Secret Hidden “Faster Than A Speeding Mullet” lyrics page!

Shhhh!! Secret, dammit!!

I’m Gonna Procreate
(Tim Crist)

People say to me “Shoebox

You’ve got a wife now

Do you have any plans

To start a family life now?

We really don’t want your help

Perpetuating the species”

So I bend over and turn around

And tell them to suck my feces

I’ve gotten the impression, since I was in preschool

That some people are opposed to my wading in the gene pool

They’ve mostly been subtle hints, but it sure raised my suspicions

When 300 protestors showed up on my lawn and showed me their signed petitions

Total strangers wish upon me an infection of the pelvic plexus

And children scream and point and cry and ask their parents what my sex is

But I remain undeterred despite the death threats that I’m getting

Your kids will have to deal with my crap too, cuz my seed will soon be spreading!

I’m gonna procreate and there’s nothing you can do about it

It’s gonna be so great, my wife’ll pop out kids like a diesel-powered pez dispenser

If you’re against her helping me produce my offspring let me know

I’ll tell you where to go

Cuz I’m gonna procreate

My wife’s won awards for her uteral perfection

She’s got more freakin’ eggs than the Wegmans’ dairy section

If she even wants to hold my hand, I wear a condom before I’ll let her

Cuz she’s more fertile than cow manure, and thank god, she sure smells better

I’ve been checking my sperm count, and it couldn’t be higher

They’re practically shooting out of my pores whenever I perspire

I’ll fertilize anything that moves, my semen is so kickin’

If I shove an Egg McMuffin down my pants, it turns into a McChicken

I’m gonna procreate and there’s nothing you can say about it

Thanks to a twist of fate I’ve found a girl who doesn’t throw up when she sees me naked

Why would she make it with a fatass long-haired ultra-geek like me?

Well it’s a mystery

I can’t wait until the day

The OB/GYN will say

“Let’s see the ultrasound of what you’ve bred”

The nurses will all faint and scream

Because I’ll bet they’ve never seen

A fetus with a mullet on its head

And full-sized man-boobs

I’ve been reading ‘bout Darwin and natural selection

And wondering how it could apply to the fruits of my erection

I want all my swimmers to be just the fastest fancy sleek ones

So I wax my carrot twenty times a day just to weed out the weak ones

I’m gonna procreate and there’s nothing you can do about it

Each time I copulate there’s a chance that something’s gonna be fertilized now

Don’t be surprised now if someday it comes to be that there’s a

Warm and mushy fleshy thing that’s looking up at you

With a head all full of questions and a diaper full of poo

With a bottle full of Folger’s and a Bad Religion tee

And a face that’s trial-sized but looks an awful lot like me

I’m gonna procreate

Great Idea For A Song

(Tim Crist)

Remember when we used to hold each other close

And gaze so deeply in each others’ eyes

Remember how I said I’d never let you go

And how you swore you’d never tell me lies

(You do? Well…)

All I remember is the way you nonchalantly

squashed my heart just like a cockroach on the floor

All I remember is the happiness I felt

the day I finally kicked your skank ass out the door

Remember when you were the best part of my life

The reason I got up to face the day

Remember how you swore you’d always stay by me

And love me for forever come what may

(You do? Well…)

All I remember is the nights you’d go out drinking

and I’d pray the cops would find you somewhere dead

All I remember is the way that all my dishes

became airborne and flew right into my head

Now please don’t think I’m ranting cuz I’m bitter

I’ve found somebody new and I’ve moved on

But if only your name rhymed with twisted psychotic slut

I’d have a great idea for a song

Remember how we used to drive down to the beach

And walk along the seashore hand in hand

Remember how we used to sit and watch the waves

And spell out our initials in the sand

(You do? Well…)

All I remember is the whining and the moaning

and the griping about every little thing

All I remember is how soundly I could sleep

when I dreamt of your lifeless body festering

Now please don’t think that this is all just hindsight

I’ve felt this way about you for so long

And if only your name rhymed with sadistic lying bitch

I’d have a great idea for a song

Oh your name…might as well

Rhyme with psycho whore from south of hell

Cuz of all the crap you put me through back then

Oh if only your mom and dad

Had named you something that rhymed with “walking talking maxipad”

Think of all the clever tunes I could have penned

Cuz Becky rhymes with yecky

And Missy rhymes with pissy

And Susie rhymes with floozie

And Patty rhymes with fatty

Elizabeth rhymes with kiss-of-death

And Eleanor rhymes with smelly whore

And Marigold rhymes with hairy-holed

And Lauren rhymes with scorin’

Celia Linda Park rhymes with “Feel ya in the dark”

Daisy Rhoda York rhymes with “Easy ho ta pork”

Rhonda Lynn Mae Stutback rhymes with “Fondlin’ my buttcrack”

I’d pay you to change your name to Shelly Hunt

HEY!

