Back to the motor league

Back to the motor league Lyrics

I like to party f**king hard. i like my rock and roll the same. don't give a f**k if i burn out. don't give a f**k if i fade away. so back to the motor-league with me before i'm forced to face t
Ath of a well-heeled buying public who live vicariously through tortured-artist college-rock and floor-punching macho pabulum. back to the motor league i go. once thought i drew a lucky hand. tu
Out to be a live grenade of play-acting "anarchists" and mommy's-little-skinheads, death-threats and sycophants and wieners drunk on straight-edge. f**k off. who cares? i'd rather hi-l
Rip-tiks than listen to your bullsh*t. f**k off. who cares about your stupid scenes, your sh*tty zines, the straw-men you build up to burn. it never ceases to amaze me and as i'm suffering your
Ction it reminds me of my own race to redress my own sad history of mouthed feet. eaten hats. teated bulls. amish phone-books. drunken brawls. but what have we here? 15 years later it still reek

Th their fists in the air; like-father, like-son "rebels
Ry my hair and stick me on a ten-speed. back to the motor league. i guess life is just a popularity contest. success, the ability to perform within a framework of obedience. just ask the candy-c
Joy-cam rock-bands selling shoes for venture-capitalists, silencing competing messages, rounding off the jagged edges. today is good day to die.