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Start a revolution!
Get your hands up. Get your hands up.
Get your hands up. Get your hands up.
Start a revolution!
Get your hands up brainless masses.
Get your hands up lower classes.
Get your hands up jackasses.
Everybody get on the floor.
Get your hands up ghetto dwellers.
Get your hands up backyard fellas.
Get your hands up hollow people.
Don’t you think…
You are too tired to kneel. (Too tired to kneel.)
Too cross to chill. (Too cross to chill.)
Too bored to be such fools (too bored to be such fools),
too rash to break the rules. So raise your fists and mak’em…
Cry! They’ll be crucified!
They should not survive!
Let’s mak’em cry!
Cry! They must be sacrificed!
Like Jesus Christ!
So let’s mak’em cry!
Cry! Cry! Cry! Cry! Cry!
Let’s mak’em cry!
Get your hands up. Get your hands up.
Get your hands up. Get your hands up.
Start a revolution!
Get your hands up you brainless masses.
Get your hands up you lower classes.
Get your hands up you sick jackasses.
Everybody get on the floor.
Get your hands up you ghetto dwellers.
Get your hands up you backyard fellas.
Get your hands up you hollow people.
Don’t you think…
You don’t have too much to lose. (Too much to lose.)
You aren’t too free to choose. (Too free to chose.)
It’s too late to grit your teeth (too late to grit your teeth),
you’re too fucked up to eat that shit. Let’s mak’em…
Cry! They’ll be crucified!
They should not survive!
Let’s mak’em cry!
Cry! They must be sacrificed!
Like Jesus Christ!
So let’s mak’em cry!
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Yes I’ve been around.
And I’ve been called worse.
Still I handle myself graciously.
Oh, and I don’t care
How it’s gonna be, yeah.
I want it all…
Another lonely girl
Who got mistaken.
You see me as the guy who’ll kiss you hot
And who will love you only.
Another empty soul
That believes in feelings.
Oh, you just don’t know that I’ll drink your blood.
And I’m afraid you’ll love it.
So cool that you love me anyway.
Won’t you say you love me anyway.
Higher! I gotta take you higher.
And when you’re coming down I’ll lay your body in the grave!
Do you follow me so far.
Do you know what I’m thinking.
Oh, honey, I wanna see you do these things.
Baby, I can keep a secret.
Honey I’m so bad.
You got no idea.
But I’m gonna be the best for you.
Have no fear.
So cool that you love me anyway.
Won’t you say you love me anyway.
Higher! I gotta take you higher.
And when you’re coming down I’ll lay your body in the grave!
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In the middle of the night
I go walking in my dreams.
Searching for the flavor of your hair.
Looking for a sense in your affairs.
Will I save my li’l poor own Me
From the pitfalls of the sin?
But I’m sure I’ve gone in fear.
That’s no way out from your bad leer.
Like a nail made of steel
You charmed me in your magnetic field.
And turn me into your latest toy
With a garment of playboy.
With thermonuclear sex appeal.
Thermonuclear sex appeal…
I planed to immigrate to China
To get some rest from your vagina.
I tried to pray like a Buddhist lama
To forget that vicious drama.
I’ve to break up with you forever,
But the chain refused to sever.
Or must sustain for my salvation
This sexual discrimination.
Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I die before I wake.
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
With thermonuclear sex appeal.
Thermonuclear sex appeal…
Long time I have been
A pitiful victim of your sin
Don’t ask me why I feel
That your promise isn’t real
With thermonuclear sex appeal.
Thermonuclear sex appeal…
Now I’m mad in my all head
And I wonder why I deserved that.
I’m standing at your deep third eye
With heavy stick of dynamite.
Between your legs of antelope
I’m always ready act to loop.
In front of your breasts of marble skin
I want to run you to extreme.
To be your slave – it steals my breath,
But look I’m at the point of death.
Now it seems to be the end.
Allow my torture to extend.
With thermonuclear sex appeal.
Thermonuclear sex appeal…
Long time I have been
A pitiful victim of your sin
Don’t ask me why I feel
That your promise isn’t real
With thermonuclear sex appeal.
