this is the place you face the music i demonstrate an altered state with the blacklight shining on the boombox i rush the show to the underground spot from p.m. to a.m. you are and i am choking on smoke below the coliseum not soft-shoe ’cause i wear the new dance scoping the girls with the shrinky-dink pants milk crate steady mic check one two feedback shellac about to break on through broadcast by a radio station low downstairs at the basement show mark the x on the party map a flying v peavy sonic attack the cops are here if you believe the rap take a five-finger deal on the silver tap i pull my hat down take the stairs down getting together in with the out crowd you got the beer we got the time i’m skipping everybody in the bathroom line robot moves on a wild rumpus standing up front where the stacks is thumpin’ so i'm keeping it on going all night long clearing the six-foot on the front lawn a bottleneck check your mic marinade i come late to the masquerade to the sweatbox dirty kneesocks and i’m going through the back when the front door’s locked