Remember when your latest hunk of throbbing meat

Had left you for a tighter piece of ass

Remember when you called me sobbing on the phone

And begged me to forgive you for your past

(You do? Well…)

All I remember is that lab rats don’t push levers

After taking an electric shock or two

I’d rather duct tape a live wire to my groin

than take a death march down memory lane with you

Now please don’t think I want to be your friend now

I’d rather see John Goodman in a thong

But if only your name rhymed with back-stabbing heartless tramp

I’d have a great idea for a song

Yes if only your name rhymed with manipulative conniving whore

I’d have a great idea for a song

Yeah if only your name rhymed with worthless cheating worm-ridden butt-ugly bile-sucking skanky smelly slutty waste of flesh, fat, and bone that makes me want to donate my entire life savings to NASA in the hopes that someday they’ll make a time machine and I can retroactively give your parents a box of condoms

I’d have great idea for a song

If Gregg Yeti Doesn't Rejoin The Flashing Astonishers I'm Going To Kill Myself
(Tim Crist/Gregg Yeti)
 
Astonishers are Flashing
in The Cuse
They drink and rock and gaze down
At their shoes
Four melancholy marvels
Who kick ass
While lamenting 'bout broken
Stained glass
 
Now Bob plays Bee Gees covers on weekends
But he still hits stuff like a stuff-hitting God
And Dan Musclow's voice may be kinda whiny
But you can bet your girlfriend's given him and Chuck a hand job
 
Involuntary Bliss is
What they're on
Their machine doesn't have a
A star on
From OPL to WEFest
They have rocked
But now it looks like everything's
Gonna Stop
 
Cuz their glasses-wearing weirdo guitarist
Who's known by anyone who's ever read a zine
Has decreased the band's Weezer-lookalikeness
By saying sayonara to the whole fucking scene
 
If Gregg Yeti doesn't rejoin, I'll kill myself
Make Jello shots with Drano, and kill myself
Slit my wrists with a Triscuit, and kill myself
I'll bathe in battery acid, and kill myself
Shove a high-powered vaccuum hose down my throat, and kill myself
Stick my head in the microwave, and kill myself
Go scuba-diving and bite a shark's cock, and kill myself
Who's gonna find me shows now? I'll kill myself
 
Dammit...

Archie got an STD
(Tim Crist)

Archie got an STD

From some whore from NYC

Hurts to fuck and hurts to pee

Archie got an STD

Archie got an STD

Watch him walk, it’s plain to see

Look out Veronica and Betty

Archie got an STD

Sorry Pop

Better close down the Chock’lit shop

Once this plague starts spreading

It’s never gonna stop

(Cuz) everyone in Riverdale

Has once been Archie’s tail

And there’s nothing alive

His tainted weenie won’t impale

Have you seen

The whole town’s been quarantined

To stop the spread of semen from America’s Favorite Teen

Now Archie’s glum

Cuz life’s no longer fun

He used to be a playa now his

Balls are green and full of zits

He’s grown a full-blown set of tits

There’s algae floating in his pee

He has to be fed rectally

His penis has a big red mark

That buzzes and glows in the dark

And all his pubic hair is

e-vap-o-rating

Archie got an STD

Something’s wrong with his weenie

Look out Midge and Miss Grundy

Archie got an STD

Archie got an STD

Look out Jughead and Reggie

Look out Mr. Weatherbee

Archie got an STD

Let’s Make Fun Of The Amish

(Tim Crist)

Let’s make fun of the Amish

Those stupid ignorant fucks

Let’s make fun of the Amish

Like the guy on the oatmeal box

They don’t believe in electricity

Like we’re supposed to care

I’ll give ‘em a taste of electricity

Put ‘em in the fucking chair

Get ‘em out of this fucking country

Put ‘em all on boats

All they do is make cheese

And milk their fucking goats

Eat Here And Die
(Tim Crist)
 
