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May 1987
Recordings produced or mixed by:
Geza X, Thom Wilson, East Bay Ray, Jello Biafra, Oliver DiCiccio, Jim Keylor, John Cuniberti,. Elliot Mazer.
Compiled by Jello Biafra
Executive Producer: Pippin Youth
Mastered by John Cuniberti with East Bay Ray

Cover art by Jayed Scotti/Fallout Production and Dee Dee.
Back cover layout by Christopher Rankin
Contributing Designer: Stefan Viterstedt/Moerker


Track # Song Title
1. Police Truck
2. Too Drunk to Fuck
3. California Uber Alles
4. The Man With the Dogs
5. Insight
6. Life Sentence
7. A Child and His Lawnmower
8. Holiday in Cambodia
9. I Fought the Law
10. Saturday Night Holocaust
11. Pull My Strings
12. Short Songs
13. Straight A's
14. Kinky Sex Makes the World Go Round
15. The Prey
16. Night of the Living Rednecks
17. Buzzbomb From Pasadena

Tonight’s the night that we got the truck / We’re goin’ downtown, gonna beat up drunks / Your turn to drive, I’ll bring the beer / It’s the late late shift no one to fear / And ride, ride how we ride / We ride, lowride / It’s round-up time where the good whores meet / Gonna drag one screaming off the street / And ride, ride, how we ride / Got a black uniform and a silver badge / Playin’ cops for real, playin’ cops for pay / Let’s ride, lowride / Pull down your dress here’s a kick in the ass / Let’s beat you blue ‘til you shit in your pants / Don’t move, child, got a big black stick / There‘s six of us, babe, so suck on my dick / And ride, ride, how we ride / Let’s ride, ride, how we ride / Let’s ride, lowride / The Left newspapers might whine a bit / But the guys at the station, they don’t give a shit / Dispatch calls, “Are you doin’ something wicked?” / “No, siree, jack, we’re just given’ tickets” / As we ride, ride, how we ride / Let’s ride, lowrid

Went to a party / I danced all night / I drank 16 beers / And I started up a fight / But now I’m jaded / You’re out of luck / I’m rollin’ down the stairs / Too drunk to fuck / Too drunk to fuck / Too drunk to fuck / Too drunk to fuck / I’m too drunk, too drunk, too drunk / To fuck / I like your stories / I love your gun / Shooting out cop tires / Sounds like loads and loads of fun / But in my room / Wish you were dead / You bawl like the baby / In Eraserhead / Too drunk to fuck / Too drunk to fuck / Too drunk to fuck / It’s all I need right now / Too drunk to fuck / Too drunk to fuck / Too drunk to fuck / Too drunk to fuck / I’m sick, soft, gooey and cold / Too drunk to fuck / I’m ‘bout to drop / My head’s a mess / The only salvation is / I’ll never see you again / You give me head / It makes it worse / Take out your fuckin’ retainer / Put it in your purse / I’m too drunk to fuck / You’re too drunk to fuck / Too drunk, to fuck / It’s all I need right now, oh baby / I’m melting like an ice cream bar, / Oh baby / And now I got diarrhea / Too drunk to fuck / Yeah, yeah / Yeah, yeah / Yeah, yeah / Ooooohhh…

I am Governor Jerry Brown / My aura smiles / And never frowns / Soon I will be President… / Carter power will soon go away / I will be Führer one day / I will command all of you / Your kids will meditate in school / Chorus: California Über Alles / Über Alles California / Zen fascists will control you / 100% natural / You will jog for the master race / And always wear the happy face / Close your eyes, can’t happen here / Big Bro’ on white horse is near / The hippies won’t come back you say / Mellow out or you will pay / (Chorus) / Now it is 1984 / Knock knock at your front door / It’s the suede/denim secret police / They have come for your uncool niece / Come quietly to the camp / You’d look nice as a drawstring lamp / Don’t you worry, it’s only a shower / For your clothes here’s a pretty flower / Die on organic poison gas / Serpent’s egg’s already hatched / You will croak, you little clown / When you mess with President Brown / (Chorus)

