Blow your brains out on live TV.
Four more years yeah right.

Get a song written about you
By a band like Filter.
And you'll become a staple
At the MT&R
Blow you brains out live TV.
Blow your brains out do it do it.
Who cares? Not me!
Who cares? Not me!
Who cares? Not me!
Four more years yeah right.

DOES YOUR FACE HURT? NO? 'CAUSE IT'S KILLING ME!

US: Someone the other day was telling me about marketing and how it is so important for a band to sell a t-shirt. I told him that the money goes right back into the same thing and now we're just a breeding ground for more and more consumers. And sellout, shmellout, it's not about that. But I didn't have a problem when I had no cash. Now we perpetuate this need to sell x units every night and if we don't meet our quota, man, we're gonna get into another fight.

THEM: Williamsburg has got the lights turned low and a moron with a laptop is calling this poetry. A singer with a thrift amp brags "Vintage Circuitry". I saw him on the cover of Bop or Seventeen crooning "I'm so lonely/Life is empty/Where's my coke and fucking money?" Tonight at the bar I got a good look at the enemy. He said "My job's looking good and someone else can write the songs for me."

Take a look at your haircut. You're killing me.
Take a look at your glasses. You're killing me.
Placement of the piercings. You're killing me.
Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight.
Take a look at your ripped jeans. You're killing me.
Take a look at your Converse. You're killing me.
Get a shirt that fits you. You're killing me.
Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight.

Soon we'll be in the clear
When we get out of here
Where style is function
And our egos make us fight.
For now we'll live in fear.
We're not sexy enough for this atmosphere.
Someone blow it up tonight.
Please blow it up tonight.

Now we're cloning sheep.
Writing garbage in their diaries.
Reading their AP. Watching Fuse TV.
Kill it, c'est la vie.
Fashion show = your scene.
Bomb the industry.
Then run away or watch the blast.
I'm getting out, man, kiss my ass.
I'm going nowhere, nowhere fast.
I'm going nowhere nowhere nowhere.

IT CEASES TO BE "WHINING" WHEN YOU STOP "SHITTING BLOOD"

Sing the fucking songs you told the world to sing.
Sing it right unless you want to fail.
Listen back and punch the things that we don't like.
You can't do it right in just one take.

Because you aren't good enough.
You were never good enough to sing your own songs oh so perfect.

If you fuck this up, you fuck the record deal
And respect of all our famous friends.
Drift too far and it is inaccessible.
Do it right! We worked as hard as you.

And we didn't come this far
For you to fuck this up and fuck our whole lives.

So write some songs with fucking hooks
Remember why you wrote songs in the first place.
Let's start a band.
This is all that you can do.

Cut the cookie. Five sharp points to make a star.
Cut the corners, get the biggest tours.
Traffic violations mean bad credit now.
Twenty triple zeroes in the hole.

And it wouldn't be so bad.
If we crashed the fucking van and watch our fucking debt go up in flames.

You know, it wouldn't be so bad.
If we just threw up our hands instead of feeding something
I did not want to create.
Your underground is a mistake.

So write one song without a hook.
Remember why you wrote songs in the first place.
Not for the band
You opened up for yesterday.

PIKE ST. - PARK SLOPE (words by Harvey Danger)

Drive across the country, tell your story walking.
No one's keeping you captive in the town that let you down (so sorry).
Blame it on the television, blame it on the company;
Don't blame it on the fundamental fact that no one owes you something.

"I've come about my share, i only want what's fair.
Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not greedy.
Like everybody else, i wanna pay my dues.
(I only want someone to tell me who to make the check out to.)

Maybe we could run away and start a little repertory moviehouse or something."
she said, "sorry but i think you might be just projecting
(but here's the dough)."

Pike street to park slope, Brooklyn.

"A community of dabblers who are vain and fond of biting backs
('we hate it when our friends become successful')
And a different school whose energies are spent evading income tax...
And silicone enhancements by the breastful.

Maybe we could run away and start a little repertory moviehouse or something."
she said, "sorry but i think you might be just projecting on to me.
Why don't you try LA?"

"Well when you like something, it's an opinion
But when i like something, it's a manifesto."
(pomposity is when you always think you're right arrogance is when you know.)

