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1. |
Sacrificial Glam
03:13
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What do you think I borrow?
You’re playing out salvation like a game show.
Get the bag, get the bride-
I’m getting out.
Pharisaic shit,
christ on a stick,
marchin round and round
till all the bombs blow.
All the clouds roll back for any life on mars.
I heard an “Amen” out of the playpen.
All the worlds a stage
when you’re an actor.
Hey Man,
Whats your problem?
“I can’t stop thinking bout
I can’t stop thinking bout…”
Hell No!
We put the right price on your soul.
You’re gonna march out on the world.
You’re gonna burn down what you pearl.
Pray the gay away during the potluck.
Fight the war on Christmas in a Starbucks.
God, It’s kinda cute
the way you persecute,
then load your thoughts and prayers
into a shotgun.
What I fail to understand
is how all of you goddamn clergymen
punch down on everybody
who don’t take kindly you doin’ to them
what you did to the son of man.
“Amen” said the klansmen.
All the worlds a stage fire practice.
Hey Man,
Whats your problem?
“I can’t stop thinking bout
I can’t stop thinking bout…”
Hell No!
That itchy price set on your bones
will make you pay for whatcha done.
You’re gonna pay back everyone.
The dead in christ will rise from
under the floors of boarding schools
and reservation highways and set fire to the
buildings mining murder across the land.
Ya got rich pigging out on
monied poor folks
but we’ll turn black as night
When we ghost dance you into your graves.
Congratulations.
You’ve won a trip to a luxury crusade.
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2. |
Sissy Fist
03:22
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Blessed are the girls
and the tell-tale whores.
Your rotten bodies still bang under the floor
Spit at all the statues that stole
the land, the grief, the garden, the gold.
They’re clutching pearls;
like we’re loaded guns
moaning out warm poison
on a lover’s tongues;
Cocking back a black book
in the name of Christ,
You can call me the devil,
Just don’t call me your son.
All of my powers break the hold on the pleasure soured.
What’s there to say?
Don’t laugh-
Fight to breathe.
Raise your sissy fist.
Let ‘em know not to mess
with the queen bitch.
Pour whines in your honey’s mouth.
It takes color to scream and shout.
All power to the lips that pout.
The dolls, the dykes
the fags, the proud.
No peace. No poetry.
No liberation where you won’t bleed.
Bomb the profits, eat the riches.
All the mockers leave in stitches.
Women don’t sweat they glisten with truth.
Queer as gravity's rainbow coloring youth.
She’s stomping police!
A sharpened stiletto; she’ll do as she please cause
WAR IS YOURS
THE REST IS OURS
What’s there to say?
Don’t laugh-
Fight to breathe.
Raise your sissy fist.
Let ‘em know not to mess
with the queen bitch.
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