Frankenchrist
 
 

  East Bay Ray- Guitar, Synthesizer,and 12 string Electric Bellzouki

  Klaus Flouride- Bass and Vocals

  D.H. Peligro- Drums and Vocals

  Jello Biafra- Vocals
 
 

  Virus 45 Alternative Tentacles

  1985
 

words: Biafra, music: Ray/Biafra/Fluoride/Peligro
 
 

We're sorry

But you're no longer needed

Or wanted

Or even cared about here
 
 

Machines can do a better job than you

This is what you get for asking questions
 
 

The unions agree

Sacrifices must be made

Computers never go on strike

To save the working man you've got to put him

 out to pasture
 
 

Looks like we'll have to let you go

Doesn't it feel fulfilling to know

That you--the human being--are now obsolete

And there's nothing in hell we'll let you do about it
 
 

    CHORUS

  Soup is good food--(We don't need you any more)

  You made a good meal--(We don't need you any more)

  Now how do you feel--(We don't need you any more)

  To be shit out our ass

  And thrown in the cold like a piece of trash
 
 

We're sorry

You'll just have to leave

Unemployment runs out after just six weeks
 
 

How does it feel to be a budget cut

You're snipped

You no longer exist
 
 

Your number's been purged from our central computer

So we can rig the facts

And sweep you under the rug

See our chart?  Unemployment's going down

If that ruins your life that's your problem
 
 

  Soup is Good Food  Etc.
 
 

We're sorry

We hate to interrupt

But it's against the law to jump off this bridge
 
 

You'll just have to kill yourself somewhere else

A tourist might see you

And we wouldn't want that
 
 

I'm just doing my job, you know

So say uncle

And we'll take you to the mental health zoo

Force feed you mind-melting chemicals

Until even the outside world looks great
 
 

In hi-tech science research labs

It costs too much to bury all the dead

The mutilated disease-injected

Surplus rats who can't be used anymore
 
 

So they're dumped (with no minister present)

In a spiraling corkscrew dispose-all unit

Ground into sludge and flushed away

Aw geez
 
 

  Soup is good food

  You made a good meal etc.
 
 

We know how much you'd like to die

We joke about it on our coffee breaks

But we're paid to force you to have a nice day

In the wonderful world we just made for you
 
 

Poor Rats... we human rodents chuckle

at least we get a dignified cremation

At yet

At 6:00 tomorrow morning

It's time to get up and go to work
 
 
 
 
 
 

  This Could Be Anywhere
 
 

words: Biafra

music: Ray/Biafra/Fluoride/Peligro
 
 

Cold concrete apartments

Rise up from wet black asphalt

Below them a few carcasses

Of the long gone age of privacy
 
 

It takes a scary kind of illness

To design a place like this for pay

Downtown's an endless generic mall

Of video games and fast food chains
 
 

One by one

The little houses are bricked up and condemned

A subtle hint to move

Before the rats move in
 
 

   This could be anywhere

   This could be everywhere
 
 

Those new kids at school seem cool

But dad says not to talk to them

Stick to your old friends

They're not our kind
 
 

So now there's lots of fights
 
 

So many people I know

Come of age tense and bitter-eyed

Can't create so they just destroy

C'mon!

Let's set someone's dog on fire
 
 

Empty plastic

Culture slum suburbia

Is a war zone now

Sprouting the kinds of gangs

We thought we'd left behind
 
 

   This could be anywhere

   This could be everywhere
 
 

Kids at school are taking sides

Along color and uniform lines

My dad's gone and bought a gun

He says he's fed up

With crime in this town
 
 

   This could be anywhere

   This could be everywhere

   This could be anywhere

   This could be everywhere
 
 

    Anywhere

    Everywhere

  I hope I'm gone before it explodes
 
 

I linger late at night

Waiting for the bus

No amount of neon jazz

Could hide the oozing vibes of death
 
 

My dad's a vigilante now

He's bringing home these weird-ass friends

Like the guy who fires blanks at his TV

When Kojak's on

Or the guy who shows off his submachine gun

To his sixteen-year-old daughter's friends

Whose sense of pride and hope

Is being in the police reserve
 
 

   This could be anywhere

   This could be everywhere--Everywhere
 
 
 
 

