Subway Butterflies

Summertime Roles
Get unusual
Don’t ask why
And we won’t try
To justify

It was just into September When the school bell rang
we could just about remember when we last got sprang
days of early June, jumping out into the void
tomorrows endless and the future wide
now it’s almost got to where we’re getting annoyed by
neighborhood annoyances we’re tryin’a avoid
went to 42nd street, army navy store
got ogled at by the proprietor
then to 48th to get some music gear
luv dealin with the patronizing sales people there
both of us returning from respective destinations
get on the same F train at different stations
there amongst the Mexicans, Russians and Croations
Armenians, Asians, Iraquis and Jamaicans
Standin’ and sittin’ in the overcrowded eastbound
hot and sour car comin’ from Astoria
lookin’ past the borders of the New York mind of state
wait, don’t I recognize that bold art warrior.

Summertime Roles
Get unusual
Don’t ask why
And we won’t try
To justify ourselves.

I was just about to cell you when my cell phone died.
and yours with all my numbers, lost in the void.
walked around the city, took the train
went to all the places we used to hang.
river, tracks, Washington Square,
couple people said they hadn’t seen you there.
awh yea i was dealin’ wit’ my grandma’s death
cancer, it was f’n depressing
damn, drag. didn’t mean to be lame
wouldn’t blame you for cursin’ my name,
but I had bad family stuff goin’ on
mostly hid in my room wit’ my thoughs and poems
stayed up nights with the radio on
writin’ down the words to my favorite songs

Summertime Roles
Get unusual
Don’t ask why
And we won’t try
To justify ourselves.

insecure and stressed out when you never did call
tell the truth, I bummed and cursed me
countin’ all o’ my faults
figured that you really didn’t care so much
whether or not we really kept in touch
man, i should smack you
the way that I acted? I know then got discracted
hangin’ out front CB’s met a band from Berlin
made it to the mornin’ with a gallon o’ gin
got the email of the A&R,
says he’s gonna make me an underground star
prob’ly jus’ tryina get some ass
tell me about it it’s a world of pederasts
starting a band gonna perform with
28 bracelettes up and down my arms
oh man, lemme tell you ’bout Upstate New York
gettin’ good at the bass, not even usin’ a pick
ya’ know those long-haired cats played covers in the park
and name o’ the band: Making Medicine Sick.
I heard a lotta stories, learned a thing or two
lookin’ for a singer who dress like a freak.
like herbs , brews, swimmin’ naked in the creek.
sweet, what about you? what about me?
let’s get together and one, two three

Summertime Roles
Get unusual
Don’t ask why
And we won’t try
To justify ourselves.

Words by Rivka and Mike iLL
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright BMI

Young, Beautiful and Stressed

endless days of summers past
dragged along when we were small
now they seem to go so fast
were they ever ours at all?

going out into the city on adventures
when successes were insured enough to bet
back when family was just some people you was stuck with
as opposed to takin’ all you can get
so hard to find somebody you can trust
a little honesty is a dangerous thing
so we run for the safety of independence
adulthood promises to bring

sleep, my darling, let your dreams be sweet.
Morning will come soon enough
Drag us back onto our weary feet.
Only our love can pull us through.
some would say that we are blessed
to be young beautiful and stressed

Childhood dreams we still pursue
People try to make us doubt.
In our hearts we think fuck you
Smile and say don’t stress me out.
some would say that we are blessed
to be young beautiful and stressed.

come thru on tour you ask nu,how was vacation?
yea. one big fun vacation.
only vacatein’ your’ vicinity, holmes
have anotha cup o’ coffee and cinn-a-bonez
when i say don’t stress me out it means don’t
sit behind your jealous gaze
and pry into the vacant haze of
what you think is behind this heart

NAKEDNESS NAKEDNESS COMPLETE N TOTAL NAKEDNESS

sleep, my darling, let your dreams be sweet.
Morning will come soon enough
Drag us back onto our weary feet.
Only our love can pull us through.
some would say that we are blessed
to be young beautiful and stressed.

