This Is Serious Mum

Fatboy Slim Dusty

Ecstacy's had a bad rap -
The drug's OK but the music's crap
Techno's made with computer cable
Samplin' machine and an old turntable
Get a loop, then cut and paste her
Buy a trip and lick the paper
There's new school, old school, prep school too
There's DJs that nobody knew
But now they're known - for doing what?
Ideas? Music? Melody? Nup.
They don't sing, they're not able.
They put a record on a turntable.

Techno is crap
Techno is crap
Techno is crap
And so's hip-hop

Jupiter's orbit is about as long
As your standard rave techno song
Bleep bleep blurt, repeat at will
Do scratching crap, and go until
Two hours later - the bleep's still there
But change the reverb on the snare.

Tokiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!

Hip-hop? Buddy, don't get me started.
So how do you get your song charted?
Kids love this stuff cos it's so new:
Put a sample in from a pop song too,
You've got a hit. How come it sold?
The melody, and it's thirty years old.

Techno is crap
Techno is crap
Techno is crap
And so is rock.

(no subject)

-=Journo Boy=-
From the guitar in his hands a nightmarish C chord struggles, then dies at birth
Roadies trained for years in loyal rescue, stand arms crossed side of stage like paramedics unmoved by misery
His 90 words per minute fingers try again
Only the loudness of the PA prevents him hearing the dull jeering that began after the first song
Beyond the stage lights, the darkness seems ready to throw itself forward to smother him
The stage is the barren hill upon which ancient mothers left children to die
The journalist hitches the guitar strap up on his shoulder
For years now his critical mastery of the rock genre has fuelled prose of unrelenting acuteness
Yet, who would have thought these instruments would be so heavy
He looks in confused despair at the six strings
Longing for the safe complexity of his computer monitor and a QWERTY keyboard
At last, a justified arc of glass of beer swings in its gleeful parabola towards his head
Later, in hospital, he seems to remember sensing the stubbie's weight before
It broke upon the finely explained sensibilities of his skin
You're along way from home journo boy

Victim Of TISM

lyrics to their latest album, including the spoken word poetry of Ron Hitler Barassi, Humphrey B Flaubert and Les Miserables can be found here