Music Lesson #16.5

First of all I'd like to weigh in on the Bryan Gorrel controversy, because I'd like my blog to come out on Google anytime someone searches "Bryan Gorrel controversy."

I found out a little about this matter from watching Korina Sanchez interview that socialite guy on TV. And also because I myself am also an "A-lister socialite" as we socialites like to call ourselves. I hear this Australian guy Gorrel's been raking up a lot of muck about my fellow socialites, calling them cokeheads and whatnot. I wonder if the people he'd been referring to are getting a huge kick out of being called cokeheads like the model Kate Moss or the cokehead Mr. Coke Head.

I've been around (I mean around many socialite parties in Culiat, Brgy. Tatalon, and Krus na Ligas), had my share of the wild socialite scene wearing the fashion clothes, and I'd never seen a gram, ounce, or speck of coke in my life. I hear it tastes like candy canes and beautiful angels.

The closest encounter I've ever had with anyone who'd tried coke was at a cafe in Malate that used to be frequented by artists and filmmakers in the mid 90s. I was at a table with a bunch of old dudes and they were talking about coke, what it must feel like to snort it and so forth (...candy canes and beautiful angels...).

Anyway, this one guy says "I've tried coke. Yeah, of course I have. Loved that shit." Turns out a long time ago he was at the men's room of one of the cafes in Padre Faura when he saw a small baggie with white powder under the urinal. He picked it up, figured it must be coke, and snorted the powder. Other than the profuse nosebleed that followed, he swears by the quality of bathroom floor coke-looking coke. "Loved that coke," he exclaimed. "I'd do it again if I ever find anything powdery and white near a public urinal!"

Anyway, again, I was thinking a lot about the Gucci Gang controversy and all while lining up at the MRT station wiping my sweat with a face towel, thinking about the specks of coke also lining up in front of the socialite noses of my fellow socialites. I imagined a giant credit card parting the masses in the Ayala station into neat little lines.

I do not know who's telling the truth, who's lying. I don't know where's Wally. I don't know anything about the Gucci Gang, except the fact that they are named after nice bags and shoes and therefore are apparently not a public threat. But in my own evaluation of the many blog titles I have glanced and not read through completely, I have come to the conclusion that I hope they all get the AIDS.

On with our regular programming.

Music Lesson #16

Anyone here heard of Cheryl "Rainbeaux" Smith?

I was checking out DVDs at Makati Cinema Square on my lunchbreak when I found an anniversary edition DVD of a movie called "Lemora: A Child's Tale of the Supernatural" by Richard Blackburn. The film stars Cheryl Smith (dubbed "Rainbeaux" because she'd been a regular at a club in the US called the Rainbow Room), a 70s B-Movie star who (I later learned) starred in cult classics such as "The Pom Pom Girls", "Revenge of the Cheerleaders", and "Video Vixens".

The plot of Lemora, which I copied from Wikipedia, is as follows:

"During the Prohibition era 13-year old Lila Lee (Smith), seeking to visit her injured father, a gangster, before he dies. She runs away from the Reverend, who has raised her and in whose church she has become well-known as a singer. She ends up taking a bus to the strange town of Astaroth, where people have the "Astaroth Look."

En route Lila is menaced in a swamp by a band of mindless vampires who haunt the woods and town. She is rescued by Lemora (Lesley Gilb), the vampires' unofficial queen, who takes a fancy to the girl. It seems she is the one who called the girl to her, though whether to protect her or to corrupt her remains to be seen. Lila is taken to a very old house, where Lemora gives her a bath and tries to soothe her. Exploring, Lila discovers the truth — Lemora is a vampire, one who feeds upon children and who is holding her father captive.

Lila escapes and embarks are a night-time journey through the town of Astaroth, learning in the process that there are two types of vampires here. One are like Lemora herself, relatively human in behavior in appearance. The other are mutated, perhaps de-volved, far more animalistic in behavior and monstrous in form. And the two groups are at war.

Meanwhile, the Reverend is seeking to find Lila, and manages to retrace her steps.

After a climactic battle, leaving most of the vampires in the town dead, Lila is hiding when Lemora finds her. When the Reverend shows up not long after, he finds Lila willing, even eager to kiss him. He resists at first. Then, he gives in. That is when she drives her fangs into his throat."

