Rogue transmission, intercepted from the front…
Anarchy International, Anarchy International,
this is rogue unit Lightcycle...repeat,
this is rebel cycle 666teen
riding the electric tentacles of
this pop3 email account
reporting from the front lines
of the WAR AGAINST POP MUSIC.
First wave attack against enemy fortifications was repelled,
first wave attack was repelled.
We've taken some heavy losses in the cheesy synths brigade,
and our drugged-out sampling division
has been completely wiped out
due to a sneak attack by lawyers backed by
the satano-DEA-right-winger-wing of
the military-industrial-entertainment complex.
We're regrouping our forces.
We're stocking up on heavier synthesizers
and faster drum machines.
We're layering our beats like never before,
and we're trying to recruit a Vocoder battalion.
Our battle has been hard fought,
and the sound of your words have echoed
through the night as the cannons still roared...
"those brainless cows...
the candyman always had some new kind of acid...
out of which Plato is born every time...
whose worlds are these?"
We sent faxes to god and
asked for platonic lovers,
but be careful what you fax for,
you may just get it
in the form of LESBIAN FEMINAZIS'
who shun Shakespeare for his manhood,
who castrate his words
because of their latent fear of penetration
by his hard throbbing ideas.
Well, I happen to like his throbbing ideas,
for they fit tightly in certain spots of my brain
and from there they do battle and
spasm into the future of
electro breaks drum'n'bass
by which I will do battle
with the evil that is Brittany Spears
and the Boy Toy Wonder Band Brigade.
So now my army sits
poised behind sequencers and samplers,
awaiting the call to battle whereby
we will sodomize the ears of the masses
through untamed beats of apocalyptic squander...
and no, we will not use Vaseline,
nor KY, nor baby oil;
because the rectum of modern music
must be fucked dry and hard
by the likes of punk rock and
punk techno and
punk metal and
and punk new age
and punk phunk
and all the other struggling artists
out there who are trying to stick it to the man
in the can
from the frying pan
as a lubricant.
These are my words
and these words are the words of my beats
and the beats of my brethren
and the brethren of my thoughts
and my thoughts are these words
and with these words I will rape all minds for all time.
By the dawn's early light, our synthesizers were still there...
oh say can you see that star-spangled sampler,
that baseline will still wave,
by the rockets red vocoders,
we will hold true through the night…