Back To The Motor League

I like to party ******* hard

I like my rock and roll the same

Don't give a **** if

I burn out

Don't give a **** if

I fade away.

So back to the

Motor League with mewho live vicariously throughbefore

I'm forced to face the wrath of a well-heeled buying publictortured-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 grenadeof play-acting "anarchists"and

Mommy's-little-skinheads, death-threats and sycophantsand wieners drunk on straight-edge.

Who cares?

**** off.I'd rather hi-lite

Trip-Tiks than listen to your ********.

Who ********* off....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 sufferingyour perfection it reminds me of my own racemouthed feetto redress my own sad history of

Teated bulls

Amish phone-books

Eaten hats

Drunken brawls.

But what have we here?15 years later it still reeks of '

Swill and

***********

Conformistswith 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 andyour fair-weather politics.Blow-dry my hair and stick me on a ten-speed.I guess life is just a popularity contest.Back to the Motor League.Success, the ability to perform within a framework of obedience.Just ask the candy-coated Joy-Cam rock-bands selling shoesrounding off the jagged edgesfor venture-capitalists, silencing competing messages,