Super Brain
by Ben Sommer
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Digital Album
Immediate download of 12-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.Buy Now $9.99 USD or more
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Buy Disc
1. |
Young Turks
04:03
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2. |
I Married a Prostitute
02:27
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3. |
Baby Mother
02:21
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4. |
Consumerism
01:01
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5. |
Militarism
00:54
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6. |
Cadaverism
01:10
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7. |
Fist
02:12
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8. |
De Profundis
04:20
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9. |
Count To Twelve
03:54
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10. |
Dark Grey Matter
05:22
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11. |
Deo Gracias Anglia
03:30
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12. |
Cloaca Maxima
04:36
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credits
released 04 November 2011
tags
license
feeds
feeds for about
I am a composer, performer, and writer. I’m also a pent-up curmudgeon. I vent on political and economic matters in both my writing and my music. bensommer.com/bio
discography
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Nov 2011 -
Nov 2010 -
Nov 2011
contact / help
For help with downloads, click here.
For all other inquiries, click here.
- Track Name: Young Turks
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YOUNG TURKS
young turks
forty-odd feet
of kerosine fuel
fires the hot young turks
muscled athletes
jocked up on caffeine
fires the well-hung jerks
pansy wholewheat
a pacifists treat
fires the fat houseworker
my turk of a mule
packing coca paste
could not equel
the yule log fuel fire
of the hot young turks
young turks
stank like camels
hung like chinchillas
burly young gorillas
hair-net latinos
drag racing their camaros
[guitar solo]
young turks
forty-odd feet
of kerosine fuel
fires the hot young turks
courtly quad teats
of seventeen school
girls in their taut clung shirts
pussy-wipped pete
raised on wolverine stool
sired in a low-slung yurt
swarthy vice-squad secretes
nitrosamine drool
fired in the dot com bubble burst
salty cod treats
swimming in the cesspools
expired when caught, hung, and burnt
warty roughshod feet
in mujahedeen school
fundamentalistani turkmenistani
sporty soccer cleat
of propylene ghouls
rikitikitavi
fatty on my feet
stiffy in my bleep
roiling out a burp
printing out a spreadsheet
of philistine boolean
algebra of whatnot and whatnot - Track Name: I Married a Prostitute
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I married a prostitute
her name was Roxanne
four feet six inches in high heel boots
with stringy blonde hair
and a health bueareau card
I married a rotweiller
passed off as a whore
on all fours she can dirty my rug
with her foul mood swings
from ingesting the drain-o
poor and watching the talk shows
I married for money
she was born in George the third’s trundle bed
in Carolina
swamp grass and pig pageants
I married beneath me
my ascestors were kings
we carried the gold standard from Kiev
enslaving the gypsies
breeding fleas in our beards - Track Name: Baby Mother
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baby mother
she cries and blubbers
like Sally Struthers
if I had my druthers
I'd ditch my baby mother
she was a royal baby
raised by Esterhazys' butler
and Sound Of Music nanny
with manners to make her pious
für Mütterland Öesterreich
and now she is a mother
a gap-toothed welfare sucker
she squirts them out by the hour
and hits me up for cash at Christmas
here son, meet your mother - Track Name: Consumerism
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CONSUMERISM
shopping - Track Name: Militarism
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MILITARISM
don’t mess with Texas - Track Name: Cadaverism
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CADAVERISM
When you get crazy ideas in your head
You must pulverize your head until it bleeds
Throbs and then you will have gotten to the
Point of this maniacal hoarse-throated anthem
Die you communist cadaver
With extreme prejudice
I mar the corpses of Kruschev,
Joseph Stalin and Lenin and Trotsky and Hegel
Karl Marx - Track Name: Fist
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FIST
fist, the fist, the fist
glorious fist
this fist, my fist
mountains of mist
conceal what I'm holding in my fist
a gift, for you
you're catching the drift
a fist, for you
no whipping boy, me
I ball up my fist
and bust your lip
that lip, your lip
I can't explain
how my train of thoughts
deteriorates into hate
and I want to say:
"hey, come my way"
when I really mean:
"you sucker, come get puckered"
cause here comes your friend, fist
fist, the fist, the fist
I gave you the gist
my story is this:
the grist for this mill
is bloodied and scabbed,
a face full of fist, of fist, yeah
the fist, ‘cest moi’, its me
I’m wrapped around with fingers
eine Fause ist
eine Klugel des Fleisches
brütend in eine ‘pirouet’
I can’t explain… (etc.)
that’s it, you mother, kapeesh?
go sleep with the fish
and dream of my fist
fist, and a fist, and a fist up your ass! - Track Name: De Profundis
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DE PROFUNDIS
De profundis clamavi ad te - Track Name: Count To Twelve
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Count To Twelve
One is forward
Two is backward
Three is terrible
It is
Two is three three loops is
Loops forward is
A forward loop
Three rests on a bully's laurel
I was four five was a
Trip stopped shitting my pants
Six spicy apple sauce for everyone
Seven good food is scarce
The cue stretching for miles
Loops is loops forward is a forward loop
Eight is forward
Nine is forwards
Ten an illustrious list
Of barricade breakers
Eleven her earnest words
Festering in my lap twelve
A simple count again - Track Name: Deo Gracias Anglia
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DEO GRACIAS ANGLIA
Owre kynge went forth to Nor-man-dy
With grace and myght of chy-val-ry;
Ther God for hym wrought merv-'lus-ly,
where-fore Eng-londe may calle and cry:
Deo gracias Anglia
Deo gracias Anglia
Redde pro victoria
He sette a sege, for soothe for say,
To Har-flu toune with ry'l a-ray
That toun he wan and made a-fray
That Fraunce shal rywe til Domes-day;
Deo gracias Anglia
Now gra-cious God he keep oure kynge,
His pe-ple and alle his wel-wyll-ynge,
Yes give hym goode lyfe and gode end-yng;
That we with merth mow save-ly synge:
Deo gracias Anglia
