2pot Screama Lyrics & Chords By Tism
Scene One
1. Recitative and Chorus
[Suburban living room, Friday night. Father and son sit on couch, watching television. Theme from The 7:30 Report is heard in background.]
Father: Brendan, turn it up will you? Kerry O'Brian's got Reith on.
Brendan: Dad, can't we watch Third Rock Fro-
Father: Turn it up.
Brendan [muttered]: Jesus...
[Sound from television increases in volume.]
O'Brian: Mr. Reith, if what you say is true, does it not directly contradict your statement of yesterday?
Reith: Kerry, circumstances change. The government is adopting a flexible policy. Given the parameters of the figures, even our opponents would agree with me that our actions are appropriate...
[Reith's voice continues. Over the top of the television Brendan speaks.]
Brendan: Dad, can't we turn it over to-
Father: Brendan, shut it. Christ, I hate this Reith guy.
[Reith's voice has not stopped.]
Reith: ...within the constraints of our legitimate concerns. 58% is not a bad return – it's better than our opponents managed in their ten years in government. Thirty-seven thousand million dollars have been generated. The worker, the battler, is the person who benefits. People should listen. Even teenagers benefit. Even little fifteen year old boys should listen. Even if they're bored on a Friday night, watching the 7:30 Report. Even you, Brendan!
[Suddenly, thunder and lightening is heard. Apocalyptic confusion reigns – sound of cannon, horsemen galloping, swords clashing. Reith's voice rises to a hideous pitch.]
Reith: Are you listening, Brendan? I'm coming for you, Brendan. I'm coming for you.
[Reith's demonic laughter resonates, then:]
Reith: Come, my devils, come! Sing, my evil choir! Tell this heinous boy who I am!
Reith's Devil Choir: We thought tax scams were devious;
We thought free beer was cheap;
We thought Nine's news egregious;
We thought it's sheep that bleat;
We thought that school yard bullies all
Get smacked right in the teeth;
We thought on talk back minds were small –
Then we met Peter Reith.
Reith Reith Peter Reith
Reith Reith Peter Reith
We thought snide supercilious
Salesmen knocked at your door;
We thought it made us bilious
To cast blame on the poor;
We thought being a bovver boy
Was Mike Munro's set piece;
Root canal work would annoy –
Then we met Peter Reith.
We thought agnostics believed in naught;
We thought that toddlers whimper;
We thought the bad guys all got caught;
We thought that soap stars simper;
We thought that oil could be slick;
We thought Satan was chief;
We thought that we were vicious pricks –
Then we met Peter Reith.
[Reith's demonic laugh rings out again.]
Reith: I thought Kim Beazley's arse was toast;
I thought the unions yellow;
I don't know who I hate the most:
Peter or Tim Costello;
I thought that both of them should be
Zapped with electric shock.
I thought I'm just one big softie –
Then I saw Brendan's cock.
Reith's Devil Choir: Soft, soft, Brendan's cock.
Soft, soft, Brendan's cock.
Reith: What light in yonder window breaks?
It is Stephanie aloft –
But Brendan ain't got what it takes:
Let me quote the Bard: he's "soft".
I thought Neil Blewitt's the one bent;
I thought Dubai a bungle;
I thought we'd solved unemployment –
Then I saw Brendan's mongrel.
Reith's Devil Choir: Soft, soft, Brendan's cock.
Soft, soft, Brendan's cock.
2. Recitative, Solo and Recitative
Brendan: Why do you torment me so?
Reith: Look at yourself: sitting there watching the 7:30 Report with your dad. That's fucking pathetic, man.
Brendan: But I didn't want to watch it.
Reith: Yeah – Third Rock from the Sun. That's what you wanted. Third Rock from the Fucking Sun! What next? You gonna really go wild and watch Burke's Backyard? Fuck me, man, that's rad. That's sick. That's mad.
Brendan: But-
Reith: The Nanny? You gonna watch The Nanny? You should, mate, cos you need one.
Brendan: In the middle of the Gibson the spinifex is sparse –
You're standing in the buttcrack of Satan's lonely arse –
There's zero life on Venus, and on Mars it's pretty shite:
But for true desolation, try my place on Friday night.
Wall to wall fuck all
You can only play Nintendo for a few days in a row
Before you start to wonder where non-virtual people go:
There's parties and there's discos, there's wickedness and sin –
What's happenin' at my place now they wouldn't let me in?
My dad, he's watchin' telly; my mum, she's washing up –
I told them both it's stereotyped, they told me to shut up.