Words by Rivka and Mike iLL
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright BMI

Wings

one for the innocence , three for the truth
twenty years to late to love me
in the dark on my own, i’m not alone
still too blind to see
on phantom shoulders i cannot lean
watch the waning moon soon unseen
i’m not waiting for the morning
even for the dawn

found my wings i’m flying now
hold the tears no cryin’ now
Boo Hoo
the scapegoat has died
she lives on in my memory
as the part i left behind

so tired of these songs they inspire
drying my tears at that fire
all these years here’s what i learned never let them stir
the ashes embers of my fears
turnin’ on me at the edge, where
blame the victim plays the game
selfishly unsane

time after time, it ain’t complex
let me lay it out real plain
why i’m vexed first, i had sex
before gettin’ married to them i was a whore. for
a year i was ignored. next,
after i professed having been molested
got mean stares for the next three years
blamed , for the drama in our family affairs
laughed n’ called me selfish, was cryin’ on the floor
bangin’ my head on the fridgedaire door, now
someone’s gettin’ married and they want me to come
so those damn photo albums won’t be missin’ anyone?
i’ll be there cause in fact i don’t dig dramatics
telephone games and emocrabatics
enough with that static 3x
i’m done

REPEAT CHORUS

in fear and enraged always the outcast
these fading remnants of my past
the things that noone else would say
let, sleeping dogs lie
call the hell hounds to my side
i wasn’t born to wait to die
to walk on tiptoes all my life
and never wonder why

So, friends of mine, it ain’t done yet
I’ve always been prone to…get upset
even, flippin’ out, when
my damn people carry on, talkin like they care , OR
tryin’a make a score game outta who to blame
still ignoring the real pain
Walk these dogs down 13th ave
watch… all the yentas talkin trash; that’s what they have
Skeletons in closets stinkin’ up too many homes
That is why you always see my doggie diggin’ bones
Narrowly avoiding being put to sleep
By, the tznius patrol crawlin’ up that street
so y’all can, hang righteous, holdin out on old habits
Quotin dogmatic verse while your at it
Wha’ssup that attic
Wha’ssup that static
Enough with that static
i’m done

Words by Rivka and Mike iLL
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright BMI

Wake Up

fighting biting out o control
loosin my teeth losin my soul
the old witch knows what i’ll go through
she’s seen the end and she’s telling me to

wake up wake up

ghastly ass attitudes come to bed
every night i go head to head
personification fear and greed
toss me aroun like a tumbleweed

wake up wake up

runnin around with a heart of foam
achin and shakin i only roam
through the ruins of the danger zone
hell in a bathroom i have no home

in this dream i’ve been havin for weeks
the old crone grabs me by the cheek
pulls me close and begins to talk

i’m a beautiful body but nobody will look
i’m a bus full o kids rollin off the dock
i’m accused of murder but i can’t talk
i’m allowed to leave but the door is stuck

i’m ablunt gettin smoked and i can’t wake up
i’m a truck on a hill and i can’t stop
im’ assuming the worst cause it always reverts
and i’m certain that my bubble is about to burst

wake up wake up

mysteruous deats in ya family tree
question marks in ya ancestry
has one o yall ever died peacefully
only ever stories o tragedy

wake up wake up

buckets of blood spilled by
women who give the evil eye
if i’s not a chase it’ll be a fight
hope i never dream tonight

wake up wake up

i’m gonna change these wayward ways
with which i’ve lived for ten thousand days
memory is basically a stressfull haze
runniun from the demons i’m supposed to face

wake up wake up

Words by Rivka and Mike iLL
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright BMI

Truckstop Honeymoon

it ain’t like things changed much once we hit the road
being too broke for a coffee and a roll
that don’t slow you down, just more o-the same stubborn forward march
maxxed out cards and empty bank accounts, only leave a psychic mark
late morning in the parking lot at a place called flying j
nuzzled under the interstate with an all you can eat buffet
aside from the sun, noone cares if we sleep till twelve or one, and
the drive, town-ta-town, helps me forget where i came from
wasn’t raised on a runcible spoon
a year and a day on a truck stop honeymoon

everything we had to spend
we spent on a one way ticket
now we’re down and out, high n’ dry
with nuthin’ but our looks to get us by

if i’m gonna starve tonight
then i wanna starve by your side
drinkin’ truck stop coffee
and i tell you it’s all right
you know that you look gorgeous when ya’ cry

if this is what they call freedom i’ll take it
if this is bad as it gets we’ll make it
every single turn somethin’s testin’ me
fates just jealous cause we’re spendin’
all our time chasin’ signs for destiny

we were nearly half insane and broke down
by the time we left our strange hometowns
living at the edge of bored to death in a place called no surprise
where the only thing that ever changes is what gets you high
I’d already kicked dope and crack and a bad slut habit… twice, at least
and i’d just been replaced by a proper queen at a west side hair salon
if we had what to lose, it was getting old on mary-jane and jack
and away was the only worthwhile place to get.
wasn’t raised on a runcible spoon
a year and a day on a truck stop honeymoon

if i ever knew your strength
if i ever believed in your resolve
to achieve even your wildest dreams
nothing is as dire as it seems

even as the sky turns pink
on another night here at the brink
we’ve got love to make
records to break
nothin’ but romance to fill the hours

if this is what they call freedom i’ll take it
if this is bad as it gets we’ll make it
every single turn somethin’s testin’ me
fates just jealous cause we’re spendin’
all our time chasin’ signs for destiny

