Sunday, June 10, 2012

We Put So Much Work Into This

Recently we wrote a song which can be performed an infinite number of ways, but which will most likely be performed only a finite number of ways.  We performed it once.  You could perform it again and again.  We have the notes.  It has lyrics, which you can sing or not sing, depends on if you like em.  And there are guitar solos you can play.  But some people don't have guitars.  You don't have to do it anyway.  It's just a skeleton, so I guess any which way, or not at all.  Here are the notes.   So can you!

“We Put So Much Work Into This”

--An Epic Song In Moveable Parts

Subtitle: “Work Will Make You Free”—inscribed above the gates of Auschwitz.

Verse 1:

I’m not saying we’re rich or anything
But we can get by as a full-time band
We did it all by the dirty dirty sweat of our hands
We put so much work into this
If we weren’t so lazy you’d almost think we did it by plan
If we weren’t so bland you wouldn’t think us half as grand

Look at me Look at me Look at me
Now don’t look at me
Cuz we’re just one man
With a kindasorta band
But lets be real girl
We’re gonna make it big
Pitchfork dug our latest jam
Dontcha think this shit’s a banger
Like the Son of Sam
Pitchfork dug our latest jam
Whole interwebsblowin up
Sayin we’re going HAM
Are you really gonna get upset by this?
We’re just performing Stardust or was that something you missed

Hey plz don’t diss
We put so much work into this
Don’t be a jerk, get to work
Don’t be a snake, don’t hiss & get pissed
We’ve put so much work into this
Hey c’mon, just pretend you like this

Verse 2:
Happy Birthday. I’m sorry that I love you.
Blobs of poo and globs of goo
How’d this shit get on my new Sea-Doo?
This is the chance for people to recognize that important things are happening to you.
We’re the smell you can’t believe comes from anything you made inside you.

Parents, reddening the deckchair of the dying day,
Live inside you, stinking, forever exploding the parking-lot of love
Into yr heart’s tangle of dry grass and locked bicycles.
Okay you don’t trust me.  It just breaks my heart.
Thank God I don’t make art cuz
Can’t start a fire
Can’t start a fire
With this here art
O yrlil world’s already fell apart
Cuz u can’t start a fire
Can’t start a fire
Even now we’re just prancing in the dark

Chorus X2

Verse 3:

All flowers are here working great mmmmmmmmmmmm
Everybody is so honest hey heyhey
I wanna be a bastardized hawk
Full of chicken, full of duck sauce
Cannibals are cool
We teach em our tools and hang out in the pool
Yeah yeahYeah
Yeah yeahYeah
Drink till u wear yr faces like masks
Give yrself productive tasks
Work till u wear yr faces like masks
Prison is a rumor
Work is freedom
Love is a tumor
Sometimes u gotta cut it out
Babyboomers, petgroomers, late Bloomers
Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors
Act yr age not yr shoe size
Work is the real prize
Grow up don’t throw up
Blow up big
Get an expensive geetar rig
I’m not an idiot
You’re an idiot
Legalize armadillos
Smoke cigarillos
I hate yall. Follow me:
Tweet tweet!
Chorus x2

MF Global freestyles:
I am Cynthia Rothrock, I am Matthew Pulver
I do roundhouse kicks, I knock down buildings
I crunch numbers, I'm motherfucking Batman
I eat bagels, I know some stuff
Konami confused me as a child
The game is Double Dribble, but that's explicitly against the rules
I blame Kobe, I'm not the first woman to do so
I divorced chicken nuggets, the breakup was hard
Now I'm vegetarian, now I'm single and McLovin' it

I dabbled in witchcraft, I am not a witch
I am Christine O'Donnell, I am Ellen Degeneres
I am Rosa Parks, I am Mike Tyson
I'm a fuckin' Studebaker, I'm a brickhouse.
I invented swag
I am Freddy Mercury, I am Bono
I am Chaz Bono
Here's the first shot like Han of this guitar Solo