It's 7:38 precisely – oh, it's just gone 39;
Soon it'll be 7:40 – know what happens at that time?
Reith: I can help you, Brendan. I will send you one who will show you how to get out of this hell. They call him [dramatic pause] 2Pot Screama.
Brendan: When do I meet this 2Pot Screama?
Reith: He will be sent. [Reith's voice loses its demonic reverb.] As I was saying, Kerry – and I wish you'd listen to me – when the figures are seasonally adjusted it shows conclusively that in terms of performance based contracts there is little or no evidence that what the Opposition is saying is correct; indeed, even our opponents would concede that....
[Reith's voice fades to background.]
Father: Brendan? Brendan?! Wake up, kid. Turn this crap over, will you. I wanna watch Burke's Backyard.
Brendan: Wha-?
Father: World of his own. Channel 9. I'm sick of Reith. He's full of it. Son, I don't want you ever believing anything that man tells you.
Brendan: No, Dad.
Scene Two
1. Recitative and Solo
[Secondary school classroom. Very noisy – students laughing and shouting. Teacher is struggling to gain order.]
Teacher: Jason! Jason! I've asked you once. Jason! Sit!
Jason: Ya-mum.
Teacher: What?
Jason: Ya-mum.
Teacher: Just find a seat.
Girl: Sir, you said we'd have the test today. I studied last night.
Teacher: Yes, Stephanie. I know. If people would just- Jason! Sit!
Jason: Ya-mum.
Teacher: Here's the test question: "Macbeth's downfall is due to his own evil, not the witches."
Jason: Fuck ya mum.
Teacher: What did you sa-
Jason: O teacher it's recess; the bell went; it's later!
I've got to go see the co-ordinator;
My pumper is broken, with asthma I'll seize;
O teacher O teacher, I'm unable to breathe –
Can I get out of class please?
The speaker just called me up to the Head;
My parents have split up; my dog, he is dead;
To Mecca I must pray; my toes, they will freeze;
The law says you must, it's one hundred degrees –
Can I get out of class please?
I've a doctor's appointment; I've landed a job;
I've contracted cancer; I've a bank to rob;
Famine, war, hunger; pestilence, disease
Will devour the world lest you hear my pleas –
Can I get out of class please?
[Music continues under following dialogue.]
Teacher: Yeah, well, it'll get you out of here I suppose.
Jason: Brendan wants to come to.
Brendan: Wha-?
Jason: Shut up! Sir, can Brendan come?
Teacher: Go, the both of you.
[Jason resumes song:]
Jason: O teacher, I thank you; I'll be back so quick:
You're a good man, and trusting, and kind to the sick.
[sotto voce] We're off to the dunnys, you witless suck-arh –
We're smoking a joint, then spraying your car.
[Noise of class recedes. Sound of match scratching, and cigarette being lit.]
2. Recitative and Solo
Jason: Want one Brendan?
Brendan: Nah...
Jason: C'mon. We're in the dunnies. No one's gonna see.
Brendan: Shit man, are you really gonna spray his car? Like, are you a member of a gang or something? Are you like those hedge-burner guys?
Jason: Hedge burners are all just some private school poofs
Who're pretending they won't go to uni:
If they're outlaws, that makes Mariah Carey
Bi-afran cos her waistline is puny.
Most homies are jerks; shoplifters are turds;
I'm sick of the half wrecked train carriage
A rich boy who gets a tram to his school
Did to protest his mother's new marriage.
You can bullshit the skaters; arsewhip the Goths;
In punk gangs they talk about clothes;
But wog-boys or Turkish, weapons or not,
There's one thing that all of them knows:
Don't muck with the Springy Nips
The Nips, they aren't jokin' – they're fresh off the boat
And there's no way that they're goin' back:
These boys are the sons of the army that once
Kicked the white devils out of Núi Dat.
Don't muck with the Springy Nips
Their future is rotten, their present is worse,
Their past is what makes them such fuckers:
Try reason; bring chains; pack knives; release dogs –
You don't argue with flying nun-chuckers.
Don't muck with the Springy Nips
3. Recitative
Brendan [in awe]: You hang with the Springy Nips?
Jason: Well, I'm not a Kambrook, so I can't be officially part of em. But, yeah, we hang.
Brendan: Man, I heard that they have all this Asian shit, so when they fight they do all that kick-boxing. They can break your jaw with just their toes alone.
Jason: That's it, man. [Jason speaks in ridiculously false Asian language:] Xing sou phat nui zong bui!
Brendan: Shit! What's that shit?
