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Punk‐O‐Rama, Volume 10
Disc 1
01. When “You’re” Around
02. Lovers & Liars
03. Shoot Me in the Smile
04. Failure by Designer Jeans
05. Sun vs. Moon
06. News From the Front
07. Mixin’ Up Adjectives
08. Shadowland
09. From the Tops of Trees
10. I Need Drugs
11. Mince Meat
12. Mission From God
13. Black Cloud
14. Last Goodbyes
15. Anchors Aweigh (live)
16. Farewell My Hell
17. The Warrior’s Code
18. Dead Weight Falls
19. White Knuckle Ride
20. Falling Down
21. No Fun in Fundamentalism
22. Bloodstain
23. Not the Way
24. Ghostfire
25. Riot, Riot, Riot
26. Laugh/Love/F---
Disc 2
01. Ride the Wings of Pestilence
02. My Eyes Burn
03. Ray
04. Skeleton Jar
05. Eagles Become Vultures
06. Tu puta mi casa
07. Rose of the Devil’s Garden
08. Chain Me Free
09. Los Angeles Is Burning
10. Ride the Fence
11. Caesura
12. The Reasons
13. 10 AM Automatic
14. National Disgrace
15. Miss Take
16. Tessie
17. Anchors Aweigh
18. Insects Destroy
19. Riot Riot Riot
20. Glass
21. NFA
Th-the devil,
Th-th-the devil,
(Repeat x4 then continues until "settle their differences")

The devil only exists because of your belief in him,
Same goes for that other guy,
I believe the sun is simply reflecting the shine from the moon (word?)
Stealing its spotlight, they'll have a cockfight at noon,
To settle their differences,
At midnight, rematch,
To stir up their similarities on turntables,
That chicken scratch proved to be unreadable,
The determining factor in who gets the pitch to control the tides,
No one decides a victor unless they give a fair listen to both the sides,
We're low-lives,
We go blind jerking off to the eclipse,
The sun was pulling cheap shots doing commercial body tricks,
Behind the back,
Under the leg,
I think he even did a headspin,
On a crossfader that sounded whack,
But looked excellent,
All of the sudden it gets dim,
The crater face steps in,
Puts mexican drumbreaks on the Technics,
He's like "Let's begin",
He conducted an orchestra so dope the sun started sweatin' him,
I guess he'd expected to win on pure artistic merit,
Composing complex plays with nothin but soundbytes,
Burned out the lights,
Made MCs too self conscious quit the master mics,
For a thousand nights,
It continued without a single slip up,
Except once the record skipped,
But it kinda sounded cool,
And fit within the rhythm he was juggling,
Poly-rhythms out of country western albums spinning,
It is plain that he had come to win,
But as always due to corrupt judging,
They drew a tie,
Now it's do or die.

The sun was like,
No no no,
The moon was like,
Go go go,
(Repeat x3)

And when the sun was chosen,
I came to the conclusion,
This guy doesn't know what he's doin'.

God's not a woman,
He's a big white guy in the sky,
And the deserts are reflections of his eyes,
He doesn't cry for us,
But when he does,
It's cause he's drunk,
(Say What?),
God's not a woman,
He's a big white guy in the sky,
And the deserts are reflections of his eyes,
He doesn't cry for us,
But when he does,
It's cause he's drunk,
And he's always fucked up,
Bottoms up,

God's not a woman,
He's a bitch.

Th-the devil,
Th-th-the devil,
(Repeat x4)

This is one hand clapping alone,
This is the smallest violin,
Run rabbit when they fight to kill your baddest poem,
The devil is the fucking white man,
This is one hand clapping alone,
This is the smallest violin,
Run rabbit when they fight to kill your baddest poem,
The white man (the white man).
(Th-th-the devil)