I am no one / But I’m well known / For I am the man with the dogs / I stare at you shopping / Watch while you’re walking / Two dogs run around your toes / You turn around / Two eyes break you down / Now, who does that guy think he’s starin’ at? / Stop in your tracks / You’re being laughed at / Your armored ego is nude / And I do and I do / Crack up ‘cause I’m getting to you / I see you I see you / And you’re pretty self-conscious too / Down to your church / I’m looking for victims / Spell of the man with the dogs / I’ll haunt you / And follow you to work / That ghost is back again / Creep into you / I won’t go away / You’re taking yourself too seriously / I smile as you frown / And turn to walk away / Your habits for all to see / I see a shrew / I see you / And the rodent things you do / You see you I see you / And you’re pretty self-conscious too / And I’m gonna crack your mask / Yeah and I’m gonna laugh / Open wide… / See you again / You’ll see me tomorrow / Curse of the man with the dogs / You may not like me / You won’t forget me / Not safe even in Walgreen’s / They’ve seen me / Ask your friends / “Oh, I know him” / Seen but I’m never heard / By your lot / A stare / Is worth a thousand biting phrases / See how stupid you are? / I dare you I dare you / To erase my laser tattoo / You see you you see you / And you’re pretty self-conscious too / And I’m gonna crack your mask / Yeah, and I’m gonna laugh / What’s inside? / Is it pubic hair / Is it cobweb air / I bet you just don’t care…
©1979 Decay Music

Who’s that kid in the back of the room / Who’s that kid in the back of the room / He’s setting all his papers on fire / He’s setting all his papers on fire / Where did he get that crazy smile / Were did he get that crazy smile / We all think he’s really weird / We all think he’s really weird / Chorus: We never talk to him / He never looks quite right / He laughs at us / We just beat him up / What he sees escapes our sight / We never see him with the girls / We never see him with the girls / He’s talking to himself again / He’s talking to himself again / Why doesn’t he want tons of friends / Why doesn’t he want tons of friends / Says he’s bored when we hang around / Says he’s bored when we hang around / (Chorus) / We’re all planning our careers / We’re all planning our careers / We’re all planning our careers / He ways we’re growing old…
©1980 Decay Music

You used to be a partner in crime / Now you say you ain’t got the time / Gotta get serious, gotta plan / Gotta pass those entrance exams / Oh, my god - / It’s Senior year / All you care about is your career / It’s a life sentence / Life sentence / Life sentence / Life sentence / You’re squelching you emotions / All you talk about is old times / You don’t do what you want to / But you do the same thing every day / No sense of humor / But such good manners / Now you’re an adult / You’re boring / It’s your sentence / Life sentence / Life sentence / Life sentence / The walls are closing in / You stayed too long in school / I’d rather stay a child / And keep my self respect / If being an adult / Means being like you / Are you really you you you / You you you you you you / Are you really you? / No / You’re a chained-up dog fenced in a yard / Don’t see much, you can’t go far / Pace and froth, you’re getting sick / Run too fast it’ll snap your neck / You say you’ll break out / But you never do / You’re just another ant in the hill / That’s your life sentence
©1982 Decay Music

Some clown in Sacramento was dragged into court / He shot his lawnmower / It disobeyed, it wouldn't start / Might makes right, it's the American way® / They fined him $60 and sent him on his way / You know, some people don't take no shit / Maybe if they did they'd have half a brain left

So you been to school for a year or two / And you know you’ve seen it all / In daddy’s car thinkin’ you’ll go far / Back East your type don’t crawl / Play ethnicky jazz to parade your snazz / On your five grand stereo / Braggin’ that you know how the niggers feel cold / And the slums got so much soul / It’s time to taste what you most fear / Right Guard will not help you here / Brace yourself, my dear / It’s a holiday in Cambodia / It’s tough kid, but it’s life / It’s a holiday in Cambodia / Don’t forget to pack a wife / You’re a star-belly sneech you suck like a leech / You want everyone to act like you / Kiss ass while you bitch so you can get rich / But your boss gets richer off you / Well you’ll work harder with a gun in your back / For a bowl of rice a day / Slave for soldiers ‘til you starve / then your head is skewered on a stake / Now you can go where people are one / Now you can go where they get things done / What you need, my son… / Is a holiday in Cambodia / Where people dress in black / A holiday in Cambodia / Where you’ll kiss ass or crack / (chant) Pol Pot, Pol Pot, Pol Pot, Pol Pot, etc. / And it’s a holiday in Cambodia / Where you’ll do what you’re told / A holiday in Cambodia / Where the slum’s got so much soul
©1980 Decay Music