Thermonuclear sex appeal…
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Desolation’s a picture on the wall,
That I use to scrutinize when I am lorn.
Desolation’s an empty music hall,
Where a lonely angel’s playing a horn.
Desolation means a ragged doll,
That I prick with pins when I go insane.
Desolation’s a skill to enjoy the pain
Again and again and again and again.
You may dive in the seas of glory and into the swamps of shame,
But the winter snow, my friend, will always be the same.
Desolation’s a speechless tragedy,
In which crippled actors die on the stage.
Desolation’s a mournful melody.
Like a caw of raven locked in a cage.
Desolation’s one of those wistful streets,
That I love to wander under the rain.
Desolation’s a curse to be reborn in vain
Over and over and over again.
You may dive in the seas of glory and into the swamps of shame,
But the winter snow my friend will always be the same.
You may hang on the crosses of hatred and sit in thrones of fame,
But the winter snow my friend will always be the same.
Will always be the same, will always be the same,
will always be the same, will always be the same…
Desolation’s a temple of the living death,
Where I used to live, attending to graves.
Desolation – this is the riverbed
And sometimes I sit there watching the waves.
Watching the waves, watching the waves,
Watching the waves, watching the waves.
You may dive in the seas of glory and into the swamps of shame,
But the winter snow my friend will always be the same.
You may hang on the crosses of hatred and sit in thrones of fame,
But the winter snow my friend will always be the same.
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5. |
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You say you wanna be the rock and roll king and burn as a mighty supernova star.
You wanna drive a gleaming fancy car, yeah, but can you really play guitar.
A single chord’s enough to get to the Billboard charts no matter that you sing so bad.
My name is Lucifer, let me be your lord. So give your soul to dad.
Stay on your feet, don’t be such a misfit and don’t pretend you don’t give a shit.
To look like Ozzy and to bark at the moon is to turn into a massive hit.
This is the way to live your life as play and to fuck the groupies all the day.
White powder shimmers on your credit card and you throw a psycho fit.
John Lennon is dead.
Elvis Presley is dead.
Janis Joplin is dead.
Jim Morrison is dead.
John Bonham is dead.
Jimi Hendrix is dead.
Ritchie Valens is dead.
But you blockhead are not yet and…
Deep down squeezing thru entrails the same virus bones your life.
No, this time it’s not just a feeling – the plague that racks you inside…
Oh my God you’re such a worthless asshole, but now a you’re a celebrity.
Stay grounded man. Without the help from the Devil you will remain a wannabe.
You drown yourself in tanks of alcohol, you’re swamped in filth and vanity and now
Your soul falls into the hole, but this has no effect on me…
Sid Vicious is dead.
Kurt Cobain is dead.
Freddy Mercury is dead.
Cozy Powell is dead.
Bon Scott is dead.
Eric Carr is dead.
Joey Ramone is dead.
But you blockhead are not yet…
Deep down squeezing thru entrails the same virus bones your life.
No, this time it’s not just a feeling – the plague that racks you inside…
Come on, put the gun to your throat. The deuce doesn’t believe in God.
Now your corpse is beaten in details, so let your soul fly
So fucking high in the blue sky.
And now you hate to be so very great and it’s time for you to pay me the rate.
Do you remember ’bout the deal with Satan? You tell me no but it’s too late.
Swallow the barrel man and pull the trigger. I’m sorry that I stole your faith ha ha ha.
Or maybe overdose instead of the lead. I don’t care. Burst your empty head.
Michael Hutchens is dead.
Frank Zappa is dead.
Ian Curtis is dead.
Layne Staley is dead.
Ronnie Dio is dead.
Dimebag Darrell is dead.
Michael Jackson is dead.
But you blockhead are not yet so…
Deep down squeezing thru entrails the same virus bones your life.
No, this time it’s not just a feeling – the plague that racks you inside…
Come on, put the gun to your throat. The deuce doesn’t believe in God.
Now your corpse is beaten in details, so let your soul fly high.
