The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
US: Someone the other day was telling me about marketing and how it is so important for a band to sell a t-shirt. I told him that the money goes right back into the same thing and now we're just a breeding ground for more and more consumers. And sellout, shmellout, it's not about that. But I didn't have a problem when I had no cash. Now we perpetuate this need to sell x units every night and if we don't meet our quota, man, we're gonna get into another fight.
THEM: Williamsburg has got the lights turned low and a moron with a laptop is calling this poetry. A singer with a thrift amp brags "Vintage Circuitry". I saw him on the cover of Bop or Seventeen crooning "I'm so lonely/Life is empty/Where's my coke and fucking money?" Tonight at the bar I got a good look at the enemy. He said "My job's looking good and someone else can write the songs for me."
Take a look at your haircut. You're killing me.
Take a look at your glasses. You're killing me.
Placement of the piercings. You're killing me.
Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight.
Take a look at your ripped jeans. You're killing me.
Take a look at your Converse. You're killing me.
Get a shirt that fits you. You're killing me.
Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight.
Soon we'll be in the clear
When we get out of here
Where style is function
And our egos make us fight.
For now we'll live in fear.
We're not sexy enough for this atmosphere.
Someone blow it up tonight.
Please blow it up tonight.
Now we're cloning sheep.
Writing garbage in their diaries.
Reading their AP. Watching Fuse TV.
Kill it, c'est la vie.
Fashion show = your scene.
Bomb the industry.
Then run away or watch the blast.
I'm getting out, man, kiss my ass.
I'm going nowhere, nowhere fast.
I'm going nowhere nowhere nowhere.
THEM: Williamsburg has got the lights turned low and a moron with a laptop is calling this poetry. A singer with a thrift amp brags "Vintage Circuitry". I saw him on the cover of Bop or Seventeen crooning "I'm so lonely/Life is empty/Where's my coke and fucking money?" Tonight at the bar I got a good look at the enemy. He said "My job's looking good and someone else can write the songs for me."
Take a look at your haircut. You're killing me.
Take a look at your glasses. You're killing me.
Placement of the piercings. You're killing me.
Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight.
Take a look at your ripped jeans. You're killing me.
Take a look at your Converse. You're killing me.
Get a shirt that fits you. You're killing me.
Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight.
Soon we'll be in the clear
When we get out of here
Where style is function
And our egos make us fight.
For now we'll live in fear.
We're not sexy enough for this atmosphere.
Someone blow it up tonight.
Please blow it up tonight.
Now we're cloning sheep.
Writing garbage in their diaries.
Reading their AP. Watching Fuse TV.
Kill it, c'est la vie.
Fashion show = your scene.
Bomb the industry.
Then run away or watch the blast.
I'm getting out, man, kiss my ass.
I'm going nowhere, nowhere fast.
I'm going nowhere nowhere nowhere.
Lyrics submitted by KeasbyKnights
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Jeff: So I guess this song is kind of the mission statement of Bomb the Music Industry! in a way because I wrote the lyrics after seeing people in bands just try and be so fucking cool all the time. Then I stayed at the Know How house for a bunch of days and here was a band that WAS really cool and just aren't image conscious. The second half of this song was partially written in a motel six in New Orleans with Sean Qualls. The two of us decided that we like each others' songs and since we're in ASOB together, we should write songs together and they'd be awesome. We wrote this song that had so many parts that I obviously wrote and so many parts that he obviously wrote and we couldn't get anything good. Except for the first like three minutes of the song which were this one part, which has been condensed for your listening pleasure. Oh yeah, a lot of the lyrics to this one are still being worked on so BEAR WITH US!!! (music by jeff rosenstock and sean qualls)
Are these guys the kings of rock or what? All their lyrics are awesome, the music kicks ass and is all theirs. LONG LIVE BOMB THE MUSIC INDUSTRY!!!!
This song is awesome!
This song goes more like this... I'm not sure on one bit [?]marked like so[/?]
Take a look at your haircut. You're killing me. Take a look at your glasses. You're killing me. Placement of the piercings. You're killing me. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Take a look at your ripped jeans. You're killing me. Take a look at your Converse. You're killing me. Get a shirt that fits you. You're killing me. Right. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight.
Someone the other day was telling me about marketing and how it is so important for a band to sell a t-shirt. I told him that the money goes right back into the same thing and now we're just a breeding ground for more and more consumers. And sellout, shmellout, it's not about that. But all my problems seem to stem from cash. I got my beliefs and I don't care if they're right but every time [?] I get them out [/?] they always seem to get me in a fight
Soon we'll be in the clear When we get out of here Where style is function And our egos make us fight. For now we'll live in fear. We're not sexy enough for this atmosphere. Someone blow it up tonight. Please blow it up tonight.
Take a look at your haircut. You're killing me. Take a look at your glasses. You're killing me. Placement of the piercings. You're killing me. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Take a look at your ripped jeans. You're killing me. Take a look at your Converse. You're killing me. Get a shirt that fits you. You're kidding me. Right. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight.
Williamsburg has got the lights turned low and a moron with a laptop is calling this poetry. A singer with a thrift amp brags "Vintage Circuitry". I saw him on the cover of Bop or Seventeen: "I'm so lonely/Life is empty/Where's my coke and ing money?" Tonight at the bar I got a good look at the enemy: "I'm too ing cool, someone else can write the songs for me."
Soon we'll be in the clear When we get out of here Where style is function And our egos make us fight. For now we'll live in fear. We're not sexy enough for this atmosphere. Someone blow it up tonight. Please blow it up tonight.
Now we're cloning sheep. Writing garbage in their diaries. Reading their AP. Watching Fuse TV.
Kill it, c'est la vie. Fashion show equals your scene. Bomb the industry. Then run away or watch the blast. I'm getting out so kiss my ass. I'm going nowhere, nowhere fast. I'm going nowhere nowhere nowhere.