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THOUGHT INDUSTRY LYRICS
"Mods Carve The Pig: Assassins, Toads and God's Flesh" (1993)
1. Horsepowered
2. Daterape Cookbook
3. Gelatin
4. Jane Whitfield Is Dead
5. Boil
6. Michigan Jesus
7. Smirk The Godblender
8. Republicans In Love
9. Worms Listen
10. Patiently Waiting For Summer
11. To Build A Better Bulldozer
1. Horsepowered
Halcyon prick absinthe loaded. Popes moselle in
Christ, slurping dead Jim's fat ass wife with shamrocks
and driftwood. I'm an articulate man, but the chanty
says to fuck. Scrape.
Sterilized aqua rectum. Chumly the Walrus.
Adventures bloop gumption's "if"? Catholics crust lust
my stomach, Jim's dumb tame moray. How many
times, Timmy? How many times, Jenny? Let's rinse
and rinse. Scrape.
Cheap man's lumbering hulk city bus will swoop me
off at nine. 'tards with lunch pails. Bums hacking snot.
Some fruit sniffing shampoo. A drunk bus driver. Kill
that bus driver. Kill the fucking bus driver. Scrape.
"Hey, here's part of my new book. A clever political
anthology. It's for the pretentious and cute. So I named
it 'America, will you please stick it in and ride?' Fly
dove. We fly."
Vacillate stance silver Zippo and cotton. My
varicolored weapons and wasps. I'm ok. I'm fine. Feel
swell. It's neat. Don't bump me. Bang bang delicious.
Go bang bang delicious in the bathroom at Crossroads
mall. Scrape.
I'm a fucking pop star. Non-threatening music.
Chipped meat hunk seen on Fox. Scrape. I'm a fucking
pop star. Budweiser sponsored. I've made it. Put it
there, chum. Scrape.
"I bought a song. Some sort of Neil Sedaka sample.
Hey, pay attention to me. It's so damn important. Well,
Fuck ya'. So stick it in and ride." Fly Bush. We fly and
ride. Free Quayle we fly.
Angie's lonely and stinking drunk, with morals like
frozen piss. She'll stick it in and ride. Fly Rush, we'll
fly and ride. Free horse we ride.
2. Daterape Cookbook
[I) Interstellar Combine Races Towards Pluto]
Milk toast shag scabs greased lips. Propped north
ass pastel pillows. Digest tight Valentino damp boxes.
Elmer's glazed moron teeth. Squeel rabbits drip baby
oil. Cock mainline love malted. Mods carve the pig
speared on their spits.
Brent was bored, rolling in his vomit on the chapel
floor. Lost his bankcard, then kicks creamy stalls urine
shit 'gotta headache whore.
Permed hair whips farm boys wild. Gnashing groins
prim blast hole. Screaming Wilbur's fat dissolves.
Nathan lurch. Elmer "pulls out". Chipper New York
ska skanks 78 speed. Pork steroid film protection.
Dosed Shriner's tiny cars explode.
Brent was bored, picking on the fairy on the disco
floor. Drowns in gossip, and hears through the "scene"
that his girlfriend's a social whore. Forgive her. So
punch in her ribs and say you missed her. Fool, you
lose. Her life is nothing. Jane's life means nothing.
[II) Joppa Soy Field (Where's Philip Whalen?)]
Bullie Jeb beats my ass, and his slut consumes my
blue pills. The sand in my bubblegum cracks like a
spoonful of ants. Inchworm. Write down. Pen all the
trash in my head. Pearl cheek. Tattooed high. Four
pastor boys caught in bed. No pants, senator? Spotted
owls rape lumberjacks. Write down, pen all the smut in
my forehead.
Manure wagons stacked skunk weed. Smoke crack
blistered fannie. Helicopter cops mace wheat rows.
Drunk beatniks escape in chevies. Naked man dance
bonfire, telemarketing grandma. Duc-tape her mouth,
and slit her throat.
