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Puff Up The Volume (2012)

by Talibam!

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1.
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There’s a rumor up in the air that a big legend has no hair He’s runnin around without his wig like a sad little Porky Pig He got no style, he got no goat, he’s a sad masquerader like a fairy coat He’s the Zombie From Albuquerque Stepping through the corny suits, he got a vision of where to schnooze But not an operator on his game, he’ll always wind up getting played He got no style, he got no vogue, its kind of uncomfortable like your granny’s pantyhose He’s the Zombie From Albuquerque He pumps it hard on his daily data squad, ribbons and piss bliss like a missile dik But there’s no explosion, he’s got a Mr Floppy, and I feel sorry he’s missing Aphrodite Call me “Magulkin,” I’m a beetle to buzz. Squeeze yer nipples hard, lactate spicy pork buns He’s the Zombie From Albuquerque His sun is setting in his plastic shoes of the breakdown of the self turns one into Looney Tunes But there’s no plateau or nice view, the moon is laughing while he’s clueless of his blues Don’t look now, he’s humping a cow, its a milky-cream party, gonna spray it on your crown Zombie From Albuquerque Ten soldiers and Egypt's runnin, I hear the drumbeat coming Cairo’s out, on our own, 4 dead and a gyro Butter on my hands, sugar on my lips, gonna suck you hard like a popsicle stick A million zombies rushing through the door, my drumbeats scared ‘em, each beat a bloody gore Yoda can’t keep my drums from saving Princess Leah, Kryptonite can’t foil my drums -- Lex Luther: yo, see ya! Wriggle my universe, pop the twerp, the Carvin is cool, I’m not a jerk Aloha from Spain, a Love Boat insane, don’t call me Coltrane, I’ve got a sketchy name Its 1812 in my pants tonight, dust off my horse and hold daddy tight Cradle my cannonballs, give 'em some love, Abe Lincoln's nose puffed up like a dove Not a flashy dancer, I drink salty acid, quality romancer, I’ve eaten in a mansion Hide the contraband boiling point, it’ll explode -- what a snowy joint Its Year One and I'm looking badass, my brick house rocks but it ain’t gonna last I found my camel on my wife in a barn, she was spinning his junk like a pink ball of yarn Running from the law, I eat coleslaw. I go bald, disguise the fall Tourniquet bled all the way down, gotta get sewed up by Dr. Greyhound How many buttons will it take to call you, when will your peaches be ripe in a tutu? Don't you know I'm waiting for your twat? Bust your monkey, let's see what you got Commune walls force me down, living in sin: gotta keep me wound Visitor navigation: wrong way round -- lost in space, jump on my mound Butter on my hands, sugar on my lips, gonna suck you hard like a popsicle stick
3.
I’m walking in the middle of the afternoon, strolling and chilling and damn that’s a sweet groove A perfect day to spot some bloom -- Oh, ¡Si Señor!, you want to zoom on my tube? I want all of your money, take off your panties and give it to me When your panties go pop pop, your jammies go bam bam I wanna make it steamy on Encyclopædia Britann-I-can I got a bunch of money and a stupid private jet Its time to roll with me cause its the only chance you’ll get Your body goes wham wham on Oslo’s Majorstuen tram You smoked my ham and diced the Christmas gravy on my Spam Its an Olympic jump down to the valley to my underpants You’re fuzzy and you’re cuddly like a turtle in a Velcro van When my jimmie goes tug tug on your prumperumpe rubbie-dub SOS to yer flesh-sub, time to perpetrate my trouble chub Its like this: you got my homey’s numbers saved into your smartphone Your iPod’s like my nuts and it won’t take long to reach your bone Give a wiggle to my Android, a tickle to my space rocket "Ground control: there’s trouble with the rim-job on my sport jock" Don’t weepy weepy weepy weepy weepy on my ding-dong Unless you hate the disadvantaged puppy tattoo on my schlong I want all of your money, take off your panties and give it to me Hollywood/Bollywood: someone somewhere shake my wood I’m a Munchkin in the West dropping loads in my neighborhood I'm a cartoon, a comic-book, a graphic novel Superman Gimme gimme gimme gimme gimme what the White House bans I hope its sweet and messy like a newborn baby turtledove Wrapped up like a fish taco in San Francisco's Mission hub I want wet ones, and dry ones, bumpy ones, fat The triple cherry on your Vegas slot-machine is where its at At Rockefeller Center, or Heaven, or France: it doesn't make a difference where, just let me reach into your pants I'm hungry, I'm stuffed, I'm satisfied, I'm bored The application in my slacks will soon become your Lord There's a signal coming from my Millennium Falcon Keep your baby-powder to the side, put away your talcum Its natural, its fake, its wetter than a Great Lake Call Minnesota/Chicago: there's a tornado looming, for Heaven's sake I want all of your money, take off your panties and give it to me I’m an Upper West Side Manimal, its a trap I broke your clavicle, Its didactic concrete radical, swarm me like coagulates, out-leash the imaginable, assault my Hannibal, burn my candle, score a parable, I’m old-time master rambler, the vintage Deion Sanders, the corpse of Burnt Scrabblers, Old Navy bought my masters. I want all of your money, take off your panties and give it to me
4.