  A Growing Boy Needs His Lunch
 
 

words: Biafra, music: Biafra/Ray/Fluoride/Peligro
 
 

In lonely gas stations with mini-marts

You'll find rows of them for sale

Liquor-filled statues of Elvis Presley

Drink like a vampire
 
 

His disciples flock to such a fitting shrine

Sprawled across from his graceless mansion

A shopping mall

Filled with prayer rugs and Elvis dolls
 
 

And I wonder

Yeah I wonder

Will Elvis take the place of Jesus in a thousand years
 
 

Religious wars

Barbaric laws

Bloodshed worldwide

Over what's left of his myth
 
 

A growing boy needs his lunch
 
 

When pesticides get banned we're safe up north

We just sell them to those other countries

Soon there's lots of exotic deformed babies

Somehow that's not our fault
 
 

Just dip 'em in glaze paint 'em orange and green

For the Arizona roadside stands

To sell alongside plaster burros and birdbaths
 
 

And I wonder

Yeah I wonder

Why so many insects around us feed off the dead
 
 

Death squads

Starvation

Foreign aid?

Just leave it to the magic of the marketplace
 
 

A growing boy needs his lunch
 
 

Everyone should just love each other

  Dip your toe into the fire

Drop your guns and lawsuits and love each other

  Life begins beyond the bunker
 
 

And while you're busy hugging in the streets

Outgrowing your hatred for all to feel

Jiminy Cricket's found a game to play

Stick your neck out and trust--It'll be chopped away
 
 

Jimmy through your locked front doors

Rifle through your sacred drawers

Line my pockets

Deface your dreams

Until the cows come home to me
 
 

Nibbling like an earwig winding through your brain

Bound like Lawrence Harvey spread-eagle to a bed

The migraine gets worse when we find out we lay eggs

And no one in all of Borneo can hear you scream
 
 

Turn on

Tune in

Cop out
 
 

Drop kick Turn in Tune out
 
 
 
 

  Chicken Farm
 
 

words: Biafra, music: Biafra/Ray/Fluoride/Peligro
 
 

Another rainy morning mingling at the market

Bartering for food for another day

Rifle shots ring out behind the crumbling buildings

Executions have begun
 
 

Sprawled in the square are today's broken bodies

Lots to pick clean if you're first and quick

Rift through their, pockets peel off their clothes

To wear or sell when you wash out the blood
 
 

Run my little brother

Run to the chicken farm

Opportunity's calling

You might even find a watch
 
 

  We're going down

  To the chicken farm
 
 

Napalm rains no more

But the war goes on

Little brother died playing at the dump today

He found a new toy and held it up proud

Then it blew him to bits
 
 

How many more children

Will be killed or die at birth

Deformed by Agent Orange

In our food chain forever more

  We're going down

  To the chicken farm
 
 

  This time we'll buy our way out

  I've got a plan; you wait and see

  I smuggled you this map
 
 

  In the gash I sliced in my thigh

  I hope I'm there to join you, love

  We're blown to bits one by one in this camp

  We crawl shaking through the fields at gunpoint all day

  To defuse leftover landmines--by hand
 
 

We shiver on the deck and stiffen for the worst

If the pirates come around we might as well be dead

We'll be thrown in the sea

Or butchered if we're women

All in the name of gold
 
 

One foot in a land we can barely understand

Can't speak the tongue of Yankee hospitality

Our kids at school get beat up

To the tune of "Boat people, go home"
 
 

Sliced with a machete

From the breast of our homeland

Our new world tries to spit us out

But it sure beats the chicken farm
 
 
 
 

  Jock-O-Rama (Invasion of the Beef Patrol)

words & music by Biafra
 
 

How ‘bout them hawgs?
 
 

You really like gorillas?
 

We've got just the pet for you

It's the way you're forced to act

To survive our schools
 
 

Make your whole life revolve around sports

Walk tough--don't act too smart

Be a mean machine

Then we'll let you get ahead
 
 

  Jock-O-Rama--Save my soul

  We're under the thumb of the Beef Patrol

  The future of America is in their hands

  Watch it roll over Niagara Falls
 
 

Pep rally in the holy temple

And you're forced to go

Masturbate en masse

With the favored religious cult
 
 

Cheerleaders yell--Ra Ra Team

From the locker room parades the prime beef

When archaeologists dig this up

They'll either laugh or cry
 
 

  Jock-O-Rama--On the brain

  Redneck-a-thon driving me insane

  The future of America is in their hands

  Watch it roll over Niagara Falls
 
 

Unzip that old-time religion

On the almighty football field

Beerbellies of all ages

Come to watch the gladiators bleed
 
 

"Now boys, this game ain't played for fun

You're going out there to win

How d'ya win?

get out there

And snap the other guy's knee!"
 
