Guest
In Which, While Lamenting His Own Lack Of Depth, Chonny Decides It'd Be A Good Idea To Quote A Bunch Of Video Game Soundtracks In His Song (Nice One, Mate) Original written by Tim Minchin. Cover rewritten, arranged, recorded, mixed, mastered, butchered, chewed, spat out and stomped on by Chonny Jash Spotify: Bandcamp: SoundCloud: --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- LYRICS: He doesn’t have a problem with drugs, he just doesn’t get them. He loves all of his mates’ tattoos but he thinks he’d regret them. He likes going to pubs but he hates it when the music’s too loud. He tends not to go to rock concerts ‘cos he can’t stand the crowds. But all he’s ever wanted to be is a rock star on MTV. But he knows that it’s not fuckin’ likely. This ain’t the late ‘90s. He knows that he will always be a rock and roll nerd. He’ll keep writing songs the world will never hear. And though they won’t be heard, he’ll just keep writing. Oh yeah. But you see, the problem is he always dreamed that he would inspire but he picked up a laptop instead of a Squier, and learning to press Play is not a great way to be admired. So while the other kids were learning Stairway, he was the Albini to their Cobain. But he was convinced one day he’d rock their fucking asses. And be an icon for the disenfranchised masses. And grow his hair long. And rebel against the state. But just for now, that’d have to wait ‘cos he’s running late for his morning classes. And he will always be a rock and roll nerd. He’ll keep writing words the world will never read. And though they won’t be seen, he’ll just keep writing. Oh yeah. But you see, the problem is there’s not much depth in what he’s singing. He’s a victim of his lower-middle-class upbringing. So he can’t write about the streets, or flexing. So he sits and imagines his girlfriend is dead to try and evoke some angst in his middle-class head. But it’s quite hard to bereave when the one for which you grieve never even existed. He’s not spent a single night in prison. He has no issues with nutrition. He has no drinking problem, and no drug addiction ...unless you count the drugs they put in chicken. And marijuana always tends to make him cough. He doesn’t look good with his t-shirt off, and when he tries to act tough, you can tell he’s tricking. Oh, while his mates will go out late, popping pills and getting pissed, he goes home and showers, and gets a good eight hours. He gets his thrills from his morning lifts. While his mates will go on dates, taking speed and drinking cans of Jim Beam, he goes home and writes, spends all of his nights writing things the world will never see. ‘Cos he’s never really been part of the scene. Give him Guns N’ Roses, he’ll take BDG. He’s more into Tally than The Stones. He’s more Mr. Minchin than Ramones. And he’s never owned a transit van. He never shot a Pantera fan. He doesn’t know the difference between Metal and Thrash. He couldn’t tell you nothing about Axl and Slash. He likes Will Wood and That Handsome Devil. He knows all the words to Charlie’s Inferno. And though he tries to be all edgy and deep, he spent his teenage years playing video games and losing sleep. So it don’t matter how he tries, he cannot hide behind his rock and roll lies, ‘cos you’ve either got it or you don’t. Yeah, you’ll either rock it or you won’t. Yeah, you’ve either got it or you don’t. Yeah, you’ll either rock it or you won’t. Yeah, you’ve either got it or you don’t. Yeah, you’ll either rock it or you won’t. Yeah, you’ve either got it or you don’t. Yeah, you’ll either rock it or you won’t. Yeah, you’ve either got it or you don’t. Yeah, you’ll either rock it or you won’t, motherfucker. Motherfucker. Motherfucker. He knows that his music lacks depth, but it just can’t be helped. He has nothing interesting to say ...so he writes about himself. But he doesn’t want to sound self-obsessed, so he writes in third-person in an attempt to seem more rock-and-roll, but he suspects it’s not working... And deep in his heart, he knows he will never be Bono or Bowie. And even if he was quite pretty, with small pants like Kylie. He knows that he will always be a rock and roll nerd. He’ll keep writing songs the world will never hear. And though they won’t be- Though they won’t be heard, he’ll just keep writing. Oh yeah. No, you might not like him, but he don’t care, because he wants to rock and he will never be deterred. But he’ll always be a fucked up, little, try-hard, wannabe rock and roll… oooh-oh oooh-ohh... nerd. _Enter 13-year-old at Guitar Center, but the orchestra knows something we don’t_