The movie is pretty ridiculous but since its release it's been one of the most influential cult horror movies ever. If you are a goth and/or a goth lesbian, that is (I am neither). But something struck me about Cheryl Smith, how beautiful and pure she looked in that movie, like Alice in Wonderland in a goth nightmare. Sometimes I just sit around and think of her.

Anyway, Cheryl Smith had struggled for a long time with drug abuse and died of hepatitis and cirrhosis of the liver in 2002 at 42.

The lyrics to Rainbow may appear depressing but the song's actually uptempo and fun. My influence for this song was The Smiths' "Paint A Vulgar Picture" also about a fan fiercely fighting to protect, in his own mind, the integrity of the work of his dead pop idol. The last three stanzas of the Smiths' song are as follows:

"So, in my bedroom in those 'ugly new houses'

I danced my legs down to the knees

But me and my 'true love'

Will never meet again

...At the record company meeting

On their hands - at last ! - a dead star!

But they can never taint you in my eyes

No, they can never touch you now

No, they cannot hurt you, my darling

They cannot touch you now

But me and my 'true love'

Will never meet again"

Certainly, the Mozzer's lyrics are way superior to mine. But here's my song for Cheryl Smith:

Rainbow

How beautiful you have become in death

Now everyone will know to what extent

You pushed out of your skin

To send your soul flying

Chorus:

Oh rockets and bombs they explode all around me

Fire in the sky like aurora borealis

Eternal though fleeting you were to a young boy

Now all grown and older than you'll ever be

I have all your movies tucked well inside

My hard drive, my wasteland of popular culture

I'd watch you and ponder your offscreen persona

Picture you sleeping with Hollywood vultures
(Chorus)

Lemora the witch and a truckload of extras

Turned into vampires reach out to get you

Suspicious bus drivers peer at the rearview

I wish I were there all this time to protect you
(Chorus)

Oceans of space, place, and time divide

You and me are so differently made

This tribute I sing in a strange foreign language

That speaks to a dead girl long gone from her grave
(Chorus)

I'll never taste of those drugs and ill-pleasures

That held you and kissed you and in the end killed you

But Rainbow you know just the same that I loved you

Sincerely and dearly your number one fan

Sincerely your number one

Sincerely your number one

Sincerely your number one fan.

That's it. Sorry if you can't get the references you'll have to see the film. And no I have not recorded it yet so you won't know how the song sounds like until either a) Los Chupacabras starts playing live again or b) my cover band Angel Radio takes a stab at it (which we probably will but then we won't be ALL COVERS NO COVER anymore). I really ought to get that last bit trademarked.

Music Lesson #15

As many of the friends of Los Chupacabras know, the band is currently on a sort of "live performance moratorium" until we finish the album. We've already in fact given ourselves a deadline -- 2008ish. Hopefully we'll be able to come out with "Release the Evil" sometime before judgment day.

So now I will be writing about songs I wrote that only a few people have heard.

I had a very bad dream last night concerning the passing of a loved one. I awoke at 4 in the morning, stared at the ceiling, orientated myself in the dark (I am in a foreign country as I write this), then sat up on the sofa I'd been bedding on.

The song "Mundong Ibabaw" started off (as most of my songs do) as a catchy riff playing in my head one morning. By lunchtime I had my guitar in front of the computer in my office and I was typing away.

I guess the song reflects my, ehm, philosophy in living. To anyone who'd care to listen, it goes like this:

a. Life is very short and the prospect of an untimely death hangs constantly over us and our loved ones; so

b. You have to make every moment count, squeeze in all the good (and bad) you can do in the short time you have on earth, and be kind to the people you love and/or love you because when they're dead that's it.

All the time I was writing it I had Karl Roy in mind. I had visions of myself as Karl Roy sweaty and shirtless in a club, doing that Axl Rose snake dance thing while holding up a cuapao (this is the Chinese pao sandwich with asado and vegetable filling) in my right hand. Karl Roy, as many pinoys know, already had heart surgery. I remember that time we played with his band Kapatid at the Bilibid Prison. On the way home, he told us he had something like 20,000 pesos worth of Red Horse Beer at his house that he couldn't touch as he'd stopped drinking.