Jason: It means: "Death from the Dragon to all who betray." Never betray the Nips, man. Never. I never will. I know what's coming to me if I do.
Brendan: Fuck.
Jason: You wanna do this car? Got a can right here. Let's go.
[Sound of shaking spray can. Sound of spraying.]
Brendan: What's that, man?
Jason: That's my tag, man.
Brendan: What's it say? [reading, trying to make out the words] Trollop Weenie?
Jason: Fuck you.
Brendan: Sorry, man. It says... Spot the Weiner?
Jason: Shit, man. 2Pot Screama. That's who I am – 2Pot Screama.
Brendan: Fuck.
Scene Three
1. Recitative and Solo
[Party noises. Techno music.]
Brendan [shouting over music]: Great party, Stephanie.
Stephanie: Thanks Brendan. My mum and dad have gone for some conference for doctors or something.
Brendan: Yeah. [struggling for words.] Great. [pause] Great party! [Long awkward pause.]
Stephanie: Look, I'm just gonna get myself another Kahluha and milk.
Brendan: Some people, they get legionnaires
From cooling tower stacks;
Some will suffer running sores
And psoriasis attacks;
There's hepatitis A thru C;
The blind; the lame; the deaf –
All of those mean naught to me
Cos I've got golden Steph.
For who could once see Stephanie
And want inoculation?
Meningococcal viruses
Are lesser inflammations:
All parts of her in prefect poise –
Her lips! Her hair! Her breath! –
Tis they the epidemic spread,
Cos I've got golden Steph.
And yet I fear another boy
Has a more deadly case:
Let me be taken, O cruel God,
In that person's place –
The pain of no recovery
Is one I will endure:
For Stephanie my illness is,
And Stephanie the cure.
2. Recitative and Chorus
[Back to party sound f/x, with techno beat going.]
2Pot Screama: Yo, Brendan man.
Brendan: 2Pot! What are you doing here? I thought this'd be too stiff for you. Stephanie's a pretty straight chick.
2Pot Screama: You don't know shit man, do you.
Brendan: What?
2Pot Screama: She's my girl, man.
Brendan: Stephanie!
2Pot Screama: These straight chicks, dude. They love it rough.
Stephanie: 2Pot!
2Pot Screama: Hey, Steph. Let's go. Make like the drunk chick in the anti-alcohol ad.
[Sound of techno music gets louder. Party is getting more frenetic. More yelling and laughing. Then, still over the sound of techno, there is screaming and things smashing. Chorus, over the techno music, which doesn't change:]
Party goers: It ain't our place;
We're off our face
In any case:
Let's smash the joint.
Her folks away,
So who's to say
That we should pay?
Let's smash the joint.
Monday at school
We'll be so cool:
Man, piss ups rule!
Let's smash the joint.
It's not quite clear:
Are the Nips here?
We're full of beer –
Let's smash the joint.
[Confusion continues. Sounds of techo music, bottles smashing, people yelling, laughter, etc. Voices can be heard in the background: "It's the Nips!" "The Springy Nips are here!" "The Nips! The Nips!" Over the top of it all is the demonic, reverberating laughter of Reith.]
Reith: Yes, yes, you fools!
All act like ghouls!
And, O, what tools
Ye mortals be!
Stephanie: When my folks see
This anarchy
They'll murder me!
I'll call the cops!
Brendan: Where are the Nips?
I think that it's
Just drunken shits.
Stop them, 2Pot!
2Pot Screama: The phone's up stairs –
You go call there
Someone who cares:
Let's smash the joint!
[Confusion and anarchy. Reith's laugher rings out. End with cop siren wailing.]
Scene Four
1. Recitative and Solo
Adult voice [stern]: The principal is interviewing your parents right now, Brendan. You and Jason sit there until they are ready.
Brendan [whispered]: Shit, 2Pot. What are we here for?
2Pot Screama: The car.
Brendan: Fuck. How'd they know it was us?
2Pot Screama: They don't. They're just guessing cos we were out of class at the time. Relax.
Brendan: Relax! My fucking folks are in there. They'll call yours, too. We're fucking dead.
2Pot Screama: Yeah, right. Let me tell you something, homie...
So you think your Dad is a knob?
Next to mine, he's Snoop Doggy Dog;
My folks didn't want to be around –
I had to do my own ultrasound;
Babysitting was not a prob -
Greg Domisevitch got the job.
My parents are complete arseholes
It's not something that I want hid:
I love it being a disturbed kid.