Ecological disaster, corporate catastrophe One after another -- why you killing me? Do you want me dead dead dead, or should I cry cry cry? Time to sink further, I don't want to fry Step into the marina, take a cruise on a boat I’ll be breezing past the octopi who be wearing dirty coats I’m deep in the jungle and I’m sweeping off the flies I'm a witness to the logging and all the corporate lies The snakes and the monkeys are running for their lives Species going extinct right before my eyes I'm grasping onto history but the times are running out I come across a dead boar with blood on its snout The Indians are struggling to preserve their land But nothing can stop the Sunburned Hand of the Man But now the sea’s polluted, it’s really bothering me Where will our worries wash red cancer all on me? On the broken shore, dirty wishes in a bottle Sunken deep, the garbage broke my throttle Cultural genocide like WWII No one gives a shit, not whitey or the Jews There ain’t no friggin time to care about the Guggenheim Wake up! The Earth can’t spare another dime The sounds of the jungle are being ripped apart Tractors and the saws: it breaks my heart Well nature is sacred, I wanna give her some respect But the system’s so corrupt I don’t know who I should elect Step into the marina, take a cruise on a boat I’ll be breezing past the octopi who be wearing dirty coats
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I wanna blow blow blow on all the nipples on the block “Wah! Wah! Wah!” say the kids that can talk This party’s too tripping, I can’t afford to waste a drop I got a tenner, a five, a combination to the bra lock They got red ones, green ones, and purple nipples rock Fraggle Rock, punk rock, “beam me up” the Scotty Spock When I’m loose on the streets there’s a party in my pants Its called Mr. Gangrene, so give it a chance Its rough, and it back talks, fills your expanse   Mean people take note: its sharper than a lance “Ouch” say the kitty, the milk is spicy/hot But smooth like a foxtrot, quick like a gunshot We got Mars on our brains, pop goes the Champagne Open up wide, disappears down the drain Getting funky, wasted, teacher’s got a pet Named Julie, Bobby, Franky, and Mrs. Peanut It was time for a break, it was time for a plan How do I get those nipples in my hands? I could ask, I could beg, think of something sweet But the simple fact remains: my distance from your teats When I look to the mirror and out pops a pimple I'm reminded of the time I nutted on your dimple Its summer in the Mission and you’re fresh like a taco Welcome aboard -- “Giddy Up,” Bronco Vegas is hot, San Francisco bumpin Driving through Rome: my crib is thumpin Its a bumpin, a thumpin, a b-b-b-b-bumpin! From NASA to Boeing to Delta First Class When you hear a sonic boom: I’m tapping that ass Its a one-way/two-way, don't give a crap You just hit the pedal, ya don't need a map Coke, Pepsi, Sprite, or kombucha Gonna pump you full of Thus Spake Zarathustra Descartes, Socrates, Plato and China This motherfucker was born in a diner Minnesota, Taipei, Montreal and Chile Football, soccer -- talking about my willy All the Times of London, New York to L.A. Ain’t no difference -- got my nuts on a tray Heavy on cake with the butter cream frosting On the cover of Vogue just like that waif Kate Moss did Mr. Clean’s on the scene, party latrine Kid’s jambee, eating larva-dried treats A small step, an uncomplete erect A caterpillar died eating Burka Queen pie Junk Ball® planes landed today Its gotta fizz, I’m gonna take a whizz Shake off your tutu on my behind Get baked on Voodoo -- we’re drinking fine wine I called Captain Zulu just to give me the time But my man was to busy humping Bach on a landmine From NASA to Boeing to Delta First Class When you hear a sonic boom: I’m tapping that ass