So let your soul fly high, so let your soul fly high…
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6. |
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No Lyricz (Instrumental Piece)
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7. |
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No Lyricz (Instrumental Edit)
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8. |
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Самотата – това е картината,
пред която всяка вечер стоя.
Самотата – това е играчката,
без която не мога да спя.
Самотата – това е слънцето,
под което на асфалта лежа.
Самотата са нощните улици,
по които вече с теб не вървя.
Може цял живот да преписваш от книгите мъдрости,
но снегът през зимата ще бъде същият.
Самотата – това е онази нощ,
след която не усещам деня.
Самотата – това е кутията,
в която пускам своите писма.
Самотата – това е книгата,
от която всяка вечер чета.
Самотата – това е пиесата,
в която играя сега.
Може цял живот да преписваш от книгите мъдрости,
но снегът през зимата ще бъде същият,
ще бъде същият, ще бъде същият, ще бъде…
Самотата – това е дъното.
Понякога там дълго лежа.
Там дълго лежа, там дълго лежа…
Може цял живот да преписваш от книгите мъдрости,
но снегът през зимата ще бъде същият.
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9. |
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You say you wanna be the rock and roll king and burn as a mighty supernova star.
You wanna drive a gleaming fancy car, yeah, but can you really play guitar.
A single chord’s enough to get to the Billboard charts no matter that you sing so bad.
My name is Lucifer, let me be your lord. So give your soul to dad.
Stay on your feet, don’t be such a misfit and don’t pretend you don’t give a shit.
To look like Ozzy and to bark at the moon is to turn into a massive hit.
This is the way to live your life as play and to fuck the groupies all the day.
White powder shimmers on your credit card and you throw a psycho fit.
John Lennon is dead.
Elvis Presley is dead.
Janis Joplin is dead.
Jim Morrison is dead.
John Bonham is dead.
Jimi Hendrix is dead.
Ritchie Valens is dead.
But you blockhead are not yet and…
Deep down squeezing thru entrails the same virus bones your life.
No, this time it’s not just a feeling – the plague that racks you inside…
Oh my God you’re such a worthless asshole, but now a you’re a celebrity.
Stay grounded man. Without the help from the Devil you will remain a wannabe.
You drown yourself in tanks of alcohol, you’re swamped in filth and vanity and now
Your soul falls into the hole, but this has no effect on me…
Sid Vicious is dead.
Kurt Cobain is dead.
Freddy Mercury is dead.
Cozy Powell is dead.
Bon Scott is dead.
Eric Carr is dead.
Joey Ramone is dead.
But you blockhead are not yet…
Deep down squeezing thru entrails the same virus bones your life.
No, this time it’s not just a feeling – the plague that racks you inside…
Come on, put the gun to your throat. The deuce doesn’t believe in God.
Now your corpse is beaten in details, so let your soul fly
So fucking high in the blue sky.
And now you hate to be so very great and it’s time for you to pay me the rate.
Do you remember ’bout the deal with Satan? You tell me no but it’s too late.
Swallow the barrel man and pull the trigger. I’m sorry that I stole your faith ha ha ha.
Or maybe overdose instead of the lead. I don’t care. Burst your empty head.
Michael Hutchens is dead.
Frank Zappa is dead.
Ian Curtis is dead.
Layne Staley is dead.
Ronnie Dio is dead.
Dimebag Darrell is dead.
Michael Jackson is dead.
But you blockhead are not yet so…
Deep down squeezing thru entrails the same virus bones your life.
No, this time it’s not just a feeling – the plague that racks you inside…
Come on, put the gun to your throat. The deuce doesn’t believe in God.
Now your corpse is beaten in details, so let your soul fly high.
So let your soul fly high, so let your soul fly high…
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10. |
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Start a revolution!
Get your hands up. Get your hands up.
Get your hands up. Get your hands up.
Start a revolution!
Get your hands up brainless masses.
Get your hands up lower classes.
Get your hands up jackasses.
Everybody get on the floor.
Get your hands up ghetto dwellers.
Get your hands up backyard fellas.
Get your hands up hollow people.
