M.O.D. | Dictated Aggression
©1996 Music For Nations -
©2004 Blackout Records - BLK - 0071 - 2
DICTATED AGGRESSION | 1996 cover | 14 tracks
DICTATED AGGRESSION| 2004 cover | 12 tracks
DICTATED AGGRESSION (2:24)
Enter, tanks, from blue skies above. Raining down terror on all
that you loved. Majestic hills that roll, under tank treads. Are
painted with puddles from the recently dead. Coalitions set up
to reign new conditions, new thoughts to train. Mass solution,
we must confide. Is mustard gas, with your ass on rye.
Armor divisions, impervious pain.
Religious collusion, new gods ordained.
Mighty contusion, scarring the land.
Dictated aggression, dictated man.
Napalm coktails, served up hot. Claymore showers, soothe your
guts. The re-conditioned, show no alarm. We re-conditioned them
with our smart bombs.
SILENCE YOUR SIN (3:03)
I choked on a piece of the American Dream. The taste of blood,
apple pie. Scars and stripes, was enough to make me scream. I
cried as a piece of the rock went south. It crossed the border
at half past twelve. Thanks to that dick, in the white house.
Speak with your heart. With your heart you will pay. Think your
own thoughts. Your rights are cast away. Fit in the mold, then
you get to plant your seed. But...silence your sin. I wipe my
tears as I gaze at the red, white and blue. I think of god and
of family pride who were sacrificed, for shit like you. It burns,
to watch your flag, go in flames. I see the fire burning up,
from thunderbird. And people haze.
Get yourself a razor blade. Get yourself a video. Drown your
thoughts with J.B. Masquerade your misery. No need to hide your
attitude. No ones here to listen. Scrambled thoughts, now
scrambled eggs. Your nostrils caked and gustened. Floating in
your cosmic sewer of love, peace and horse manure. You decide to
hitch a ride with
Captain Kaos on pesticide. Fill your head with empty thoughts of
mistletoe and sugar plum demons. Stoke the furnance, the flame
glows brighter. Laughing as your face grows whiter. No need to
hide your solitude. When no one ever listens. Building your own
arsenal of hatred and misgivings. You're fucking damaged.
SHOT GLASS (3:27)
I greet the day with anger, bombs and verbal threats. I lift my
head, in dread, of things not yet. Lets have a drink, then throw
up in the fucking sink. Shot glass...shot glass. If you're in
sight, there's gonna be a fight. Shot glass...shot glass. It's
me and you and shots enough for two. I drink the drink, I drink,
until I drink again. I see the day, my eyes are glazed and
STAND OR FALL (3:29)
I read the writing on the shit house walls. The lines are drawn,
we must stand or fall. We the people, polarized, can't even
think to sympatize. If there's no justice, there's no peace. We
must unite to get aside. The woe and grief, a final stride. Must
confide. May never come to save our sorry hides. Go read the
writings on the wall... Stand or fall. All this talk of race and
war. Leaves speechless on the floor. The futures written in the
past. Etched in the memories of cynicism's laugh.
ONE WAS JOHNNY (5:03)
Little Johnny marched out to war. On another kind of human race.
Killed a man from foreign land. With a shit eatin' grin on his
face. That good ol'boy had a taste for war. And warnin' had it's
taste. But he died like a schmuck. With his dick in his hand.
And his balls... stuck to his face.
One was Johnny, Johnny once was more than a man with a
government plan and dog tags round his neck. One was Johnny,
Johnny once was the meanest mother you ever did see. He put your
ass in check... one was Johnny.
Johnny came home in a body bag, with a purple heart on his vest.
It don't matter that they shipped the wrong legs, head, arms and
chest. They had a parade in Johnny's name. People came from
miles around. They buried his ass on soleme grass. With the
people singing this song.
Johnny's little boy marched out to war. On another kind of human
race. Killed a man from a foreign land. With a shit eatin' grin
on his face. Johnny's little boys' a psychopath. With vengence
at his taste. So killed some schmuck with his fucking peace sign
that pissed...right on his face.
EMPTY VISIONS (3:09)
Turn the T.V. on, don't touch that dial. Watch the video's, on
the latest styles. Smash or trash, just 95 cents a call. Get
your fix, fix your head, right said Fred. Real worlds, comin'
through just for you. Top ten, comin' through just for you. Our
voice, comin' through just for you. Pledge your faith. The tunes
are blastin'. The latest fashion. Watch the ratings soar. As
morals come down crashing. We're the demigods. And we're here to
On empty V..U.S.A.
