Alright, this gold nugget is a little lengthy (ok, a lot lengthy, particularly for teeny tiny attention spans), but I promise it is well worth the read. It's not like you have anything better to do. You probably ought to illegally download--er, I mean, rush to your local record store and buy this for the full effect.
Gold:
"Television, all hail grand pixelated god of fantasy, murder scape, bed perspective/
fuck a sore channel-change digit/
I sit with a nasty network intravenous plan with a stable diet of my cable pirate/
yo, the doctor is in, the doctor is on/
born the bastard son of static radiance cloned to welcome in every home/
let a blue screen, bruised dream canopy/
victim of the cursed nurse Technicolor drunk support team/
I love all advertisements/
though accused by robot newscasters who capture and pollute
spoon fed hazardous fog to joy luck catholic squad/
please take me, please calm me, please make me a zombie/
please I want to donate my brain to the monstrous Panasonic profit/
Now, twenty first century plague dispersed to wide eyed glamour addict patients
telecast patrons/
blue be the propaganda banners, well, sure I'll be a Marine/
with a clean sword and a blue uniform, it only takes a dollar and a dream/
and I abide great idiot box power supply, fuzz vapor, black out in New York/
hey honey, get the generator/
I'm in a doom, doom generation, pacin', ancient electric secret
never sleep in to miss the AM oasis/
my name is a wired heart, sloppy obligation/
turn my stilt into my guilt
and have a chatter box blame frame adjacent station/
make reality scramble and suck the life out of a hidden vandal/
and loving every minute of the gimmick, change the channel/
Plug it in, turn it on, prop me up against the couch/
lights out/
I ain't ever gonna have to leave my house/
satellite dish kit up on my wish list, turn me to a tyrant/
let my clean spirit dissolve through the appliance/
plug it in, turn it on, be my mother when she's gone/
Great! Wipe the spittle off my chinny-chin during the breaks
if I gotta go blind I'mma do it for the love of all television kind/
and that's fine, and that's fine...
Make me a star, I wanna touch gold/
hold me suspended in a dream, merely inches from the screen/
deleted passions sacrificed to one electron monster/
crucify my little future to the monitor/
damn it feels good, turn on, tune in
zoom in to hug the bug up in your family function/
but the children seem to love it
yeah smother me in wild discovery and herd the static flock to where I sleep
by the glow of that magic box speaker
stereo mastered often kill the freak seekers (?)
eyes spiraling, tangled in the star spangled wiring/
I can turn from toxicated visuals and all the kings horses abort the loyalty to royalty
fuck the fortress
riddle me with glee, hoist the end all teleprompter above my sleeping head
I'll be dead by morning anyway
color my values with mundane humor in thirty minute tickets
to feel the magnetic seal
picket censorship
I want commercials twenty four-seven
I wanna shop from my bed and set an example for all my overworked, underpaid brethren
I bond with a six string (?) correspondence and lurking circuitry circus/
with allegiance pledged beyond the glass surface/
adamant students within the fine school of possessed graduate catalysts/
channel zero addict, immaculate/
it goes big screen, little screen, any screen'll do/
just let me hold the controller and I won't have to murder you/
Plug it in, turn it on, let my little eyes glaze/
twenty screens lined up along the borders of the maze/
I wanna see the five day forecast fourteen days in advance/
so I can give my two weeks notice every time the sun dance/
plug it in, turn it on, silent fix better than nothing/
let a once divine soul feel the functions of the hypnotist/
the viciousness, ridiculous, peaking a dummy's interest/
touch the power button meet your maker, ain't that something?/
plug it in, turn it on, say goodbye to Sunday afternoon/
fix the antenna, sit back and let disaster bloom/
it's a beautiful sight, with a most ugly intention
but I taste it everyday and bathe inside the consequences
plug it in, turn it on, never once have you talked back to me
your majesty, I love you, I despise you
my everyday is sitcom, soaps, news, bad dramatization/
come along with me, my friend for the most glorious sensation/"
--Aesop Rock "Basic Cable"
Trash:
"Shady
Konvict
Upfront
Akon
Slim Shady
I see the one, because she be that lady! Hey!
I feel you creeping, I can see you from my shadow
Wanna jump up in my Lamborghini Gallardo
Maybe go to my place and just kick it like tae-bo
and possibly bend you over look back and watch me
Smack that all on the floor
Smack that give me some more
Smack that 'till you get sore
Smack that oh-oooh!
Upfront style ready to attack now
pull in the parking lot slow with the 'lac down
Konvicts got the whole thing packed now
Step in the club now and wardobe intact now!
I feel it down and cracked now (ooh)
I see it dull and backed now
I'm gonna call her, then I pull the mack down
Money no problem, pocket full of that now!"
--Akon "Smack That"
Ugh. I can't even get through this whole song. As it is, it's gonna take like 15 showers to wash this shit off. Way to relate to the average American with the Lamborghini reference. Those things are everywhere! Also, congrats on limiting nearly every word in this song to two syllables or less. Respect!
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