Brent was bored, calling in a bomb threat to the
republican ball. Drowns in gossip, and hears through
the "scene" that his girlfriend 's a social whore. You
whore. Kick in her face and say you missed her. Fool,
you lose. Her life is nothing. Jane's life means nothing
to you.
3. Gelatin
Drip strawberry juice. Open shutters. Death birds.
Elated. Elected. Universe. Sedative vein. Whole grain
layered. Brightest sunshine. Brightest day. Spills the
kitten's milk. Cuts my hands. I place the knife to the
ham of her face. Her face.
Say you have to die and I'll keep cutting. Say you
have to die and I'll keep cutting you. It's a magic world.
Swim erratic in the water. Thick as gelatin. No skin.
No skin.
Mick my friend. Some day our understanding will
be described as lovers swapping lies. As how man and
dog relate. I'm under the table. Drop the plate.
Butterfly. Maggot.
4. Jane Whitfield Is Dead
[I) July 10th, 1993]
Jane's clenched legs writhe. Soot dress dance flannel
sheets. Inane lush that can't decide, but I'm snared
here. I wake flustered in her bedroom that I can't
escape. I weep here's something that can never change.
This marriage is make believe. Cook slop meal; and
sew t-shirt; and wash my plate; and make bunk bed. I
never asked these things, because Jane's now dead.
Jane's found dead, long dead. Left me to this lonely bed.
Hoard of locust mad.
[II) September 17th, 1995]
Jane floats down the aisle. Voluptuous cream
wedding dress. Family and friends tight smiles. Razor
near. "I do," and I promise on the bottle lover's grave.
She sighs, "our timeless loyalty is branded change."
This marriage is make believe. Mow front lawn; and
wash sports car; and cut slab wood; and pain garage;
but we're not a sexist pair. Because Jane's now dead.
Because Jane's been dead. Because Jane's found dead,
long dead. Stranded to this frigid bed. Pacific bottom
sad.
I'll mourn her softly
[III) May 3rd, 2043]
A-frame by Winchester stream. Trimmed hedge
with daisies. Fields. Stained plank ceder fence. My
gramps' ponies. She'll shit a brick. I bet. Our house to
raise a family. She'll shit. I bet. We'll grow old
together. Snail slow and ancient gray. Racquetball on
tuesday morning. Playing eucker. Sipping tea; and
watch the sun die from our rocking chairs. We'll gum
sweet oatmeal holding dishpan hands. She'll shit a
brick. I bet. To watch our children married. She'll shit.
I bet. To see us when we're ninety, sleeping in on church
sunday. Playing our dated CD's that we bought in my
twenties.
[IV) January 25th, 2051]
This marriage is make believe. Now I'm crying on
her body as she passed away without me, and left me this
bitter old man; because Jane's now dead, because Jane's
been dead. Because Jane's found dead. My wife's now
dead. My wife's found dead. Jane's left dead.
5. Boil
[I) Eating Shit As An Occupation]
Dennis Hurley, guns and coffee. Lucky strikes.
Suede shoes. Polyester slacks cramped posture.
Staleman, frail hands. Shake caffeine palsy. Lame
veteran korea grips breasts. Wife's breasts. Gorge
bruised nipples. Welted glazed thighs. Half-gallon
bourbon. Slit my intentions. Boil.
Octopus lentils, leeks, lamb cabbage, spinach, squash
pie, prunes, and eggplant, curdled goat's blood milk,
head cheese, rye roast. Peel shrimp fetus cold aborted
daughter. Mormon. Right wing. House wives swallow
dennis' love zanex. Wet sleep dead man. Slit my
aspirations. Boil.
Me be itsy silly fluffy boy. Golly folly. Skippy
trippie pixie slippy toy. Lolly polly. Shoot me.
Rat squeal secrets. Desade roleplay. Whipped skin
hot back. Sidhartha cancer. Tock murders the lorax.
Shower head. Crammed fist. Launch crying children
sprint deceptive off chin. Priss grin. Wipe cream crust
on the red white blue. L. B.J. kiss me. Slit my
occupation. Boil.
