Discovering America

by The Nineties

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This album was recorded in a ditch while three midget prostitutes were massaging our asses with canola oil. You can literally hear the ass-oil coming out of your speakers.


released January 1, 2012

Dorian Deangelo - Bass, Vocals
Alex Hood - Guitar, Vocals
Dan Stern - Drums, Vocals

Produced and Mixed by Clemens Knieper
Art by Stephen Simpson



all rights reserved


The Nineties New York, New York

Three college students met somewhere on the autism spectrum. They soon bonded over their love of hilarious fucking shit. They now make fast music 'cause slow music is for boring relationship people.

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Track Name: Targets
There's no pain when there is confidence
As it happens in coincidence.
You'll internalize the doubt.
Those maternal eyes bulge out,
Seeing fault.

Is it you who drives my fantasy?
Do I perceive the things I want to see?
How did this mental image rise?
When I looked into your thighs,
Seeing all?

Proxy violates confluence of fates.
You can't complete me when my brain defeats me.

I could love you oh so creepily.
What if you could love me equally,
Helping me to realize
The oddest things to fetishize,
Like your shoes?

I can only see superficially.
Let's go to bed with the you in my head.
Track Name: Inclusion
If I weren't a paraplegic
I would use my legs to stomp out inner-city violence.
And if I weren't a deaf-mute
I would use my voice and ears to stop the silence.
And if I weren't a pedophile I could make the children smile,
But I am, so I won't and now I have more free time.

If I weren't a Ku Klux Klansman
I would make sure all my action was affirmative.
And If I weren't objective
I'd believe in the categorical imperative.
And if I weren't a missionary, I'd be in Satan's seminary,
But I am, so I won't and now I have more free time.

All inclusion will yield
Exclusion in fields
That might help some jerk.
Track Name: Prostituition
Classifieds are wasted on my intellect.
I'm beyond an entry job and I could not elect
To have some goddamn retard micromanage me.
Fuck his pissant community college two year business degree.

New intern, office drone
Gotta pay off student loans.
I need cash. I need more.
I could be a fucking whore!

You're not fucking Dilbert. You're barely fucking me.
Doesn't have to be an office job, Could never really be.
No, you'll do something mindless. You'll manage your own wage.
A beast of burden, a wild ass, hell, you should act your age.

Early twenties, unemployed,
It's a life I've enjoyed.
I can't stop this much fun.
I'll get a job just as dumb.

Track Name: Slum Tourist
And so I languish in gentrification, such an anguish has befallen me.
I sought to understand the trepidation of the commoners' pathology.
I thought experience of filthiness would so contribute to this fantasy,
But now I know there's more to life than gaining cred through voluntary poverty.
It's so easy to pretend that you are poor despite the trust fund.

I thought my lousy job and ugly girlfriend would endear me to the public eye.
My privileged peers would not see me as just another stupid, rich, caucasian guy,
But now I see the bourgeoisie have it easy so just give me that glorious shirt and tie
Because two weeks of slum tourism caused a schism in my mind that makes me want to die.
It's so easy to forget the things you love all cost a lot of money.

My favourite movie used to be City of God.
It caused me to abdicate my 80 gig iPod.
I don't need possessions over which my parents laud.
I just need the common sense
I thought I'd get from indigence
But let me say in my defence
I thought I'd hear an audience applaud.
(Just like they did for that black kid in the film).

So let me suckle at that corporate teat till I defeat my inner nothingness.
I realize my life's defined by nothing more than good ole-fashioned avarice.
Now I will breed more willful greed until the seed of moral need is black and cancerous.
And if you doubt my accusations 'bout my selling out than maybe you should answer this;
If money is the root of all evil, why even seek employment?
Track Name: Hollycaust
Speak to your vernacular.
Know you audience.
Sell Semite oracular.
Make your own pretense.
Exploit the guilty. Make them softer
Just enough to but an Oscar.
We can spin it positive.
It's Schindler's List indulgences.

Pay to have your doubt absolved.
Choke all the pathos.
Think that your mind's evolved.
Pray to fuck the host.
Capital and tragedy,
United in their majesty.
Partake in bounties from the lost.
Let's start another Hollycaust.
Track Name: I Am Lady
Lady, she's the man of all the city
Watching children, oh so pretty.
Gimme that sweet surfboard chest.
At least it's better than

Incestuous relations with your son,
Shooting him with my flesh gun.
I was big ol' daddy dom,
Though I made him call me Mom.

And that's why I'm called Lady.
Don't you move a fucking inch
Or I'll give your prick a pinch.
Then I'll massage all the rest.
At least it's better than

Incestuous relations with your son,
Shooting him with my flesh gun.
I was big ol' daddy dom,
Though I made him call me Mom.

I don't want to hurt you.

I'm a temperamental Lady.
You're a naughty little tramp.
Now you'll wheel me up this ramp
'Cause I'm handicapped at best.
At least it's better than

Incestuous relations with your son,
Shooting him with my flesh gun.
I was big ol' daddy dom,
Though I made him call me Mom.
Track Name: How Could I See?
How could I see the innate faults of Anarchy?
I would think easily without hierarchy.

How could I know that I did not want to go
To a place where there's no consistent cash flow?