I Wanna (Munch Jr.)

performed by Dummer Munch Jr. (vocals, guitars, and “concepts”)

 

 

I wanna

wanna

wanna

wanna

 

I wanna be rich so I can buy

A Hum-Vee with a mortar I can fire at the sky

To bag all those angels asleep in the eyes

Of 16-year-old groupies in mating piles

wanna meet Carson Daly, be hung like a star

Then I’ll spear pretty Britney and drive off with her car

wanna parachute into a Bengalese bar

Then shoot off in a rocket for a performance on Mars

 

I wanna…etc

 

wanna smoke teenage girls and call it a caper

wanna own 60 pants sewn from 60 dead tapirs

wanna  name myself Brain Shunt or maybe Rat Raper

wanna find my name misspelled in Portugese papers

Madonna will back me on a CD of rap -

white as a knuckle but dirty as crap –

She’ll dance on my knee and tell me I’m phat

While pet dwarves climb the curtains of our East Village trap

 

I wanna…etc

 

I’ll beat up the Beatles and roll every Stone

Who’s next for the Cure, God’s on the phone

I’ll end up in prison, so drive my date home

Courtney I love you, my precious pet crone

 

I wanna…etc

 

Do you have what I want?

I’ll toss you a kiss

Do you want what I have?

I couldn’t care less

 

Coked up sex elves licking Mrs. Cashbags

High as the death rate, low as a trash bag

5 limos in a mosh pit endlessly burning

A thousand year worm gradually turning

Jagger dancing in his open gold casket

Betty Boop’s tiny smack-filled basket

Molsen with Pernod or Aqua with Velva

Kerosene stirred into my Peaches Melba

Drew Barrymore screwed on a pile of roses

as Mr Ed strikes endless lewd poses

Intoxications of grotesque denial

Crawling from under my Menudo pile

Swimming in the sweat of starving starlets

Marrying the usurped Queen of the Harlots

Eating fried bananas on a bed of pig grease

Wallowing in goat shit to advocate world peace

never want to end this sympathetic magic

wanna die handsome, wanna die tragic

I wanna be a monkey made out of money

I want Mrs. Clinton to call me her honey

don’t wanna be here, wanna be famous

I’ll live in a landfill with damn Tori Amos

I’ll run up my credit until you salute it

Jewel’ll practice my horn until she can toot it

I don’t give rat’s ass, my horse sense is gelded

I’m sick as a chicken, my pig iron’s been welded

I’m nobody’s fool, not even my own

Don’t give me advice, just give me a loan

Give me a hand up then stand back and vanish

My ticks are all tocked, my flies all speak Spanish

 

(fade with flushing toilet, atomic bomb explosions, and some sort of camel complaints)