Bug my Ride

by mr sterile Assembly

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about

recorded in our front room, d.i.y!

credits

released October 1, 2009

Line up: Sarsha Douglas [bass, vocals]
Chrissie Butler [bass, vocals]
mr sterile [ drums, vocals]

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skirted Records Akaroa

Home of skirted Records, stable of DSLB, mr sterile Assembly and assorted side projects

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Track Name: Bug my Ride
Check my home on Google Earth, see me stand in my backyard. I've seven different passwords, a PIN code, and a plastic card. Watch me on the camera's, in the streets, and in the malls, read my transcripts of transmissions from my interesting calls. Logging on, logging off, checking in, track and trace, the electronic shadow left from accessed stuff in cyberspace. I'm south side down from Huxley, and Orwell too is just behind. GPS to check my transit, SIS to 'Bug-my-ride". Fingerprints and DNA, the electric hum of 0/1. Scan the love songs in my text from your blown-up dome known as Echelon. Privacy has had its day, print my face for show and tell. The efficient methods of hidden men, the legacy of COINTELL/protected by the weight of state, defended by the party line. Profit needs security, and progress is a state of mind.
Track Name: Good as Goldie
Good as Goldie

It's not the biggest racket since the bible
but mate, it's still a bloody good joke.
A claim-to-fame on another's name
from a family of reds and mirrors and smoke.
This den of trades down the end of main street,
this jack-of, a joker, this wild card.
With two keen eyes and a pencil stub
one-up'd the D's and high arts regard.

There's nothing concealed beneath this hat,
just a toupee to warm a wicked grin.
And a story delivered front tot end,
with all the 'authentic' colour in between.
Like trading paintings for fine white teeth,
to add a sparkle to a teller's smile.
Just add a name to a schoolboy's picture
then age with piss for complete artistic style.

Carl with a K
Karl with a C
The names the greatest prank
and Carl's as good as Goldie.

It was Rita who first blew the whistle
to the hands of demons across the road.
From boldness - BANG! - to quickly busted,
by dusty evidence, load on load.
From under the brush to under the gavel,
these fakes and frauds, the pretty forgeries.
From split opinion to minimal conviction,
the names the greats prank. And Carl's as good as Goldie.
Track Name: Buru
Buru

The future looms under the gaze of
shadow men.
Who lock away, and hold invisible,
without trial.
The self-serving holds close its motivation,
a silent collaborate eye.
Into a house of glass, and severed from the past,
the select exiled.

What time it takes to turn this fertile earth into
modern mud.
What the crops grow for each, it's bitter/sweet,
such clear division lines.
Trading lives to stock the northern lands,
this is an echoed past.
In a loaded arsenal, a colonial rubber rule,
to be entwined.

It's a crime when the face of opposition states you
can't protect your love.
And when your progress goes against ruling thought,
it's there to take apart.
Sympathy becomes an academic exercise,
to appease oneself.
You can see the length of string, from the puppets to the king,
there lie the cords to cut.

Reclaiming gaze, look to symbolic North,
see it holds no spell.
As learning spread infectious flames jump,
from house to house
And swelling words, in 'flood tides' as intent
sets to organise.
With nothing many stand, to fight with whats at hand,
even if only just our mouths.
Track Name: Agent's of the Sun
The eunuch agenderless, Ha?,
Agents of the sun.
Claim their brilliance, benefits everyone.
Walking without shadows,
But shadows where deeds are done.
Gives granite haemophilia,
Saying “ think of your son”.

Offer things full,
but deliver on empty.
Chanting many have much,
In the land of the plenty.
Eager competition,
to be the top twenty.
Say it’s sour grapes when they say,
“You resent me”.

Permissions never granted,
we say “take what you can get”.
Have we asked the sun,
Well it hasn’t said no to us yet.
Fury and frustrated, you say
“who do you represent?”
Well we’ve loved all the dictators,
that we’ve ever meet.

It’s all flexible when we say,
“We say it’s the truth”.
The subject sidestepped,
When asked to offer proof.
You beg a question,
So we bend the truth.
Bail out the basement,
cos there’s holes in the roof.
Track Name: Ice Cremate
Ice cremate

Naive boy
heard horror stories
forgotten easily with
sweetened treats.
Unknown soldier as the hero,
to aide the fascist fall from grace.
Grew with quiet assurance
in a distant lonely place.

Here in Poland,
OE away, out on tour.
The answer is for fun,
if the question is 'what for'?å
And make a break from travel
break out maps, I check this place.
The others gather ice cream,
then the then and now congregate.


