hearst who reads Nietzche
they lick and sigh - fammi felice!
Now let's see the protagonists
of this vicissitudes - qualified arsonists
the first's a dame bad to her core
dying her hair like a manmade whore
born in Naples among the state crew
who became rich by betraying the jews
to the nazis in wartime as this explains
why she's received some fields and plains
not just semantical - but material
rejecting students like she's imperial
then covering the buttocks already deflowered
a smart move from a quail in the tower
Would you like to hear my stances
the students are victim of circumglances
surrounding the astounding circle
of leet profs - I shall pound
some more on the stakes no miracles
will assist ya only the simpering sound
will help you in this land of panders
adulations - curl as a salamander
into your convintions and the termites
will confine you as a crazy hermit
hence I offer - two solutions
cultural uxoricide or prostitution
selling your orifice and not your talent
lending your compliments looking gallant
personally I'd rather gather petrol
and burn to its ground the eschole
but then I would face an endless jail
torn and violated like a giant snail
for the sake of an action that wouldn't change
the course of the events out of my range
maybe that's why in these times occasion
professors are faced with intimidation
and look - no one will move a finger
unless you don't look enough a stinger
so my suggestion is better learn
something for yourself remain kern
to the rules of the game so subversive
without soaking down becoming dispersive
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16. |
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*LYRICS*
Song 64 - The Epilogue
I'm tired of rapping like a demagogue
a computer Van Gogh usually demented
earless schizofreaking and trisegmented
fourtyfold my scales sellout ushers
share monkey moves with flock of gushers
Je no speak ze glock pisin
of guilded windshields and gangster gin
I'm wearing jeans as no other furniture
is available to unlucky creatures
unfortunate - shape the GeoMag
to cohese a topic - Oh keep scrag
the drag aristhocracy and fictional
villains rapists who seem frictional
well - all of them get my contempt
but the lower class isn't exempt
as many sell out to their owners
hostile to hosts they are moaners
pilot fishes for the killer whale
buttplugs extended as a brown foxtail
filler filler - now you bawl
another scrawl from foxhound's downfall
loath me as you wish - french and malians
in an ambient where I am an alien
Neutron Bombs the airwaves pervade
S.O.V. construction S.O.S. brigades
of salvation harvest up proselities
in this globe now made of extremities
Benito poutpourri and censor Zeldas
share same exploits and same agendas
and the identity is compromised
who's going to keep what is promised?
My uncle - my cat - magic carbuncle
stumbling deficients I wish to strangle
I ought to say to the militias
F**k off the politicians
and their flocks around without revenue
ah - undeclared and the Timbouktu
lovers who have moved a continent
in spite of us congealed Mentident
the frisky risk arising from ooze
are the sympathetic who would amuse
us with the story of Uncle Tom
when it suits them the leftist haulm
if it was for them they wouldn't dare
about minorities majorities and mares
or working females or feudalism
the new phenomena the fake moralism
I'm not European wop or Lisbonal
let's smash the tribunal
Virtuality can't pay my taxes
Not even Betty Craxis
Smear off fantasy and ultrareal
and the Zed hero zeal
This world is not for romantics
it's crowded by frantics
Gandhi and Che and Doctor King
all killed by a crazy wing
for every saint that tries to resist
tides of imbecils row against
and Now I'm fading away
I'm fading away
I'm fading away
I'm fading away
I'm fading away
I'm fading away
I'm fading away
I'm fading away
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