Vikki-Beat, 1997.

Culprits: Justin Hall (drums); Wallace Hammond (guitar, synth effects, short wave radio, rat squeals); Doug Ivey (bass, effects, vocals); Mike O'Brien (lead vocals, chicken-scratch gee-tar); Tony Richards (vocals, harmonica, acoustic guitar); Duncan Snowden (guitar, vocals, 12-string guitar, jaw harp).

Recorded at the Nickel, January 1997. Live tracks recorded at the Ship Inn, August & December 1996. "A Nice Big Shit" recorded in Doug's basement, summer 1988.
Produced by Don Ellis, Wallace Hammond and Doug Ivey. Further recording assistance from John Rowe and Jim Fidler.
Cover design by Duncan Snowden & Susan Collins.
Front cover photo by Mike Yamashita.

Click on a title to get the lyrics:
  1. Radio Vomit
  2. Die in Iran
  3. Close Your Eyes and Dance
  4. Sodomy in Georgia
  5. Surfin' Fever, 44 B.C.
  6. Rat Killing Day
  7. Jim Bakker's Lobotomy
  8. A Nice Big Shit
  9. Babies March to War
  10. Bob's Donuts and Firing Range
  11. Cruisin [live]
  12. Meat Cove Man [live]
  13. Dance of the Flaming Assholes
  14. Country Chicken


(words by Mike O'Brien; music by Mike O'Brien, Wallace Hammond & Duncan Snowden)

Listen to the horrible noises comin outa my radio
AM, FM, also FM stereo
The lyrics are inane
The tunes are pretty lame
And you poor suckers can't wait to see the video

And all I ever hear is - radio vomit
Can't understand why they ain't got nothing on it
It bores me to the bone
But it won't leave me alone
And all across the dial it's radio vomit

Ya ya ya I love love love ya honey
More of that same old crud - yum yum yum yummy
They're spinnin em back-to-back
With hyped-up deejay yack
They spew it out and then rake in the money


These half-baked losers think they're really cosmic
With their syncopated pre-chewed corporate dogshit
Insipid harmony
And now it's on CD
Well I seen a lot better than that go down the toilet


And all across the dial is radio UGH


(words & music by Wallace Hammond)

Drink up now, here's the plan
Have another screech
Man, you're rummed up grand
You ain't got no job
This is what you do
Join up with the Army
A gun'll look good on you

Welcome all you armies
Welcome to our home
We are seeking martyrdom
We won't die alone
We will die for Allah
Ayatolla and Koran
You will die cause America
Raped and fucked with ole Iran

You could die in Iran
Belfast, Vietnam
Nicaragua, Salvador
Or Afghanistan

Welcome all you armies
Welcome to our home
We have not forgotten
All the world we roam
We are from Armenia
This we will you tell
Come on, Turks and Russians
Taste a little hell


Welcome all you armies
Welcome to our home
We are seeking freedom
Somoza's overthrown
We are Sandinistas
Armed and not so dumb
You will die for the rich back home
Come on, yankee scum


Welcome all you armies
Welcome to our home
You have got your guns and tanks
We our bombs and stones
We are here in Belfast
We'll no longer starve
Come on, Maggie Thatcher
We your arse will carve


Welcome all you armies
Welcome to our home
We have had enough now
Reap what you have sown
Tired of being pushed around
We'll no longer run
You will not take us alive
Come on, come on, come



(words by Mike O'Brien; music by Duncan Snowden, Doug Ivey & Mike O'Brien)

You line up every evening
at the hottest spot downtown
to huff and puff and shake your stuff
as the disco ball goes round
catch that mindless rhythm
and go into a trance
forget the troubles of the world
just close your eyes and dance

Close your eyes and dance, sugar
close your eyes and dance
don't think about the world outside
keep your mind down in your pants
the world ain't got a chance
but you still might find romance
think of something beautiful
just close your eyes and dance

Who won that last election
bet you don't remember now
maybe the one with the perfect hair
makes perfect sense somehow
and if some folks are hungry
you know they had their chance
let them eat cake or a Hostess Twinkie
just close your eyes and dance


What was that commotion
did you hear the sound of guns
green clouds wafting through the air
folks dropping one by one
the walls and ceiling crumble
as the four horsemen advance
while the shit comes down around your ears
just close your eyes and dance.



