GRINDHOUSE CATECHISM

The Mighty Dangle

The Can’t Rap Kid

The Mighty Dangle

trip-hop, lo-fi hip hop, horror film soundtrack

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Layin’ low like Duane in Basket Case — stealth and twitchy,
Spit sicker than Society — raw and sticky.
Elvira in the back row, all cleavage and class,
Machetes swinging like Hodder, no questions axed

I’m the Toxic Avenger mop-swingin’ through your lobby,
Ankles split like Audition, nobody warned you properly.
This ain’t Hollywood heaven, this is VHS hell,
Ash accidentally reading a Necronomicon spell

[hook]
Lights flicker, reels burn, let the scenery drip,
From the Astron-6 basement to the exploitation strip
Recitin’ the Mutant oath at the drive-in pit
Lloyd Kaufman never lied about the apocalypse
Projector melt — scream queens, red vapor trails,
Practical effects and Savini’s detail.
I like that flick you find in a Goodwill bin,
With a label half‑peeled and the terror within.

[Verse 2]
Brain damaged like Aylmer with a twist,
Latched tight to the stem while my brain is playin’ tricks.
I watch Henry paint walls like a Jackson Pollock,
Quotin’ Videodrome sippin’ whiskey and tonic.

Hey. The water’s warm, come on into the acid bath
Coming out looking like the drunks from Street Trash.
Frankenhooker wants a date, she’ll cut you a deal,
Tourist Traps snap our minds and mannequins squeal.

I reach out like the Blob, I expand and consume,
Like Logan’s Run — better shine, youth ends soon.
Yeah I love these movies, but most people can’t,
They’d have the face on the last frame of Sleepaway Camp.

[Bridge]
Joe Bob in the lawn chair droppin’ drive-in lore,
Truth about Hollywood you never heard before
Tammy and the T-Rex — brains in jars,
Reggie from Phantasm, crashin’ muscle cars

Call me Re‑Animator — Herbert with the glowing syringe,
“M.P.A.A.’s most hated” are the movies I binge.
How many more obscure features can we fit in?
More fucked up than anything Blumhouse has ever written

Chop scenes like Fulci, cut quicker than logic,
Make a beat outta screams, turn static symphonic.
Shocking like Belial in a hotel drawer,
Send some running and the rest of us  coming back for more.

[Outro]
(This summer… one man dared to rewind… what was never meant to be rewound…”)

[creepy sounds]
The end…or is it?!
[end]

2389/7500

[Instrumental, opening, no vocals until lyrics begin] [Verse 1] Drop knowledge like Svengoolie’s midnight screenings, Wired for the movies with sinister leanings Cenobite logic, solving puzzle boxes The Priest kept Bloody like Frank whispering “Jesus wept” Layin’ low like Duane in Basket Case — stealth and twitchy, Spit sicker than Society — raw and sticky. Elvira in the back row, all cleavage and class, Machetes swinging like Hodder, no questions axed I’m the Toxic Avenger mop-swingin’ through your lobby, Ankles split like Audition, nobody warned you properly. This ain’t Hollywood heaven, this is VHS hell, Ash accidentally reading a Necronomicon spell [hook] Lights flicker, reels burn, let the scenery drip, From the Astron-6 basement to the exploitation strip Recitin’ the Mutant oath at the drive-in pit Lloyd Kaufman never lied about the apocalypse Projector melt — scream queens, red vapor trails, Practical effects and Savini’s detail. I like that flick you find in a Goodwill bin, With a label half‑peeled and the terror within. [Verse 2] Brain damaged like Aylmer with a twist, Latched tight to the stem while my brain is playin’ tricks. I watch Henry paint walls like a Jackson Pollock, Quotin’ Videodrome sippin’ whiskey and tonic. Hey. The water’s warm, come on into the acid bath Coming out looking like the drunks from Street Trash. Frankenhooker wants a date, she’ll cut you a deal, Tourist Traps snap our minds and mannequins squeal. I reach out like the Blob, I expand and consume, Like Logan’s Run — better shine, youth ends soon. Yeah I love these movies, but most people can’t, They’d have the face on the last frame of Sleepaway Camp. [Bridge] Joe Bob in the lawn chair droppin’ drive-in lore, Truth about Hollywood you never heard before Tammy and the T-Rex — brains in jars, Reggie from Phantasm, crashin’ muscle cars Call me Re‑Animator — Herbert with the glowing syringe, “M.P.A.A.’s most hated” are the movies I binge. How many more obscure features can we fit in? More fucked up than anything Blumhouse has ever written Chop scenes like Fulci, cut quicker than logic, Make a beat outta screams, turn static symphonic. Shocking like Belial in a hotel drawer, Send some running and the rest of us coming back for more. [Outro] (This summer… one man dared to rewind… what was never meant to be rewound…”) [creepy sounds] The end…or is it?! [end]

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