Dave Thomas MIA
From CEO to DOA
The pallbearers at his funeral say
Their tears were not from grief
Cuz years of burgers shakes and fries
Had made his buttocks biggie-sized
And now the tombstone where he lies
Is carved with "Here's The Beef"
 
"What will we do?" Shouts the whole Wendy's crue
"He's in our commercials, he sells all our food
"He was old and damned ugly, but we know it's true
"On his face we have grown to rely"
Advertising executives losing their grip
But try to go on without Dave's leadership
They create a new slogan that's modern and hip:
"Wendy's: Eat Here And DIE!"
 
Colonel Sanders bit the dust
Yet still his face looks down at us
Up on a pole his cartooned bust
Shines over KFC
How'd he expect his heart to beat
When all he ever had to eat
Was breaded wads of greasy meat
with biscuits and Pepsi
 
"Kentucky Fried Chicken" had brought him such fame
But once he stopped breathing they shortened the name
As if even though they prepare it the same
It's now healthy cuz they don't say "fry"
But they say there's a restaurant in Akron Ohier
Where the ghost of the Colonel rose up from a fryer
And screamed "Eat my chicken you too shall expire!
"KFC: Eat Here And DIE!"
 
Every fast food franchise
Has a trademarked guise
Through which they filter lies
From their corporate high-rise
Every super-size
May lead to your demise
But at least you get a toy surprise!
 
But when your icon dies
How do you advertise
The virtues of your fries
And eggroll-shaped pies
That fatten up the thighs
And clog the arter-eyes
‘Til your only function is to fertilize
(fertilize...fertilize...)
 
Mickey D’s makes burgers fun
To try to hook ‘em while they’re young
Like dealers and the church have done
Throughout our history
 
A clown-led thought control campaign
That’s calculated to ingrain
The need for nuggets in the brain
But they’re not fooling me
 
How many Ronalds have come and then gone?
Live as long as a goldfish and then they pass on
They suit up another, the legend lives on
And the kids all think it’s the same guy
 
Did all these actors think that it was sound
To take a job as a disposable clown?
30 minutes of fame was their final countdown
McDonald’s – eat here and die
Wendy’s – eat here and die
Everywhere you eat will make you die
 

My Wife

(Tim Crist)

My wife

Is made up of some parts

She’s got a lot of hair

She’s got a couple nostrils

I think she’s got a spleen

She argues with the fridge

And assaults my Barbeque sauce

She hisses at highway traffic

I think she’s really keen

My wife

Calls knocked-down road signs pheasants

She makes words into chicks

She doesn’t smell like aluminum

She’s never stabbed my groin

She owns electronic pork

She’s threatened me with happy horns

She let me name our cats

After obscure keyboard characters

When we’re having a lousy time

She can summon carnivals into existence with the power of her mind

And if our waitress is depressed

She can hold a fork in her tongue ring while I pick up my straw with my nosepit

My wife

Likes running over hookers

But only in Grand Theft Auto

Her pet name for me is “numbnuts”

Somehow she makes it cute

She made me a giant tampon

She talks to infomercials

She lets me touch her boobs

I think she’s really keen

J.R.O.

(Tim Crist)

Oh there’s this guy

Who runs this show

He made fun of me cuz I didn’t wanna drive in the snow

But I think

That you should know this

He’s been around long enough that he remembers when women actually had sex with members of KISS

Cuz

Joe’s really old

Joe’s really old

Joe’s really really really really really old

Joe’s really old

Just the other day

I saw him in his car

Rockin’ out to Chris Isaak and cornholing a certain unmentionable Golden Girls star

But there’ll come a day

And it’s gonna be soon

Where nurses have to help him wipe his ass and feed him mushed up Cool Ranch Doritos with a spoon

Cuz

Kick out the jams!

Yeah Yeah! Bring it to me, my homies!

One more time for Kip Winger’s Uterus!

Yeah Yeah! Rise up, children of the revolution! TESTIFY!! TESTIFY, DAMMIT!! Ya stupid poodle-smackin’ sphincter zombies!!