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I’m about to bust a nut on your Grandma There's a fire on the dance floor and it's burnin up the tramps The sound of the bass drum pumps a hole through your pants The guy’s got credit, but the ladies want cash It's a hustle for their cougars and their VIP trash The sins of man all covered in lights Yearning for a fantasy in fishnet tights The office drove a gentleman straight to tears Now he's huffin-and-a-puffin like he hasn't for years Puff up the volume, its time to roll one Bring up the noise and loose controla There’s time for action, a rhythm to conjoin Broke like a fool, trying to jump my loin But really lets get serious for a minute I’m Quad Core buff, hung full of Luminum Nothing can stop me, I’m out to win So puff up the volume, exploit my sin I’m in the middle of it stuffin it in Deep like Bloomberg runnin for a 4th term Bike lanes causing lawsuits, crashing cars don’t wanna turn We in the middle of it sitting like cauliflower On top of City Hall, Garden Tower Puff up the volume, exploit my sin, I’m in the middle of it stuffing it in Puff up the volume, there’s a dribble on your chin, the way you make love is like a kick in the shin Trouble in the mainframe ripping up the block She’s a 4-story walk-up jigglin as she walks She’s a vowel with an accent tripping on your tongue She's a jazz saxophonist like Lester friggin Young Puff up the volume I’m out to win Puff up the volume, exploit my sin, I’m in the middle of it stuffin it in Puff up the volume, there’s a dribble on your chin, the way you make love is like a kick in the shin
8.
It’s a tough day, it’s a hard day, all my dreams they done burned away An avalanche of my dreams are in the lion’ s den and now its connected like a mother guards her nest So, how do I reconcile the choices that I’ve made? I’ve established that I want to play in the game, but sometimes a point guard misses his step like my boys Quad Muff that got no respect. Its nice to hypothesize what could have been, but that’s a bad idea ‘cause you’ll reach for the gin. And my future is open and I bought a new suit, its crazy orange leather made from alien antelope poop. Skills skills skills are the way I made my name, “Spicy Hands Mottel” is what all the critics say. Music and art is all that I got but its not as solid like a gold nugget rock. I remember when I played a few times with Marc Ribot but every time I see him now he simply don’t remember no more. Kyp Malone: “Fall In Love” was the name of our band, now Kyp in TV On The Radio sweepin cross the land. Don’t forget Battles, they’re signed to Warp Records, but it used to be me and Ian Williams on Storm & Stress records. Touch and Go: always super cool, but my demos never made it to the top of the pool. Talibam!: we got 27 records, 19 tours of Europe, yet we can’t do any better? With bands like Wavves too doped to play a show, we be professional musicians who can be trusted with yer dough. All my friends are famous, and all my colleagues hot, I got 4 kids in the station-wagon, the tires about to pop. Its no joke when I bust my ass workin 9 to 5, my ex-wife thinks I’m stupid replacing music for my life. Free jazz drummers: they’re a motherfuckin dime a dozen, sheddin all their chops like anyones gotta give 'em something. Saxophones, trumpets, guitars, keyboards and bass -- the scene is too crowded, get yo dick out of my face. I work hard to make my dreams come true -- “DIY to the 9’s,” so get yer hand out Betty Boo. Yo check it man, I’m sorry to step in, but I got a few more rhymes to spit in the wind: I need time time time to make my art alive, confusion and dementia should not be on my mind, focused and relaxed is the vibe -- I don’t give a shit if Saddam Hussein’s still alive. It’s a tough day, it’s a hard day, all my dreams they done burnt away. Music and art is all that I got but its not as solid as a gold nugget rock.