Drinkin’ beer in the hot sun / I fought the law and I won / I needed sex and I got mine / I fought the law and I won / The law don’t mean shit if you’ve got the right friends / That’s how this country’s run / Twinkies are the best friend I’ve ever had / I fought the law and I won / I blew George and Harvey’s brains out with my six gun / I fought the law and I won / Gonna write my book and make a million / I fought the law and I won / I’m the new folk hero of the Ku Klux Klan / My cop friends think that’s fine / You can get away with murder if you’ve got a badge / I fought the law and I won / I am the law so I won
words & music: Sonny Curtis / new lyrics: Biafra / Published by Acuff-Rose Opryland Music Co.

There’s a prefab building and a funny smell / Around the hill outside of town / Every now and then we wonder / But we shrug our shoulders and get back to work / There’s a railroad there and trains go by / And there’s people locked in cattle cars / And have you noticed the french fries at the A&W / Taste a little strange?… / I drive down to the disco / Pompadour and pink lamé / I bow and blow the doorman / He parts the chain, says “join the game” / A quick line in the girl’s room / To the bar for the electrodes / A coin into the right slits / Tape my temple, watch me go! / Blacks are banned, ‘cept on the records / Oh life’s a cabaret / Like Berlin, 1930 / All I crave is my escape / Now I want your perfect Barbie doll lips / And I want your perfect Barbie doll eyes / Slip my fingers down your Barbie doll dress / Up and down your spandex ass / If I lit a match to you / You’d melt before my eyes / C’mere my pretty glow-worm / You look so fine to dance with me / The fly-eye lights are throbbin’ / I’m burnin’ up the floor / Whirling twirling / Close my eyes / No faces judging me / A Hitler Youth in joggin’ suit / Smiling face banded ‘round his arm / Says, “Line up, you’ve got work to do / We need dog food for the poor” / A scream bleats out, we’re herded into lines / Customized vans wait outside / I’m scared of my new home / To Auschwitz condominiums we go / Oh no / Now I want your perfect Barbie doll lips / And I want your perfect Barbie doll eyes / Let my fingers down your dress / One more time…
©1982 Decay Music

I’m tired of self respect / I can’t afford a car / I wanna be a prefab superstar / I wanna be a tool / Don’t need no soul / Wanna make big money / Playing rock and roll / I’ll make my music boring / I’ll play my music slow / I ain’t no artist, I’m a businessman / No ideas of my own / I won’t offend / Or rock the boat / Just sex and drugs / And rock and roll / Drool, drool, drool, drool, drool, drool…my payola! / Drool, drool, drool, drool, drool, drool…my payola! / You’ll pay ten bucks to see me* / On a fifteen foot high stage / Fatass bouncers kick the shit / Out of kids who try to dance / If my friends say / I’ve lost my guts / I’ll laugh and say / That’s rock and roll / But there’s just one problem… / Chorus: Is my cock big enough / Is my brain small enough / For you to make me a star / Give me a toot / And I’ll sell you my soul / Pull my strings and I’ll go far / And when I’m rich / And meet Bob Hope / We’ll shoot some golf / And shoot some dope / (Chorus)
©1980 Decay Music

