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Glad to be Zach...



What's up people. Complacent, no-newspaper-reading automatons!

Yeah! YEAH!

This is Zach. Zach de la Rocha. Omar's taking today off and he asked me to fill in. Why? Think I give a damn?

Let me tell you something about that punk. He's not down the the struggle. He doesn't give a damn about La Raza, the rainbow people of the Sun. He's given up the struggle, all cozy in his little two-bedroom duplex, watching his satellite TV, fuckin' Sex and the City.

He's probably getting a damn manicure today, he's all worried about getting his precious little fingers all chafed on his little wussy ergonomic keyboard.

"Come wid it now!!!"

Indigenous people DIED making that ergonomic keyboard! That's right! Up in the mountains of Jakarta, little pregnant eight-month old brown children are soldering circuit boards together so your fat little fingers don't strain on the G and H keys. Do you care?

NO! The last time you cared about a brown-skinned boy was when you tipped him for mowing your lawn. Yeah! Yeah! And it don't quit! And it don't stop!


So anyway, I went to see a psychiatrist this week. That's right. I stepped into the lair of the white man's psychological establishment. Not because I wanted to. Damn record label says they won't put me with a new band until I go through some "Anger management."

See, I totally understand because I have no reason to be angry at these white music executives. Yeah, we're cool. They only took my people's land. Forced our people to build Model Ts in sweatshops. Dressed us up in bow ties and wool suits, raped our land, poisoned our food, stole our music, stole our screenplay for Little Giants. Yeah, you can't imagine the devastation. And do we complain? No. We just say, "Thank you, Mr. White Devil. Can you show me how to tie a bow-tie all pretty and tight like yours?"

NO! NO! Hell no! Doing it for BLOOD AND OIL! Tried to kill us off, take our land and go there for vacation!

It has to end sometime. It has to quit all night.

Or something.

So I go to this shrink's office. He's all, "Hello, Zachary, my name is Dr. Penton and I'm going to talk you through some issues you've raised in your music and with some of the people you work with. Now, I understand you stabbed a record executive's neck with a ceremonial Cherokee feather. Now, what made you feel anger toward him?"

I was all, "Aww! NAWW! Can't stop me now!" I started jumping on the psychiatrist's couch until he called security.

Fucking white man. Oppressing my shit. Never, man. You'll never hold me back. Because I have a voice. I have sneakers that make me jump real high, and I got tight, muppet dreadlock hair. So FUCK YOU! YEAH! Got a shotgun! In my pocket! And some Dentyne gum!

So, yo, check it out. I got invited to a Hollywood premiere last week. I went, because I love to see all these ignorant fucks dress up all pretty and give each other awards and kiss each others' asses.

Do you know what they make Academy Award statues out of? First off, they use metal smelted from broken baby's cribs taken in Africa. All across Nigeria, there's babies without cribs because Julia Roberts needs to feel good about her weak ass acting skills. They take that metal and turn it into the shape of a human, and then they plate it with gold stolen from El Salvador. The only way Salvadorian black market gold dealers will trade is for white slaves. You ever wonder what happened to Willie Aames from Charles in Charge? His ass got traded for Cuba Gooding Jr.'s Oscar gold plating.

But do you care? Hell no! You're watching it on TV, talking about what people are wearing, contributing to the tyranny! THE TYRANNY! THE TYRANNY OF MY PEOPLE! I GOT A SHOTGUN!




And you DON'T STOP! And Billy Crystal, he don't quit!

So, anyways, I was at this premiere. For fucking Planet of the Apes. You believe this shit?

They stick a white man on a planet full of dark creatures, dudes that are a little fecund, and all of a sudden he's a hero and shit just because he stands up and fights their collective. What kind of fucked up, racist bullshit is that? First Marky Mark is gonna take rap from us, and then he's gonna kill some brothers because they got a little bit of hair around the cheeks? This is a white, fascist bullshit message. If you buy into it, you're part of the problem.


I'm not just telling you to boycott this movie. We need to go set the fucking theaters on fire where they're showing this. Multiplex-sitting consumers. Ya'll don't even care do you? No! NO! You're all sleepin' in the fire, watching the world get run into the ground.

Where's your hearts? Raise your fists! Fight the power! Fight the white!

Collective action, bitches!








Shit, I miss my band.


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