Fuck That – Decoding the Sonic Assault of Industrial Hip-Hop’s Enigma


You can view the lyrics, alternate interprations and sheet music for Death Grips's Fuck That at Lyrics.org.
Article Contents:
  1. Music Video
  2. Lyrics
  3. Song Meaning
  4. The Power of Defiance in Auditory Form
  5. Navigating the Darkness of the Underbelly
  6. The Surprising Metaphysical Layer
  7. The Infectious Grip of Memorable Lines
  8. Calling the Masses to Intellectual Rebellion

Lyrics

Third rail
Over one nine breaker
Slit throat, cut creator
Hung from dem nail
Hang em high
Savior faire
Trans-siberian epic
Trek through dat next switch
Set it off the roglyphic
Jackal headed dawn of the under
Check it, check one check
You can suck it
‘Til I get disgusted

Fuck that, naw fuck that

At me wit that weak shit
Bitch slapped
Across the street and back.. head crack
Wanna know where I’ll be at whatever

Get off mine I got that juice
Noo style cut your brain stem as my combat boots grind your head to the cadence of this dreath
Stompin mu sick as fuck contagion wagin war with all you knew bitch

Mossberg ballistic flux massive
My shure beta 58a hazmatted
Pump pump slugster radioactive
Ride through a mine field
Laced wit black magic
Straight from the mayday
Naw fuck that (ONE)
Broke off its axis, polar shifted granite
Knock made ta off
Every last bitch on this planet
Fuck that, naw, fuck that

Came ta bad dem brains ’til dem neck bones crack
Arrested cardiac
Black mass murder rap
Dealer push your wig
All the way back
Head wear your face like a yamakulapse
Never can tell
Where you’re at
Eyes stuck on the sky
Always gettin jacked
Tryin ta lookin the mirror like
Fuck that, naw, fuck that

Full Lyrics

The frenetic pulse of Death Grips’ ‘Fuck That’ cascades listeners into a sonic abyss where genre boundaries dissolve in a relentless assault. This track from their 2012 album ‘The Money Store,’ remains a conundrum wrapped in aggression, an encrypted message from the avant-garde edge of hip-hop.

Exploring this audacious anthem, one is invited into a world veiled in abrasive beats and raw power. To comprehend the intricacies of this vehement rejection of norms, we must dissect the layers of lyrical delivery and the savage soundscape that cradles them.

The Power of Defiance in Auditory Form

‘Fuck That’ is not just a song title but a defiant statement, a manifesto of nonconformity steeped in the roiling energies of hardcore punk and industrial noise. This is not music seeking approval; this is a battle cry against passivity, meeting the world’s chaos with its own storm.

The track strips down to raw emotion, where lead vocalist Stefan Burnett, AKA MC Ride, declaims his verses like a modern-day oracle delivering a serrated truth. It’s an audial pugilist challenging the status quo, the musical equivalent of a middle finger raised high and unflinching.

Navigating the Darkness of the Underbelly

The lyrics plunge into the depths of a socio-political hellscape. Words like ‘Third rail,’ ‘Mossberg ballistic,’ and ‘black mass murder rap’ paint a dystopia of danger and defiance. Through his spitfire delivery, MC Ride rips through themes of violence and rebellion as if tearing down the veneer of civilized society to reveal the primal chaos beneath.

The song’s structure mirrors this descent, eschewing traditional hooks for a torrent of apocalyptic imagery. The track amplifies the defiance, veering towards metal’s aggressive energy and punk’s subversive impact without committing to either genre.

The Surprising Metaphysical Layer

Amid the visceral imagery, there’s a current of existential pondering that adds depth to the chaos. The song’s frequent refrains of ‘Naw fuck that’ suggest a rejection of established truths and potentially a deeper disillusion with the very fabric of reality. With lines like ‘trans-siberian epic’ and ‘Jackal headed dawn of the under,’ the band alludes to a journey, both literal and spiritual, through thresholds of consciousness hitherto unexplored.

It is this duality that sets ‘Fuck That’ apart. It oscillates between the raw and the refined, the earthly and the ethereal, playing out a struggle between material and metaphysical selves. In turning away from reductive interpretations, listeners are left to grapple with the track’s true intent.

The Infectious Grip of Memorable Lines

Even as the song subjects the listener to a barrage of sound and fury, it is punctuated by lines that anchor themselves into memory. ‘Slit throat, cut creator’ and ‘ride through a minefield laced with black magic’ personify the track’s unrelenting spirit.

Rhymes packed with explosive consonants and gritty vowels, MC Ride’s delivery transforms the lyrics into a kind of incantation, words not meant simply for hearing but for feeling. In declaring ‘Fuck that, naw, fuck that,’ the repeated gut-punches of negation become more chant than chorus, more war-cry than lyric.

Calling the Masses to Intellectual Rebellion

The track is nothing short of a clarion call, rousing the individual to awaken from societal sedation. ‘Get off mine I got that juice,’ this line heralds self-empowerment, an alert to reclaim agency in a reality fraught with manipulation and duplicity.

The song challenges each listener to engage with the music, the message, and ultimately, themself, probed and provoked by the track’s relentless energy. By the end of ‘Fuck That,’ one is not simply listening to a Death Grips track but participating in a subversive act, where each beat is a step towards a stark and unyielding individuality, steeped in the purest form of artistic anarchy.

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