Don’t you think…
You are too tired to kneel. (Too tired to kneel.)
Too cross to chill. (Too cross to chill.)
Too bored to be such fools (too bored to be such fools),
too rash to break the rules. So raise your fists and mak’em…
Cry! They’ll be crucified!
They should not survive!
Let’s mak’em cry!
Cry! They must be sacrificed!
Like Jesus Christ!
So let’s mak’em cry!
Cry! Cry! Cry! Cry! Cry!
Let’s mak’em cry!
Get your hands up. Get your hands up.
Get your hands up. Get your hands up.
Start a revolution!
Get your hands up you brainless masses.
Get your hands up you lower classes.
Get your hands up you sick jackasses.
Everybody get on the floor.
Get your hands up you ghetto dwellers.
Get your hands up you backyard fellas.
Get your hands up you hollow people.
Don’t you think…
You don’t have too much to lose. (Too much to lose.)
You aren’t too free to choose. (Too free to chose.)
It’s too late to grit your teeth (too late to grit your teeth),
you’re too fucked up to eat that shit. Let’s mak’em…
Cry! They’ll be crucified!
They should not survive!
Let’s mak’em cry!
Cry! They must be sacrificed!
Like Jesus Christ!
So let’s mak’em cry!
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Втора част на тетралогията Da Disco Clownz… Албумът е създаден от “Dr Frank” с помощта на водещи български диджеи, ремиксатори и гост-музиканти в периода 2010-2012. След като сбъдва мечтата си да запише (почти) истински рок опус (Da Disco Clownz… Pt 1), ПреподРобния за пореден път задълбава в ъндърграунда на интелигентния денс и експерименталната електроника, като разпределя парчетата на DST от новото хилядолетие между дъбстеп, диско, ембиънт, атмосферик, габа, диджитъл хардкор, даркстеп, дръменбейс, текно, хаус и ню уейв артисти със задачата те да направят собствени (полу)авторски версии на най-големите хитове на Трагедиите. Това е първият в историята на българската музика завършен рок-ремикс албум, в който Da Small Tragoediaz звучат стопроцентово синтезаторно, но и точно като себе си. Както може да се очаква, българската преса остава дебилно индиферетна към въпросното напредничаво издание. То се продава по концерти, фестивали и в интернет, но реализира по-ниски приходи от първата част на Da Disco Clownz… Вляво виждате обложката на албума, рисувана от Ivantchev и “Frank”. Поръчайте този учебник по експериментална музика в Bandcamp или в секция Контакти на сайта!
released November 16, 2012
RELEASE DATE / ИЗДАДЕН НА: November 16 2012 / 16 ноември 2012
PRODUCERZ / ПРОДУЦЕНТИ: Manolov, Dark, Demidov, Dotkov, Karastoianov, Peltekov, Popov, Rusev / Манолов, Дарк, Демидов, Дотков, Карастоянов, Пелтеков, Попов, Русев
STUDIOZ / СТУДИА: Burov & Burov Studio, CraftyBird Studio Glasgow, Digital Sound Technology Kitchen, Event Horizon Records, Gr00vy’s Home Studio, Light Productions Studio, Mazut Garrage, Pop-OFF Studio, Spot Music Studio, Twisted Keyborg Bedroom, Zero Project Studio
TOTAL TIMIN’ / ОБЩО ВРЕМЕТРАЕНЕ: 47:35
LABEL / ИЗДАТЕЛ: DSTroy Productionz
SPECIAL 10X 2 / БЛАГОДАРНОСТИ ЗА: God, da DJ’z & many more…
DESIGN / ДИЗАЙН: Manolov / Манолов
ARTWORK / ХУДОЖНИЦИ: Ivantchev, Manolov / Иванчев, Манолов
COVER TITLE / ЗАГЛАВИЕ НА ПРОИЗВЕДЕНИЕТО НА ОБЛОЖКАТА: Tragedy Monsta A. D. (version 2), 2012, digitally colored pen & tablet drawing / Tragedy Monsta A. D. (втора версия), 2012, дигитално колорирана рисунка с туш и таблет