Words by Rivka and Mike iLL
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright BMI

Shortbus

theater is silent, lights are dim
curtains parted, kid about 10
standing on the corner, lookin’ forlorn
backpack droopin’ below the shoulders
hair is greasy, the pants are torn high-
waters, with a patch in the knee
half tucked-in, a stretched out tee says
A.K.W.A.R.D.
looks into the crowd and begins to speak

Children we all are
New as the morning
Wild the dreams we entertain.
Winding paths we travel
Offer endless possibilities.
CHORUS
Short Bus riders, Pick me up to.
They don’t want me, On the big one
Let me come with you.

Forget about the theater, It’s a TV Set
streets are empty, Slick and wet
Kid about 18, Dressed in fatigues
Get out the elevated subway train
Unlock a ten speed and ride off, in the
Rain, montage ridin’ ’round
fact’ries, ware’ouses, shipyards, and broke down
Trucks ‘n cars. stoppin’ at da’ brown
Door. swing open to da’ sound

Soft is the gaze and
Softer the heart that’s
Roaring in it’s lair again.
Creatures of the jungle all come
Out tonight and shake the trees.

Forget about the theatre, Forget the TV
It’s a full hallucination, On L.S.D.
A glowing apparition,Emerges from the trees
It might be a figure from your childhood religion
maybe from a story when your mama used read you to
Sleep. You can’t quite recall but it
feels like a happy ghost, and you smile
touch your companion who yav loved for a while
but ya both been livin in a state o denial

Beasts of the east
Come feast on the meats
‘Till only tactile sense remains.
Sanctify the libertine all
Tangled up in exstacy.

Words by Rivka and Mike iLL
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright BMI

Phantasy

Drinkin’ beer by the liter in an X rated theater;
I need a Phantasy Uninhibitor.

Deep inside my dirty heart
My sexuality is a secret even from me
Really especially see when an
Erotic phantasy enters my mind
Got to stop it first check an’ see if it’s the right kind
Because there’s rules, dictated by society.
They vary from place to place and person to person
But for certain there is always what’s considered bizarre
Perverse, unnatural or goin’ too far
I think I need a mystic
Faster and slicker than an undercover
Hipnotist, dippin’ into unconsciousness
To help negotiate between imagination, ego and libido
Let me leave aside the bottle, straw and needle.
Alcohol, heroin, cocaine, adrenalin
Tools of release from social demands
That may be in opposition to instinctual demands
Leave me with a gag on my mouth, and shackled hands.
Unable to express, this is who and how I am.
Will I ever find some happiness
Caught in the axis of praxis and stasis
The stuff that I chase is the stuff that erases.

Drinkin’ beer by the liter in an X rated theater;
I need a Phantasy Uninhibitor.

My steamy, creamery dreamies
Populated with casts of outcastaway archetypes of all types
Peter Pan, Mary Poppins, Uncle Sam, Christopher Robin
Joan of Ark, Gertrude Stein, Peter Parker, John Divine
Aphrodite, Yemaya, Don Quixote, Amen Ra
Headed toward the Emerald City
Packed inside a fire engine
Someone turns around says
Don’t let me forget to mention
“I saw the light, I saw the light
“No more darkness, no more night.”
We take flight and the sky becomes ocean
Soon I see a siren sittin’ on a dolphin
Facin’ his tail, leanin’ over his fin,
Gettin’ his spout in a certain position.
Awake to a freak in boys underwear
Givin’ head to a slob with matted black hair
Somewhere out here near 42nd street,
Floor stickin’ to my feet,
Fallin’ in and out o’ sleep…

Drinkin’ beer by the liter in an X rated theater;
I need a Phantasy Uninhibitor.

Fantasy Uninhibitor
Helpin’ me discover my fears and desires
Things I never would’a expected to be thinkin’ about
Comin’ out, freakin’ me out, it’s all allowed.
I need a license to explore my inner core,
Always hidin’ in the closet is gettin to be a bore.
I need a permit to hunt for and open door,
Because closets are for clothin’ not for me anymore.
So anyway, all we are tryina say is
Can’t we go crazy responsibly
Feel how it feels to be free of mental penitentiary
Is this really how it’s meant to be
Stewing in self-prescribed chemistry.

Drinkin’ beer by the liter in an X rated theater;
I need a Phantasy Uninhibitor.
Drinkin’.

