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| 1. |
| 2:54 | 
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And people tried to put us down, when iTunes bumped a post-Cold War sound.
My generation sat the mecca of malls, Times Square, I'm there, Viacom installs. So we hit the net while the Trade Center fell, New York met Hollywood, we ran like hell. No Vietnam for us, yo, Iraq it's on. So who agree upon this cowboy Genghis Khan? The choice made, baby. Hey we'd take it back, logged in dropped out, MTV took track. They sold it back to us and claimed no correlation. The iMac, iPod, iGeneration. And I'm waiting for the day we can get out. The world is ours, that's the story no doubt. Want to be more info super highway traffic, want to be more than a walking demographic! CHORUS "Hey! You're part of it." Talking about the iGeneration. "Yeah! You're part of it." Talking about my iGeneration. See the iGeneration knew organization meant optimization and unification, When imagination gave participation in creation of culture a manifestation. The Berlin Wall fell and out we came, the post-Cold War kids laid claim to AIM. LOL, OMG, yo, BRB. Space, colon, dash, closed parenthesis. We sat at our laptops and typed away, and found that we each had something to say. Web-logged our fears, our hopes and dreams. Individuated by digital means. Fiber optic lenses, DVD, Coca Cola, Disney and Mickey D's. Flat mass culture, the norm that took hold I hope I die before I get sold. REPEAT CHORUS This is the I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T ge-na-ra-tion, see? This is the I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T ge-na-ra-tion, see? REPEAT CHORUS |
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2. |
| 2:40 |
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Hey England... let's kick it.
Cops without guns and the NME. Should I watch the BBC or should I watch the BBC? Look at these crazy coins, is this Lord of the Rings? Pounds and pence and Princes and Queens? Flipside experience, well not really. More familiar than Russia or Chile. Up for cricket or squash, or the London zoo? Look, you hate George Bush and we do too. Fab music scene, though, UK bands are ace, And you guys are the most polite of the human race. Fish and chips, crumpets, bangers and mash, Shakespeare, Donne, Sid Vicious and the Clash. You love our movies, we kind of like yours. We love the way you talk, "please help help us in these wars." You stopped staying "fab," we stopped saying "groovy," Our Scotland is Canada; you saw the South Park movie. CHORUS I love England and visa versa, American perspective in these Visa verses. Tea time? Jolly good! Caffeine rush. Look, a red a phone booth and a double-decker bus. I love you England, so let's both ignore The Boston Tea Party, and that silly East Coast war. Oxford, London, and Guildford too, Rockin' your P.A.'s when I come to visit you. The Florida incident? Democracy at work, But we've still got love for your boy Edmund Burke. If it weren't for us, you'd be speaking German, But then we gave you Hanson and Pee Wee Herman. You gave us the Beatles, and you gave us the Who We gave you Kris Kross and Vanilla Ice too. You gave us "Chicken Run" and the Teletubies, We gave you McDonald's and got you chubby. You think we're all Trailer Trash obnoxious and noisy. But that's just Springer, Ricki Lake, and Boise. We're friendly and fake and proud of our nation, Overweight, wasting gas, hedonic civilization. We're sue-happy mad overworked compulsive winners, Strong facade but insecure, just think Seymour Skinner. We're obsessed with image, old age and fat, Technology, death, and our dogs and cats, The superbowl, shopping, S.U.V.Os and money, Santa Claus, hygiene and the Easter Bunny. But bigger is better and we love our T.V. From L.A. to Boston, to Nashville, Tennessee. And yes 1/4 of Americans own guns In case you come back to punish your sons. But Mother Britain listen, there's still a tie that binds us, The U.S. isn't perfect, you donOt have to remind us. REPEAT CHORUS |
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| 3. |
| 3:00 |
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Oh snap, you know this track is fly, so get crunked up and don't ask why.
Post-rap, post-punk, post-Kurt Cobain, post Kool Moe Dee post-House of Pain. Chuck D told me I had to be me so I bought the Public Enemy CD. I ripped one track in .mp3, "ill Lars Ulrich came after me. I said, "It's me your lost nephew", he said, "No way, that can't be true." I kicked him with my Converse shoe all the way to Timbuktu. Of Wolf and Ulrich, Sad But True, he lived there for a year or two. He mastered Puppetry alone, justice for Sean Fanning clones. Now that's fresh. Now that's fresh, that's fresh (get fresh). Now that's fresh, that's fresh (I get fresh). Now that's fresh, that's fresh (get fresh). Now that's fresh. My Dad's named Bob, he toured with me, when a UK label put out my CD. I got mad props from the BBC, but hip-hop heads still don't get me. So I take a chance, I rhyme white but so what? I like James Brown and Beyonce's butt. Whatever your race I'll Friendster you and rent two Spike Lee NetFlix too. And I still rock shows and try to dance, still rock Simpsons underpants. And I still like Rush and Dr. Dre. I still keep bumping N.W.A. I get fresh on the mike like a milkman on duty, So burn this disco to the ground and baby shake that booty. I attack the track like a Steve Segal movie. 3D fresh, not 2D fruity. Now that's fresh. Now that's fresh, that's fresh (get fresh). Now that's fresh, that's fresh (I get fresh). Now that's fresh, that's fresh (get fresh). Now that's fresh., 05 so live, I've been doing this for years, making money 'cause I'm funny with this music of the spheres. And I dance! Hey, watch me dance. Goofy MC's can't be me even if they had the chance. Pondora have you seen Persephone? Hades rabies got me going like KRS-One. Why is that? (I don't know) MC's act like they don't know. I poison this track with a Scorpion flow. Because I rock the mike like a hurricane. Because I rock the mike like a hurricane. Because I rock the mike like a hurricane. Because I rock the mike, hurricane fresh! Now that's fresh. Now that's fresh, that's fresh (get fresh). Now that's fresh, that's fresh (I get fresh). Now that's fresh, that's fresh (get fresh). Now that's fresh. |
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| 4. |
| 3:38 |
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Once upon a time, in the city of Los Angeles...