[II) Burning Kalamazoo To The Ground With Zippo fluid]
Clear filthy water. Dung campus housing. Slumlord
rule. Raise my rent. Pure cutesy water. Strappy vein
bulging tight lamp cord. God of love. Don't travel to
belfast, Ian. Arms poked bony skin. Plum badge of
honor.
War hero. Suck. Stick. Right. Pregnant womb K'zoo.
Mud scene pie easy stroking farce. I'm not loyal.
"Step down Mr. and Mrs. Politically Correct. It's so
easy to be "punk" and "aware" living at home. You
can't change shit, you're too self-righteous; you're the
bigots you flount to loathe."
Cappuccino, Darvans with vodka. Pente'. Zig Zag.
Courvoisier. Nitrous. Karaoke. Cornbread Patrick.
Albert Hoffman dreams a wind chime. Buck shot.
Limbau swill rot champagne. Swill granola holy. Meth
sneeze blood hurl. Slit my education. Boil light.
Shoot me boy. Love's a prescription love feast.
Let's go sailing Mr. Hurley.
6. Michigan Jesus
[Brent:] Christ, you've toiled hard. So grab a stool. You
get to buy the first round.
[Jesus:] Guiness Stout?
[Brent:] I'll cleanse your feet with my beer. We'll have
another round, Collin. May I bum a smoke? Thank
you.
[Jesus:] Citizens, the proletariat will rise. Marx was right
to believe in something new.
[Dippy:] Can I quote that?
[Jesus:] Government, reduced to a momentary guard. I was
born just a man within a plan.
[Lippy:] That's with a "J", right?
[Brent:] Christ, the girls are onto you. A godless herd.
But I don't believe in god either.
[Jesus:] And neither do I.
[Brent:] Let's pound some shots of Quervo. I'm always
thinking wrong loaded. So, damn it, come along. We'll
sing.
[Jesus, Brent, and the People:] Tralala lalalalalalalala lalalalalala lalala.
Tralala lalalalalalalala lalalalalala lalala.
[Dippy:] Genius, who's your agent?
[Lippy:] Is that in Hebrew?
[Brent:] I'm outta here. Call me a taxi. Christ, my keys.
You sure know how to drink my friend J.C.
[Dippy:] I love you.
[People:] Adieu, adieu, and yes we love you Jesus, too.
Please come back to conclude in lost Hebrew.
[Lippy:] Please, don't leave.
[Jesus:] Thank you much. Come meet my wife at the
laundromat.
7. Smirk The Godblender
[I) Your Grandma's A Seal Killer]
Rot disease doc cowers sly. Bigot's digest blacklist
trade. Homophobic? Barb's pro-life? Fist happy
conservative. White gold home shopping cross. Vinyl
infant nailed Jesus style. Huddled ignorant cult of
chumps sobbing.
Himmler cops sip raisin rum. Christmas eve.
December bliss. Tossed balloons of santa paint splash
lovell and south rose. Watch grandma's swastika
taunt dad's foundation walls. She expressed ice nerve
and speech, and they know I'm more left than right.
Burn the country clubs. Rich white man. Scared white
man. This is me, face turned wry. Snow.
Electric my passion punch. Sheep test the artichoke.
Kill liddy. Love Stanley III. Days of height and
Milbrook house; and I wonder of April 16th? Wavy
gravy and Ram Das. And I'm reading the oracle, and
I'm feeling more god than straight. Burned beneath the
lids. Hoffman's here. Krassner's there. Kids will play.
Load Jim's .44 behind the ATM. Await Mercedes
Benz. Sugar man behind the wheel. Shoving cocked
piece to his cheek. Have him pull his max in green
George called it "War on Drugs", but I call it "War on
Love." War on all my friends. Leave us free to choose
and be. This is me. Rubbed in shit. Old shoes. Huge
clue.
[II) Who Took My Holiday Inn Bible?]
Protestants. Catholics. Jews. Islam. Baptists.
Lutherans. Mormons. Orthodoxy. Christian science.
Jehovah's witness. Methodists. Episcopalians are
falling down.
Blend it, religions crime. Grind it, religion dies.
