Night of the Living Rednecks
Dead Kennedys Lyrics

Ray's guitar broke. No, we won't play Rawhide, won't play anything.
We can't play anything since Ray's guitar isn't working, and we won't play Rawhide either.

We'll play the theme from the Dinah Shore show. Who wants to be Dinah Shore? Who's alter-ego is Dinah Shore?
As an act of defiance, we'll play the theme from the Dinah Shore show. Who wants to be like Dinah Shore, and who is she really?

Oh, his fists didn't go up so quickly this time. Yawn, yawn, yawn.
The response from the jocks wasn't as quick this time, and it's boring to deal with such people.

Put those headphones on, it's be-bop time.
Let's ignore the outside world and focus on listening to be-bop music.

I want to tell you a story about the last time I was in Portland.
I'm about to share a story related to my previous visit to Portland.

The night before we played at the Long Goodbye.
It happened on the night before our performance at the Long Goodbye.

I was walking on the street about 10:30 at night.
At around 10:30 pm, I was walking on the street.

A lot of people go to bed around here at 10:30 at night.
It's common for many people in this area to sleep by 10:30 pm.

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.
Suddenly, a group of jocks arrived in a bright blue pickup truck with KC lights, tractor tires, and everything else except a CB. It looked like a toy car of a dumb rich kid.

Well, they drove up to me and they yelled what dumb rich kids usually yell, "Hey, faggot," and showered me with some water.
The jocks yelled a homophobic slur and threw water at me.

So, I stood there thinking, what a bunch of fuckheads and picked up a rock.
I thought to myself how stupid they were and decided to grab 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.
I waited for them and walked to the Kentucky Fried Chicken a block away on Burnside, and they circled back around again.

They said, "Hey, faggot, where's the nearest McDonald's?" I said, "I don't know" and they squirted me again.
The jocks asked where the nearest McDonald's was and sprayed me with water again when I said I didn't know.

So I threw the rock and put a nice-size dent in their giant Hot Wheels car.
I threw the rock and managed to create a dent in their expensive car.

They screeched 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, "We're gonna kill you, you god damn faggot, we're gonna kill you, you motherfucker."
They stopped the car in front of a department store, which name I can't recall, located up the street from Fred Meyer, and took out their clubs, chasing and threatening to kill me with hateful slurs.

So I got in a phone booth by the Kentucky Fried Chicken on Burnside, held my legs straight out like this so they couldn't open the door to the phone booth. So they began charging the phone booth, 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.
I entered a phone booth at Kentucky Fried Chicken and held my legs straight so they couldn't open the door. They charged at the booth and beat it with clubs, shouting threats while I watched.

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.
A group of kids who were around formed a crowd and began saying that I was insane. I thought this would be my escape.

I yelled at them, "Take me to a mental hospital right away. I want to be be put away. Please put me away, c'mon, call the cops and put me away. Please put me away now."
I yelled at them to take me to a mental hospital and have me locked up. I begged them to call the cops and put me away immediately.

They said, "Alright, faggot, we're calling the police." So they called the police.
The jocks agreed to call the police and began doing so.

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.
The police officer arrives, and I feel relieved that I'm away from the jocks, but he throws me around, frisks me, and shoves me into the back of his car without listening to me.

Then he goes over to the jocks, "Now what happened here? It looks like we're going to have to take him to jail, but we got to have the full story first."
After this, he speaks to the jocks and decides that we need to go to jail, but we have to hear the whole 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."
The jocks had an advantage in their favor, and they explained how I caused damage to their truck and wanted to kill me using their club. They were screaming to kill me, but the officer restrained them.

So the cop made them go home, and he drove me home, and he confiscated their club and my rock as further evidence.
Ultimately, the police made the jocks go back home, and the policeman drove me back home. Also, he seized their club and my rock as proof.

And I thought, so this is Oregon, huh? Tolerant Oregon?
After these events, I wondered if Oregon, known for liberal beliefs, was really that accepting and open-minded.

Ray, are you done with your guitar yet? He isn't done yet.
I check in with Ray on his guitar's status, but he hasn't finished repairing it yet.

So what else do you want to hear, I'm out of stories.
I can't think of any more stories to share. Do you have any requests?

That's a true story, too. Just ask Bruce Loose
My account of what happened is true. You can verify it with Bruce Loose.