I fell into the Borax factory
Of your love
Dragged by muletrain
Out across the akaline plain
To the Borax factory
Of your love

Funeral Mountain, coffin peaks
Lifeless, sullen in the heat
On the floor 140 degrees
No respite, no pity
No shade of trees
Mule drivers whip
In the cause of wealth
In this valley with the name
Of Death itself
Racist men with hearts of lead
Make the Chinese do the work instead

I fell into the Borax Factory
Of your love

Into boiling kettles they throw me
In what they call the Borax factory
Broke down into carbon molecules
Hauled out by a pack of mules
Leaving San Francisco around the Horn
Wish that I had never been born

On the east coast as a bag of Borax
In a web of commerce she's covered her tracks
Now I guess that I am free
Because her love's a Borax factory

Gaseous plastic atmosphere
You barrel with the trucks
Down the Jersey Turnpike
You roll the windows up
Past the Exxon refinery
Across the toxic swamp
Elizabeth, New Jersey
Exit 13
Twin towers in the distance
Manhattan's over there
Suddenly the idea hits you
In an epiphanal sort of way
There are people living over here
People here to stay

It's a hydraulic buttfuck
Right on up your ass
A hydraulic buttfuck
Right on up your ass

Six lanes headed northbound
And six lanes headed south
A jack-knifed tractor-trailer
In the Holland Tunnel's mouth
Fossil fuel emissions
Permeate the car
When are we gonna get out of here?
Est ich nicht klar

You're a special person
You're unique
You're an employee in a mall boutique
You're part of the exodus
The great white flight
A convenience man
With a sunlamp tan

Now you're at the zenith
Hit the acme
You went from selling shoes
To cutlery

Retail error!
Just when you had it made
They turned your boutique
Into a video arcade

An ornamental fountain
Centripedal spot
Pulling consumers
From the parking lot

The romance of rebellion
Jackson and Lee
Old South
But the only real issue was slavery
Old South
Still got lots of cars
With the stars and bars
The only thing they have in their defense
Is their insensitive ignorance
Old South

Want to see the rebel flags?
Wanna go see 'em?
They're next to the swastikas
In a museum

It's time to let go

I exist in cell 5903
And there's a big, mean guy
Who lives in here with me
I don't deserve to be in this place
Shunned from God's loving grace
I'm a little guy in a big-man's cage
I suffer both his pleasure and his rage
For a white-collar crime
This is no way to repay
How could you all leave me this way?

One day he grabbed me by the back of my head
And smashed my teeth into the edge of the bed
Splinters and chips are all I have
He says it's better than any pussy
He ever had

The Big Johnson

Four or five times a day he pumps his bliss
I'm nothing but his personal orifice
I'm the slave and he's the boss
And I eat nothing but apple sauce

The Big Johnson

Khmer Rouge dance party
It's the year zero now
We're cleaning up Phnom Penh
And you'll have to leave town
Decadent bourgeois remnants
Off to the country side
From the vanguard's bayonets
You just cannot hide
Infected foreign elements
You must dig, dig, dig
We must free Kampuchea
From the Imperialist Pig

Don't get loud with me, bitch

Prague was pissed off in the spring of '68
The Czechs wanted freedom
And they just couldn't wait
The Ruskies said, "You want to save your skin?
Then don't forget the Brezhnev Doctrine.
Ya'll be part of our buffer zone -
This is a T-55 and it's bad to the bone!"

Don't get loud with me, bitch

Here in our backyard we still got Pinochet
In went the fixers, out went Allende
In the long run you'll thank ITT
It's better than being an island
In a red sea
Check out Monroe!
Check out his doctrine!
And don't forget, sucker
Which hemisphere you're in

Don't get loud with me, bitch

Them bikers hanging out
In the bottom of the canyon
Long, hard driving in the USA
Stomping beer cans
Throwing dynamite
Tripping on acid and
Having a chain fight
Watching the trails
As the chain comes down
Red red blood
From the head of some clown

Doin' speed
Doin' ludes
Fucking chicks
Fucking dudes
They're bikers

Cross me buddy,
Wind up in a ditch
One thing's for certain
Paybacks are a bitch
Sitting by the bonfire
Doing crystal meth
Poking and prodding
At some girl named Beth
Open season on Fred's old lady
Fred is the last guy
To take his turn
All lined up to unload some jism
The last remnants of feudalism

Runnin' toot out of Miami
We deal in kilos, ounces and pounds
We're the biggest blow dealers
All around
Runnin' from Miami

Numbed and paranoid
Armed to the teeth
Uzis and hand grenades
In white limosines

We live in the Hilton
In the top
In a suite
We grind people into hamburger meat

You say we're evil
A bunch of sleazy dicks
But around my neck
Hangs a crucifix

You say we are evil
The bad bad man
Listen, cockroach
We're the supply that meets demand

We deal in sorrow, oblivion
Anything you can pay for
Don't whimper, don't whine, don't fuss
Just endorse your paycheck over to us

Runnin' from Miami

Four white dudes
In a Plymouth uptown
Looking for heroin

Four white dudes
Superficial cool
The feel of the steel
Smack in high school

Blue collar dads
Don't have a clue
Just what their boys
Are really up to

Tablecloth mothers
Find out on their own
Just what the hell
Is Methadone?

Jonesing for heroin

Four white dudes
In the day they pour cement
Now they are in Harlem
Looking for a tenement

Can't feel loved
Long sleeves instead
That's because
Their souls are dead

Four white dudes
The vein is the start
Of the warm warm race
To the heart

Looking for heroin

Down in the tunnel
Down in the dark
Down in the sewer
We found the torsos of murdered people

They had no appendages
Their legs were gone
Decapitated
Piled on the floor
They were the torsos of murdered people
Lying in the water
Organized crime
Has taken a bite out of them

Their arms are missing
Hacked off, both of them
But we know the sex of one of them
From the empty, tattered scrotum

UN-identifiable
UN-recognizable

Thrown out of an Electra 225
Still warm to the touch
But no longer alive

They were the torsos of murdered people
Lying in the water
The torsos of murdered people
Piled on the floor

Thrown out of Buicks
Discarded, they are no more
Ex, has-been
Heaped on the floor

Green flies hover
They buzz
And lite
They lite on their stumps