Need to learn to look
instead of gawking
to see the horror in the
heart of farce.
If we could act
instead of talking,
we wouldn't always end up on our arse.
This thing, it nearly
had us mastered,
too soon to celebrate
'not again!
Then, the world stood
and stopped the bastard.
But the beast that bore him is on heat again.

Patterned page,
birds eye ambivalence.
But then and now, lost and found,
calculate the distance.
At least-worst I am a killjoy
when only minutes from vanilla.
But I'm tied in knots to see that I
sit three hours from Treblinka.
Track Name: Babylon Express
In the beginning was the word
in the beginning was the word,
in the beginning was the word,
and the word was Bullshit!

Take a propa gander
at the bold black lines
and see if you can discern
any lies
it's a manufacturing marvel
of these modern times
to market to the masses
the same mumble many times.
The symbols and the syntax
supplied within the news create and construct
a cartoon of correct views
and once its on the screen
its valid then as proof
so go flick through the channel
to see the branded truth.

To target to the market
takes a certain skill
select out the stereotyped
image of all the social ills
There's pills for cocks, pills for highs,
and pills to counter pills
in addiction, who needs substance
as long as there is thrills.
So tease out the tension
with warnings of terror
and colour code the chaos
to prevent the picture getting clearer
hide behind the safety lock
cos ITS GETTING NEARER
the telly suggests a survival kit
but now a little dearer

So take it once, take it twice
take it right between the eyes
take with mock satisfaction
bent over, open wide
take it long, take it soft
whatever you do, take it all
heres the choice for the taking
no need for blinders made of wool.

Here we are and here we go
its always showtime
and we know they always lie
but somehow not this time
we deplore the criminals
unless its own crime
then we hollar 'its justified'
within the parties 4/4 time
each morning comes the latest slant
comes rolling of the press
all the people that have been saved
like a turkey being dressed
and I know one way of the other
there are those who 'cant care less'
so ladies and gents present your tickets
for the one-way ride on the Babylon express.
Track Name: Static
Static

Turn the TV on,
change the channel to static.
It’s the only noise that stops your mind
from the every day panic.
From the people in authority,
to the banks taking their fees.
To the rigid restrictions
Of your everyday needs.

There’s a mark on your face,
It’s only you who cannot see it.
There’s all these other people
saying “go ahead and believe it”.
It doesn’t matter where you are,
it’s the scene of the crime.
We’ve bought all the witness’s,
and your running out of time.

Take some peace, find some hope,
in other situations.
But denial is the smile,
of all administrations.
It’s a game of cat and mouse,
but it’s a secret about the dog.
That lurks in the shadow,
and guards our ground like a god.

Tactics proven over time,
compliance equals silence.
And it’s also a potent poem,
that silence rhymes with violence.
What is rigid, must always be,
with slightest variation.
Bound with-in its confine,
of staunch continuation.

What bends is harder to break,
and what doesn’t snaps
and you’ve got to keep on dancing,
to avoid the traps.
Track Name: hector Larsen
Hector Larsen

Pack up a thug, and the one that he loves.
To Niue 'cross the Pacific, enforce administration.
With bigotry, Empires pride,
colonial rule, Island style.
A heafty fist, judicial smile,
the crown sends in Larsen.

Leters from the native hand, ignored, but not the white mans.
Takeing currency from conviction, both cash and labours arm.
When locked inside local cells,
forced to work at brutes hotel,
with slap and kick, slag and yell,
comes fury to break bullies calm.

Too many taunts, too many times
what Hector does, for others crimes.
Four days hiding, conclusion came,
from on the run, they claimed their blame.
Three young men, borne bullies stick,
to break and snap, with a bloody fix-it-quick.
Broke from prison, quiet through tyrants door,
with “the bush knife that ate Larsen raw”.

Locked and charged straight away, Palangi lawyers came.
Kangaroo legal game, guilty, guilty, guilty
In custody they stay months on end just the same
Gallows to murders fame, to swing, to swing, to swing.
Practice with lynch machine Given last rites, last feed,
last minute bid, reprieve, appeal, appeal, appeal.
Petition to the Queen “Justice has not been done”,
Power speaks, to be swung, by neck, by neck, by neck.
Double standard the rule, if white save neck from pull,
not all support old school, protest, protest, protest.
Many months, many fights, Stop extreme eye for eye,
Get sentence changed to life, in time, in time, in time.
Spent under Empire sun, also Palangi thumb,
hefty cost, paid in time again, again, again.


Broke from prison, quiet through tyrants door, with “the bush knife that ate Larsen raw”.