Chainsword Chester John

VERSE 1

Give a man a chainsword, he’ll decapitate your ass

Teach him how to use it, he’ll cut the planet in half

He’ll turn alien warriors into soft mashed potatoes

Leave them stinking up the air like rotten tomatoes

Such is the life of Private Chester W. John

A space marine hero and a political pawn

Fighting a war across the dark side of the universe

Where treaties are nothing more than useless words

VERSE 2

If he questions the Sergeant, he’ll get locked in a cage

If he keeps it bottled up, he’ll have no outlet for his rage

“The hideous creatures have no dreams of their own

It’s either you with a medal or them with your bones”

Hack and slash while never sleeping a single wink

Chester’s meant to follow orders, not independently think

He’s got a construction job waiting at the end of his duty

Be a good little capitalist, not a pixie boy cutie

VERSE 3

The space war is over and he gets a shiny medal

Chester wanted a parade, but he’ll have to settle

For a discount at Hooters and Dave & Busters

With the little bit of money that he’s able to muster

His body’s back on earth, but his mind is out in space

It’s an ordinary life, but he’s got blood on his face

The tears never came and he’ll never be the same

But at least he got his fifteen short minutes of fame

VERSE 4

He tosses and turns in his bedroom at night

Submachine gun to his left, chainsword to his right

Everything around him looks like alien slime

In civilian life, they call his violence a crime

Nobody taught Chester how to turn it all off

If he tried it in the war, they’d call him soft

Those alien planets were where he truly belonged

Here come the hot tears, there’s no need to be strong

Capsize Your Narrative

Generational narcissism is your only narrative

Got a past, present, and future of embarrassment

You could break the cycle, but that ain’t fun

So you plant your flagpole like an army of one

Scream your head off and then play the victim

Tears in your eyes when you’re asked to listen

Mucous in your nose when you’re held accountable

Not by yourself, because those odds are insurmountable

What will it take? Some cuffs on your wrists?

Or bloody knuckles over the wrong guy’s fist?

Or a trip to the afterlife, the point of no return?

Strike the match, your legacy is yours to burn

Every dollar you made, every friend you abandoned

All the art you consumed, all the raging fandom

It doesn’t mean a damn thing in the very end

Because your actions and words I will never defend

So what happens next? Do you pass on your genes?

To the next generation of hateful teens?

I wouldn’t put it past you, because it sounds imperative

Your only mission in life is to capsize your narrative

Help Me, Walter Hollywood

 He lights a cigarette, compromises his health

Fresh lungs don’t matter in this neo-noir hell

Every day someone is murdered and forgotten

Until the corpse makes the streets smell rotten

“Help me, Walter Hollywood,” says the dame

Every transaction starts to all sound the same

An envelope of cash, smoke the last of the ash

Hope to god her lover isn’t thrown out like trash

But before he slings the questions around town

Obligatory sex scene with hushed moaning sounds

Almost makes the lover a complete afterthought

But there are bills to be paid, killers to be caught

Every fedora-wearing wise guy takes a swing

Until Walter’s eyes water, nose bleeds, ears ring

Anymore snooping and he’ll be full of bullets

Take his scalp until he’s only left with a mullet

Walter taps the dame up for a little more money

She laughs like his misery and bruises are funny

Admission of failure is just another part of the job

She winks one more time and turns the doorknob

Another body just washed up on the riverbank

Bricks around his ankles ensured that he sank

His face was so familiar despite the taped mouth

And the two black eyes and his nose cut out

Finding the lover was as easy as reading the paper

Nothing about this mystery made Walter feel safer

The money he was paid made him look like a hit man

Police would arrest him, lock him up with a big man

Capitalism made people do the weirdest things

Wait tables, scrub floors, stand on the streets and sing

Taking unclean money seemed like the way out

Why isn’t the dame’s freedom in any kind of doubt?

It’s a system that abuses everyone who struggles

Locks up the failures with big men who snuggle

Gangsters and politicians sip from a glass of wine

And every femme fatale continues to look so fine

Hardcore Hershel

HARDCORE HERSHEL

Get off my lawn or I’ll bury your keister

Explode your noggin like the eggs of Easter

One shell from my shotgun is all it takes

Go and get a job, you millennial snake!

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Calm your ass down, Mr. Hardcore Hershel

You’re sounding like an NRA commercial

I’m just walking along and enjoying the view

Stop being afraid of everything that’s new

HARDCORE HERSHEL

This gun’s been in my family since a million BC

I’ll be damned if it’s taken away by Washington DC

I’ll be damned if you come here looking for a handout

Original Go Fund Me was being a working class standout

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Pump those damn brakes, Mr. Badass Billy

Too much Fox News is making you sound silly

I’ll be on my way if you take your aim off me

If you do, nobody will think of you as a softy

HARDCORE HERSHEL

I forgot what the hell I was jibber-jabbering about

Something about your generation doing dumb shit for clout

Eating Tide Pods and putting Gorilla Glue in your hair

I’d never do those things because I’ve got a brain to spare

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Take it nice and easy, Mr. Army Man Arthur

There’s no reason to make your heart work harder

Not all of us are like that, perhaps none of us are

Your brain is being washed by Boomer Bill Maher

HARDCORE HERSHEL

I fought in every war that this country has waged

I’ve earned my right to bask in my elderly age

Knowing that you kids will inherit this world

Makes me want to double over and unleash some hurl

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Slow the fuck down, Mr. Bullet Bubba-Bob

You can’t live forever whether you like it or not

Just raise the minimum wage and forget my age

Let someone else have the spotlight on the stage

HARDCORE HERSHEL

You’ll have to pry this gun from my cold dead hands

You’ll have to spray my red blood across the land

When was the last time you fought a war in the sands?

I’m the king of the hill and you don’t stand a chance

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t want any trouble

And for you that goes double, Mr. Barney Rubble

BOOM!

HARDCORE HERSHEL

The world is mine! The world is all mine, you whippersnapper!

HEART ATTACK NOISES

FINAL LINE

And this, boys and girls, is why we can’t have nice things. The end!