Tag Archives: politics

Grandmaster Flash’s “The Message” Reconsidered


Like most people in gagglefuck situations, we look to the past in order to inform us with some type of schematic as to how we can remedy the present. 1982’s “The Message” is so concurrent with our present social/economic narrative that it becomes an eerie prophecy tune. We took links to a shitload of stuff we’ve been bombarded with by the media( mainly against our will) recently and connected them to the song. We’re not so sure if it’s a cool idea or not– spend some time clicking on the stories and listen to the song and let us know what you think.

“The Message”

Broken glass everywhere

People pissing on the stairs , you know they just
Dont care I cant take the smell , I cant take the noise
Got no money to move out , I guess I got no choice
Rats in the front room, roaches in the back
Junkies in the alley with a baseball bat
I tried to get away , but I couldnt get far
Cause the man with the tow-truck repossessed my car
Chorus:
Dont push me, cause Im close to the edge

Im trying not to loose my head

Its like a jungle sometimes , it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under

Standing on the front stoop,hangin out the window
Watchingall the cars go by, roaring as the breezes
Blow
Crazy lady , livin in a bag
Eating out of garbage piles, used to be a fag-hag
Search and test a tango, skips the life and then go
To search a prince to see the last of senses
Down at the peepshow , watching all the creeps
So she can tell the stories to the girls back home
She went to the city and got so so so ditty
She had to get a pimp , she couldnt make it on her
Own

Chorus:
Its like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from goin under

My brothers doing fast on my mothers t.v.
Says she watches to much, is just not healthy
All my children in the daytime, dallas at night
Cant even see the game or the sugar ray fight
Bill collectors they ring my phone
And scare my wife when Im not home
Got a bum education , double-digitinflation
Cant take thetrain to the job , theres a strike
At the station
Me on king kong standin on my back
Cant stop to turn around, broke my sacroiliac
Midrange, migraine, cancered membrane
Sometimes I think Im going insane , I swear I might
Hijack a plane!

Chorus:
Its like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from goin under

My son said daddy I dont wanna go to school
Cause the teachers a jerk, he must think Im a Fool
And all the kids smoke reefer , I think itd be Cheaper
If I just got a job , learned to be a street sweeper
I dance to the beat, shuffle my feet
Wear a shirt and tie and run with the creeps
Cause its all about money , aint a damn thing funny
You got to have a con in this land of milk and Honey
I cant walk through the park, cause its crazy after the dark
Keep myhand on the gun , cause they got me on the
Run
I feel like an outlaw, broke my last fast jaw
Hear them say you want some more, livin on a
Seesaw

A child was born , with no state of mind
Blind to the ways of mankind
God is smiling on you buthes frowning too
Cause only God knows what you go through
You grow in the ghetto , living second rate
And your eyes will sing a song of deep hate
The places you play and where you stay
Looks like one great big alley way
Youll admire all the number book takers
Thugs ,pimps , pushers and the big money makers
Driving big cars , spending twenties and tens
And you wanna grow up to be just like them
Smugglers , scrambles , burglars , gamblers
Pickpockets , peddlers and even pan-handlers
You say Im cool, Im no fool
But then you wind up dropping out of high school
Now youre unemployed , all null n void
Walking around like youre pretty boy floyd
Turned stickup kid , look what you done did
Got send up for a eight year bid
Now your man is took and youre a may tag
Spend the next two years as an undercover fag
Being used and abused , and served like hell
Till one day you was find hung dead in a cell
It was plain to see that your life was lost
You was cold and your body swung back and forth
But now your eyes sing the sad sad song
Of how you lived so fast and died so young

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DIY: Projects For The New Depression

We’re not letting this little blip in the market stop us from keeping up with the Joneses! Here is our first installment in a series on how to remain a brand obsessed, self-centered, consumer during a national crisis

USE SAWZALL AND HAMMER TO GET RIGHT DIMENSIONS

USE SAWZALL AND HAMMER TO GET RIGHT DIMENSIONS


Now there’s time to catch up on the important shit we’ve been missing– the new Black Lips album. That chick who looks like the woman who had the octuplets becoming an actor,WTF? And that promised bipartisanship that we’ve been waiting for.
GOD BLESS THE USA!!!!!

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When Hubris Fails, Revert To Pompous & Cruel T-Shirts

A few days ago we saw a T-Shirt that scared the fuck out of us. Thinking that only real nuts would wear it and because we don’t live in the south– because political views where we live are kept to mumbles or come out as spotty racist tirades or maybe because the people here don’t have real balls or care– we assured ourselves that we wouldn’t see anyone wearing one. Ever.

If They Wear This

If They Wear This

You Wear That

You Wear That


We can’t say we were surprised to see that the same sentiment has been pasted onto a “Club Gitmo” T-shirt that is being sold by Rush Limbaugh. Meaning that the prospect of actually seeing someone wearing one has greatened significantly.
It has always been the job of “humor” to laugh rationality in the face– to take the truth and tell it to go give itself a hand job.
These shirts are like graphic representations of the skewed pattern of irrationality that Limabaugh has always subscribed to.
Along with that are our own shirts, less cruel and more truthful.

They Wear This

They Wear This

You're Wearing This

You're Wearing This

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