(words by Mike O'Brien; music by Duncan Snowden)

Down in the state of Georgia
In the good old sunny South
You gotta be real careful
What you're puttin in your mouth
Cause the laws down there are nasty
Where preversion is a crime
And for oral stimulation
You might end up doin time

Sodomy in Georgia
Lovin till the dawn
But watch out for that sheriff
If you try to get it on

Now me and my old lady
We was drinkin some cheap wine
It was midnight in the trailer park
And we got to feelin fine
When a mean old Georgia sheriff
Came and kicked the back door down
Said Get you tongue out of that thing
I'm takin you downtown


Now I'm workin on the rockpile
In the Georgia county pen
For the sins of Jimmy Sawggert
I'm a doin five to ten
But I'm gonna go to Bible School
When they let me outa here
And I won't do no more 69s
When I'm Free as a Bird


Get it on ....

See the FAQ


(words & music by Mike O'Brien)

It's a long time ago and life's a blast
got my little Deuce Coup and my neighbor's ass
me and my baby gonna get it on
cause the surf's up tonight in Babylon
I got her, she got me
it's a funky Deuteronomy
it's surfin fever, 44 B.C.

All of you heathens, come along with me
we're gonna surf surf surf in the dead dead sea
dancin in the sand till a quarter to three
with a little old lady from Galilee
rock n roll but don't eat ham
hack the sacrificial lamb
it's surfin fever, 44 B.C.

I'm a singin this song with a biblical hook
I got my dark sunglasses and my shepherd's crook
Gonna hop on my camel, take a tour of the Torah
Gonna rock em in Sodom, get some more in Gamorrah
Yea though I walk through the valley of death
I'm gonna bop bop bop till I'm all outa breath
It's surfin fever, 44 B.C.

I got some manna from heaven and a jug of wine
I'm a hoppin and a boppin with the Philistines
The Scribes and the Pharisees havin a ball
Till along comes Jesus and wrecks it all
But listen what them prophets teach
Grab your surfboards, hit the beach
It's surfin fever, 44 B.C.
It's surfin fever, 44 B.C.


(words & music by Duncan Snowden)

It's a people's working holiday, by order of Beijing
To rid the country's pestilence, the rodents, birds and things
Convenient little enemies, a product of the age
Cause there's nothing like distraction when you're King Rat of the cage

It's Rat Killing Day - Get the dogs and head for town
It's Rat Killing Day - Set the traps and track em down
It's Rat Killing Day - Toss the buggers in the brig
And when it's time they'll wail and whine and squeal like a pig

There's rats of many nations coming from the same bad seed
Those dirty rats don't hesitate to do the dirty deeds
There's Harris and his scab rats suckin blood out from a stone
Look a little closer now - they're nesting in our home


There's banker rats and desert rats to keep you on your knees
High priest and priestess rats and all their little fleas
So pass me some poison man it's time to end this plague
And when I'm done they're going to run with their tails between their legs



(words & music by Mike O'Brien, Duncan Snowden & Tony Richards)

Once there was a preacher
And Jimmy was his name
One day he got indicted
Next day he went insane

If you wanna see God
You gotta lose that frontal lobe
You can ask Jimmy Bakker anytime

In a motel in Miami
That's where it all did start
With a New York City bimbo
Who had Jesus in her heart

Ten million faithful Christians
All sent in their welfare cheques
He said they had to do it
To avoid the fires of hell

They said he had to pay
For all the suckers he had jobbed
In a Caroline court
Before old Maximum Bob

As they were readin out the charges
Jimmy's brain went on the bum
He started seein visions
And a screamin out in tongues

Now Tammy couldn't handle
Poor old Jimmy in disgrace
That cheap K-mart mascara
Ran in rivers down her face

They shaved his head and split his skull
And opened it up wide
But they only found a bible
Full of cancelled cheques inside

Now Falwell, Oral Roberts
And Jimmy Swaggert too
All waitin for lobotomies
They're standin in the queue

I think I'll get religion
Cause I need a raise in pay
Why's it say In God We Trust
On the money anyway?