The next day, I was humming the song in my car. I turned on the mp3 player and on came a song by Devendra Barnhart with a riff almost exactly the same as my song's. I realized I must have ripped it off him since I'd listened to that song before I wrote the song. I felt so embarassed but I can't change the riff anymore so that's how it's going to stay (anyway, it's a fairly generic blues riff). The thing about songwriting (or even poetry writing for that matter) is that some of the art "inputs" that influence you tend to show up in your output without your knowing it. You just have to make the best of it and make something new out of the element you ripped off.
Anyway I hope you like the song. If any of you would like to hear it live just buy me a beer, lend me your ears and I'll sing you the song. And I'll try not to sing out of key.

Here it is:

Mundong Ibabaw

Isang gabing madilim sa loob ng bahay namin

Nakita ko si Tatay tila may suliranin

Ang sabi niya sa akin "Meron bang saysay ang buhay?"

Ewan ko!

May luha sa mata, mukhang nakainom

Tumingin siya sa akin at boses niya'y huminahon

"Makinig ka sakin sa huling habilin ko,"

Ang sabi niya

Chorus:

Di na ako tatagal sa mundong ibabaw.

Nasan na ang ilaw?

Bibilan kang cuapao!

Patayin mo'ng tubig bago pa umapaw.

Kaibigan ko si Nuno, bahay niya ay punso

Sampu silang magkakapatid, di siya ang bunso (Si Clifford!)

Sa lahat ng engkanto, siya lang ang mareklamo.

Sabi niya

Di na ako tatagal sa mundong ibabaw.

Nasan na ang ilaw?

Bibilan kang cuapao!

Patayin mo'ng tubig bago pa umapaw.

Nakita ko'ng demonyo nakatambay sa McDo

Nilibre niya 'kong ice cream dinala 'ko sa zoo

Nang siya ay magpaalam ako ay nalungkot.

Ang sabi niya

Di na ako tatagal sa mundong ibabaw.

Nasan na ang ilaw?

Bibilan kang cuapao!

Patayin mo'ng tubig bago pa umapaw.

Ngayon ako ay may anak, may asawa at aso

Wala nang ginawa kundi kayod sa trabaho

Kaya't party on to the break of dawn,

Ano pa ba ang solusyon dahil

Di na ako tatagal sa mundong ibabaw.

Nasan na ang ilaw?

Bibilan kang cuapao!

Patayin mo'ng tubig bago pa umapaw.

Patayin mo'ng tubig bago pa umapaw.
Patayin mo'ng tubig bago pa,

Bago pa umapaw.

Music Lesson #14

The first song I'd written in English is called "Louelle."

Well not really the first. That would be a little ditty titled "One Way" (about an unreciprocated romance, of course) I wrote when I was in the sixth grade. I sang it to my sister in the Adam Sandler's retardo-meets-Barry Gibb voice I thought appropriate for it and she of course laughed at my face. Convinced I had no talent for songwriting, I did not write a song again until years later. Great at rebounding from failure and embarrassment I am.

"Louelle", written when I was 17, was inspired by a friend I met at the Philippine Collegian where I spent my most formative years in college. Lou was my editor, a very cool individual and one of my favorite people in the world. If life were, say, a very long stretch of highway and the people you've met are just roadsigns whizzing past you, she would be a nice little rest stop with a park bench and a pond with ducks and a decent washroom with airconditioning. Or something. (Ed.'s note: psst ... don't worry Lou they don't know you're the Lou I'm talking about.)

Anyway, Lou is great at editing works in English since she grew up in the States and English was her first language. Sometimes the guys would try to get her to speak Filipino just so we can snicker at her accent. It's like that movie where Redford White, as a flying superhero of some sort, runs into Superman. White asks "Superman saan ka papunta?" and Superman replies "Poonta akow sa Olongapow kuha akow ng chicks." Also, the fact that Lou had a firm grasp of American idioms came in handy, as in the following real life exchange I've not forgotten for some reason:

L: How's that girl ________(forgot her name)?
Me: Same old slut, probably doing tricks in some back alley.
L: You mean "turning" tricks. Magicians "do" tricks.
Me: (Spacing out, imagining her pulling a pigeon out of a hat)

Now one more thing about Lou also is that she's a very private person who likes to keep to herself so if she's reading this she either a) wants to kill me or b) wants to have me killed to save her the trouble. But this being in the name of Art (my neighbor Art, a serial issuer of bouncing checks), I am sure she will indulge me.

Louelle

Last night I thought that I was dying
No change to feed the telephone
I had no money for a taxi
And you know how the night leaves you alone, so alone.

