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Song Details
Strap-On Brain 
By: Worm Quartet
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Rank this week: 31 (↑11)
Duration: 5:09 
Release Date: 2004  (sfjpk30) 
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Licensing: CC 
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Song Lyrics:
You're ranting 'bout albums by the Masturbating Croutons
And Vinnie Viagra and the Limp Prick Krue
You tell me the Snailfuckers were your greatest influence
But Timmy Tampon and the Stringalongs sure meant a lot to you

You're dropping names with Dennis Miller smugness
And with Rob Scheffield pretentiousness, you analyze
And though you're cool on the outside, you're giggling internally
Cuz though I'm nodding, you can see confusion in my eyes

Congratulations, fuckface
You're the indie rock obscurity king
So here's your f***ing trophy
Go stick it in the hole that makes your colon sing

Put on my strap-on brain to think at your level
But it makes me feel dirty
Makes me feel dirty
(Put on my) strap-on brain to think at your level
But it makes me feel so f***ing dirty now

You've worked in the same cubicle for almost 20 years
You've got two kids a mortgage and an SUV
Climbed the corporate ladder 'til you got some underlings
And bless my lucky f***ing stars, one of 'em's me

You say they should mandate uniforms in public school
Cuz how can your kid learn when his friend's dressed like a slob?
Opinions are like assholes and yours could use some
But I've gotta nod and smile just to keep my job

Have you always been so boring?
Did you have a soul and where did it go?
Was it your childhood ambition
To b***h about your golf game and your stock portfolio?

Put on my strap-on brain to think at your level
But it makes me feel dirty
Makes me feel dirty
(Put on my) strap-on brain to think at your level
But it makes me feel so f***ing dirty now

Even the world's biggest moron
Has always got his own point of view
And he's just smart enough to know you can't disagree
If he's got any power over you

So when somebody's spouting walrus s**t
But you're not allowed to tell 'em
Society dictates that thou shall bite thy tongue
And strap a cranial ***** to your cerebellum
A cranial ***** to your cerebellum

You're an ex-jock with a buzzcut, raised in West Virginia
With the 12-pack in your belly slowly flowing through your veins
You take me aside to tell me 'bout your high school days
When cheerleaders would spread for you after every game

Your breath gets worse as your drunken head bobs closer
And you rant about the homos and the homies and the spics
And I contemplate all my possible responses
And I weigh how much each one of them will get my ass kicked

You wasted redneck fuckwit
Raised by the WWF
Let me buy you a cold one
So you can kill the three brain cells you've got left

Put on my strap-on brain to think at your level
But it makes me feel dirty
Makes me feel dirty
(Put on my) strap-on brain to think at your level
But it makes me feel so f***ing dirty now
(samuel_whyte)
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Current Rating 0.0 (0 votes)
Played on 4 shows:
11-13-09, #BR-09-9101-07-06, #ROTP_072
02-18-06, #ROTP_07805-15-05, #MM-8
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