The T.V.'s on and uncle Tom is watching, just for you. Made his
fame from buttheads name. Thanks too the likes of you. Cobain is
dead, but not for long. We got his ass unplugged, pardon the pun.
Real worlds comin' through just for you. Top ten comin' through
just for you. Our voice comin' through just for you.
Empty visions, Empty V.
IN MY SHOES (3:05)
You'll know what I'm saying. When you walk in my shoes. You'll
know what I'm saying. When you walk in my shoes. Equal rights,
don't apply. Quata calls, aren't civil rights. Split the vote,
split the state. Split the house, income rape. Doors are shut,
need not apply. There's no one here to fight for my rights. Walk
the straight line. Left then the right. I live the injusted. Of
liberal insight. Motor vote, I say motorhead. I work a job, I
don't lay in bed. Payed my dues, pay my way. I earned the right
too have my say. I'm sick to death, of liberal views. The
liberal fools are fucking you too. You'll know what I'm saying.
When you walk in my shoes.
U.S. DREAMS (2:41)
Rise and shine. Crossing boarders can be fun. Causing crime. No
relief from what you've done. Refried beans, U.S. dreams. Pancho
villa lives next door to me. Time to ride. In your chevy you
look sharp. Rising crimes. Broken bottles in the park. Jesus
Christ. Those velvet paintings sure look nice. Pay the price.
Oranges, pesos or your life. Baseball, apple pie, chevys U.S.
Chubby chick you look hip. When you dress up in tie die. So now
what will you do that Jerry's dead. Will you finally wash your
hair and join the real world. Or wait for Bob Wier to tour
instead. Everybody peace out and look at the cool clouds.
Granola parades, make up your weekend. Taking acid, eating your
tofu. Wearing sandles, keeps you down to earth. When in reality,
it's gravity versus girth. Miss Hippypottomus it's 1996. You
gotta work to live. You just can't enjoy the trip... Miss
Hippypottomus. I really think that Jerry was ultra cool. But
unlike you he's dead now who's the fucking fool.
JUST GOT FIRED (2:23)
Five across the eyes, sweat beads down my brow. I got a feeling
and its pretty bad. I'll hide it just for now. Polish up the
chrome, polish up my bone. Hanging out with six dumb, dumbs, in
my funeral home.
Cross hairs, crossed paths. You die, I laugh. I leave, you bleed.
I'm firing you, cause you fired me.
I cash my final check, but you cash in your chips. You look kind
of funny begging and crying like a bitch. You should have seen
your face, when then the dummies hit. You opened like a ripened,
rotten bag of gutless shit. Cause I've just been fired. You
die... Just been fired.
Life is short in the Sgt. 's house of pain. Endless suffering,
is holy gain. Bamboo shoots and fingertips. Broken legs and feet
will be dismissed. When others fail the Sgt. prevails... Death...
Destruction... Whiteout. Swollen eyes, not from tears of joy.
Stick to his boots, then make a popping noise. Electric rod
jammed down the shaft. Electricute your balls until they blast.
When others fall the Sgt. prevails. Death... destruction...
BRUTAL BEATS (3:33)
It's the T to the rip. Slick and finger licken good like chicken.
Possessed like Linda Blair, in exorcist. Can't front on the
dragon, that's ludicrous. Your styles suckin', like a lollipop.
Knock, knock who's there. Yo a buck a shot. Da fuckin' black
panther. Comin' right at cha. Poisonous... I spread like cancer.
Crews fuckin' hate us, I'm mad fuckin' famous. 4 takin' no shit
and puttin' boots up your anus. Ruthless...I'm leaving niggas
toothless. I be da ill funk freaka blown out you speakers. Hard
rhythms, complete. Brutal beats of concrete.
Ruthless. But don't let that trouble you. That's ruthless,
spelled with an R and not A W. Mad like Alfred Newman. Bad, like
Michael J's new chin. Kickin' science harder then spock. Picken
out victims like Furman with a glock. Buck, buck, buck, shots be
ringing out. Slam you ass like Hogan in title bout. Hard rhythms,
complete. Brutal beats of concrete.
- This song is for Onno -
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