Who would choose polite and docile
When you can be anti-social?
My heart goes out to all you fucked kids
Who cannot act self destructive.
I met some kids who're really sad –
They loved their mum, respected dad:
They saved and bought a suburban pad.
I knew that they would turn out bad.
They fucked up, like their parents did:
You need role models when you're a kid.
2. Recitative, Solo with Chorus, and Spoken Word Diatribe
Brendan: What are we going to say? How are we going to get out of it?
2Pot Screama: Simple, mate. Blame it on the Nips.
Brendan: What?
2Pot Screama: Blame it on the Nips. We say we saw em do the car. Everyone hates em anyway. Say they did it.
Brendan: But what about that tsui zing ping pong shit? What about "The Dragon will eat the balls of all who betray"? You said you'd never betray th-
2Pot Screama: Blow it out your arse, bud. I'm saying it was the Nips.
Adult Voice: Jason, the principal will see you now.
2Pot Screama: It was the Nips, mate. You know it as well as me.
Adult Voice: Brendan, you wait here alone.
Brendan: Shit...
[Demonic cackle rings out.]
Reith: It looks like you're cactus, Brendan my boy:
I told you that, right at the top.
Just do what I do: blame it on others –
You go for the option that's soft.
Blame it on the Springy Nips
Nothing's your fault – it's the fault of your peers,
Or the unions, or star sign, or dad –
I think that you'll find for every excuse
There's something you've done that is bad.
Blame it on the Springy Nips
Reith: Sing, my fellow fiends! Sing, and tell this boy how all the world agrees...
D.J's: He taught all us D.J's how we should deny
The money in brown paper packets;
Statisticians: Showed us statisticians to prove X is Y;
Sports stars: And us sports stars to bash in our raquets.
All: Blame it on the Springy Nips
Chefs: He taught all us chefs how to serve up cous-cous
With just the right petulant sneer
That dinners now think to complain is to be
A yobbo with pie and a beer.
Architects: We architects whine that the reason our shard
Should stay there in everyone's way
Is that the public should just shut up and leave
True genius alone (and to pay.)
All: Blame it on the Springy Nips
Reith: Brendan my boy, there ain't no one these days
Who stands up and then takes the rap:
John Howard will tell you, and, yes, I agree –
Saying sorry's a right load of crap.
Remember old Banquo? Of course you do not –
Macbeth was a play left unread –
Well he was the guy who just wouldn't lie:
Ended up with an ax in the head.
All: Blame it on the Springy Nips
Brendan: But the Nips – they didn't do it.
Reith: Yeah, Brendan; and everything I say to Kerry O'Brian is a load of bullocks too – but so what? Brendan, no one expects the truth; no one wants the truth; and, let me tell you pal, no one likes people who tell the truth. Fuck, mate, if I told the truth I'd be out on my arse so quick – the whining fat businessmen fucks I've got to put up with, feeding em the line it's all the unions' fault they can't buy their fat-arsed wives a trip to Vanuatu when it's because they are so lacking in brains or courage or wit they couldn't sell turds to dung beetles; my misguided, selfish or ego-maniacal cabinet colleagues, hooked on P.R. and easy sex with brainy groupies who are prepared to ignore their sweaty fat-cheeked grunts of doggy pleasure; the prodding, prating media hypocrites, blind to their own faults whilst hoping everyone else stumbles, dressing up their small mindedness as some great standard of press freedom when all they're doing, like everyone else, is working in a fucking factory for a fat man – don't fucking tell me the fucking Nips didn't do it, Brendan you little shithead, because if the fucking Nips didn't do it then they're the first people I've ever met on this whole stinking sewer of a planet that aren't guilty. We're all guilty, mate. We're all guilty deep down in our guts where the fucking truth is waiting to be revealed when we bend over and God himself puts his hand up our cornholes and pulls out the filthy crapulent mess that's inside. I'll rip you apart, you little turd. I'll rip you open and pull out the crap that fills you up and I'll shove it in front of your dying eyes so with your last glance you can see what's really there underneath your innocent idealistic adolescent skin.
Adult voice: Brendan, the principal will see you now...
[Sound of doomed footsteps. Door opens, then closes.]
Principal: Brendan, this is a most serious offence. Jason has told us that the hooligans who did this came from outside our school community. I myself would like to believe that no one from this school could perpetrate such a wanton act of vandalism. I am sure your parents too would be relieved to hear that you are above such criminal motives. Brendan, who sprayed that car?
Brendan: Sir, twas I.
