| Song | Bug Powder Dust |
| Artist | Bomb the Bass |
| Album | Clear |
| (I think it's time to discuss your ah | |
| Philosophy of drug use as it relates to artistic endeavor) | |
| Check it, yo! | |
| I always hit the tape with a rough road style | |
| You heard the psychedelic and ya came from miles | |
| Keep my rhymes thick like a Guinness brew | |
| So you could call me black and tan when I'm a wreckin' a crew | |
| I'm like Bill Lee writin' when he's in Tangiers | |
| And now I'm on a soul safari with my Beatnik peers | |
| Analog reel and a little distortion | |
| Smokin' on somethin' s'you could say I'm scorchin' | |
| I never been the type to brag but beware | |
| I'll make a man burn his draft card like it was Hair | |
| Send ya up the river like you lookin' for Kurtz | |
| I got the mugwump jism up in every verse (verse, verse, verse, verse) | |
| I always hit the apple when I'm going to shoot | |
| So you can call me William Tell or Agent Cooper to boot | |
| Mr. Mojo Risin' on the case again | |
| So tell your mother and your sister and your sister's friends | |
| Like an exterminator running low on dust | |
| I'm bug powder itchin' and it can't be trussed | |
| Interzone trippin' and I'm off to Annexia | |
| I gotta get a typewriter that's sexier | |
| My name is Justin and that's all that's it | |
| And I'll be spittin' rhymes wicked like it ain't for this shit | |
| Houses of the Holy like Jimmy Page | |
| But the Song remains the Same so I'm stuck in a rage | |
| Just like Jane when she's going to Spain | |
| I think I'm going away tomorrow, just a fool in the rain | |
| Light up the candles and bless the room | |
| I'm paranoid, snow blind, just a black meat fool | |
| Bug powder dust and mugwump jism | |
| The Wild Boys runnin' round Interzone trippin' | |
| Letter to Control about the Big Brother | |
| Tryin' like hell to not blow my cover | |
| Bug powder dust and mugwump jism | |
| The Wild Boys runnin' round Interzone trippin' | |
| Letter to Control about the Big Brother | |
| Tryin' like hell to not blow my cover | |
| Never been a fake and I'm never phony | |
| I got more flavour than a packet of macaroni | |
| Rock drippin' from my every vowel | |
| I've got the soul of the sixties like Ginsberg's Howl | |
| Shootin' mad ball and I'm always jukin' | |
| Take you to the hole and I'm surely hoopin' | |
| Top of the pops like the Lulu show | |
| I'll take a walk on Abbey Road with my shoes off, so | |
| I got a splinter though, damn, you know man it hurt | |
| I got a Vegemite sandwich from Men at Work | |
| I keep minds in line, but time sublimes | |
| So when you search you find something like a gold mine | |
| A psychedelic meandering's in the poem | |
| I got a pad up any place that I roam | |
| Waiting for the sun on a Spanish caravan | |
| Solar eclipse and I'm feeling like starin' man | |
| Bug powder dust and mugwump jism | |
| The Wild Boys runnin' round Interzone trippin' | |
| Letter to Control about the Big Brother | |
| Tryin' like hell to not blow my cover | |
| Bug powder dust and mugwump jism | |
| The Wild Boys runnin' round Interzone trippin' | |
| Letter to Control about the Big Brother | |
| Tryin' like hell to not blow my cover | |
| Who's that man in the windowpane | |
| Got somethin' on his tongue and it's startin' to stain | |
| Sho' nuff equip so wop n'get down | |
| Step up on my ladder and you'll get beat down | |
| Hash bar style so I'm singin' dayglow | |
| Wakin' up the dead like Serpent and the Rainbow | |
| Jeff Spicoli roll me another hey | |
| The Fish that Saved Pittsburgh with Dr. J | |
| Shockin' your ass like a faulty vibrator | |
| Hear me now, but you'll probably get the vibe later | |
| Who knows where the wicked wind blows | |
| Que será será, just leave it alone | |
| Great Space Coaster toast up the town tinker | |
| Makin' midgets with my man Dr. Shrinker | |
| Pass the hookah, throw down the pillows | |
| Cloth on the ceiling, blow rings that billows | |
| Kick off the shoes and relax your feet | |
| Now roll up your sleeves for this lyrical treat | |
| Bug powder dust and mugwump jism | |
| The Wild Boys runnin' round Interzone trippin' | |
| Letter to Control about the Big Brother | |
| Tryin' like hell to not blow my cover | |
| Bug powder dust and mugwump jism | |
| The Wild Boys runnin' round Interzone trippin' | |
| Letter to Control about the Big Brother | |
| Tryin' like hell to not blow my cover | |
| (I think it's time for you boys to share my last taste of the true black meat; the flesh of the giant, aquatic, Brazilian centipede.) |
