Bug Powder Dust [Kruder and Dorfmeister Session Instrumental][Instrumen

Bomb the BassBomb the Bass 

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Bomb the Bass

Bomb the Bass (formed 1987, in London, England) is the umbrella title for the output of British musician and producer Tim Simenon. The band, which has evolved its style over the years, has been classed as electronic or dance. more »

6:22

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"I think it's time to discuss your, ah
Philosophy of drug use as it relates to artistic endeavor"

Check it, yo, I always hit the tape with the rough road styles
You heard the psychedelic and ya came from miles
Keep my rhymes thick like a Guinness brew
So you could call me black and tan when I'm a wreckin' a crew

I'm like Bill Lee writing when he's in Tangier's
And now I'm on a soul safari with my Beatnik peers
Analog reel and a little distortion
Smokin' on somethin's you could say I'm scorchin'

I never been the type to brag but beware
I'll make a man burn his draft card like it was hair
Send ya up the river like you lookin' for Kurtz
I got the mugwump jism up in every verse

I always hit the apple when I'm going to shoot
So you can call me William Tell or Agent Cooper to boot
Mr. Mojo Risin' on the case again
So tell your mother and your sister and your sister's friends

Like an exterminator running low on dust
I'm bug powder itchin' and it can't be trussed
Inter zone trippin' and I'm off to Annexia
I gotta get a typewriter that's sexier

My name is Justin and that's all, that's it
And I'll be spittin' rhymes wicked like it ain't no shit
Houses of the Holy like Jimmy Page
But the song remains the same so I'm stuck in a rage

Just like Jane when she's going to Spain
I think I'm going away tomorrow, just a fool in the rain
Light up the candles and bless the room
I'm paranoid, snow blind, just a black meat fool

Bug powder dust an' mugwump jism
The wild boys runnin' 'round Interzone trippin'
Letter to control about the Big Brother
Trying like Hart to not blow my cover

Bug powder dust an' mugwump jism
The wild boys runnin' 'round Interzone trippin'
Letter to control about the Big Brother
Trying like Hart to not blow my cover

Never been a fake and I'm never phony
I got more flavor than the packet in macaroni
Rock drippin' from my every vowel
I've got the soul of the sixties like Ginsberg's Howl

Shootin' mad ball and I'm always jukin'
Take you to the hole and I'm surely hoopin'
Top of the pops like the Lulu's show
I'll take a walk on Abbey Road with my shoes of soul

I got a splinter though, damn, you know man it hurt
I got a Vegemite sandwich from Men at Work
I keep minds in line, but time sublimes
So when you search you find something like a gold mine

A psychedelic meanderings in the poem
I got a paddock in any place that I roam
Waiting for the sun on a Spanish caravan
Solar eclipse and I'm feeling like starin' man

Bug powder dust an' mugwump jism
The wild boys runnin' 'round Interzone trippin'
Letter to control about the Big Brother
Trying like Hart to not blow my cover

Bug powder dust an' mugwump jism
The wild boys runnin' 'round Interzone trippin'
Letter to control about the Big Brother
Trying like Hart to not blow my cover

Who's that man in the windowpane
Got somethin' on his tongue and it's startin' to stain
Sho' nuff equip so I can get down
Step up on my ladder and you'll get beat down

Hash bar style so I'm singin' day glow
Wakin' up the dead like Serpent and the Rainbow
Jeff Spicoli roll me another hay
The Fish that Saved Pittsburgh with Dr. J

Shockin' your ass like a faulty vibrator
Hear me now, but you'll probably get the vibe later
Who knows where the wicked wind blows
Que sera sera just leave it alone
Great Space Coaster toast up the town

Makin' midgets with my man Dr. Shrinker
Pass the hookah, throw down the pillows
Cloth on the ceiling, blow rings that billow
Kick off the shoes and relax your feet
Now roll up your sleeves for this lyrical treat

Bug powder dust an' mugwump jism
The wild boys runnin' 'round Interzone trippin'
Letter to control about the Big Brother
Trying like Hart to not blow my cover

Bug powder dust an' mugwump jism
The wild boys runnin' 'round Interzone trippin'
Letter to control about the Big Brother
Trying like Hart to not blow my cover

"I think it's time for you boys to share my last taste
Of the true black meat
The flesh of the giant aquatic Brazilian Centipede"

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