If you wanna see God
You gotta lose that frontal lobe
You can ask Father *CENSORED* anytime
You can ask Archbishop *CENSORED* anytime
You can ask *CENSORED* *CENSORED* anytime
And he'll sing it to ya!


(words by Mike O'Brien; music by Duncan Snowden & Dog Meat BBQ)

I'd love to sit in the throne of God
and do a nice big shit
to pull the strings that move the people
and write big FM hits
to peer through bedroom windows
and stare down at their tits
I'd love to sit in the throne of God
and do a nice big shit

For I am the Lord your God
and you shall put your trust in me
and I'll take good care of you, my children
just you wait and see

I'd make this crummy little world
a slightly better place
I'd send the rich and powerful
careening off in space
I'd free them huddled masses
and then I'd share the wealth
I think I'd make a damn good God
if I do say so myself


I'd take the Holy Slingshot
shoot the buzzards off the fence
rewrite the stupid bible
so it makes a bit of sence
I'd take the beautiful people
and cover them with zits
then I'd sit right back in the throne of God
and do a lovely shit


I'd love to make mankind evolve
into something small and green
and stick my picture on the front
of Newsweek magazine
I'd take them sainted nincompoops
and blow em all to bits
I'd love to sit in the throne of God
and do a NICE BIG SHIT



(words by Mike O'Brien; music by Wallace Hammond)

Time to hoot and holler
Time to make some noise
Weapons of destruction
Make wonderful toys
And lots of ammunition
To make God's cannons roar
It's a holy night when babies march to war
It's a holy night when babies march to war
It's a holy night
Such a holy night
It's a holy night when baby's march to war

Their faces young, unblemished
Barely sweet sixteen
Still too young to take a drink
They're totin M16s
They've got a sacred mission
To even up the score
It's a holy night when babies march to war ... CHORUS

They go without a question
Theirs not to reason why
get em while they're still young enough
They just can't wait to die
And when they all have fallen
We'll send ten thousand more
It's a holy night when babies march to war ... CHORUS


It's a holy night
Such a holy night
It's a holy night when babies march to war
It's a holy night when babies march to war
It's a holy NIGHT


(words & music by Duncan Snowden)

In the middle of America there's a big white shack
Down between the K-mart and the stock car track
Where if your trigger finger's itchin to shoot off a little steam
You can take your aim with some coffee and cream

It's down, yes it's down
At Bob's Donuts - Bob's Donuts and Firing Range
At Bob's Donuts - Bob's Donuts and Firing Range

Across the road in Sturgis, same time each year
A quarter million bikers gather, yeah, they real;ly have a tear
But the locals don't worry and nobody seems to mind
They got their beer bellies stocked and their shotguns primed

They're down, hanging round
At Bob's Donuts - Bob's Donuts and Firing Range
At Bob's Donuts - Bob's Donuts and Firing Range

Dance - Dosy-doh and dosy-do and dosy-do again
Dance - Dosy-doh and dosy-do and dosy-do again
Dance - Dosy-doh and dosy-do and dosy-do again
Dance - Dosy-doh and dosy-do and dosy-do again

They got the Aryan Nations, they got those cartridge clips
With every automatic weapon, you get a box of honey dips
And the cops and the robbers getting ready for the game
When they all play together under his big name

Bob's Donuts - Bob's Donuts and Firing Range
Bob's Donuts - Bob's Donuts and Firing Range
Bob's Donuts - Bob's Donuts and Firing Range
Bob's Donuts - Bob's Donuts and Firing Range

See the FAQ


(words & music by Mike O'Brien)