Words by Rivka and Mike iLL
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright BMI

Mid-July Mania

beat, can’t sleep summer heat and the blurry vision
very weary bleary eyed tried by the television
news shows cop shows paid advertisements
late night religious nut’s spiritual advising
sending me in to a skeptic’s fit
like the end is nigh, and i think i’m down for it
who the hell is president? what does he do? what does it mean
vote for x – it’s all the same, rearrange the balls an’ chains

as if it really mattered
another night thinkin how to change the world
Lows are so low so when i get up i wanna
Lows are so low so when i get up i wanna
Lows are so low so when i get up i wanna
Lows are so low so when i get up i wanna hold it

Words keep oozing out of me like fluids out o’ corpses
threatening to drown me in neurotic neurosis
sit amongst friends silent and embarrassed
insecure beneath the weight of social paralysis
time flies. fine, i’m waitin’ta get left behind
mentally composin’ a goodbye to my dear mind
things are really comin’ to a head here what’s ahead is unclear
probably more of this wear and tear, need and fear

as if it really mattered
another night thinkin how to change the world
Lows are so low so when i get up i wanna
Lows are so low so when i get up i wanna
Lows are so low so when i get up i wanna
Lows are so low so when i get up i wanna hold it

All I’ve really been tryin a do here
is let out some pain
an’ there really aint nothin new here
just tears in the rain

the beat don’t stop till the break of dawn
walk the city streets till it’s all night long
no pity sleeps on my broken lawn
just a preacher preachin ’bout where ya been
whatcha been doin an how it’s a sin
but there’s no such thing as evil and i show no shame
hang my guilt in a gilded frame
take a look at what the cat dragged in
straight faced hustlers
n’ hard luck whores

wired, tired, un-in-spired and i

don’t know why i’m talkin cause you probably heard it all before
bet it’s been put better by a def-er dead competitor
competing for the minds ear of the disenfranchised
disenchanted literate academeans that I pine for
here the attention and respect and admiration of
anything for eternal life is that alot to ask for?
things are really coming to a head here what’s ahead is unclear
probably more o this wear n tear, n needy fear

as if it really mattered
another night thinkin how to change the world

All I’ve really been tryin a do here
is let out some pain
an’ there really aint nothin new here
just tears in the rain

lows are so low
so when i get up i wanna
lows are so low
so when i get up i wanna
lows are so low
so when i get up i wanna
lows are so low
so when i get up i want to hold it

Words by Rivka and Mike iLL
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright BMI

Little Miss

just another one of these blase days
characterized by my
cynical attitude
and over all malaise
wanna commit something
somethin’, less permanent than suicide
so i, stick to the side streets
to avoid socializing
with people that won’t get it
if i tell’em what i really think
hoping ta run inta someone who understands
emotions have a tendency to sink

now i need a friend
got that feelin’ again
like i let my true aim bend.
tryin’a avoid another rendition
of poor little miss understood

nuthin’ is as bad as it seems man
we’re followin’ our dreams man
city’s full of people
wish they had our means man
we commune with the universe on a daily basis
writein’ verse that takes us places.
the one thing, keeps us
just this side o’ mental cases

now i need a friend
got that feelin’ again
like i let my true aim bend.
tryin’a avoid another rendition
of poor little miss understood
so i’m
rockin these beats an rickety rhymes
half the time i’m flyin’
the other 3rd tryin
what i gonna do is
turn these bad trips out
like this

back when i was merely a toddler
bangin on the pots and pans
than when i became a teenager
we started with the basement jams
daddy said i needed a job
mama said i need ta make plans
yes make plans to rock jump freak hop shake
our stuff and dance dance dance dance

rockin these beats an rickety rhymes
half the time i’m flyin’
the other 3rd tryin
what i gonna do is
turn these bad trips out
like this

here we are again in a theatre bar ‘r dive
expounding about the pain in our lives
eking out a living to be subsidized
hiding what we’d rather see legalized
days of our lives swing from torture to rapture
moments we capture, we don’t create
old students guide us to the garden gate
up to me to go through though, and it
really has gotten late

now i need a friend
got that feelin’ again
like i’ve let my true aim bend.
tryin’a avoid another rendition
of poor little miss understood

Words by Rivka and Mike iLL
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright BMI


Shoot

smoked a lotta cigarettes since we last spoke
quit so many times it’s almost a joke
rollin’ up another one, take another toke
thinkin’ better this than stuff you shoot

bang bang
shoot bang bang

fall down on the sofa and pick up the remote
tuesday afternoon it’s only talk shows and soaps
grainy latin station got a western ’bout a bloke who’s desperate
lover begs her husband not to shoot

bang bang
shoot bang bang

underneath the coffee table pile o’ magazines
mostly catalogues that get mailed here for free
one full o guns tryina advertise to me
the fastest you can legally shoot

bang bang
shoot bang bang

what a crazy world we are livin’ in, livin’ in
it’s a mad bad life but it’s ours for the living so let’s
do it up right and let’s use what we’re given i’m con-
fused but i’m driven this is
just the next revision nothing more.