Read: When you're 17 and listening to a lot of Smashing Pumpkins, that's the kind of garbage you're likely to write. And also when I'm sad I like to rock back and forth in the fetal position mumbling "alone... so alone..." The telephone part is dated since nobody uses coin operated payphones anymore. The kids wouldn't be "hip" to it as we used to say in the sixties.

I thought we might bump into each other
Like we had so many nights before
Nothing short of unexpected
And then you'd buy me coffee and walk me home.

Read: Other than the Pumpkins, I'd also been listening to a lot of Lemonheads. I play Evan Dando to Lou's Juliana Hatfield in my own version of the song Drug Buddy.

Refrain:

Our friends look so happy
But they all seem to fake it,
We're so melancholy
I wonder how we make it

I wonder how we make it

Read: In real life our mutual friends from the Collegian weren't happy sorts at all, most of them were a bunch of barely sufferable misanthropes. Melancholy, as I know now, is a noun. But I couldn't change it to "melancholic" as it makes the line sound awkward (the "c" at the end halts the rhythm) . Poetic license.

Chorus:

Oh Louelle, won't you come and save me
Louelle, won't you come and save me.

Read: Just so nobody gets any wrong ideas, Lou was never in the business of saving people nor has she ever made any representation to that effect. This was written in the mid 90s, at the tail end of the "grunge" movement when it was fashionable for a hard-rocking man to sing about his helplessness and vulnerability. Now they call it Emo but that ain't no hard-rocking "man" crying in front of you.

Sometimes I think we should get married
But you don't believe in shit like that.
Do you think we might be quite contented
Someday when we're rich and ordinary?

Read: Heeding the song's rich advice, we got married. Not to each other, no (she now lives in an island far away). And I never really asked her in our conversations about her thoughts on marriage so that second line was made up (as are all the "facts" in this blog suckah!). Now the last two lines of the verse just shows to you how obnoxious a 17 year-old UP student can be when talking about his future prospects. I'm pushing 30, I work my ass of and I'm still not rich. And the country is so mired in grinding poverty there's nothing ordinary about being rich.

(Repeat Refrain)
(Repeat Chorus)

And that's that. The song never made it big with my "fans" (mostly because there's no recording of it and they hadn't heard it yet even live). And also because I have no "fans".

But, as Akon would say, it don't matter no. As long as I remember the song I have a piece of the past with me everywhere I go, the melody piping out of the elegant speakers in that marble tiled washroom in my mind.

Music Lesson #13

Sometimes that box of songs in your head can be unlocked by standing dead center in the crap of the world.

Today is the promulgation of judgment for the Joseph Estrada plunder and perjury cases at the Sandiganbayan. Joseph Estrada, for our non-Filipino readers, was the former Philippine president who resigned after being pressured to do so by a bunch of people assembled for days in front of a shopping mall. Yeah I was there too. Now a nigga like me, just like Tupac, just don't give a fuck.

So anyway I had to get up real early to go to court. My plates end with six so, it being a Wednesday, I couldn't use my car. I was trying to get a cab out of Commonwealth Avenue but no cabs would come on account of the protestors marching (more like riding in jeepneys strewn with FREE ERAP banners) to the Sandiganbayan - just a kilometer away from where I was. So, for the first time in years, I had to take a jeepney, which wouldn't have been a big deal if I weren't in dress shoes, tailored pants and barong, and lugging a heavy briefcase.

An hour later, my business finished, I decided to get back to Commonwealth Avenue to where I left my car. Again, because of the FREE ERAP protestors blocking the right half of the road, the jeepney dropped me off at the center island of Commonwealth (dubbed the most dangerous road in the world due to the extremely high motor vehicle related death toll). The driver just told me to cross to the other side. For those in the United States, crossing Commonwealth is like crossing the Los Angeles freeway. Knowing that crossing from the center island would mean certain death, I had to cross back to the other side of the road so I can use the pedestrian bridge. The traffic there wasn't moving much, just a bunch of trucks lurching and horns blowing. I had to hit them with my umbrella as I crossed, in a sort of Ratso Rizzo (from Midnight Cowboy) "I'm walking here!" gesture.

Then I had to walk a great distance through a public market and a tricycle terminal. Again, in dress shoes at ten thirty in the morning. As I was walking I wrote this song.

