Back To The Motor League Lyrics

I like to party fucking hard.
I like my rock and roll the same.
Don't give a fuck if I burn out.
Don't give a fuck if I fade away.
So back to the Motor-League with me before I'm forced
to face the wrath 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.
Turned 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.
Fuck off. Who cares? I'd rather hi-lite Trip-Tiks than
listen to your bullshit. Fuck 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 yourPropaghandi - Back To The Motor League - http://motolyrics.com/propaghandi/back-to-the-motor-league-lyrics.html
perfection 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 reeks of 'Swill and Chickenshit
Conformists with 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.
Blow-dry 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-coated Joy-Cam rock-bands
selling shoes for venture-capitalists,
silencing competing messages,
rounding off the jagged edges. Today is good day to die.