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by Soy

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Power of the masses with minds of molasses Loud thoughts equal dumb thoughts all across the globe Synchronize with numskull airwaves - rot your brain! The psychotropic astral traveller’s gone fucked in the head Long distance Clairvoyant Shit-storming All around: Me! Slaphead minds think all alike, it’s often said. Deranged Psychic Confluence invades my head! D.P.C. D.P.C. Deranged Psychic Confluence Deranged Psychic Confluence
Not too bad a cover - makes it seem legit to order several tons of ammonium nitrate. A.N.'s a great oxidizing agent when mixed with some nitromethane at a 60- 40 ratio. Gonna blow up you Marxist multiculturalists. I enrich it with aluminum powder and, to induce deflagration-to-detonation transition, spark it up with a wick of sodium nitrate. Annihilate Eurabia. I hope to God, well, my God anyway, that all you fuckin' idiots croak. If you can't stand the faith, then get off of the island. Useless little fuckin' wastes of space. Probably all Islamists - every last one of 'em. Good enough for the I.R.A. Good enough for Tim McVeigh. For the World Trade Center in '93. For rebel Taliban I.E.D.'s. Good enough for the Basque E.T.A. And good enough to help me restart the Crusades.
It's been one million years Yeah, it's been way too long Seems just like yesterday Another brilliant song You've wondered where we've been Just aging like fine wine But now the moment's come Had to happen, now's the time Like knights in shining armour We will allay your fears Our fans have been deprived For more than thirteen years We're gonna rock you dead We're gonna fuck you up We're gonna lay it down Welcome back your fucking gods!
Time to grab the bike and go. And beat the fuck out of Dodge for now. Regain a sense of my senses somehow. Just get outside and get away from it all. The yonder beckons and I'm hearing its call. Blow this popsicle stand. I really don't mind where I live these days. It's been 18 years, guess I'll stick with this place. Some people are funny but we all get by. So I'll pack my bags and on my wheels I'll fly. Sure, at times the city sucks. Like T.K. said, society's fucked. Ride down that fucking road. Burn down that fucking road. Bike down that fucking road. Sail down that fucking road. Fly down that fucking road. Cruise down that fucking road. Make like a banana and split. Don't fucking care, not one fucking bit. Ride down that fucking road. Burn down that fucking road. Bike down that fucking road. Sail down that fucking road. Fly down that fucking road.
Planet earth styles by Monsanto. One big fucking monoculture. Spewing Round-Up, aspartame, B.G.H. Transgenic mutation, bionic corn. Unleash all those cool G.M.O.'s. Vaccination in disguise as sterilization. Quadruple one: the special ones, the only ones. All hail Monsanto. They've got the power, they've got the seed to take things over. They'll rule the world, they'll rule your ass and fuck us over. Regulation by litigation and private armies. Sicking Blackwater on journalists. Monsanto can fuck off and die.
Surging from the ocean floor Mother Nature has in store A battering ram in waves galore To fuck shit up like never before Ripping through the earth's crust Exploding upwards - all is lost Anchorage's hair gets mussed Terra firma gets concussed Anchorage '64 Anchorage '64 Anchorage fucking '64 Anchorage motherfucking goddamn 'sixty-fucking-four!! Upheaval in the streets Stumblin' over our feet Through chunks of concrete Some cake to eat The roller coaster roads The land - all warped and bowed Our debt to nature is owed At 9.2 - and there's more Who knows what’s in store Behind Cascadia's door.
This kitchen's poorly organized! And these cupboards and drawers must've been built by chimps! Now I barely passed Woodwork 8, but I'll be fucked if I gotta spend my whole 6-month lease cooking in this shithole. Prime timbers like teak and oak and rosewood are way outside of your budget. Your kitchen's useless if you're fucking broke. So I'll build it with manmade crap like plywood and particle board. And I'll have to invest in some power tools. You can't cut chipboard with a handsaw. Dude, I've cut beech with a handsaw. Hard work, but it cut straight and clean. Try that with this waferboard trash. Now try it with a bandsaw and see what I mean. Hand me that jigsaw and spindle moulder. Don't nail plywood; it'll just split. Cut a tambour groove right into the carcase. Use dowelled mitres; no veneer-keyed shit. Right here I should make slot-dovetail joints. Gotta buy a toothing plane and a keyhole saw. Better make these tongues double-chamfered. These lippings and edgings will surely drop my landlord's jaw. Now this is an efficient kitchen. Really feels like an accomplishment. I used local value-added products that won't ever get warped or bent. This has been a cupboard's tale.
As of this writing October 2011 They're full steam ahead Robber baron-loving inbreds Fuck off Michelle Hope you rot in hell You'll lose the fight You and your Christian right Yeah no shit Obama wasn't perfect But stop and think, shithead Michelle in his place? Big brother's little sister No one will miss her What the hell should we do Shoot her out in to space? Herm Cain and Rick Perry Also total morons I'd like to see them vanish Without any trace. They somehow blame Obama For inheriting Bush's mess While those blathering foxy news whores Spew their bullshit hate-fests.


Recorded at Doug's place by Cody Creepcore in a couple of days in February 2012.


released March 11, 2012

Music by Soy. All lyrics by Doug, except "A Cupboard's Tale" and most of "Breivik Geofarm" by Cruiser. More Roger Dean desecration by Cal.


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Soy Victoria, British Columbia

Soy formed in 1996, put out a cassette and a 7-inch, toured a bit, broke up in '97, reunited in '11, and played a few shows and recorded some new stuff in '12. Scheduled to break up again in '14, so enjoy it while you can. RIP Richard Dunn.

Drums/Vocals: Doug
Guitar: Paul
Bass/Vocals: Cruiser
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