Verse 4:
This finger’s fat enough to be yr workforce Gretel
Gingerbread dishpit.  I’m dumb on a professional level.
We got a new kind o’ dignity dontchu know
Our dignity’s got a camel toe
If you’re not paying attention you’d think we’re just saying words
Love tumor bosses dishy totes rat turds
Most people are fucking rotten
Why were they begotten?
Why can’t they just be forgotten
They’re so ugly
And they’re not hard workers
And they totally make fun of me
Well they’ll get on their knees
When they see our bling
And how we appear at the top of Bing
Pitchfork dug our latest jam
We’re coming for you
&You’regonna come
When u see our 3.4 from Pitchfork
Pasted outside yr door
O Everett True where are you?
We wanna go to Honolulu
Work is freedom from pain & nostalgia
Work is freedom from the Lusitane& neuralgia
Institution? No I’ve never fought the Institution
We’ve put too much work into this
Not to get our restitution
Now shut down that MySpace & open up a Beebo
Load yr vid all up on Vevo
Watch my man geetar solo
Everybody sing along with us
Now here we go

CHORUS W/ Guitar Solo x2

Verse 5:
In America, prayers are ATMs.
I hope I overdraw & loans crawl thru me like scabes
For I am the Holy Ghostwriter of all Hollywood memoirs.
I love you and hope regret fills all yr days.
True Blue is so froufrou
Truest Blue frou you froyofroufrou
I’m just a small man-child
But I’m still wild
Call me Maurice Sendak
If I give ya a 10-back
Golden-rod in the moon’s venice sea
Rust auburn, blond showfolk& me
Hogtowns, cowtowns, cockcrow 2 moondown
Droogs don workboots 2 stomp on downtrod hobos
Droogs don leathervests& kick it with bolos
I stepped on a poptop& blew out my flipflop
But then I got some dip’ dots
The moon is black
Black nasty
From pink nasty
& lilac grey hoorays
Hey heyhey
I’m a deathshark, I’m a blood-eagle
I’m a fuck-hippo, I’m a shitweasel
I’m a death-shark, I’m a rabid-beagle
Fuck blood death shit hungry hungry hippos
Fuck rabid blood death hungry hungry hippos
Holiness HolinessHoliness!


You’re never too late to be aborted.
Feeling alive was your last mistake.
Abortion is the Jimmy Dean sausage in Heaven’s Waffle House.
Fuck timelessness & savaging to redeem.
In the beginning was the Word
And God sent it by text.
The word became flesh
So that text was a sext.
Laziness is a demon that haunts us all.
O wait, a demon that haunts us all
Is not a demon.
Fuck yr inexhaustible bag of literary tricks.
Love is a literary device, a manipulable bag
Of electronic monkey dicks.
Bounce bounce rain bounce.
Blastoff yall. Drink coke.
Don’t tell jokes.
Who on facebook
Still pokes?
I looked u up on my iPad
This is so damn bad
Fuck timelessness & savaging to redeem
I redeem nothing, for redemption
Is a literary device
Bitch u got lice
On the mice
Living in yr old rice
Everybody’s so nice
Like Bo Bice
I saw you I knew I was a fool.
I wasn’t even yr favorite tool.  God fuck us dead
There’s nothing to take pride in anymore.  One’s body
Always falls short, as if off a glossy high-protein bean bag.
One’s mind can’t compete
With a pair of pretty feet,
And “living” is for money
Which leaves no room for Cunny.


I want someone to beat me up.  Punch me,
Please, right in the gut, right in the butt,
Rip my nuts out and throw them into that stew they have at the Butt Hutt.
I want someone to beat me up, Kick me,
Slap yr knife out and more than nick me.
I want someone to beat me, slit me,
Whap out yr clit into my eye
Until I sigh, “Aww dang it bit me!”
I wish everything would go ahead and die.
I don’t wanna have to kill it all myself.
I wish everything would go ahead and die,
or at least we decide on everything being deep-fried. 
Cancer humbled me into liking everything deep-fried,
even broccoli, nature’s little trees,
even baby carrots, nature’s parrots’ knees.