"Maybe we could start a little independent repertory moviehouse or something." she said,
"Sorry but i think you might be just protecting your investment or else assigning blame."

BIG PLANS OF SLEEPING IN

Every day's a hassle when you never sleep at night.
Tossing and turning and shaking uncomfortably.
But today's the fucking weekend
So we're sleeping until five.
Wake up and lock the door and burn off calories.

Never let go when you talk to me.
Your stories are boring, they put me to sleep.
But that's just what I wanted
And I swear that's what I needed,
My busy day of sleeping in.

Cut power to the cell phones, automate all replies
Pass out on couches, put wings in the microwave.
Open up a bottle, it'll beep when they are done.
I heard it beep. Fuck it, man. Let's have another one.

Do you have a prob if I drink some more?
You don't have a problem. Let's both drink some more.
'Cause this is all I needed, yeah
Alcohol and coffee
My busy day of sleeping in.

They're all mindless sheep.
Let's kick everyone else's ass and teeth
Right in
Nails right through their feet.
The world cannot move now, let's go back to sleep.

When we rejoin the public, we'll laugh at everyone.
Chumps who celebrate four-month anniversaries.
They're all fucking suckers, I'm done with everyone.
'Cause I finally found someone who's antisocial with me.

Never let go when you talk to me.
Your stories are boring, they put me to sleep.
Everyone can die now,
'cause I found you and you're perfect.
My busy day of sleeping in.

WARNING: DO NOT PUSH RED BUTTON (UNLESS YOU'RE SUPERCOOL)

Mom, please wake up.
I can't sleep. My head's fucked.
I need a hug or a drug.
Please decide.

What's up doc?
Do I think of suicide?
In this room, yes I do.
Where's my form?

Now question 38: do you have trouble sleeping late?
Sure, I've got probs sleeping in.
Please pump me full of Klonopin
Mom, doc, stop taking bets
on whether I smoke cigarettes.

Prescribe goggles.
Make it dark all the time.
Go to school. Get beat up.
Go to sleep.

You're so bald.
You don't know about my
Life with hair.
Stop the interrogation.

I'm a panic bomb.
Please step away from me.
Panic bomb. Panic bomb.

Hey, Anne, I really think
You shouldn't tell me I can't drink.
Sorry, John. You're my best friend
I didn't mean to try and kick your ass in the van.
I can't do weekly visits.
Three to six months for results?
Fuck that shit.

I'm a panic bomb.
Please step away from me.
Panic bomb. Panic bomb.

And I know that you're all just trying to help
But I really think you're all just trying to get rich.
I don't need to be addicted to anything else.
I don't need to be addicted to anything else.

FUNCOLAND VERSUS THE SOUTHERN ELECTORATE

Insurance: blow on it!
Debt: blow on it!
Global warming: blow on it!
Racist asshole: blow on them!
Blow on it like an old Nintendo.

Broken car: blow on it!
Broke guitar: blow on it!
Broken amp: blow on it!
Pissed off girlfriend: blow on her!
Blow on it like an old Nintendo.

This is how we solve all the problems in the world.
This is how we solve all the problems in the world.

Middle East: blow on it!
Terrorism: blow on it!
Donald Rumsfeld: blow on him!
George Bush: blow on him!
Blow on it like an old Nintendo.

Unemployment: blow on it!
Alcoholic: blow on it!
Ashlee Simpson: blow on her!
Tuberculosis: blow on it!

This is how we solve all the problems in the world.
This is how we solve all the problems in the world.
This is how we solve all the problems in the world.
This is how we solve all the problems in the world.

READY... SET... NO!!!

I never was a drinker and now I'm an alcoholic, drinking just to fall asleep and hiding my smiles 'cause you can probably smell that shit on my teeth.
Drink it down, golden brown my sweet whiskey.
You feel nice on the inside, so nice on the inside.
Nice on the inside, so let's get pissed.

I never cried at movies and now I cry at the Simpsons.
I hide the tears so you can't see, and I wipe my eyes and pretend that I'm just falling asleep.
Don't come around, I've already destroyed everything.
I'm not coming outside. I'm not coming outside.
I've blown my only chance, so don't make me do anything.

