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Every little thing that could have was going wrong: Frenchy lost his body paint and Woody lost his bong, Jackie P had the flu and Triple lost a C and the man without a shoe, well, that was G.I.B. The car had broken down and nobody had a mobile. How very docile. Nearly a mile from civilization! We needed to be patient so we started walking in a line to reach our destination. There we were, looking like a bunch of criminals; we weren't angry but were sending out subliminals. Animals getting in an affray; people were Talking to us but we had nothing to say. Many other people would be kneeling by their steeple, praying to their God, asking why it is that way? We were walking, smiling, thinking, "What a lovely day! Ha ha ha!"
Stress is a killer. Sit back and sip a Miller or a clever little mixture of herbal tea. The lesson that I'm stressin' is a question we're forgetting: Are we heading for World War III? I guess the point I'm trying to make is that id take it all a little less to heart and less seriously... Maybe I'm a smidgen optimistic in my vision of a civilized world of harmony?
Half a mile in we see a lovely little message written on a Audi. I'll tell you what the message said. It read: Have a nice day! with a smiley faced head. We sort of kind of were but we sort of kind of weren't - like the feeling in the car when the radiator burnt. A lot of shit could have been said but it wasn't. What's the point in whinging when the problem's in the bonnet? If people stop attempting to lay the blame, continue to try hard and play the game...Stop living your life so fucking mundane! Keep chasing your goals and then hit your aim! We were almost there, the lights were getting bright [*********************] afternoon and now it's nearly night, but... What a lovely day!
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L'Homage du Fromage
06:27
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We came across a little magical delight on a trip into The Other Zone on Saturday night.
It shimmered mystically with a mythical glow and as I stepped up to Le Sac, a minor quid pro quo...
Quest que c'est dans Le Sac Magique? What is inside Le Sac Magique?
Is it metaphorical? Maybe metaphysical? Lyrical? Visual? Or maybe even digital?
The colours on Le Sac were of a yellow and red and just to look at Le Sac gave you a pain in your head.
Like Superted or Spottyman another man may say, maybe left behind at a YMCA
By a travelling mage from, let's just say, France,
Perplexing the simple through ceremonial dance.
We read a pamhlet attached to the strap and Le Sac flew O.P.E.N. with a thunderclap!
Maybe Woodmonsieur uttered forbidden words; a canny wee collection of rhymes and verbs.
Quest que c'est dans Le Sac Magique? What is inside Le Sac Magique?
Quest que c'est dans Le Sac Magique? C'est nes pas mal; c'est magnifique!
Where does it come from? What does it mean? What is inside le sac? Maybe a machine?
Maybe a fiery little crustacean, hell bent with ideas of world domination?
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Fat *** Bastard
04:45
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You don't want to bump into me in the night, because I'll give you a fright then have a one-way knife fight. I'm a monster of a man, no ethics in my business plan, I keep a gun in my hand and I'll use it. I don't need to prove it cos I lose it when I choose to. I'll murder you and your crew, no remorse. I'll take your body, turn it into sauce for the first course in the restaurant I bought.
I got about a hundred killers doing what I please, whether it be robberies or breaking of the knees, seize money from barclays, illegal DVDs, gun running to sunderland, demand protection fees.
They tried to put me away for life so I set the boys to set the judge and jury alight. Got away scot free and when the police try to question me, my alibi's in fact intact, because my name is...
I'm a gangster
I'll eat your hamster
You don't want to fuck with me
I'm scarier than leprosy
Hardest man you'll ever see
Give you a bullet for free
Police in my pocket
I own a nuclear rocket
I'm dead fat and I'm a ganster
I smoke crack... Megalomaniac
What the fuck are you looking at?
In my week, I'll make a few Gs, erase a few memories, concoct a fiendish plan to get rid of all my enemies. I fuck about ten sluts in a line, return to my model wife. It pays to have a life in crime.
On Monday I plan ahead and pass instructions on, Tuesday comes a package, with the head of construction's arm, head to the site and take over on Wednesday, Thursday is my own.
I like to drag myself up and
I mince around town in my sexual slippers,
Swinging my hips to show the boys my frilly knickers.
No ifs buts or maybes I still love the ladies;
Might be a tranny but still love the fanny.
I mince around town in my sexual slippers,
Swap my Gat for a feathery hat and nail-clippers,
Put on a wig and the dress is me Grandma's.
I do the make up myself and buy my own bras.
Friday; Back to being a killer in a horrendous way. The fellas they all know but choose to let it go. They know what would happen if they poo-pooed my throne.
I'd throw them in the lake. Legs and arms I'd break; they wouldn't live long to regret their mistake. They think I'm a weirdo but they keep their mouths shut. None of them want a double barrel to the gut or to get cut up, strung up and fed to the fishes - my shoal of mutant cod are particularly vicious.
I give them three wishes like a genie does, but it''s meaningless.
I give them false hope.
Because my name is...
I'm a gangster
I'll eat your hamster
You don't want to fuck with me
I'm scarier than leprosy
Hardest man you'll ever see
Give you a bullet for free
Police in my pocket
I own a nuclear rocket
I'm dead fat and I'm a ganster
I smoke crack... Megalomaniac
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7. |
O.P.E.N. Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK
O.P.E.N. 's music will warp your fragile little mind. Rhythmic dexterity second to none... Described as "Intense and engaging" You will move erratically and enthusiastically, and probably laugh quite a lot.
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