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Northwest Superthread II(without crappy flicks)


RATT

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I dreaded sunny days***

so I meet you at the cemetery gates***

Keats and Yeats are on your side***

I dreaded sunny days***

so I meet you at the cemetery gates***

Keats and Yeats are on your side***

while Wilde is on mine***

So we go inside and we gravely read the stones***

all those people all those lives***

where are they now ?***

with loves, and hates***

and passions just like mine***

they were born***

and then they lived and then they died***

which seems so unfair***

and I want to cry***

You say: "ere thrice the sun hath done salutation to the dawn"***

and you claim these words as your own***

but I've read well, have heard them said***

a hundred times (maybe less, maybe more)***

if you must write prose and poems***

the words you use should be your own***

don't plagiarise or take on "loan"***

there's always someone, somewhere***

with a big nose, who knows***

and who trips you up and laughs***

when you fall***

who'll trip you up and laugh***

when you fall***

You say: "ere long done do does did "***

words which could only be your own***

and then you produce the text***

from whence was ripped***

(some dizzy whore, 1804)***

I dreaded sunny days***

so let's go where we're happy***

so I meet you at the cemetery gates***

Keats and Yeats are on your side***

I dreaded sunny days***

so let's go where we're wanted***

so I meet you at the cemetery gates***

Keats and Yeats are on your side***

but you lose***

because Wilde is on mine

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Frankly, Mr. Shankly, this position I've held

It pays my way, and it corrodes my soul

I want to leave, you will not miss me

I want to go down in musical history

 

Frankly, Mr. Shankly, I'm a sickening wreck

I've got the twenty-first century breathing down my neck

I must move fast, you understand me

I want to go down in celluloid history, Mr. Shankly

 

Fame, fame, fatal fame

It can play hideous tricks on the brain

But still I'd rather be famous than righteous or holy

Any day, any day, any day

 

But sometimes I'd feel more fulfilled

Making Christmas cards with the mentally ill

I want to live and I want to love

I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of

 

Frankly, Mr. Shankly, this position I've held

It pays my way and it corrodes my soul

Oh, I didn't realize that you wrote poetry

I didn't realize you wrote such bloody awful poetry, Mr. Shankly

 

Frankly, Mr. Shankly, since you ask

You are a flatulent pain in the ass

I do not mean to be so rude

Still, I must speak frankly, Mr. Shankly

Oh, give us your money

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ouch, quit fronting. you've never read a word of oscar wilde in yr life, much less keats or yates.

 

"if you must write prose or poem

the words you use should be yr own,

don't plagerize

or take on loan.."

 

and Ice Nerves, I'm suprised at you, I know you fuck with HELLA youth crew like YOT, Chain of Strength, and Bold. haha. c'mon bro, Xbreak down the wallsX.

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