Demo by the Higgsmen
A View to die for
Its a place without a name
On an unnamed island somewhere
in the Mediteran….
…nian, Key Largo
or another obscure offshore port
Not made famous by Sophial Loren
Or Lady Gaga
It drives you gaga
when evil villains plot your demise
with a crew that is cruel and bejeweled,
with plans to kill you….
For… a view to die for
featherweight bodyguards die off like flames
Take the best, leave the rest
Pure evil is all that remains
But with a view to die for
Exfoliation with a loofah
How hard can it be
Don’t like cricket, don’t much fancy Betchadupa
Scratching at the seams like a buck-eyed dream
From gay Paree she came
Loaded up fully with a 10-inch loofah
Booked out till xmas with her high-price dreams
Scrathing the surface and ripping the seams
Pushin too hard can leave a sever welt
Welterweights scrap over which is worse
Paying more taxes and a shrinking wallet
Or the cold death of the universe
Scraping skin like ajax on steel
Scouring, not harsh scratching that will leave you limp
A positive imprint, a possible match
Looky here, loofah breeder is quite a catch!
Got a Whac-a-mole headache, pounds like a sieve
Guacamole hitch-hike, somethings gotta give
Katipo spider ready to pounce
A Kakapo spied her and took her out
Heck of a thing to explain to a child
What a whac-a-mole headache is, it kills me inside
And every day it gets worse and worse
Some call it a blessing – I call it a curse
He left in a pine box, he left in a hearse
He left in a boxcar, dirt-laden with dirt
Conditions so filthy Bin Laden would curse
Stinks to high heaven like Damien Hirst
Fresh off the boat out of China, every man has a shiner
and un-touch-able wounds you wouldn’t care to shine a lite on
elliot ness has got a booze operation he wants us to move out west
its the canniest thing, theschwing bling, i don’t know what it is but i hear its the new thing
clap hands like a field mouse, sans – fur and tail
lookin to the elements to get him to Yale
a prima donna rodent on a rodental path
come here take this rodent pathway and run it up yer ass
charlie chaplin as useful as ever
filling full of his selfish flumes
culling media on the rag
wheat bags whitter the lonely tether
sometimes yo gotta shoot the rooster
bakin’s too good for him, he’s gotta fry
not everyone can be the cock ‘o’ the walk
some are happy just to not be a dork
dorks are for playin with but only with permission
the only dork worth playin with is sanctioned from heaven
my dorks not for playin with at least not by you
shoot yer fuckin cock off if yo ever try that move!
Shoot the rooster! Top the cock!
ruler of the roost see how you do with no cock
hens do your laying, its a hell of a roost
Lord Jimmy Jimmy’s yakkin like Marcel H. Proust
yadda yadda yadda living for today
scooby dooby doo where the fuck are you
scaring me to death with yr midget fonzie rap
yeah thats right, scaring me to death with yr midget fonzie rap
eat my shorts shorty, drainin the blood from that rooster
the buzzards circlin like a rabbi at his first bris
twistin the knife at a rate of angles
before introducing a set by the Bangles!
you got three seconds to run.
a 50 pound bullet weighing down your gun
not many people have the arms to flex
to lift that weapon in self defence
three more seconds to run.
and when i say three seconds, you’d best count ‘em down
3, 2 and 1
nothing else counts in a zero-sum system
you took the candles, you took the cake
i’d like to see you try and eat it too
class war between the haves and have-nots
you know there are no fleas in Havelock
Lord Jimmy Jimmy ran into his pimp
On the boat to Venezuela beaten by a chimp
cards on the deck, facing pokerface herself
mostly unremarkable occasionally erstwhile
(woo-hoo and a boo hoo hoo)
 |
Demo by the Two Evils |
Tired of wasting my precious time on fools that won’t help themselves
Plenty more fish in the sea to swim with, go back to school and be the class clown
When you change the rules but they don’t change you, thats when you gotta think twice
Fools like us have to answer to no-one, don’t tell me what to do and we’ll get on nice!
Fools that won’t help get left on the shelf, maybe thats just where they wanna be
Because fools that help themselves to it, aint gonna help themselves!
Tramps like us in a stinkin boxcar, fightin to an inch of our lives
A beat up guitar, a skin of wild Wild Turkey, a baseball bat, taser and knives
First rule of boxcars is don’t talk bout boxcars, second rule issame as the first
The third and final rule, keep schtung about boxcars, ixnay on the oxcarbay, gentlemen first!
Tweet for my suite all the way down the line
fingers do the working evrythings fine
its all A-OK, tweet me and pass the dime
no quarter is given or accepted, mutilated or form-fine
All down the tweet-line the lady adelines harmonise
They’re the sweetest things you ever heard, they’re divine
tomorrow the firehose will bring another deluge of kind thoughts
kind, unkind, what kind of tweets whatever you can say is fine
when the bough breaks the tweeters will fly
they flock together when it suits, i do so hope it stays fine
higgeldy piggeldy, a beak pecks at its shell
come out of your shell, birds make this nest your own!
500 baby emus not wanting to unbury their heads
making a run for it, its a no-fly zone
can i quoote your tweet on that to the local press?
no, no, no thats not what i mean by duress
this is for the txt-ers, the sxt-ers, the peter-tweeters
for all the guys who got her number but could never tweet her
the one wanted a limo but got a five-seater
the one who wants to pig out but ended up wearing a hog-sweater
Goodie goodie, lets crack a big woody
There goes Mr Two shoes and he’s walkin on water
Goodie goodie, onstensibly could he
buy up this town and put it back together
His silence is golden his gun heavy leaden
ammo out is the scenario he’s dreading
a holster on each hip and a pocketful of clips
greased lightning its square to be pipped to be hip
ketones, totally aromatic and high,
sealed with bright wax, on an all-time high
just caught a glimpse of him steaming past
in the misty mirrors, time moves backwards, forward to past
How can I thank you, Mr Two Shoes?
What is the best way to show my thanks?
Two tankloads of gas, a tankard of beer?
a jingling jangling guitar-song of thanks
crank the engine over, engineers spin past wild
spinning a yarn of hope and blind narrative
wily will smiley killing him softly
farewell mr two two shoes, if thats your attitude
This old man he really gets my goat
Something in the way he does his thing
Whenever he’s around i’m in misery
can’t put a foot wrong without feeling cheated
whispers of a bake-off only just reached me
by the time i get to auckland i’ll be over it
how many suns do you need to make a day
won’t let the sun call me impoverished
he gets my goat he really gets my goat
dunno how he does it, but he does it in spades
I am not afraid, i’m just cryin in the shade
languishing in the shadow of his shade