I Wanna Wipe A Booger On Dan Rather

(Terry Evans/ Tim Crist)

I wanna wipe a booger on Dan Rather

It's not because I think he is a doofus

It's just that I can't stand to watch him blather

And his face could use a shiny coat of mucus

I wanna wipe a booger on Dan Rather

While he's reporting on the Evening News

And when he asks me what the hell I'm doing

I'll tell him that I've lost a couple screws

And then I'll hork a lugie on his shoes

I wanna wipe a booger on Dan Rather (on Dan Rather)

I wanna wipe a booger on Dan Rather (on Dan Rather)

I wanna wipe a booger on Dan Rather (on Dan Rather)

I wanna wipe a booger on Dan Rather...no I don't.

Eskimo Pie is Not Pie and Contains Very Little Eskimo
(Tim Crist)
 
Support ergonomic noodles for apathy! Structured clam dip produces a hexagonal surprise. Why must you use your horrible sock to nonchalantly levitate butter for the purpose of smuggling Frenchmen across the countertop? Are you mopping Jesus again? You can't bludgeon a sandwich with the same sandwich you're trying to bludgeon no matter how much you resemble the naked happy supersnail of pain and his magic puppet, Irwin The Insolent. Everything smells like either David Hasselhoff or members of his immediate entourage. I'll be gosh-darned if I'magonna swallow hot lubricated sandals to support that otter-gnosher and his famous incontinent show pony, no matter how much you gibber and somersault over your nun. We each know a loaf, and we each know another loaf; and yet here comes Willard. Unpleasantness and liverwurst go hand in hand like burglars and scones twisted listlessly yet diabolically into the shapes of your favorite WWF superstars. Twist the nipples of the antichrist and receive five prunes and a chisel! This trapezoid is full of rage, and also scrod! Ethel the transparent waitress has clearly eaten her last nostril and is squirming and exploding all over your stupid boat. Licking swastikas doesn't make you a muppet! We've all got ideas and snausages and sauerkraut and scoliosis and a crayon that's been up Betty White's nose, but we can't just sway in the potentially-eggless sandbox while parkas copulate noisily and bloated frogmen lazily pick lint from the buttcrack of the sunset. We have but nine mustards and a mildly-neutered buffalo with a throbbing infection that is neither erotic nor Paraguay. In a world devoid of catheters, I tap-dance apathetically on the boobs of your ancestors as corn tinkles conically and Eddie finds a suspiciously hairless magnet. How dare you trade felt for obedience while your in-laws remain flammable? Though you measure your abstinence in toothbrush after toothbrush of warm barnacles and fat thermometers, mock not the absorbency of geese! There's no "i" in "cucumber," there's no "q" in "incest," and there's no elevator in Ted Danson. Unfurl your inner kumquat! Give rice pads and yogurt to the East! Drizzle melted children from clam to clam, kicking ketchup and violating every available nugget with the balloon of your choice! Suffocate your indigestible tomahawk. I am never a carrot and nobody molests my anti-brooding helmet. Stop trying to shave God! 
 
Strap-On Brain 
(Tim Crist)
 
You're ranting 'bout albums by the Masturbating Croutons
And Vinnie Viagra and the Limp Prick Krue
You tell me the Snailfuckers were your greatest influence
But Timmy Tampon and the Stringalongs sure meant a lot to you
 
You're dropping names with Dennis Miller smugness
And with Rob Scheffield pretentiousness you analyze
And though you're cool on the outside, you're giggling internally
Cuz though I'm nodding you can see confusion in my eyes
 
Congratulations fuckface
You're the indie rock obscurity king
So here's your fucking trophy
Go stick it in the hole that makes your colon sing
 
Put on my strap-on brain to think at your level
But it makes me feel dirty
Makes me feel dirty 
(Put on my) strap-on brain to think at your level
But it makes me feel so fucking dirty now
 
You've worked in the same cubicle for almost 20 years
You've got two kids a mortgage and an SUV
Climbed the corporate ladder 'til you got some underlings
And bless my lucky fucking stars, one of 'em's me
 
You say they should mandate uniforms in public school
Cuz how can your kid learn when his friend's dressed like a slob?
Opinions are like assholes and yours could use some 
But I've gotta nod and smile just to keep my job
 
Have you always been so boring?
Did you have a soul and where did it go?
Was it your childhood ambition
To bitch about your golf game and your stock portfolio?
 