[III) I'd Rather Hide Than Be Dead, But I'd Rather Be Dead Than Dumb]
Humpback slitting sicily. Exxon glaze. Ramming
japs. Blood gushing raw blowhole. Crone whale
lambasting death. Sand scraped and forcible shored.
Metaphor lays mucked and dies. I laugh, "I know what
she's doing. She's choosing her final time. Hemingway
Like grave. What is land is lost at sea." This is me. Face
torn blind. Ribs cracked. Tongue lost.
8. Republicans In Love
Sorry, I'm drunk dear. It happens all the time.
Honestly, I thought I loved you. Too bad you're so
damn lame. Scare me with the chance to die by people I
would call friends. I guess it's a lovely trick. I probably
should enlist.
Grind me meaty. Wash me holy. Chew me crust
bloody. Spit on me. You know I trust you dead.
GOP's oily sudsing. Attempting to wash what won't
rub. Flossing gums, then licking bottoms. Nonchalant,
they're gropping crotches. Raped green by forty ounces.
Shiny bliss. My cocky drunk grin. Pretentious for
deceiving you. You're gullible for believing me.
Grip cold drink starless starlet. You're the stench that
sates him. His zipper's sticky on Sunday morn. Ron's a
fist of cement late for breakfast.
Emmanuel Kant. Hamshackles, and first and ten.
June bugs lick the horses teeth smiling in the grave of
summer. Assume texas stance. Moled south for
Houston. Toads dismembering flies. Ill-behooved to
miss them.
I tend to think we are free.
9. Worms Listen
Please, mom, tuck my football comforter in stove
warm. Gloss photo gasworks. I'll slip dreams boy
seven. Destroying surface mars. Camping T. Ben
Johnson. Cub scout tames autumn Michigan. We'll
lleep, troop eleven catching snipes. Flashlight.
Jane's kissing my blushing cheek. I'll learn. Only
ten years later cursed to see my lay dead. Dumbest
fatality. Auto crash. She could do anything except save
me.
Kindergarten leisure suit. Brother, stitches tin can
thrown cuts. I'll sleep lofty tree fort. Shot my pellet
gun. Dad, two sons fish turtle lake. Blue gills caught
below the damn line. We'll sleep. Small tent
campground. Watch the heat lightning.
Jane's wearing my class ring. I'll learn. Sixteen.
Driver's license. Car. She'll breath me dead. Dumbest
fatality. Turned too late. They could do anything except
calm her.
Now it's time to fly. Celebration. Triumphant.
Jubilation. Atheist.
M-66 faint sirens. I'm left eating my steering wheel.
I'll sleep. Worms will listen. Worms underground.
Whisper softly drowsiness. My turn. Tribute should
be drunk and pissed off, my friends. Dead. Dumbest
fatality. Burn the husk. If you do anything, think fondly
of me.
10. Patiently Waiting For Summer
Here's my garden. Rowed lilacs drip purple. Crane
park's slick dawn dew. Twilight. Clock's twenty past
four. Packed five vitamin C blot Akbar gushing . Brian
climb soda need, Chuck, Chris, and Colin.
Apple trees stiff swirling circles. You are me are
more than perfect. Darling don't erase my blood.
Here's my garden. Zoo glare pond snapping.
Cricket's night opera. Moths float teasing possums.
Mice jest herons hysterical syrup slow. Sleep cream
siamese scratch walls. Girls, I don't care.
Mog the cat, and marble quarry. You and me should
quick get married. For I believe in no god; and no god
believes in me.
Kiss me, all right. Jane tastes spiced and learned red
wine. Hug me precious, our family picnics near. Pass
malt juice. Clutz spill on K-zoo.
Here's my garden. Grass to toll tar pillars. Melted
lanes reflect gins berg benches money. Ukraine
sculpture paisley gasoline. west edge hill stars burrow
down.
Suburb driving stealth headlights off. You and me
should burn our clothing, for I retreat from no god; and
no god retreats from me. Why? I lust july's sun.
11. To Build A Better Bulldozer
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