""Marty, Marty listen to me. Bring me something the kids will cry for. Get out there, and get us stoked!"" Meet Marty, major label A&R scout, forty years old, gut hanging out. Red Ferrari, Marty living in L.A. bumps another line to get through the day. Dumped by his girl, he paid for her liposuction, His friends call him ""Money"", in his introduction. And Marty knows nothing but claims to know it all, Lose the flat screen TV if he drops the ball. You're as good as your last hit, find the next big thing. If he doesn't bring the bling, his cell phone won't ring. What's the trend, what's new? What's a label scout to do? Office life, Marty 11:32. The label pres. calls and yells, ""Sign more emo!"" How about screamo? ""If it sells, sign Nemo,"" ""We're down 2%, and BMG knows, My Daughter likes Dashboard, so get me one of those!"" He checks AP.net, the Scout and more, yelling band names to his assistant through the door. The kids like this, who cares if it's great? So he signs a band called Hearts that Hate. ""Marty... we've got a hit."" CHORUS Cry tonight. My hands around your hands. I won't let you die tonight. Cry tonight. My heart's in your hands. I won't let you... Hearts that Hate, Marty goes to their show, up in the club and here we go. Marty sees a girl in a Simple Plan shirt with a Senses Fail boy, that'll never work. He finds his label friends in the corner they huddle, An emo cattle auction, they penetrate the bubble. They talk about Victory and signing TBS, Dissing the same bands they just tried to impress. So the lights go down, the crowd starts to scream, Hearts that Hate have hit the scene. Blake on vocals, and lead guitar, He does a backflip, ""Look how different we are!"" They show up at the studio to record it, A TRL, Billboard Modern Rock hit. They auto-tune Blake, but he can't tell. He says, ""I've got perfect pitch, damn I sing well."" ProTools, Logic, cut, copy, paste, quantized solos and quantized bass. Signed, sealed, deliver and sent, across the U.S. and the single went... REPEAT CHORUS Momentum builds, but it all caves in. Industrial comes back, the pres. needs a NIN. Marty finds a new band called ""Fetal Coil"" And Hearts that Hate try to keep their fans loyal. They re-work their sound for album number two, As ""Machines of Hate,"" but their career is through. They break up and work pushing mops and brooms, Blake gives guitar lessons in his living room. Blake gives guitar lessons in his living room, Blake gives guitar lessons in his living room. ""Can you teach me track five Mr. Blake?"" ""Hey, I wrote that song and it goes like this!"" REPEAT CHORUS |
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| 5. |
| 2:56 |
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9 O'clock class feels like five, asleep at three, so sleep deprived
STAT-60 satisfies 2C, the math GER, not the one for me The Central Limit Theorem? Speak English The Sum of Squares? I don't need this But I'm positive, studying hard, gotta pass this, no holds barred But essay due last Thursday man, Moby Dick I understand Up 'till five in the library, Meyer Lair, kind of scary Asleep at eight then up at ten, missed the lecture can't pretend I get the null hypothesis... on Tuesday's test, I was dissed CHORUS Got STAT-60 on my mind In my notes and in my rhymes Chi-squared values all the time Easy quarter? Not this time Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated, Professor Thomas? Never are the quiz score grades ever inflated, but you taught this: You get involved in radio, work really hard, get your own show But whoops, you slip, and play a track, uncensored as matter of fact The FCC gets on your back, the station manager says it's whack The probability that youOll loose your show on 90. 1? 1. 0 Let's say that you're late for class, racing down peddling fast You live in A, class is at B, integrate time and velocity The probability that you'll crash your bike In White Plaza on the way to Psych,. 34 on your cell phone,. 85 if you hit a cone REPEAT CHORUS Let's say you meet this hot sophomore, she likes you, you can't ignore X the months that you date, P the probability that it's great You break up but you still kiss, you're not discrete it's continuous Late night hook ups nebulous, thin line friendship no big fuss Weekly sessions on the phone, made the right choice, you're on your own Good to be single all alone, degrees of freedom you can't clone But calculate E of X, you're at a party you see your ex The probability that your heart breaks in 2 She's with someone new and it's not you REPEAT CHORUS S-T-A-T sixty, baby S-T-A-T sixty, baby S-T-A-T sixty, baby S-T-A-T sixty I'm going to pass this class, so... you know |
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| 6. |
| 3:10 |
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Check this C major!