I've always wanted to write a song called "Larong Mama" (Man Games, my personal translation) ever since I heard the phrase from Carljoe our bassist, but the words wouldn't come to me. The song was to be the third in my gangsta trilogy (the two other being Caloocan and Animal). So there I was, walking across one of those long pedestrian bridge traversing Commonwealth, face caked with dust and exhaust particles and sweat, brow furrowed, muttering these words:

Larong Mama

Ang utak ko’y kamao
Palutang-lutang sa delubyo
Di alam san nanggaling
Di alam kung sa’n patungo

Pagdating sa dulo
Pag ang buhay mo’y natapos
Tumingin ka sa akin
Bibigyan kitang panggastos

Sa impyerno
Wala na sakin yan
Pitong taon sa city jail
Nagpalaki lang ’ko ng tyan

Wala kang laban
Pagkat ako ang dalubhasa
Pagtapos ko magtong-it
Ay derecho na sa casa

Refrain:

Wag mong isiping tabla tayo
Baka paluin ka sa ulo
Wag mong tawagin akong gago
Kakabitan kita ng gripo

Larong mama
Larong mama
Ayoko ng larong bata (2x)

Basketbol sa kalye
Laro ko’y bigay todo
Tawag nila sa akin ay
Kobe Asaytono

May bumangga sa akin
Napikon daw sa balyahan
Kinuha ko ang icepick
Leeg niya ay binutasan

Sabay takbo
Iniwan kong dumudugo
Tinapon ko ang ebidensya
At doon ako sumuko

Tumatawa
Ng itapon sa kulungan
Kung gusto nyo kong bisitahin

Doon

tayo mag-inuman

Refrain:

Wag mong isiping tabla tayo
Baka paluin ka sa ulo
Wag mong tawagin akong gago
Kakabitan kita ng gripo

Larong mama
Larong mama
Ayoko ng larong bata (2x)

There. A new song for Los Chupacabras, the ass-kickingest band in these Islands. By the way, Erap was found guilty of plunder and acquitted of perjury. I am watching the news coverage from a small canteen near Commonwealth, admiring the neatly pressed shirts and the clean faces of the lawyers being interviewed by Korina Sanchez. I am sipping an iced tea watching the wheels, changing my sweaty undershirt, getting ready to get back, as they say in Vietnam movies, into the shit.

Music Lesson #12

Be careful when writing songs with pop culture references as they tend to get dated.

I was starting my second year of college when I learned that the pop star Joleena had enrolled in UP's theater program. You wouldn't believe it now but she used to be hugely famous, the country's desexualized pop princess answer to Britney Spears. And she went to my school which I thought was pretty cool.

I was once walking across the Palma Hall lobby, briskly, just trying to get from one end to another, when I saw her. I didn't see her face, just a head of hair as orange as a sunset, bobbing up and down, weaving through the crowd. I wasn't even sure it was her, but I was compelled to follow her, keeping a distance of a few meters. Keeping tabs in the notebook in my head, like a private eye.

9:12 - Entered classroom.
9:20 - Went to the ladies.
10:34 - Summoned doll army to do her bidding.
11:00 - Inspired by rainbows, designed clothes/ released Joleena line of
prescription pharmaceuticals.
12:00 - Had lunch (duck l'orange, java rice, Royal Tru-Orange)
1:50 - Auditioned for production of Verdi's La Traviata.
3:00 - (Three o'clock habit)
3:10 - Summoned doll army to do her bidding.

And so on. She was a busy lady.

I knew what I was doing was unhealthy. But I was just a normal, run of the mill starstruck guy. I wasn't a stalker or a deranged fan. I didn't send her love/ransom notes made of pieced-together magazine clippings. Neither did I prop up a naked Joleena doll in my room and draw a pentagram around it. I should have, maybe, but I didn't. Nor did I write poems or songs about her hoping that she'd someday hear them and be impressed by my admiration.

Like this one:

Joleena

In your blue baby tees,
You're a tight little tease
How'd you get so pretty
Is it rhinoplasty

That orange streak
In your long black hair
Weren't you blonde last week?
Noone cares like I care

Refrain:

We could be dating
You could be my girl
We could be married
You could be my world

Joleena
Joleena

Outside the studio
Where you shoot your latest sitcom
With my boots and my revolver
I'm in no condition to

Follow you home
To Valle Verde Five
Sleep outside your door
You keep me alive

We could be dating
You could be my girl
I could be your leading man
I'm your number one fan

Joleena (4x)
I'm your number one fan.

Later my heart broke (like a heart-shaped twig) when she moved to another school and rubbed it in my face by doing a commercial for said school with Joe D'Orange or whatever fruit-based name that guy had. I had no choice but to move on.