bang bang
shoot bang bang

if you’re done with your religion you can put it on Ebay
mine’s up to 97 cents the auction ends today
sitting by the laptop with a gun to my head
hoping that i find a reason not to shoot

bang bang
shoot bang bang

Words by Mike iLL and Rivka
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright BMI

Oozin’ FrankenProphetics

all night oozing a a a a a acid electrified a a a a a acid oozing all night

rattling light bulb, bent beam of light
noon o’clock peace pipe, twenty hour night.
haven’t had a minute to mind, my own business since
three o’clock this morning that was takin’ a hit .
system alert reads vitamin depletion
hope that this session is, nearing completion
interstellar highs, and disconcerting lows
sound of drums beating and super nova braincells so
many revelations came and went so fast
nothing but the blur from the future and the past
eyes became globes of multicolored light
and the walls became windows, and the mirrors liquid gas
all whispered secrets, i could almost grasp
yelled “thank y’all, think i get it at last”
the sun rose called it, moon knew my name
everything in the universe a, dream or a game
all emotions a choir in my chest, till
pain and confusion the only ones left.
the color of a light bulb after its been fried
perfectly describes what’s going on inside
rattling rattled jacked up shootin’ sparks
half resurected frankenstein loose parts

all night oozing a a a a a acid electrified a a a a a acid oozing all night
all night oozing a a a a a acid electrified a a a a a acid oozing all night

bred to spend life pickling in a think tank
gonna hack the code reprogram the brain bank
balancing th’ mind body fraction ev’ry act shouldn’
only be the product of a giant chain reaction
we just numbered faces line of falling dominos?
think i just figured out wow! how the equation goes:
e=mc squared divided by
why cubed to the power of what now?
found the answer but it’s slated for rejection ’cause
get a lot more use if i remembered what the question was
wouldn’t need to wonder what the wonder was about if only we could
only see around or through the wall of fear and doubt
nicotine notions, unwarranted emotions
who needs sleep when you got these magic potions
mad more streams effervescent mind fall
holographic images reflected by the disco ball
saturday night fever monday morning shiver
i become, a believer someone take me to the river and drop
me in the waves yo i heard Isis saves
feels like i’ve been pulled, from multiple graves
sewn together with electrifed chain
circuit breaker belly, fuzbox brain

all night oozing a a a a a acid electrified a a a a a acid oozing all night
all night oozing a a a a a acid electrified a a a a a acid oozing all night

whoa what a wild, wet, windy night
eight hundred volts an’ we’re still not fried
still a rough ride, gettin’ to the bedside
you asleep? wide awake. ‘least we tried
excuse me would you lick my lightening bolt?
The one I was throwin’ last time you was blowin’
it’s hard bein’ a god in a hollywood world
so glad to help, lemme lighten your load
every so often ya gotta get off
this planet that spins, never slows or stops
what’d you just say? i guess i forgot.
i think it was brilliant… of course… or not.
gettin’ off the planet and out’ the rat race
we can make it happen if we work as a team
i’ll ride u an’ u ride me
i’ll be the rhythm and u b tha beat
i’ll be the necklace you be the beads
i’ll be the drumming and you be the dance
i’ll be the question u b the answer
a yin-yang hang in the 4th dimension
the teseract swing, the timestar stomp
double-click soft drive digital dump

Words by Mike iLL and Rivka
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright BMI

File 2 the Metal.

Nail on the record make the beat sound raw.
Needle was wore out, had to replace it.
Face it; tape up the ‘lectric wires,
So as not to cause underground club fires.
Up in the loft known as the space station,
From where we launch the sound vibration.
Freaks emerge from a strait-laced nation,
Professional expression of self.
Now, how many styles can the DJ drop?
Rock, Punk, Funk, Electro, Pop.
Bounce.All bounce to the echoing sounds.
Bounce to the echoing sounds.
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.
Bounce to the echoing sounds.
Bounce to the echoing sounds.
Parties like this are hard to find.
The rules have never been defined.
Chaotic styles are all combined.

First thing that we do is decide we’re gonna throw.
A party with a flow to make ya body swing.,
No need to act rude.
Bring a proper attitude.
It’s not a fuckin’ contest, dude.
Back in grammar school we used to have to politic,
Who was cool with who, and who was on who’s side.
Think quick; adrenalin overdrive; burned, beat, tired;
Runnin’ from school yard battle cries
Untie me from this situation.
I got to get out before I get numb.
Then having gained independence from,
Jive over-dramatized circumstance;
Hook up the cable, rock the turntable;
Willing and able to blow my (all the time) mind

Invisible chameleon in the DJ booth;
Fillin’ the dance floor with boomin-thumpin-bumpin’,
Proof that rhythm survives for us at all cost.
This is not the land of the lost.
Parties like this…All bounce..

