Cypress Hill : (Rock) Superstar
I mean, they're so metal they're gay, right! I mean goddamn it if they ain't just the sweatiest, horniest, man-on-man action-crazed GAYEST band on the planet...
God they're great! I mean, they're so metal they're gay, right! I mean goddamn it if they ain't just the sweatiest, horniest, man-on-man action-crazed GAYEST band on the planet. Oh yeah! If Cypress Hill were a corn-based snack they'd be pickled onion flavour Monster Munch. With added BALLZ! Blokey spits out platitudinous bollock waffle about the pitfalls of selling your soul to the Cosmosodomistic Evil Empire that IS the music industry and you've just enough time to go, "Ho-hum" before you're attacked by a swarm of angry guitars, drowned under a bubbling ocean of violins and chewed to bits by a pack of sniggering hyenas who then proceed to shit you all over the Serengeti. OK, so we made the hyenas up but this IS a muddasnoggin' avalanche of a record AND it's got all these dead cool VIIIIZZZZZZZiiiiiiiiiiiiP! noises like someone's just shoved a stainless robo wasp in yer ear. Or something.
Thing is, though, they really can't go around being called Cypress Hill any more, can they? That's a shit hippy name dating back to when they used to be cack. So how about Special K Deff Skwad? Or Jumpin' Joe Jesus And The Satanic Unholy Mutthaf--as Of Rap? Sling on a coupla studded codpieces and a bit of Bela Lugosi make-up and get a few gigs supporting Marilyn 'Brian' Manson and blow the spindle-legged, ladies' underwear-wearing lady-boy offstage every night and so nick his audience and so become the first rap band to become the SATANIC KINGS OF ROCK! Piece of piss.
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