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I’ll find my focus with a bit of temporary negligence It’s time to share what I got of intelligence Standard signature won’t be enough, data eye socket Make a shadow of a star, play a game of Pong And you arrive in Belgium (Ghent), off the train in a car Not knowing how far -- then arrival: say, “hello” Drink yer drink, get sweetly stoked, stoked to play, always are You’ve got to hustle hard, create magic gravity On planet Mars, find the tone, make them moan Frantic energy pulse flows control their bodies in the zone You bought my merch, sweet eye contact always works As a thank you, can I make you go berserk? There’s nothing as nice as sitting on a park bench after dark Little box of candy on my pillow, wifi service, will deliver our slippers Whack whack chimpy wimp a pumpy whump woof woof Feelin like a snack, take a doggybag poof poof Bring bring ringa ringa holler Tim Burton Got a plan for an animated movie about the Kremlin Trippy trippy trippin up hard on whippets These 2 little Goblins find a donut on a spaceship Its a trippy-trappy-trippy-trap set by the Russians The Goblins transform into b-b-b-b-b bacon B-b-b-b  b-b-b-b  b-b-b  bacon The g-g-g Goblins turn to b-bacon B-bacon be taken to the Kremlin’s k-k-kitchen To be eaten with some  m-m-m-m  m-m-m  mutton The Russians eat it up and the Goblins be plumpin... ...Up the tummy’s of the Soviet soldiers, “Ain’t it somethin!” After dinner when the troops be takin a rest The Goblins reform and they pop out their chests The k-k-k-k Kremlin be done ambushed themselves By some little green furry dudes aborted by Elves The moral of the story is when yer settin a trap Don’t skip on the Tweet, keep an ear to the jockstrap
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Dr. Giggles 03:23
Who’s in the House, Dr Giggles is in the house Oh shit! Dr fuckin Giggles is in the fuckin house Well here’s a story about my main man Look at him, he’s in the house My main man Dr Giggles is in the house So here’s this story about him from way back when He was marooned on an island for 3 whole years Quite quickly, he’d started to eat his underwear I’m Dr fucking Giggles and I’m in the fuckin house Old money from the KGB, jetliner in the shape of a mouse Touch down on the heliopad, dead center on the yacht Some people say I got 2 dinks -- they say its gross, but its not I’m Dr Giggles and I’m talkin a lot of trash I got a bazooka on my scooter, and I’m goin to a Monster Mash So yeah you want to know why he would eat his underwear, let me tell you Each cotton thread would have to last So deep in his belly his knickers reappeared Gave him the strength to escape, he had no fear And out of his throat came a strong line of thread He fastened it to a kite and let the wind do the rest It lifted him clear off the island and floated all the way here I was shocked to see him, I didn’t expect him til at least next year I own the government and the continent and the world Lord knows I’m a bad little man, its all because of a Cowgirl Her name was Julie, she wore a cape and she had a tan I nearly gave her my life, chasing her across my glands I use to have a cute little giggle, before she broke my heart Then one day I came home from the spaceship, found her naked with her legs apart Damn, Dr Giggles -- thats messed up! I feel for ya She had met some Alien dude, some wanker with a dumb little pout That girl she may have broke my heart, but man she knocked me out Dr fucking Giggles in the mother fuckin house He runnin back and forth chasing a mouse He floated in on a river of sin So he’s making up for it with a toothy grin Dr Giggles lost his brain Somewhere deep in Catalonia, Spain A poisonin’ mariachi band was to blame Tequila and Cuervo, he had no shame
13.