Put on my strap-on brain to think at your level
But it makes me feel dirty
Makes me feel dirty 
(Put on my) strap-on brain to think at your level
But it makes me feel so fucking dirty now
 
Even the world's biggest moron
Has always got his own point of view
And he's just smart enough to know you can't disagree
If he's got any power over you
 
So when somebody's spouting walrus shit
But you're not allowed to tell 'em
Society dictates that thou shall bite thy tongue
And strap a cranial dildo to your cerebellum
A cranial dildo to your cerebellum
 
You're an ex-jock with a buzzcut, raised in West Virginia
With the 12-pack in your belly slowly flowing through your veins
You take me aside to tell me 'bout your high school days
When cheerleaders would spread for you after every game
 
Your breath gets worse as your drunken head bobs closer
And you rant about the homos and the homies and the spics
And I contemplate all my possible responses
And I weigh how much each one of them will get my ass kicked
 
You wasted redneck fuckwit
Raised by the WWF
Let me buy you a cold one
So you can kill the three brain cells you've got left
 
Put on my strap-on brain to think at your level
But it makes me feel dirty
Makes me feel dirty 
(Put on my) strap-on brain to think at your level
But it makes me feel so fucking dirty now

Coffee (2003 Grind)

(Tim Crist)

CAFFEINATION ACTIVATION!

Sitting in my cubicle

Trying to pass the time

Click the little envelope

But no new mail's online

My schedule program shows me

All this crap I have to do

A post-it note upon my desk

says "Nobody called you"

I write myself a reminder note

To throw that note away

I check my voice mail even though

I've been sitting here all day

It says "You have no messages

No life no hope no friends"

And You've still got seven hours

'Til this freakin’ workday ends

But I can smell salvation

It's brewing down the hall

The percolator sings to me

And I must heed its call

As liquid touches styrofoam

I feel the steam's sweet kiss

And I know I'm just seconds away

From caffeinated bliss

Coffee coffee coffee

To stimulate my brain

Coffee coffee coffee

To make me less insane

I used to be a zombie

And I'd fall asleep at work

Now everybody knows me as

The hyperactive jerk

Now that I'm Chock full'o'nuts

My job is just a game!

I open up my phone book and

I highlight every name!

I bend my paper clips into

The shapes of little men

I search the net for Amish porn

I take apart my pen

I open up the three-hole punch

And spill holes on the floor

I fire staples ‘cross the room

'Til I don't have no more

I laminate my lunch meat

I link my rubber bands

(Make a) Xerox of my hairy ass

And fax it to Japan

And when the buzz starts wearing off

And when I'm feeling low

I pour myself another mug

My cup shall overflow

Eleven packs of sugar

And a couple spoons of creamer

And I shall receive the gift of life

From my liquid redeemer

Coffee coffee coffee

Come on and drink it up

Coffee coffee coffee

Nirvana in a cup

I used to be a peon, just a

worthless wad of gristle

'til I replaced by brain cells

with instant Folger's crystals

My boss calls me in his office

He says "Now listen, you...

"I have a little problem

"with the crappy work you do

"I never see you at your desk

"So what's been going on?

"Half the time you're at the coffee pot,

"The rest you're in the John!

"Your eyes are always bloodshed

"Your hands they always shake

"Your skin's the tone of dead flesh

"At the bottom of a lake

"We think this has to do with all

“The coffee that you chug

"So we’re switching you to decaf

"And we’re cleaning out your mug"

These words to me were blasphemy

I found them just appalling

So I kicked that bastard somewhere

That I knew would leave him crawling

Now I’m jobless homeless on the street

You could say I’ve got hard luck

But I’ve got a gun and now I’m gonna

Go hold up a Starbucks

Coffee coffee coffee

With sugar and with cream

Coffee coffee coffee

The reason for my being

I used to be so tired

I'd pass out on the floor

Now I haven't needed a wink of sleep

Since 1994

Coffee coffee coffee

It's great to have around

Coffee coffee coffee

I even eat the grounds

I used to be a drone,

Now I'll never be the same!

I drink a hundred cups a day

Juan Valdez knows my name

Maybe one of these days I’ll get around to adding some “story behind the songs” things or whatever. Who the hell knows. For now, this is it. I hope you enjoy the album, dammit!!

-=ShoEboX=-

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