Hello everybody
I'm a Meat Cove Man
I got a belly full of home brew
And a head made outa Spam

I'm a Meat Cove Man
And I howl at night
I go arf arf arf arrooooo
When I'm feelin tight

I drink a dozen beer
And then I drink a dozen more
When I drink another dozen
Then I'm ready to go to war


My daddy was my uncle
My momma was my aunt
We keep it in the family
We're just inbred like that


I'll go at it with your baby
I'll go at it with your dog
I'll go at it with spagetti
Or a hollow log


Howlin in the moonlight
Everybody look at me
I ain't got no inhibitions
I ain't even got Grade Three


Hot damn, I'm a Meat Cove man
Genghis Khan was a Meat Cove Man
Son of Sam was a Meat Cove Man



(words & music by Mike O'Brien)

I turn on Channel 7
and the pictures dance insane
again the loons start howlin
in the hole that was my brain
the primetime asininity
the sex, the jokes, the pain
you piss it out, recycle it
and drink it all again

Jesus Christ was crucified
at Hollywood and Vine
they nailed him to a billboard
with a flashing neon sign
proclaiming Winners Never Quit
and Quitters Never Win
Monty Hall just licked his lips
said let the show begin

Dick Clark upon the bandstand
as the music starts to play
runs his fingers through the entrails
of his latest protege
hysteric teenyboppin
of the whole damn USA
the comedy, the agony, it blows me clean away

Satan dressed as Santa Claus
indecently exposed
to frigid nuns on Demerol
and in his teeth a rose
is clenched and down between his legs
religious fervour grows
but when he smiles a drool escapes
his paranoia shows

My lovely Ayatollah screams
like Jesus on the rack
the sky parts, gods and monkeys
get sucked up into the crack
Delilah, playing with her cunt
has heard it all before
Nuclear Destruction
here comes Howie with the score

Quick, get yer guns and condoms out
it's Howdy Doody time
psychos ridin semi-trailers
valium and wine
those parasitic spider gods
will get you every time
so out into the street you run
to wallow in the slime

She's an angel of a city
with her legs out open wide
shadows fall like dying hogs
but still no place to hide
the sidewalk splits and crumbles
the sky a sheet of flame
and here I am ecstatic
singin in the acid rain

Two more pints of Benelyn
I'm dancin on a star
crank me up, I'm Romeo
hey gimme that cigar
lemme out, I'm chokin
I'm a bug inside a jar
and I feel like Diesel Jesus
when I'm drivin in my car

Oh whoop de doo, I'm all freaked out
I love my MTV
I love the anorexic hordes
that make the shows for me
I love to watch em
shake their buns
and dance and fuck and fly
but most of all I love it
when they eat McShit and die.


(words by Mike O'Brien & Duncan Snowden; music by Duncan Snowden)

I went out into the barnyard
I was feelin mighty low
I was thinkin bout my baby
When I heard that rooster crow
So I grabbed me a chicken She was the cutest in the coop
She was squealin and a squackin
Now she's chicken soup

Finger lickin, country chicken
Won't you be mine
Wham bam, ooh, thank you lamb
That sure was fine

Then I drank some old Wild Turkey
Lookin for some hens to lay
Stuck my finger up the turkey
And then I felt okay
So I dropped my grubby overalls
I said Cock a doodle doo
I'm a chicken lovin daddy
I got my eye on you


Had a sheep the other night
Behind the silo door
Got in a mutton bustin frenzy
I couldn't take no more
I grabbed a wooly handful
and I gave her just a tad
And it was sheep dip city
And it wasn't baaad


I got a little heifer
Her name is Bessie Sue
And Elvira would be proud
Of them udders swingin low
I'm so horny bout them horns of hern
She waves her tail at me
I lay her down, her eyes roll round
In bovine ecstacy


There's never a dull moment
Here on old MacDonald's farm
Hens, sheep or heifers
Sure don't do no harm
I'll go round up the livestock
Line em up against the wall
And me and you and a dog named Boo
Can really have a ball

take me drunk, I'm home
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