Well my name is Kevin and I’m rockin to the beat Its my drumming that you’re listening too, and ain’t it pumpy sweet It goes boom boom crack crack and cymbal cymbal wash wash Like Winona Ryder stealin candy til all the kids say, “Oh my gosh” When Lady Gaga milks a cow and it falls dead on her face There’s a rhythm to my drumming, squirting logic into space Its a beat that ended communism, started Desert Storm But for me its just another day, my drum beats are the norm In Israel and Pakistan and Palestine and France Its a beat that launched the missile into someone else’s pants Its from the drum beat in South Africa that apartheid got its chance Its from the drum beat in China that makes the politician’s sensor dance Its from drum beat in Canada that keeps its borders so tight Like a humdrum tourist ingenue in Spanish twilight Its from the drum set rhythm in Jamaica that sent the man to role a joint It wasn't flute/trumpet/woodwind, but a drummer, is my point Stock footage ornaments a lot of documentary films these days Its cause the drummer set her trap kit up, she sits down and plays Its a vegan in Brooklyn, Berlin, Amsterdam or Tokyo That heard a drummer's rhythm and got inspired by the flow I'm a drummer so I know that the honey’s dig the mojo They don't even matter if a gong falls on yer toe Your cool, your hot, your rhythm drives your junk I wake up in a hot tub surrounded by my spunk Now I'm chillin on a spaceship, abducted by E.T. He's tryin to rub Reese’s Pieces all over me I’m sticky, I’m stuck, quack goes my duck But my drums they won’t stop, even E.T.’s shit out of luck Yo, check it: my name is Matt Mottel, I’m rockin keys like a tramp On an oil well, I’m going to romance I’ve been to Berlin, Belize and Kansas City too Always droppin knowledge on the folks who come to groove I got riffs in my fingers, melody out my ears Total love for chord changes I only learnt this year This song pays my rent, my music ain’t an accident Its cosmic karma sexy that you hear it The shit is real, been studying for years I got Mozart on my brain and Snoop Dogg out the rear
14.
Sweet Leader 02:20
I'm a sex genius, I'm a zombie crusher You still stinkin? Oh baby I like it weird Yo yo yo -- two-tone morose with the full-suspension She walked into the room and cut the tension DayGlo bikini in the party lights Looking for a refill on a Saturday night Sweet leader: you're so fine Sweet leader: gonna make you mine "Sweet leader" is a code for the clamp She'll dive face first just to lick your stamp She'll make you pout like you're suckin on a lime Then quench your inferno with a keg of slime When she gallops through town, better put on a poncho She's ridden every buck from boy to bronco She's soiled more bibles than a man can tell The priests fear the day that they'll meet her in hell When its a hot day, you'll want some napkins Wipe off your sweat, girl -- you'll make my berries blue Her body is her weapon, its about to blast The collateral damage: deep and vast Sweet leader: you're so fine Sweet leader: gonna make you mine Sweet leader: don't tell your girlfriend Sweet leader: she's drowning in the deep end Sweet leader: she don't want a boyfriend Sweet leader: she's a ninja in the quicksand When its a hot day, you'll want some napkins Wipe off that sweat, girl -- you'll make my berries blue Sweet leader: yeah, you're so fine Sweet leader: gonna make you mine
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Jack is in a hot dog, he’s runnin around town Making all these crazy deliveries while thinking about a sound The hawk is swirklin, start up the wagon A sound is in a hot dog, its tappin in his ears Not subtle but ultra clear He thinks he knows that one day it’ll reappear Death is in a hot dog, its like an oil stick from Minola Brought to yer gut just straight up like my fly girl wearin Manolos Red Leader 1: there’s a fire in my basket Death is a hot dog, but don’t fear it Its coming forth to us all Its just a grand invitation to the next sweet ball My dik done told me what I wanted to do Gas is in a hot dog, its electrically wound All the cables of the world hanging us deep from the ground It forces us to be near with an outage we start to fear Like a winter cough that’s destined to appear Hot hot hot hot hotilly-diggily hot Eat it while its hot in the wheat bun -- damn son Spicy pickledy relish, equation makes me jealish Pump the intestine, end it with a