 

Beat 'em up!  Beat 'em up!

Ra Ra Ra

Snap those spinal cords

Ha Ha Ha
 
 

The star quarterback lies injured

Unconscious on the football field

Looks like his neck's been broken

Seems to happen somewhere every year
 
 

His mom and dad clutch themselves and cry

Their favorite son will never walk again

Coach says, "That boy gave a hundred percent

What spirit

What a man"
 
 

But who cares?

Games over--Let's go get wasted man

To the 7-11, to the liquor store

Let's party all night and party some more
 
 

Another Trans-Am

Wrapped itself around a telephone pole

"I ain't drunk, officer

I just fell getting' out of my car"
 
 

Don't worry about it, son

We were that way when we were young

You've got all the skills

To make a damn good businessman
 
 

  Jock-O-Rama--that's the law

  Come lick the butts of the Beef Patrol

  If the future of America is handed to them

  Watch it roll over Niagara Falls
 
 
 
 

  Goons of Hazzard
 
 

words: Biafra, music: Biafra & Ray
 
 

Happy hour belongs to America's best-loved thugs

Here comes the 4-wheel prosthetic penises

Got yer gun racks, tractor tires and lynch mob drivers

We couldn't find a chick to sit in the middle

So we drink ourselves sick

Lean out the windows and pinch ass instead
 
 

  We are the Goons of Hazzard

  Glorified on your TV

  We run down bikes and hitch hikers

  And we know we'll get off scot-free
 
 

We're the vigilante heroes of your tough-guy flicks

Bashing punks & bums and fags

With our baseball bats

No deer to blow away

So we go to Orville and shoot a black kid down

Or waste demonstrators in Greensboro instead
 
 

  We are the Goons of Hazzard

  Glorified on your TV

  We leave you in a pool of blood

  Cos we know we'll get off scot-free
 
 

Let's get him
 
 

C'mere

C'mere

Say something to me?
 
 

We've got him cornered

We've got him cornered

Is anybody looking?

Does anybody even care?

No!
 
 

Local papers paint us up to be big heroes

City fathers & Chambers of Commerce want us deputized

The stoner gestapo keeping' your town clean

Get a shave, kid

We'll pay you as the strike-breaker

Maybe you'll make Tac Squad for the L.A.P.D.
 
 

  We are the Goons of Hazzard

  Glorified on your TV

  We leave you in a pool of blood

  And we always get off scot-free
 
 
 
 

  M.T.V.--Get Off the Air
 
 

words: Biafra, music: Biafra & Ray
 
 
 
 

Fun Fun Fun in the fluffy chair

Flame up the herb

Woof down the beer

(click!)
 
 

Hi

I'm your video DJ

I always talk like I'm wigged out on Quaaludes

I wear a satin baseball jacket everywhere I go
 
 

My job is to help destroy

What's left of your imagination

By feeding you endless doses

Of sugar-coated mindless garbage
 
 

So don't create

Be sedate

Be a vegetable at home

And thwack on that dial

If we have our way even you will believe

This is the future of rock and roll
 
 

How far will you go

How low will you stoop

To tranquilize our minds with your sugar-coated swill
 
 

You've turned rock and roll rebellion

Into Pat Boone sedation

Making sure nothing's left to the imagination
 
 

  M.T.V. Get off the

  M.T.V. Get off the

  M.T.V. Get off the air

         Get off the air
 
 

See the latest rejects from the muppet show

Wag their tits and their dicks

As they lip-synch on screen
 
 

There's something I don't like

About a band who always smiles

Another tax write-off

For some schmuck who doesn't care
 
 

  M.T.V. Get off the air
 
 

And so it was

Our beloved corporate gods

Claimed they created rock video

Allowing it to sink as low in one year

As commercial TV has in 25
 
 

"It's the new frontier," they say

It's wide open, anything can happen

But you've got a lot of nerve

To call yourself a pioneer

When you're too god-damn conservative

To take real chances.
 