Because from the moment it was up to us to break the rules and disobey, I'd trade it all in for an easy answer to let me raise my fist and say "No!"

I'm a target audience.
Paranoia setting in.
I can't have a conversation.
You're just like the other kids.
I'm well aware that they monitor my thoughts.
And if you count on me for anything, I'm sorry, but you're totally fucked.
You're fucked. Everybody's out of luck.
I'm just a kid who wants to get drunk.
It's nighttime. Look outside.
It's nighttime. Look outside.
It's nighttime. Look outside.
Let's go drink 'til we can't feel shit.

From the moment it was up to us to break the rules and disobey, I'd trade it all in for an easy answer to let me raise my fist and say "No!"

I gotta find something that's wrong with everything so now I'm all alone.
Forget solutions, I'll be at the bar drinking forgetting everything I know.

Then when the record stores start falling then it's up to us to break rules.
Stop sitting in your room watching advertisements and disobey.
Put down the bottle, get a megaphone and shout it to the world:
No way. No way.
No thanks.

I'M TOO COOOOL FOR MUSIC

Delusions! Delusions! Delusions of grandeur!
Grab the motherfucking tape machine. I'll show you I'm the shit.
Wait and see! Wait and see! Bask in creativity.
I'm too cool for music, faggot. Music isn't cool enough for me…
YEAH! As for the "f" word, pal
That's a poignant social statement from my old home town.
Seig heil! Seig heil! So the world can see
Hate rock isn't hate rock when we call it "irony"

We're doing it right, we're doing it right.
You've got the wrong idea.
You think you're something? Yeah?
You think it's stupid? You don't get it!
We're doing it right, we're doing it right.
You've got the wrong idea.
You think you're something? Yeah?
You don't know anything!

You can't satirize queer culture if you aren't really gay
Yeah, you can't be anti-PC when no no one cares what you say
And you can say the kids are idiots but you're still up on the stage.
Shock value! Shock value! Shock value! Shock value! Shock
Value! Shock Value! Shock Value!

I'm just here to entertain!
Like GG Allin, but derivative and lame.
Man, who needs music when you can call people names.
Songs are total bullshit, man. Music isn't cool enough for me.

FREEEEEE BIIIIIRRRRRD! FRRRREEEEEEEEE BIIIIIIRRRRRD!

Don't you say
don't you ever ever say that it was worth it for the profit.
Another day
when I wait there shit-faced
Then I smile when I'm on and sing the songs that I did not write.

And they'll dance to it.
And I'll smile and I'll get paid.
Baggy pants are stupid.
Alt-rock, Skynyrd, play another song I hate.

I'll just stay on the state streets
Complaining that it's all the same
but too lazy to change anything.
And I can't spend another day thinkin'
These places on street signs are
the only places that I've ever been.

Drink a free beer,
maybe smoke with the waiter.
(It's) the illusion that they all give a shit.
And some drunk guys yelling
"Free Bird!" and "Show us your boobs!"
and I'll smile and I'll key their truck.

And it sucks so bad
But I made one Benjamin.
How can I be mad?
I paid one seventh of my rent
And maybe I'll buy a plate of eggs.

I'm not feelin' Minnesota.
I sit next to an ATM and people check their balance during my set.
And play cover songs from the 90's
by one-hit-wonders, Chumbawumba, Tubthumper
and a jersey-wearing motherfucker withdraws his twenty bucks.

words and music by laura stevenson & jeff rosenstock

SWEET HOME CANANADA

I heard from you today
By digital replay.
You told me that you care
You'll help from over there
I say we're not the same
It's falling on deaf ears.
At eighty miles an hour
When I forget to steer
And if I wrap my car around the guard rails,
It ain't got shit to do with you.
So drop the act, I know your true agenda.

Can't live with the mistakes
I'll move out of the states
To South America
Or north to Canada
I lived through four years of lies.
I've lost faith in mankind.
With no one to befriend
I guess this is the end
And it's not glorious like in the movies
Explosion and a note
It's more like driving as far away as possible alone
And please don't say goodbye
To remind me you're alive.
You've been dead to me
Since I've started feeling dead inside.
So don't look down on me and say we feel same
'Cause we don't.