Back To The Motor League Lyrics

Back To The Motor League lyrics

I like to party f**king hard. I like my rock and roll the same. don’t give a
f**k if I burn out. don’t give a f**k if I fade away. so back to the
motor-league with me before I’m forced to face t
Ath of a well-heeled buying public who live vicariously through tortured-artist
college-rock and floor-punching macho pabulum. back to the motor league I go.
once thought I drew a lucky hand. tu
Out to be a live grenade of play-acting "anarchists" and
mommy’s-little-skinheads, death-threats and sycophants and wieners drunk on
straight-edge. f**k off. who cares? I’d rather hi-l
Rip-tiks than listen to your bullshit. f**k off. who cares about your stupid
scenes, your shitty zines, the straw-men you build up to burn. it never ceases
to amaze me and as I’m suffering your
Ction it reminds me of my own race to redress my own sad history of mouthed
feet. eaten hats. teated bulls. amish phone-books. drunken brawls. but what
have we here? 15 years later it still reek
¡®swill and chickenshit conformists wi
Th their fists in the air; like-father, like-son "rebels¡± bloated on
korn, eminems and bizkits. lord, hear our prayer: take back your amy grant
mosh-crews and your fair-weather politics. b
Ry my hair and stick me on a ten-speed. back to the motor league. I guess life
is just a popularity contest. success, the ability to perform within a
framework of obedience. just ask the candy-c
Joy-cam rock-bands selling shoes for venture-capitalists, silencing competing
messages, rounding off the jagged edges. today is good day to die.