| I think it' s time to discuss your ah | |
| Philosophy of drug use as it relates to artistic endeavor | |
| Check it, yo! | |
| I always hit the tape with a rough road style | |
| You heard the psychedelic and ya came from miles | |
| Keep my rhymes thick like a Guinness brew | |
| So you could call me black and tan when I' m a wreckin' a crew | |
| I' m like Bill Lee writin' when he' s in Tangiers | |
| And now I' m on a soul safari with my Beatnik peers | |
| Analog reel and a little distortion | |
| Smokin' on somethin' s' you could say I' m scorchin' | |
| I never been the type to brag but beware | |
| I' ll make a man burn his draft card like it was Hair | |
| Send ya up the river like you lookin' for Kurtz | |
| I got the mugwump jism up in every verse verse, verse, verse, verse | |
| I always hit the apple when I' m going to shoot | |
| So you can call me William Tell or Agent Cooper to boot | |
| Mr. Mojo Risin' on the case again | |
| So tell your mother and your sister and your sister' s friends | |
| Like an exterminator running low on dust | |
| I' m bug powder itchin' and it can' t be trussed | |
| Interzone trippin' and I' m off to Annexia | |
| I gotta get a typewriter that' s sexier | |
| My name is Justin and that' s all that' s it | |
| And I' ll be spittin' rhymes wicked like it ain' t for this shit | |
| Houses of the Holy like Jimmy Page | |
| But the Song remains the Same so I' m stuck in a rage | |
| Just like Jane when she' s going to Spain | |
| I think I' m going away tomorrow, just a fool in the rain | |
| Light up the candles and bless the room | |
| I' m paranoid, snow blind, just a black meat fool | |
| Bug powder dust and mugwump jism | |
| The Wild Boys runnin' round Interzone trippin' | |
| Letter to Control about the Big Brother | |
| Tryin' like hell to not blow my cover | |
| Bug powder dust and mugwump jism | |
| The Wild Boys runnin' round Interzone trippin' | |
| Letter to Control about the Big Brother | |
| Tryin' like hell to not blow my cover | |
| Never been a fake and I' m never phony | |
| I got more flavour than a packet of macaroni | |
| Rock drippin' from my every vowel | |
| I' ve got the soul of the sixties like Ginsberg' s Howl | |
| Shootin' mad ball and I' m always jukin' | |
| Take you to the hole and I' m surely hoopin' | |
| Top of the pops like the Lulu show | |
| I' ll take a walk on Abbey Road with my shoes off, so | |
| I got a splinter though, damn, you know man it hurt | |
| I got a Vegemite sandwich from Men at Work | |
| I keep minds in line, but time sublimes | |
| So when you search you find something like a gold mine | |
| A psychedelic meandering' s in the poem | |
| I got a pad up any place that I roam | |
| Waiting for the sun on a Spanish caravan | |
| Solar eclipse and I' m feeling like starin' man | |
| Bug powder dust and mugwump jism | |
| The Wild Boys runnin' round Interzone trippin' | |
| Letter to Control about the Big Brother | |
| Tryin' like hell to not blow my cover | |
| Bug powder dust and mugwump jism | |
| The Wild Boys runnin' round Interzone trippin' | |
| Letter to Control about the Big Brother | |
| Tryin' like hell to not blow my cover | |
| Who' s that man in the windowpane | |
| Got somethin' on his tongue and it' s startin' to stain | |
| Sho' nuff equip so wop n' get down | |
| Step up on my ladder and you' ll get beat down | |
| Hash bar style so I' m singin' dayglow | |
| Wakin' up the dead like Serpent and the Rainbow | |
| Jeff Spicoli roll me another hey | |
| The Fish that Saved Pittsburgh with Dr. J | |
| Shockin' your ass like a faulty vibrator | |
| Hear me now, but you' ll probably get the vibe later | |
| Who knows where the wicked wind blows | |
| Que será será, just leave it alone | |
| Great Space Coaster toast up the town tinker | |
| Makin' midgets with my man Dr. Shrinker | |
| Pass the hookah, throw down the pillows | |
| Cloth on the ceiling, blow rings that billows | |
| Kick off the shoes and relax your feet | |
| Now roll up your sleeves for this lyrical treat | |
| Bug powder dust and mugwump jism | |
| The Wild Boys runnin' round Interzone trippin' | |
| Letter to Control about the Big Brother | |
| Tryin' like hell to not blow my cover | |
| Bug powder dust and mugwump jism | |
| The Wild Boys runnin' round Interzone trippin' | |
| Letter to Control about the Big Brother | |
| Tryin' like hell to not blow my cover | |
| I think it' s time for you boys to share my last taste of the true black meat the flesh of the giant, aquatic, Brazilian centipede. |