question My dick done told me what I wanted to do And it told me that I wanted to do you I got race on my brains, cloggin up the drains The TV/computer exhuming my remains Tweetin nostalgia, my yogas insane Hindu, robot, post-loaf ‘Trane From Fuji to Rio to Denver and shit The fellas and me, we wanna go on a trip Good/slimy Maryse, Rock Row Its a couple of flavors that made some dough Airplanes, bicycles, cars and Doritos® Don’t matter what when you’re wearin your Speedos Chicken carcass bong in a 3 dollar town Gonna cruise past Hong Kong unfound Chump change drips from the breast to the lips Gaddfi’s face is a blob full of blips Would you put some chicken on my sweet-ass reverb Its mean and spicy like a weed addict beaver My baby spreads the slime, its goin around Jump on the bedspread and make daddy proud Clooney bangs Berlusconi’s wang A Vietnam veteran shouts, “Hot dang” Papa’s got a headache and he blew out the town Underneath the fireplace the soot’s comin down Kyp and Culk: no need for the Hulk Call Hugs and party, deliver ex-bulk My bitch got the clamp and its goin around Should’ve been waxin me a dollar for a pound I love it when you call me Big Grappa Put your hands in the air and call my buddy Moppa I’m a mean, cold-spinning arrhythmic queef Su Z. Armageddon’s Cheez Whiz on the CD Group shower, Facebook page Little Shirley Temple got baseboarded today Well I’m trippin in the sun on the way to the Grammy’s Will Smith and Sting wearing matching pajamies 2 seconds of Pasta Slovenatron Greece is loose and Madonna’s gone I’m on my way to a 3rd date with Condoleezza Rice She’s perky, she’s smart, gets nasty with my dice I’m driving to her home, its a pad with some class She’s got Moët, satin sheets, and a pretty great ass I’m Inspector Maggot, I’m dead in a casket I’m trashed Basque madness, I’m cocaine devil sadness I’m drinking Cookies’ petals with thugs Who sprayed my boot, I’ve got a ransom to stuff Condoleezza is a firecracker the way she holds me down She’s hungry from my plump pop all over her see-through gown She ties me to the bedpost and whips me like a swine I love Condoleezza Rice, she’s cuddly and she’s mine I’ve got the radio playing on my stereo Hifi transmission going thru my soul Tee’N’Ay: checkout -- ruins my eyes Don’t hesitate at Pies ‘N’ Thighs Yo Mottel-in-the-hotel, check it out, here’s Condoleezza’s # Just give her a call and tell her whose calling is Mr Thunder
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Yo all you ladies in the house: its time to get intellectual When I give you a little bit of hover, I’m gonna make you get under the covers Dethrone the King -- you’ve earned it, you thinked Time to make it with the Queen If you keep your right intention, sooner or later you’ll enter the right dimension Just have a vibe that works, whatever that may be Create an extraordinary amount of indecency Then maybe ya proceed to me, got lots of arms to hold at bay -- you feel me? Mottel’s in the hotel, got a full-color swimming pool And an indoor TV, and its chlorine-free The sun is shining and I blurred my destiny Mottel’s in the hotel. Yeah I’m deep in sack Can I call you on the phone? You can call me collect You got a jacuzzi? Its in my TV (10...) How much will it cost? For my homies its free (9...) What about the parking? Got a private garage (8...) Does your hotel have a pool? Yeah I’m keepin it large (7...) How about the concierge? She’s asleep in my suite (6...) Can I order room service? Ceviche’s on me (5...) What floor are you on? I own the whole spot (4...) What’s up on the roof? Its a rocket I bought (3...) We’re deep in the countdown. We’re heading to space (2...) Where are we going? The Mottel Moon Base (1...) Liftoff Mottel’s in the hotel
19.

about

No explanation necessary. Initially released as a CD/LP by C.H. (UK) in 2012. Contact talibambam@gmail.com to get a CD/LP.

credits

released April 5, 2016

Synthesizer, Vocals – Matt Mottel
Drums, Vocals - Kevin Shea
Initial Recordings by Etienne Foyer at Instants Chavirés.
Additional recordings by Talibam! at Spermerang Studios and 14 Wall Street.
Final Recordings, Mixing and Mastering By Colin Marston at The Thousand Caves.

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Talibam! New York, New York

Dadaist provocateurs with an innate love for the history of music. Talibam! is Matt Mottel and Kevin Shea.

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