Pregnant Boy

by mr sterile

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Solo album by mr sterile, most instruments by him. Some guest appearances on some tracks. BONUS: three extra track hidden for years, from the very first mr sterile release in 1998-99, a cassette only release called SUPPOSITORY.


released January 1, 2004

Originally released in 2001 (run of 100cdr), reissued 2004 (similar 100cdrs). Both sold out. Artwork Shane Hammond. Guest vocals E E Monk on Christine.D S Lunchbox on The Expectant Pohutukawa, Cancer Boy on Love in a Pestle & Free Market, B Davis on Love in a Pestle and Angeline Conaghan on Pack of Lies(Written by Fatima Mansions) A lyric by CRASS appears in Agents of the Sun. Mixed by mr sterile & Grant Sutherland.




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Track Name: Love in a Pestle
Love in a pestle.

She will not look up.
We know how she got those black eyes.
Dressed in black and hooded,
trying to effect some sort of disguise.

And she thinks she can handle it,
When she’s young.
And she’s not so sure
when he’s done.
And if this is love,
she thinks,
the worst is yet to come.

Her boys a brick shit house,
his fists are the door.
That she keeps falling to,
on the way down to the floor.

Like a good keen kiwi bloke,
she takes it on the chin.
Drowns herself over the years,
down the clubroom with beer and gin.

Outside the courtroom waiting,
she looks down and says,
“if you don’t want a kicking tonight,
when you see Dad, get well away.”
Track Name: Shoes
Life is just a dance,
You can read a lot in the shoes.
Can you master techniques,
and is there skills for you to use.
That you can walk above all the rest,
with fingers in your ears.
How long can you dance
and can you depend on the years?
Life is just a banquet,
it's either feast or it's famine.
You could be another 'Joe'
or depend on family planning.
Is it eat or be eaten,
it's the smorgasbord-of-life rules.
Do you attack it with your fingers,
or use all the modern tools?
Life is just a fancy fuck.
It's either fun or it's false.
You may not be into it,
but still do a pretty good waltz.
You may not like the mess,
get your fingers dirty and wet..
Or make the most of chance,
and take all opportunity you can get.

Who get's fat on the fat of the land?
The land itself or selfish man?
Who has the biggest plan?
It's time to go, your hand to show,
so show us what it's worth.
Track Name: 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: Nodding Head
As we come through the darkness,
there are flashing's of light.
of those souls who have gone before,
of those brave who risk shining bright.
Of the big picture we take account,
make sense and try to figure.
That we discover with every understanding,
that the picture just keeps getting bigger.
In the silence, there are never any words.
It can be when the loudest things are said.
The hold of the body, the blinking of an eye,
the stream of messages from a nodding head.
Track Name: Christine
Outlined, redefined,
follow the line,
in corporate time.

Do you take cream, in a cappuccino?
Did you come to work, in a new Pajero?

Gain wealth, only self,
while those on the shelf,
are going hand to mouth.

How about a flight up country, in a plane?
Or a dismissive statement, to shift the blame?

High style, golden mile,
media smile,
it’s why I think you’re vile.

Do the genuine needy, confront hold outs?
Do those in admin, gets heaps of corporate shouts?

Put a corporate face,
to the poor.
Doing real work,
is such a bore.
Still a beneficiary,
except she gets much more.

Doing paltry,
for what she’s banking,
cant understand the laughing,
When we caught
Christine wanking.
Track Name: The Expectant Pohutukawa
The expectant Pohutukawa,
bearing the southerlies,
till the summer blooms.

Come on in,
distant friends and lovers.
like new growths reach,
to give the flower more room.

A place away,undercover,
to the past be past,
in the shade, it’s to the future it’s food.

In the shadow of reaching Ponga,
from soil rich, extends upwards,
to unwrap soon.
Track Name: Demonocracy
The time for demonocracy looms,
ladies and germs,
pens at the ready.
Open ears to the lies,
of a ship sailing steady.

The mass appeals
for good deals.
Look out if one is not had.
Luxuries a human right,
the new right demand to have.

No matter if the bulk of the people
bust their guts,
broke under the heaviest load.
A platform of the highest standards,
not experienced by those below.
Track Name: Child's Play
Stories of pulp fiction,
becoming fact and fame.
Hey,every one,
you’re all going to know my name.
I got the info,
the low down on how to maim,
and I’ve been practicing my technique
on this here video game.

I got research at my finger tips,
hey, It comes to me.
It aint no great hard task,
it’s every where to see.
In newspapers, and in cartoons,
at school, and on TV.
You cannot hide
young open eyes
from a brutal reality.

you give me shit,
I’ll give you shit
like you wont forget.
There aint no magic words,
to let you out of my net.
Paybacks are a bitch.
It may be trivial,
but revenge I’m going to get.
And for those interested,
I’ve got a web site on the internet.

Everyone is shocked,
Ha ha,
when kids get guns.
But when it comes to serial-killers,
well, we make pretty fucking good ones!
This is the world been made,
you’ve shown us how to have fun.
And when you boil down the maths,
of the parts , we are the sum.

In shock, you cringe and cry,
by how the worlds been made.
But you cannot cry to loud,
cos every ones in this parade.

You cannot be not involved,
acting out elaborate charades,
with security, and extra cops,
and other minor delays.
Track Name: Pack of Lies
They first met at the hospital, she was checking out for good
Her body patched but past repair, and there her angel stood
She was feeling quite confused now that her death was close at hand
She had to face eternity, so why not this mumbling man?
Who bought himself a wedding suit at a local warrant sale
It belonged to some old Turkish man who'd owed and gone to jail
He would caox her mind with talk of love to make her body kind
Because people hate the truth, you know; they need their pack of lies

Growing tired of being foreign, being spat on and shortchanged
He demanded that she leave with him for the land from whence he came
They were herded on like cattle to a ferry at high tide
This unkempt, aging orphan and his helpless, dying bride
But he left her at the other shore crying on the deck
She was slumped against the rail as he had struck to free his neck
and the customs shed was empty as he made his way inside
There were no chimpanzees in uniform to hear his pack of lies

Now she's ascending into heaven with contentment on her face
and Holy God is there to greet and batter her into her place

But meanwhile back on Earth, we see the prodigal's returned
and they're making him the chieftain and they've come to him to learn
How the neighbours in he rich land better steal and kill and lie
and when they ask who calls the weaklings there he just shrugs and says, "Not I!"
Though surrounded by diseases, I stood tall and kept my health
I could have been important if I'd been somebody else
The moral of this story is: This land's a victim-farm
Don't you ever feed a beggar here, he'll eat your fucking arm
and don't blaspheme the strong ones if you want to stay alive
Now smile and give them thanks when they say, "Here's a pack of lies!"
Track Name: Words and Numbers
I know words are numbered,
how to make each one count(?).
Babble with the masses,
Write small lines that’s tantamount,
to the value of the worth of my being,
paint a portrait, so others are seeing,
That I was here, here believing,
in not much but my own breathing.

I have a friend with an illness,
not spoken of so socially.
She knows her words are numbered,
and over cigarettes her heartbeats so vocally,
of the need that spins in her being,
of what’s in front, could be the lasts she’s seeing.
Strip away the shitto where home is believing,
that the victory is in breathing.

I met a man, late in his years,
he woke one morning to what he lost.
Well his baby had turned 21,
and saw what all the worthless achievement cost.
Paid in blood, while he was being,
a dutiful father, finally seeing,
that the hurt, the folly of his believing.
But there can be hope in the sound of the breathing.
Track Name: Agents 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.