Duel lyrics

Artist  : Propaganda 
Song : Duel



 Send "Duel" Ringtone to your Cell 

 







  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  








I like to party fucking hard. I like my rock and
roll the same. Don't give a fuck if I burn out.
Don't give a fuck if I fade away. So back to the
Motor-League with me before I'm forced to face
the wrath 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. Turned 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.
Fuck off. Who cares? I'd rather hi-lite Trip-Tiks
than listen to your bullshit. Fuck off. Who cares
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 suffering your perfection
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 reeks
of ‘Swill and Chickenshit Conformists with
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 and your fair-weather
politics. Blow-dry 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-coated Joy-Cam rock-bands selling
shoes for venture-capitalists, silencing
competing messages, rounding off the jagged
edges. Today is good day to die.