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Viva las vegas
Goons of hazzard
Ill in the head
Saturday night
Winnebago warrior
At my job
When ya get drafted
Well paid scentist
Soup is good food
Moon over marin
I kill children
A growing boy needs
Shrink
Do the slag
Halloween
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Funland at the beach
Life sentence
Stealing people's mail
Bleed for me
Lie detector
D.m.s.o
A child and his
Pull my strings
One way ticket to
Gone with my wind
A commercial
Kill the poor
I fought the law and
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Night of the Living Rednecks Lyrics
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Lyrics Language: Scots
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Dead Kennedys Night of the Living Rednecks Lyrics:
Ray's guitar broke. No, we won't play Rawhide,
won't play anything. We'll play the theme from the
Dinah Shore show. Who wants to be Dinah Shore?
Who's alter-ego is Dinah Shore? Oh, his fists
didn't go up so quickly this time.
Yawn...yawn..yawn. Put those headphones on, it's
be-bop time.

I want to tell you a story about the last time I
was in Portland. The night before we played at the
Long Goodbye. I was walking on the street about
10:30 at night. A lot of people go to bed around
here at 10:30 at night. And well, I was walking
along when suddenly these jocks in this bright
blue pickup drove up. It had KC lights, tractor
tires, everything but the CB. It was a life-size
Hot Wheels car for some dumb rich kid, right.
Well, they drove up to me and they yelled what
dumb rich kids usually yell, "Hey, faggot," and
showered me with some water. So, I stood there
thinking, what a bunch of fuckheads and picked up
a rock. Now, I waited, walked down about a block
to where the Kentucky Fried Chicken is, on
Burnside, and sure enough they drove around again.
They said, "Hey, faggot, where's the nearest
McDonald's?" I said, "I don't know" and they
squirted me again. So I threw the rock and put a
nice-size dent in their giant Hot Wheels car. They
screached to a halt in the parking lot of some
department store, who's name I don't remember,
it's up the street from Fred Meyer, and they got
out their clubs and they ran after me, yelling,
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"We're gonna kill you, you god damn faggot, we're
gonna kill you, you motherfucker." So I got in a
phonebooth by the Kentucky Fried Chicken on
Burnside, held my legs straight out like this so
they couldn't open the door to the phonebooth. So
they began charging the phonebooth, beating on it
with their club, yelling, "We're gonna kill you,
you motherfucker, we're gonna kill you, you god
damn faggot." I just looked at them. So, there was
a crowd gathering by this time and these kids were
standing nearby and they said, "Oh, look at him,
he's insane." I thought, ah-hah, here's my way
out. I yelled at them, "Take me to a mental
hospital right away. I wanna be be put away.
Please put me away, c'mon, call the cops and put
me away. Please put me away now." They said,
"Alright, faggot, we're calling the police." So
they called the police. The cop comes out and I
go, ah, my savior, I'm away from these jocks. He
opens up the door, "Get out of there, you," throws
me up against the car, frisks me, shoves me in the
back. Then he goes over to the jocks, "Now what
happened here? It looks like we're going have to
take him to jail but we got to have the full story
first" So the jocks, who had an ace in the hole,
ace in the hole Take down on the bass, a little
bit down on the bass. Yeah, ace in the hole, and
they go, "Well, goddammit, the motherfucker put a
dent in my truck, a $5000 truck, right, so I got
my club, I went out and I wanted to kill him. I
want to kill him. Let me kill him, goddammit. Let
me kill him." So the cop made them go home, and he
drove me home, and he confiscated their club and
my rock as further evidence. And I thought, so
this is Oregon, huh? Tolerent Oregon?

Ray, are you done with your guitar yet? He isn't
done yet. So what else do you want to hear, I'm
out of stories. That's a true story, too. Just ask
Bruce Loose.
Lyrics: Night of the Living Rednecks, Dead Kennedys [end]
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