RegularJoan

Hey, online you can only find the lyrics to "bug powder dust," all the others are silent!!!

Who's that man in the windowpane/Got somethin' on his tongue and it's startin' to stain/Sho' nuff equip so wop n'get down/Step up on my ladder and you'll get beat down/Hash bar style so I'm singin' day glow/Wakin' up the dead like Serpent and the Rainbow/Jeff Spicoli roll me another hay/The Fish that Saved Pittsburgh with Dr. J/
Shockin' your ass like a faulty vibrator/Hear me now, but you'll probably get the vibe later
Who knows where the wicked wind blows/Que sera sera just leave it alone/Great Space Coaster toast up the town ?????/Makin' midgets with my man Dr. Shrinker/Pass the hookah, throw down the pillows/Cloth on the ceiling, blow rings that billow/Kick off the shoes and relax your feet
Now roll up your sleeves for this lyrical treat/(Refrain 2x)/[I think it's time for you boys to share my last taste of the true black meat; the flesh of the giant, aquatic, Brazilian centipede.]

Bug powder dust and mugwump jism
And the wild boys running 'round Interzone tripping / Letter to control about the Big Brother
Try like hard to not blow my cover / Never been a fake and I'm never phony / I got more flavor than the packet in macaroni / Rock dripping from my every vowel / I've got the soul of the sixties like Ginsberg's Howl / Shootin' mad ball and I'm always jukin' / Take you to the hole and I'm surely hoopin' / Top of the pops like the Lulu's show / I'll take a walk on Abbey Road with my shoes unsoled / I got a splinter though, damn, you know man it hurt / I got a Vegemite sandwich / from Men at Work / I keep minds in line, but time sublimes, / So when you search you find something like a gold mine / A psychedelic meanderings in the poem / I got a patter, patter anyplace that I roam / Waiting for the sun on a Spanish caravan / Solar eclipse and I'm feeling like starin' man / (Refrain 2x)

I always hit the apple when I'm going to shoot/So you can call /me William Tell or Agent Cooper to boot/Mr. Mojo Risin' on the case again/So tell your mother and your sister and your sister's friends/Like an exterminator running low on dust/I'm bug powder itchin' and it can't be trussed/Interzone trippin' and I'm off to Annexia/I gotta get a typewriter that's sexier/My name is Justin and that's all that's it/And I'll be spittin' rhymes wicked like it ain't for this shit/Houses of the Holy like Jimmy Page/But the song remains the same so I'm stuck in a rage/Just like Jane when she's going to Spain/I think I'm going away tomorrow, just a fool in the rain/Light up the candles and bless the room/I'm paranoid, snow blind, just a black meat fool/

[I think it's time to discuss your philosophy of drug use as it relates to artistic endeavors]
Check it, yo! I always hit the tape with the rough road styles / You heard the psychedelic and ya came from miles / Keep my rhymes thick like a Guinness brew / So you could call me black and tan when I'm wreckin' a crew / I'm like Bill Lee writing when he's in Tangiers / And now I'm on a soul safari with my Beatnik peers / Analog reel and a little distortion / Smokin' on somethin' so you could say I'm scorchin' / I never been the type to brag but beware / I'll make a man burn his draft card like it was Hair / Send ya up the river like you lookin' for Kurtz / I got the mugwump jism up in every verse

Finally, someone who listens to something different! Well done!
I discovered them after buying The Dirtchamber Sessions Vol. 1 by Liam Howlett, the least brain-dead among those three idiots known as Prodigy.
Wow, this record kicks ass!!
Just like "Leftism" does!

Thank you.
In my opinion, the fascination for the vate doesn't have a starting point or an end at a precise location. You know it's there. This is, I believe, the passion for caves.
Then, realizing it violently while listening to "from her to eternity" is a whole other story. Definitely worthy of a thesis!

and then and then and then "the mercy seat" is more spectacular here than on tender pray. a thousand times more cave style, oh yeah! (stripper, please scar me)
I hear stories from the chamber
How Christ was born into a manger
And like some ragged stranger
Died upon the cross
And might I say it seems so fitting in its way
He was a carpenter by trade

(Sound solipsism at great request)
I am the captain of my pain
Tis the bit, the bridle,
The trashing cane
The stirrup, the harness
The whipping mane
The pickled eye
The shrinking brain
O brother, buy me one more drink
I'll explain the nature of my pain
Yes, let me tell you once again
I am the captain of my pain

Hey, after the start of the new age phase of our exquisite (!), you could have called for help, I don’t know, Al Jourgensen, John Garcia, or Maynard from Tool, I mean one of these three lovely beasts: then Avril would have ended up slicing sweet buns at McDonald's.