Is it complicated to you
If we continue to include,
All music styles in the party menu?
If it’s complicted to you,
We will continue to include,
Instruction books in the party menu.
File to the metal, bust us out of our cages.
What? Accuse us of being outrageous?
We may just go through phases,
Ain’t nothin’ wrong with tryin’ on faces.
We can go forth courageously;
Experimental sound and philosophy,
Identifying as the human family,
Constructing culture from an ultra-wide range,
Sonic boundaries conquered daily,
The rules can (and they always will) change.
Parties like this……Parties like this…

Words by Mike iLL and Rivka
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright SIRJ, BMI

Renegade Geeks

This is dedicated to the underground freaks,
Hard core hippies and renegade geeks.
This goes out to the hackers and the crackers and the
Party crashers in the place to be.

Ya think you could come to understand me,
Sittin’ in front ‘ya cable TV?
Don’t care to? Well good for you.
‘Cause I wouldn’t wish that point of view,
On my worst enemy.
Your not even worthy of my apathy.
You don’t even exist as far as your concerned;
Just a pile of “feed-me”s and “what have I earned,
“From the chairman of the board?”,
An SUV. Well join the hoard.
I mean the herd. Ya prob’ly ain’t heard,
A word I’m sayin’.

This is dedicated…

Eh Eh Eh Eh Click!
Wake up, and let yourself out ‘tha cage.
Ya rush to work, stayin’ on the path,
Then ya see me dancin’ on the grass.
Ya say, “Who’s that, and what are they doin’?”,
We’re Mad Happy and we’re happy to ruin,
Your little strait world,
Like an intrusion.
A fuckin’ protrusion from beneath the illusion,
That everything is as it should be.
Top ‘o the mornin’ to ya,
Exchange pleasantries;
“How’s the family? How’s the new job?”
“My kid’s not a fag. Dig the new Saab.
Ya prob’ly ain’t heard,
A word I’m sayin’.

This is dedicated…

Don’t be seduced by the likes of me,
Into this life of poverty.
Integrity never paid one bill,
I’ll be 98 still strapped to the grill.
Gotta sell sell sell just to make one end,
When people are behaving like the North Wind.
Lord, I’m prayin’.
Ya prob’ly ain’t heard,
A word I’m sayin’.

This is dedicated…

Words by Mike iLL and Rivka
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright SIRJ, BMI

Loaded Up

It’s a loaded question like a loaded gun,
When I ask if anybody wants to come,
On a trip across the Universe,
To where Jimi, Janis and Jaco rehearse.
To study with people we never heard of,
Masters we never got word of.
10,000 feet stompin’ to phantom drums,
From hence inspiration comes.

Peace and love, you can call it a act.
Actually it ain’t that, B.
Bringin’ it back to see how you react to me,
Makin’ a pact to be,
More creative than a funky factory.

Give peace a chance to romance you,
Slip on your dance shoes,
Get up and dance to:

Got a real hot body to party.
Got a real hot burn in my body.
Got a song that’ll make ya rowdy,
And I want everybody to shout it.
All Loaded up. All Loaded up.
All Loaded up. Loaded.

More like a laughing Buddha than laughing last,
The peace sign is more than a blast from the past,
Or a decoration from the psychedelic scene,
A bleached out design on your bell-bottom jeans.

A peacekeeper is not a peace-maker,
One use a gun, the other use a shaker.
We care to create a hate free zone here.

Keep goin’ if you’re goin’ through Hell,
Today’s yesterday’s worrisome tomorrow,
And all’s well.
Could be the part of you that thinks that,
Someone’s out to get you’s out to get you.
How’d ya get to where ya at thinkin’ that,
There’s a ghost in every shadow,
Poised to attack.
Ooh, what the heck was that?!
I thought I heard a voice saying:
“Bring that part back that goes”:

Give peace a chance to entrance you,
Break in your dance shoes,
Trying to dance to:

Got a real hot…
All Loaded up…

Is it kaleidoscopic, concave, convex?
This world appears to be quite complex.
Never know what’s gonna come from one day to the next.
It’s the ultimate plot with the ultimate fix.
Constantly, constantly mysterious.
Is there any meaning to any of this?
Some say no, some say yes.
Somewhere in the middle of between,
Is the Nihilist who gets drunk and pissed at the Atheist,
Throwin’ his fist with the Anarchist.
There’s too much of this “ism” and “ist”,
Think it’s about time to cease and desist and,

Give peace a chance to advance you.
Wear out your dance shoes,
Learning to dance to:

Got a …
All Loaded…

Words by Mike iLL and Rivka
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright SIRJ, BMI

Paint it Pink

Paint the white house pink.
Keep it legal to think
Everybody’s got the right
To live our own life.