I like short songs / (repeat 13 times)
©1979 Decay Music

Sixteen, on the honor roll / I wish that I was dead / Parents hat me, I got zits / And bruises ’round my head / Pressure’s on to get good grades / So I can be like them / Do my homework all the time / I can’t go out just then / People they ain’t friends at all / They tease me and suck me dry / Yell at me when I fuck up / And party while I cry / I look so big on paper / I feel so fucking small / Wanna die and you don’t care / Just stride on down the hall / Suicide, suicide / Read the paper, wonder why / Turn the light out, then you cry / It’s your fault, you made my die / Touch me won’t you touch me now / So frozen I can’t love / When I was born my mama cried / And picked me up with gloves / Girls, they kick me in the eye / Want answers to the tests / When they get them they drive off / And leave me home to rest / Hold my head / Make me warm / Tell me I am loved / Give me hope / Let me cry / Make me feel / Give me touch / The window’s broken, bleeding screaming / Lying in the hall / I’m gone no one remembers me / A picture on the wall / “He was such a bright boy / The future in his hands…” / Or a spineless human pinball / Shot around by your demands / Suicide, suicide / Goin’ to sleep and when I die / You’ll look up and realize / Then look down and wipe your eyes / Then go back to your stupid lives / Aw shit
©1979 Decay Music

Greetings…this is the Secretary of War at the State Department of the United States…We have a problem. The companies want something done about this sluggish world economic situation…profits have been running a little thin lately and we need to stimulate some growth…now we know there’s an alarmingly high number of young people roaming around in your country with nothing to do but stir up trouble for the police and damage private property. It doesn’t look like they’ll ever get a job…It’s about time we did something constructive with these people…We’ve got thousands of ‘em here too. They’re crawling all over…The companies think it’s time we all sit down, have a serious get-together - start another war…The President? He loves the idea! All those missiles streaming overhead to and fro…Napalm…People running down the road, skin on fire…The Soviets seem up for it…The Kremlin’s been itching for the real thing for years: Hell, Afghanistan’s no fun…So whadya say?…We don’t even have to win this war. We just want to cut down on some of this excess population…Now look. Just start up a draft: Draft as many people as you can. We’ll call up every last youngster we can get our hands on, hand ’em some speed, give ‘em an hour or tow to learn how to use an automatic rifle and send ‘em on their way…Libya? El Salvador? How ‘bout Northern Ireland? Or a ‘moderately repressive regime’ in South America? We’ll just cook up a good Soviet threat story in the Middle East - we need that oil…We had Libya all ready to go and Colonel Khadafy’s hit squad didn’t even show up. I tell ya…That man in unreliable. The Kremlin had their fingers on the button just like we did for that one…Now just think for a minute - we can make this war so big - so big…The more people we kill in this war, the more the economy will prosper…We can get rid of practically everybody on your dole queues if we plan this right. Take every loafer on welfare right off our computer rolls…Now don’t worry about those demonstrators - just pump up your drug supply. So many people have hooked themselves on heroin and amphetamines since we took over, it’s just like Vietnam. We had everybody so busy with LSD they never got too strong. Kept the war functioning just fine…It’s easy. We’ve got out college kids so interested in beer they don’t even care if we start manufacturing germ bombs again. Put a nuclear stockpile in their back yard, they wouldn’t even know what oit looked like…So how ‘bout it? Look - war is money. The arms manufacturers tell me unless we get our bomb factories up to full production the whole economy is going to collapse…The Soviets are in the same boat. We all agree the time has come for the big one, so whadya say?!?…that’s excellent. We knew you’d agree…The companies will be very pleased.
©1982 Decay Music

You’re from out of town / I can tell that by your shoes / Flew in for the convention / Getting tipsy in a bar / You’re leavin’ pretty late / Gotta get up in the morning / Thinking she’s just too expensive / And you know you’re… / Probably… / Right! / There’s no one on the streets / And you can’t find your hotel / You walk a little faster / - Someone’s following you / The wallet-sized bulge / In your double-knit butt / Has money for me / And maybe credit cards / You dart around the next corner / You can’t look around / Quick now, fish for the keys / For the door / You don’t even know where you are / You walk a little faster / I walk a little faster / Sensing that I sense you / Now there’s no escape / I can almost taste your dandruff / As I reach for your face / - And I strike!
©1981 Decay Music