Years passed and I saw her again on TV. Her pop princess aura had all but gone. She was now some kind of announcer-princess for a faux interview show on the government network "showcasing" (their word, not mine) the achievements of the administration. Memories came rushing back (not of her, other non-Joleena memories).

Sometimes when I see someone, or thing, with orange hair, I'm tempted to give her, or it, a light tap on the shoulder as if to say "I have not forgotten the past!" And then I awake and my entire life has all been a beautiful dream.

Music Lesson #11

I wrote the song "Ambing" ten years ago in the boarding house of a couple of friends within the confines of UP Diliman where I was studying Economics. The place was a preferred drinking place since you can pretty much do anything in it and it was cheaper to buy beer from a store than to buy drinks at Gulod or Sarah's. Anyway, the song was inspired by their hardluck tales about a friend of theirs called ________ who had been treated shabbily in her relationships with men (boys, actually, since we were still in our teens).

At that time I was in a performance poetry group called Freakshow. Freakshow performed at art galleries, shopping malls, the Cultural Center of the Philippines (as Gatula Performance Poetry), etc. My first performance involved me in a hospital gown in the middle of Glorietta shopping mall with a bedpan smeared with peanut butter that looks a lot like human feces. In a booming voice reminiscent of great poets such as Dylan Thomas, I recited a poem I'd written while appearing to eat the feces from the bottom of the bedpan. Needless to say it freaked out a lot of people at the mall and sent the genteel poet-types in the audience in a rage. One poet from our group once gave a reading of his poem at Balay Kalinaw while pretending to beat up a friend (who had been afflicted with polio) with his own cane-thingamajig. You will be pleased to know that three Freakshow members are now practicing lawyers, at least two have gone on to teach, one is a physician, and one is the editor in chief of a prestigious magazine.

Anyway.

As the performance poetry thing progressed, I figured I'd move on to being a performance poet-folk singer super-art-hybrid. So I brought my nylon guitar to performances and started singing my songs. The one that got most of a rise from the audience was always Ambing. I made a track of the song with the filmmaker Khavn Dela Cruz but we couldn't have it played on the radio for reasons that will become clear to the reader. Nonetheless, we put it in a CD called Easy EP from where it got ripped and passed along to people and morphed from one format to another until it finally ended up on the internet where it took on a life of its own.

Now the song's quite famous. A friend of mine called me in the middle of the night once to tell me that people have been downloading at Greenhills that same recording I did with Khavn to their cellphones and IPods. And there are several Ambing fan videos on Youtube, one of which, with two guys lipsynching the song, has almost 20,000 views. I've heard people on the street singing the song and it makes me real proud to know that I brought that little ditty out into the world. They don't know who Easy is (some think it's the name of a band I guess) but that's cool.

To demonstrate how famous the song is I have copied and pasted these lyrics from one of the few lyrics/tablature sites featuring Ambing.

Ambing

Verse 1
Naaalala ko pa nung tayo pang dalwa,
sine lang ay ok ka na.
Pero ngayong kolehiyala ka na,
mas trip mong magtoma.
Ewan ko kung pano ka na barkada,
sa mga walang kwenta.

Sa payo ko ay makinig ka, kilala ko sila,
Wag kang, sasama, kakantutin ka lang nila.
Wag kang, maniwala, kakantutin ka lang nila.

Verse 2:
Wag mong isiping di mapapansin,
ang iksi ng iyong palda,
ang kyut kyut mo, pero ang dami-daming
make-up sa iyong mukha.
'Sang kahang yosi, 'sang bote ng beer,
maya-maya ay senglot ka na,

Sa payo ko ay makinig ka, kilala ko sila,
Wag kang sasama, kakantutin ka lang nila.
Wag kang maniwala, kakantutin ka lang nila.

Bridge:
Ngayon tatawag ka, ginago ka nila,
Wag kang mag-alala, reresbakan ko sila.

Aww, yeah!

Wag kang sasama kakantutin ka lang nila.
Wag kang maniwala kakastahin ka lang nila.
Wag kang paumaga kakantutin lang nila.
Wag mong paubaya kakangkangin ka lang nila.
Kakantutin ka lang nila...

If that song (and not my poetry, performance art, or my band Los Chupacabras) will be the one thing I'm remembered for... well, I hope I'm remembered for other stuff also.