Comin' straight outta Stockholm, a fun boy named Lars, Survived Loma Prieta, Mad Cow, and SARS. I hit you with these flows like your name was Nancy Kerrigan Here and back and there again, atypical American. Third generation Swedish, second gen. Aussie, Am I street enough for this? Sometimes I'm "Paranoid" like Ozzy. See it used to be punk rock for about four years, I played lead guitar, we dissed Britney Spears, Amphoteric the name, Central Cali band, Local shows, t-shirts, EP's, no plan, Just chilling with the crew slamming power chords, They wanted more guitars but I got bored. I was born to rock heads and fill them too, But did the world really need another Blink 182? Stuck on this Earth like glue since 1982, Cooked up my own post-modern salmagundi stew. <i>[CHORUS]</i> Straight outta Stockholm, lap-top rap, American iconoclast, alien boom-bap, Cali's my home, baby, West Coast boy, I get more love than Helen of Troy. Straight outta Stockholm, lap-top rap American iconoclast, alien boom-bap, I make rap fun, friendly, fresh and new MC Lars in the place, yeah boy, I thought you knew! "But... were you actually born in Stockholm, Lars?" No, but my family on my Mom's side is Swedish-American. "Uh... okay." Comin' straight outta prep school, on the mike at assembly, Class clown, straight A's, running KSPB. Pebble Beach, sheltered high school, like a nun on Mars The Horris was Dr. Quin, Heavyweights gave me Lars. "So how do you spell it? Yo, what's the website?" Is it really that hard? "Morris" with an H - alright! And okay yo today see I'm still experimenting, Venting & presenting never misrepresenting. And it's not quite rap, not quite pop, Alien hip-hop Lars punk rock, If I make the big time I'll still sit up in my room, My brain on the keyboard and I'll try to resume, Such a great story that I'll always behold, I'll look back on this when I'm 80 years old. London, New York, UK tour, NY demo, Tickled as can be, when I tickle you like Elmo. So much to say, new sounds to try, Laptop, costumes, local buzz, and why? Don't ask me, buddy, but you're bumpin' me now! Amalgam for the future revolution like Mao. You're right when I grab the mike, I do what I like, I sit with a pen by the full moon light. Euphonic epiphany like Keat's lyre trope, I am it, iambic's rap's last hope. My Grandma says I have rhyme talent, and I love her. I flow lethal, Weapon? Lyrical like Danny Glover. I flip your paradigm manhole cover, Mutant reptiles, surprised what you discover. But I still like Bob Dylan more than any MC. Most depress me, like Hepatitis B. Reverse them like Pi when they step to me Nine five one four one point three. <i>[REPEAT CHORUS]</i> |
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| 7. |
| 3:56 |
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We got EAP in the house tonight, Edgar Allan Poe.
America's favorite anti-transcendentalist. We're taking this back, way back, nineteenth century style. <i>[CHORUS]</i> Who's that (who's that) rapping? Who's that rapping at my chamber door? Mr. (mister) Raven! All up in my grill like, "Nevermore." Kick it! Once upon a midnight dreary, while I kicked it weak and weary, Dark and cold just like Lake Eerie, Brand New sample, someone clear me. While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. Up like, "What?", this thunder clapping in my brain like graphic Halflings. Staffing me, I put down Milton. Cell phone mute like Paris Hilton. Open window, halfway built-in. Times a changing like Bob Dylan. Twenty-pound bird black as could be, cold feet cold eyes aimed straight at me. Grim face, grim stare, death carnivore, quothe that raven "Nevermore." <i>[REPEAT CHORUS]</i> I miss Lenore, my Annabel Lee, taken by angels from me. Alone with books (hey that's me!), harbinger of death visiting me. I said, "Can I help you, evil prophet? If you got a problem, look, I'll solve it." He checked my hook, DJ revolved it, perched on Pallas, chalice dropped it. "Tell me sir, please, if you can. Am I good or evil man? What can I say, what can I do, when will I be rid of you?" "Nevermore," quothe he at me, hating on this fresh MC, Satanic raven, Niche glee, killing me softly like the Fugees. Now I feel worse, my verse is terse, joy inverse just like Fred Durst. Call a nurse, disperse my thirst??put this process in reverse. Wish I??d had some warning first, MC Lars, '88 hearse. Now I'll never be Slug or Murs, under that black raven's curse. The raven??s eyes still have the seeming of a demon that is dreaming, Lamplight over him still streaming, hear my screaming, hearme screaming! My soul still floats there on that floor and shall be lifted nevermore. Afflicted calm, like Michael Moore, canonized piece, US folklore. <i>[REPEAT CHORUS]</i> Who's house? Raven's house! |
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