Ray's guitar broke. No, we won't play Rawhide, won't play anything. We'll play the theme from the Dinah Shore show. Who wants to be Dinah Shore? Who's alter-ego is Dinah Shore? Oh, his fists didn't go up so quickly this time. Yawn...yawn..yawn. Put those headphones on, it's be-bop time.
I want to tell you a story about the last time I was in Portland. The night before we played at the Long Goodbye. I was walking on the street about 10:30 at night. A lot of people go to bed around here at 10:30 at night. And well, I was walking along when suddenly these jocks in this bright blue pickup drove up. It had KC lights, tractor tires, everything but the CB. It was a life-size Hot Wheels car for some dumb rich kid, right. Well, they drove up to me and they yelled what dumb rich kids usually yell, "Hey, faggot," and showered me with some water. So, I stood there thinking, what a bunch of fuckheads and picked up a rock. Now, I waited, walked down about a block to where the Kentucky Fried Chicken is, on Burnside, and sure enough they drove around again. They said, "Hey, faggot, where's the nearest McDonald's?" I said, "I don't know" and they squirted me again. So I threw the rock and put a nice-size dent in their giant Hot Wheels car. They screached to a halt in the parking lot of some department store, who's name I don't remember, it's up the street from Fred Meyer, and they got out their clubs and they ran after me, yelling, "We're gonna kill you, you god damn faggot, we're gonna kill you, you motherfucker." So I got in a phonebooth by the Kentucky Fried Chicken on Burnside, held my legs straight out like this so they couldn't open the door to the phonebooth. So they began charging the phonebooth, beating on it with their club, yelling, "We're gonna kill you, you motherfucker, we're gonna kill you, you god damn faggot." I just looked at them. So, there was a crowd gathering by this time and these kids were standing nearby and they said, "Oh, look at him, he's insane." I thought, ah-hah, here's my way out. I yelled at them, "Take me to a mental hospital right away. I wanna be be put away. Please put me away, c'mon, call the cops and put me away. Please put me away now." They said, "Alright, faggot, we're calling the police." So they called the police. The cop comes out and I go, ah, my savior, I'm away from these jocks. He opens up the door, "Get out of there, you," throws me up against the car, frisks me, shoves me in the back. Then he goes over to the jocks, "Now what happened here? It looks like we're going have to take him to jail but we got to have the full story first" So the jocks, who had an ace in the hole, ace in the hole [Take down on the bass, a little bit down on the bass. Yeah], ace in the hole, and they go, "Well, goddammit, the motherfucker put a dent in my truck, a $5000 truck, right, so I got my club, I went out and I wanted to kill him. I want to kill him. Let me kill him, goddammit. Let me kill him." So the cop made them go home, and he drove me home, and he confiscated their club and my rock as further evidence. And I thought, so this is Oregon, huh? Tolerent Oregon?
Ray, are you done with your guitar yet? He isn't done yet. So what else do you want to hear, I'm out of stories. That's a true story, too. Just ask Bruce Loose.
©1987 Decay Music

Buzzbomb Buzzbomb, macho-mobile / The road’s my slave, that’s how I feel / I cruise alone, I cruise real far / Shoo, young punk! I love my car / Cross Nevada at 110 / Highway 50 and there’s nobody there / Sign say, ‘Next sign 30 miles!’ / My pension comes - / Each penny saved buys more escape from home / I’d rather cruise around all day / Than move into a home / Plow through rest area San-O-Lets / Splat! Goes the lonely salesman / Still wanking in the men’s room… / Buzzbomb Buzzbomb, tape up loud / Lawrence Welk cranked up to 10 / Faster faster in my car / Buzzbomb is my pride and joy / King of the trailer court / Waiting for a nice young man / Who’ll love me for my car / Who tells me why I’m cool / Tells me just what I like / When I pretend he’s here / Shred through Palm Springs across the golf course / Cops ‘round here scratching their heads / Flashing sirens, State Patrol…uh oh / They’re scuffing up the side of my car / They’re shooting out my tires / This ain’t no way to go to heaven / Buzzbomb cornered at the 7-11
©1987 Decay Music