Scene Five
1. Recitative and Solo
[Sound of children playing: kids laughing and yelling, footballs being kicked, skipping games being chanted, etc.]
2Pot Screama: Cunt.
Brendan: 2Pot!
2Pot Screama: Cunt. You told em.
Brendan: I said I did it.
2Pot Screama: You did it means I did it too, cunt. The cunts didn't even suspend me: de-fucking-tention. Pay half the cost of the re-spraying back with work. You're dead, cunt.
Brendan: But I didn't-
[Suddenly, bell rings.]
2Pot Screama: There's the bell for period one;
I'd advise you count em, son,
Cos you know, when the day is done
I'm gonna get you after school
Here's my first and last proposal:
You and me, back of the oval.
I'll kick your arse, here to Rowville.
You know what time you'll come to grief?
After school – you got that, chief?
I'll bring my fist, you bring your teeth.
You're dead. You're gone. You've had it, pal.
You know what happens to kids who tell?
You'll find out when they ring that bell –
Bells ring all day, but wait and see:
That final bell will come, matey,
And when it tolls, it tolls for thee.
2. Finale: Solo and Chorus
[Bell rings. Sound of clock ticking. Bell rings. Clock ticking gets louder, faster, starts to echo. Sound of teachers' voices, blurred and indistinct. More bells. Classroom noises: kids asking questions, teachers answering. Whispered voices: "You know Brendan and Jason?" "Yeah, what?" "They gonna have a fight after school." "Shit." Clock ticking becomes frantic, builds to a hectic techno rhythm. Voice: "Down the oval – Brendan and Jason, after school. Pass it on." Bells. Sounds of cheering, screaming, yelling. This coalesces into a chant:]
Crowd: Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!
2Pot: C'mon, Brendan, bring it on:
2Pot Screama'll have ya, son.
I'm like Tu-Pac, only meaner;
Come and get hurt by Screama.
Crowd: Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!
Brendan: From my dream I'm awakin' –
You're a fucking wanker, Jason.
Cursed are all who put belief
In the words of Peter Reith!
Crowd: Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!
Stephanie: 2Pot! Brendan! Stop it! Halt!
2Pot, this is all your fault:
Brendan told the truth – I see
He must be the boy for me.
Crowd: Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!
[As the chant of "Fight!" continues, sounds of fighting: punches hitting flesh, gasps of pain, groaning. Then, over the top of the fight noises:]
Reith: Look upon this scene with glee!
Hate! Confusion! Anarchy!
All of it is due to me!
O what fools teenagers be!
[Suddenly, fanfare and trumpets. Many Asian voices can be heard, shouting and aggressive.]
Quan: Silence all: the Nips have come.
[Awed silence.]
I am leader: call me Quan.
We are here to find the one
Who blamed on Nips things he'd done.
Crowd [quiet, afraid]: Nips! Nips! Nips! Nips!
Quan: All we Nips have heard the tale,
Even from a far Springvale,
How a liar did pretend,
And of one who's now our friend.
Crowd [still quiet]: Nips! Nips! Nips! Nips!
Quan: The Nips are just! Nips are true!
Stand and face us, coward, who
Blamed us for his own false wrongs.
Come out now and face your Wongs.
Crowd: Nips! Nips! Nips! Nips!
Quan: Stand forth, too, he that refused
To let our name be abused.
Which stands proud? Which full of shame?
All you white men look the same.
Crowd: Nips! Nips! Nips! Nips!
2Pot: Fuck me dead, I'm outta here.
Nips'll tear me ear from ear.
They're the ones always chasin' –
Now they've got to catch Jason.
Crowd: Wuss! Wuss! Wuss! Wuss!
Brendan: Quan, twas I your name preserved.
He has got what he deserved:
Let him run, for I am sure
2Pot Screama is no more.
Crowd: Nips! Nips! Nips! Nips!
Quan: We the Nips salute you, Brendan.
This saga, it is now endin'.
The Nips are just; Nips are true –
Here's some beer we stole for you.
Crowd [joyful]: Nips! Nips! Nips! Nips!
Quan: Yes, the Nips are friends, so peace –
Let now all the fighting cease!
Come, let us adults appall:
Drink up – we stole slabs for all!
Crowd: Piss! Piss! Piss! Piss!
[Sound of laughter, celebration, partying. This continues, whilst over the top:]
Reith: Curse these teenager ideals!
Fools, you'll soon see how it feels –
I'm beat now, but not for good:
Wait till you see adulthood.
[Oblivious, the sound of the teenage party continues. Fade to silence.]
The End.