Might be that you wanna be a New York slut,
Hollywood pimp,
Miami Beach jiggalo
Seen ya on the boulevard
Prancin’ around,
Braggin about the good times you found.
I don’t care if ya drink coca-cola,
Get fat or drive a Toyota Corola;
Everybody’s gotta have
Som’n ta get in ta,
Whether in the ghetto or
En la hacienda
Deep in the jungle or in the inner city
Somebody will be the entertainment committee.
So worship the devil, Allah or Elegua,
Smoke a cigar or do tons of yoga
Paint brushed, rollers and ten thousand gallons of ink.
Paint the white house pink….

Why does paper money have to be dull green,
With pictures of presidents and old stone buildings?
Why not a spectrum of occupations,
Root cultures and orientations?
Why do inter-states have to be black beasts,
That devour by the hour with aluminum teeth?
We could make it automated, it could pull us along,
Houston to Cleveland, Maine to Tucson?
People try to label me an idealist when,
I don’t even know what perfection is;
Just another fool manifesting a wish list,
Full of ideals that I can’t resist.
Paint the white house pink…

Hypnotize the leaders of the new regime,
Help ’em realize the Martin Luther King dream
Unchain the unconscious brain,
When they come out, watch ’em rise up sane.
I have seen the future and it looks like rainbow.
Cupid took an arrow, sunk it into my vein so;
Fell in love with mother earth and keep fallin,
Deep and deeper; consider it a calling.

Take it home and keep it going.
We can be the people that can keep it going.

It’s good. It’s good.
It’s gettin’ better all the time.

Words by Mike iLL and Rivka
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright SIRJ, BMI

Meaningless, not hard.

Waitin’ for the bus to come and take me
To clean the smokestacks at the factory
Where in fact I’m currently employed.

Fantasizing a fantasy
And devising the latest scheme
To get out this working class void.

I can’t stand it.
Meaningless, not hard.

Mr. Stiffneck, what a creep.
Makin’ the secretary weep.
He’s on the job 9 days a week
And he doesn’t know the meaning of rest or sleep.

His pitiful wife stops by in the afternoon
To chew out the unfortunate soul who
Manages to incite her rage at the fact that
She never gets laid.

I can’t stand it…

How’s about I win the prize
A hundred thousand should suffice
I’ll walk out the door and not think twice
‘Cause I can’t figure the difference from death or life.

This two bit town is hardly worth
It’s weight in the landfill we call earth
Behind the time beyond belief
Before I go, let me say good grief

I can’t stand it…

Like Noah’s ark in the trailer paark,
I’m gonna get me a double wide
Fit it with a floatation device
That’s over priced and over sized

At the next big heavy rain
Jump around, jump around go insane.
I’m gonna dance up a hurricane
And laugh while the city goes down the drain…

Words by Mike iLL
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright SIRJ, BMI

Icicle Man

Pain, horrible pain, insane,
That’s all you’re gonna get,
When you’re in my game.
I dip into the fire with my left fist,
Ignitin’ your desire like this.

If ya never came back, I might not notice.
I’m too busy, yea ya know this.
Watch ya step, ya might not blow this
Co-defendant,
Relation-sinking-ship

Horrible pain…

I was cooooold when I left here.
Coooold when I returned
Ya never shoulda let me back in ya life
Cause all ya ended up was burned by

Pain…

Two characters to my left and right,
One’s tellin’ me wrong, one’s tellin’ me right.
Now, who ya gonna think, gonna win this fight,
Be the one in black or the one in white.
Two sides to every story.
That’s the thing that’s makin’ me mad.
The gory and the glory.
So sad ya sad ya been had by..

Pain…

To my black hole I’ll suck you in,
Without you even noticing
‘N’ when ya come out the other end
Your gonna curse the day that you met this man.
Ask me if I care, I might say yes,
But if I tell you no, consider yourself blessed
Because the truth hurts,
But it ain’t no worse than the ignorance ya call bliss.

Pain. Horrible, terrible disgusting What!?
I been rippin’ from the start.
Awh, baby. Whoops. I’m sorry,
Was that your heart?

Words by Mike iLL and Rivka
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright SIRJ, BMI

Serial Wigga

By the city light I was buggin’ out all night.
Gave it to ya good, ’cause you said that I was just a
White boy. Well I’m a white man.
Nothin’ is scarier. Just ask son of sam.

