Kasparov's Revenge

So this…
This thing
This thing I hear's goin' down
You know it–
It ain't about punk
And it ain't about "the scene"
And you stupid f*cking nerds…
You're sitting…
Sitting indoors, man
I'm out. On. The street. Dig it?
And I'm out here on the street where it goes down
Not indoors
In the record stores
I'm begging ya to go down here
Dig it?
Check it out:
It's a scene
The scene that never was
And it never will be
You never was
You never will be
I am here where it is real
So get wise
F*cker!

Check it out…

Warming Up the Brain Farm

Dear God,
The patient's best intentions
Have sadly faltered
Despite his newly-installed varnished brain
And being force-fed gallons of viscous demented liquor,
He is determined to obtain the new chrome spiders trophy
He dreams of becoming the scorpion who never sweats
Quite frankly, I'm sickened to have this individual infiltrate my headspace
He talks of lascivious laughs haunting his every second
As the clock spits-clicks
Time speeds by in the form of a neon snake
Massive delusions?
Very probably
I fear for my safety
He is as weak as his fellow man
I am now surrounded by hypocrites
Liars, drunks, clowns, fools, sycophants and the desperate
I insist we barter with the moon
To sell the patients cohesive lyrical maps
In exchange for a vision of the future
Stricken with grief
I have no choice, but to turn to lethal toxins
Hardcore punk-paste…

Allstars takin' over…

I keep forgettin'
Hey-e-yeah!
I keep forgettin'
Hey-e-yay-e-yeah!
I keep forgettin'
Hey-e-yeah!
I keep forgettin'
Hey-e-yay-e-yeah!
I keep forgettin'
Hey-e-yeah!
I keep forgettin'
Hey-e-yay-e-yeah!
I keep forgettin'
Hey-e…

Stick 'em up motherf*cker
We've come for what's ours

…

Nothin' seems that weird anymore…