For a tid bit
Of topshelf
U can lick her.
Cancer humbled me into leaving that
ignorant, lying piece of shit.
 I got so cancer-humbled I mumbled,
“I don’t like that little shit not one little bit.”
 But I fumbled it, and God heard,
“I done licked that riddle-shit like a riddle-tit.” 
Cancer humbled God, so he didn’t give a fucking sod,
and only acknowledged what I said
with a sleepy nod of his humbled head.
Takin turns lickinyrrazorburns
Both of us be makin fuss
Fuss that puss I’m a make ya cuss
Fuss ya on a truss I’m a make ya cuss
When ya ride my chocolita bus
I’m a fuss that puss

Water so good I can’t no brood
Arby’s in mah mouth dat good mood food
Got some sneakers I’m a damn new tweaker
World so new I feel like doing you
True in a blue church pew.
What’s the point is the name of this joint
I anoint my point with a big fat joint
Punch ya in the pussy and scream “Aroint!”



Biscuits & gravy
Damn I be lazy
Hazy, crazy and wavy
Shit got real
Cuz I don’t like to feel
Like a deal on heels

There’s nowhere I won’t go
Like theres nothing that I won’t show
In the right mood
If you give me some tude
I’ll give you sum food
If you eat in the nude
I’ll telecommunicate like the ood
Don’t be a prude
You know, like Dr. Who

We’re all alone in this together
Like contents in a purse made of pleather
From a foreign country                 
Where cunts is the shit that grows on trees
Harvested by all the boys
Used for fun like tired ass toys
Getting all tired                 and thrown out
Because they won’t        put         out
Makin us shout                 GET A NEW ONE              
So wuddo we do              GET A NEW ONE
Yea that’s right
Got a new one
Cut it down
From a tree
Yea that’s work
Yea I sweat
Ed           it hurt
Just like real work
Its got a purp
Burr burrburr burp

Guess that means I got a beer
Looks like about now its getting real clear
Yo           this shit itsall about work
That’s the purp                 the purppurppurp
Labor                     labor                     
But not like that Aesop rock album
But just what     about it I told him
All the sweat      the sweat            the sweat sweatsweat
And the tit          the tit                    its ititit
Its all I want it my tired ass life
When I get home from my daily strife
Of talking to you
All you fools
Just like I              fucking wanted to          
When I don’t
I really don’t want anything but what I got
A place for          my fucking cock
To get wet          maybe thrice a week
If a play my cards rite and eat my wheat
Thins     its what im in
Cuz fat chicks can’t dance on a pin with my
Im an angel
The ideal of cap’s cuntdulation
Her discracion
Its what imin      a masturbatin
To           maybe her          with a kangaroo?

Now that sounds difficult             worth paying for
So what               
If its      
A fucking bore

This        is             a free economy
So its all about me meme
Meaning the me
That’s not the me
That works for shit          for he hehe
Or she sheshe
Who gives a fuck about a pee peepee
If its not on me
Or on my clock
What the fuck is it gonna do for my cock
Big Hurt’s up to bat
Did you meme to say that?

Cuz that’s what matters
Show me some tatters
                And the type     I can eat off of
Tater tots with ketchup doves
Just like I think of
When im alone                 imagining pink
And probably one for the stink
To go up in after I make it work
Get wet’ntwerk
Nuthin if it doesn’t hurt hurthurt
Cuz that’s            how       to evaluate         a worth worthworth
And make           me         a                              spurt spurtspurt



Work is what I need Work is what I need
I flagellate my mind into sexless chicken feed
Children got no work ethic
Children are so pathetic
Fiber feral ferment fever
Fast fertile ferrule flint
Macerate the logbook logic
Remancipate the lawtook pocket
My damn pecs still hurt
I don’t get on that scene without my Dramamine
As an expert in karate I chop my shit off in yr potty
As an expert in karate I exert Tecate is a dessert
Necropolis Galapagos hippopotamus
I’m a deathshark, I’m a fuckbeagle
I’m a pus-turtle, I’m a clit-weasel
I’m the dung rolled by dung beetles
I’m minimum wage
I’m underage
I’m full of rage
It’s rude 2 act my age
Holiness HolinessHoliness!

Tired of lying under a man one night
you tore off your chemise violently and got on top of me
to ride me naked.
You stuck my prick into your cunt and began to ride me
up and down.
Perhaps the horn I had was not big enough for you for
I remember that you bent down to me face and murmured tenderly
"Fuck up, love! Fuck up, love!"
Well, I wish you good night
 But first shit into your bed and make it burst.
 Sleep soundly, my love
 Into your mouth your arse you'll shove.
 Cuz, obviously, put so much work into this.

CHORUS x until we get tired of it

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