Luyện nghe bài hát Back to the Motor League

I to party fucking hard
I like my rock and the same
Don't give a fuck if I out
give a fuck if I fade away.

So to the Motor League with me
who vicariously through
before I'm forced to face the wrath of a well-heeled buying
tortured-artist college-rock and floor-punching pabulum.

to the Motor League I go.
Once I drew a lucky hand.
Turned out to be a live

of "anarchists"
and Mommy's-little-skinheads, and sycophants
and wieners on straight-edge.

Who
off.
I'd rather Trip-Tiks than listen to your bullshit.

Who

off.
...about stupid scenes, your shitty zines,
the straw-men you up to burn.

It never to amaze me and as I'm suffering
your perfection it me of my own race
mouthed
to redress my own sad of
Teated
Amish
Eaten

brawls.
But what have we
15 later it still reeks of 'Swill and Chickenshit Conformists
with fists in the air;
like-father, "rebels bloated on korn, eminems and bizkits.

Lord, hear our prayer: back your Amy Grant mosh-crews and
your politics.
Blow-dry my hair and me on a ten-speed.
I guess is just a popularity contest.

to the Motor League.
Success, the ability to perform a framework of obedience.
Just ask the candy-coated Joy-Cam rock-bands shoes
off the jagged edgesfor venture-capitalists, silencing competing messages,