 

Tin-eared

Graph-paper brained accountants

Instead of music fans

Call all the shots at giant record companies now
 
 

The lowest common denominator rules

Forget honesty

Forget creativity

The dumbest buy the mostest

That's the name of the game
 
 

But sales are slumping

And no one will say why

Could it be they put out one too many lousy records?!?
 
 

M.T.V.--Get off the air!

  NOW!
 
 
 
 

  Stars and Stripes of Corruption
 
 

words: Biafra, Music: Biafra/Ray/Flouride/Peligro
 
 

Finally got to Washington in the middle of the night

I couldn't wait

I headed straight for the Capitol Mall
 
 

My heart began to pound

Yahoo!  It really exists

The American International Pictures logo
 
 

I looked up at the Capitol Building

Couldn't help but wonder why

I felt like saying "Hello, old friend"
 
 

Walked up the hill to touch it

Then I unzipped my pants

And pissed on it when nobody was looking
 
 

Like a great eternal Klansman

With his two flashing red eyes

Turn around he's always watching

The Washington monument pricks the sky

With flags like pubic hair ringed 'round the bottom
 
 

The symbols of our heritage

Lit up proudly in the night

Somehow fits to see the homeless people

Passed out on the lawn
 
 

So this is where it happens

The power games and bribes

All lobbying for a piece of ass
 
 

  Of the stars and stripes of corruption
 
 

Makes me feel so ashamed

To be an American

When we're too stuck up to learn from our mistakes

Trying to start another Viet Nam

Like fiddling while Rome burns at home

The Boss says, "You're laid off.  Blame the Japanese"
 
 

"America's back," alright

At the game it plays the worst

Strip mining the world like a slave plantation
 
 

No wonder others hate us

And the Hitlers we handpick

To bleed their people dry

For our evil empire
 
 

The drug we're fed

To make us like it

Is God and country with a band
 
 

People we know who should know better

Howl, "America riles.  Let's go to war!"

Business scams are what's worth dying for
 
 

Are the Soviets our worst enemy?

We're destroying ourselves instead

Who cares about our civil rights

As long as I get paid?
 
 

The blind Me-Generation

Doesn't care if life's a lie
 
 

so easily used, so proud to enforce
 
 

The stars and stripes of corruption

  Let's bring it all down!

Tell me who's the real patriots

The Archie Bunker slobs waving flags?

Or the people with the guts to work

For some real change
 
 

Rednecks and bombs don't make us strong

We loot the world, yet we can't even feed ourselves

Our real test of strength is caring

Not the toys of war we sell the world
 
 

Just carry on, thankful to be farmed like worms

Old glory for a blanket

As you suck on your thumbs
 
 

Real freedom scares you

'Cos it means responsibility
 
 

So you chicken out and threaten me
 
 

Saying, "Love it or leave it"

I'll get beat up if I criticize it

You say you'll fight to the death

To save your worthless flag
 
 

If you want a banana republic that bad

Why don't you go move to one

But what can just one of us do?

Against all that money and power

Trying to crush us into roaches?
 
 

We don't destroy society in a day

Until we change ourselves first

From the inside out
 
 

We can start by not lying so much

And treating other people like dirt

It's easy not to base our lives

On how much we can scam
 
 

And you know

It feels good to lift that monkey off our backs
 
 

I'm thankful I live in a place

Where I can say the things I do

Without being taken out and shot

So I'm guard against the goons

Trying to take my rights away

We've got to rise above the need for cops and laws
 
 

Let kids learn communication

Instead of schools pushing competition

How about more art and theater instead of sports?
 
 

People will always do drugs

Let's legalize them

Crime drops when the mob can't price them

Budget's in the red?

Let's tax religion
 
 

No one will do it for us

We'll just have to fix ourselves

Honesty ain't all that hard

Just put Rambo back inside your pants

Causing trouble for the system is much more fun
 
 

Thank you for the toilet paper

But your flag is meaningless to me

Look around, we're all people

Who needs countries anyway?
 
 

Our land I love it too

I think I love it more than you

I care enough to fight
 
 

  The stars and stripes of corruption

  Let's bring it all down!
 
 

If we don't try

If we just lie

If we can't find

A way to do it better than this

Who will?