Ya never know when I’m gonna strike next.
I don’t even know why i like ghetto tricks

I’m a serial wigga
Gonna get bigga’
Than Biggie Smalls. Fillin’ mad halls.
I don’t hang in malls; just sell in ’em.
Big blue balls, ya know I’m gonna win ’em.

‘Cause everybody knows, and everybody goes.
Only thing depends is the degree that we hoes.

I’m buggin, I’m buggin I need a
Fix ’cause I’m goin’ down.
Down to tha place that I
Left up town.
I’m turnin’ tricks just ta get around.
Now I’m lookin’ for my man,
Forty dollars in my hand,
I guess some things never change,
You’re a junkie.
Try ta make a living ’cause ya know that we hoes.
Everybody knows, and everybody goes.
Only thing depends is the degree that we hoes.

I got a pocket fulla cash and a tank fulla gas.
Sack fulla grass and a nice piece of ass.
Like to have a blast, but I don’t suck glass.
Born and raised and remain middle class.
Got a Big Black collection,
If ya know what I’m sayin’.
Most people don’t.
Sonic, beastie, ill youth,
If you feel what I’m meaning?
Most freaks will.

I’m buggin, I’m buggin I beat the beat
‘Till I get satisfied.
Like, Robert Johnson, walk side by side.
It don’t mean a thing, If they call it the white boy swing.
Do wop, zoo wop do wop do wop zoo wop whaaaa

I’m a serial wigga
Gonna get bigga’
Than Biggie Smalls. Fillin’ mad halls.
I don’t hang in malls; just sell in ’em.
Big blue balls, ya know I’m gonna win ’em.

‘Cause everybody knows, and everybody goes.
Only thing depends is the degree that we hoes.

Dust my broom. Dust my broom.
Woke up this morning, dust my broom.
Go back home. Go back home.
I believe I’ll go back home.

Words by Mike iLL and Rivka
Music by Mad Happy
Copyright SIRJ, BMI

Shoulda Dissed You

I should have dissed you,
A long time ago x 2
But I’m still hangin’ on;
For what, I don’t know.

You’re so sorry,
You messed up again.
You’re so sorry,
You haven’t got a friend.
You’re so sorry,
You say it again,
But I’m too tired
To hear it this time.

You love me, you love me, you love me.
Those words you’ll never mean.
They sound as hollow as the deadest tree,
In the dead of winter on the darkest night.
You make me mad.
You’re fuckin’ sorry.
You’re fuckin’ story is gettin’ old.

I should have dissed you…

Brrrrrr na na na nah
You’re lookin fine in the city light.
Feelin’ good in the neon light
Feelin’ bold, ya actin’ bad,
You’re so smooth, it’s makin’ me mad.

I see you clearly in the light of day.
Your story’s written in the lines on your face.
All the people that ya used and dismissed,
Won’t be around to listen to you say that,
You’re so sorry,
You messed up again.
You’re so sorry,
You haven’t got a friend.
You’re so sorry, and that’s the truth.
You’re so sorry, I’m sorry for you.

I shoulda dissed you…

Words by Mike iLL
Music by Benny Raw, Mike iLL and Zef Noise
Copyright SIRJ, BMI

Wild and Bold

Come on, come on, come on and take your mamma for a spin
Get up, get in, pick it up pick it up pick it up
The night is young, the whiskey and the bourbon and the gin are flowin’
Sweet don’t pack it in don’t pack it in don’t pack it in don’t pack it in.

The Devil wears a red cap, and dances with a cane
A pocket full ‘o’ morphine and a golden violin
Enticing us to join him if we dare to call his name.
A nostril full ‘o’ coke don’t pack it in,
Don’t pack it in don’t pack it in don’t pack it in.

Party up, hey. Party up, hey.
Party up, you wild and bold.
It’s back to work on Monday
So all the way through Sunday
We’ll dance and stomp our feet don’t pack it in,
Don’t pack it in don’t pack it in don’t pack it in.

Our friends are just arriving from the night shift
The waitresses and barkeeps a fight
Break it up, break it up, break it up, break it up.
The pimps and poets, the dealers and whores,
The crazies and the cops don’t pack it in
Don’t pack it in don’t pack it in don’t pack it in.

Party up, hey. Party up, hey.
Party up, you wild and bold.
It’s back to work on Monday
So all the way through Sunday
We’ll dance and stomp our feet don’t pack it in,
Don’t pack it in don’t pack it in don’t pack it in.

Seek relief; mistreated in the belly of the beast
All week, in heat burnin’ up, burnin’ up, burnin’ up,
Release control, relinquishing control
Release another scream into the din,
Don’t pack it in don’t pack it in don’t pack it in.

Party up, hey. Party up, hey.
Etc…

Words and Music by Mike iLL and RIvka
Copyright SIRJ, BMI