You Might Think He Loves You for Your Money But I Know What He Really Loves You for It’s Your Brand – Unraveling the Chaotic Mystery


You can view the lyrics, alternate interprations and sheet music for Death Grips's You Might Think He Loves You for Your Money But I Know What He Really Loves You for It's Your Brand at Lyrics.org.
Article Contents:
  1. Music Video
  2. Lyrics
  3. Song Meaning
  4. A Descent into Sonic Anarchy
  5. Identity Crisis in a Material World
  6. Artists as Shamanic Figures
  7. The Hidden Meaning of Vocal Volatility
  8. Unforgettable Lines: Poetic Provocations

Lyrics

Get so fuckin’ dark in here
Come come fuck apart in here
I die in the process
You die in the process
Kettle drum roll hard shit
Fuck I said fucker don’t start shit
Come come fuck apart in here

I hover above you
Life pulled out your mouth
I become you
Opening of the mouth
Unlawful possession
Jellyfish in cold sweat deep end
Hollow shell twitch disconnection
Pupils swell
My entrance
Hijacked no questions asked
Stretch you on like latex mask
My sigil’s your epitaph
Come come fuck apart in here I die
I’m not you
Fear
You wear it well
Mademoiselle
Here’s to your destiny
Hysterics scream help
Don’t worry in a few you’ll all be somewhere else
Prepare yourselves
Freelance motherfucker

Get so fuckin’ dark in here
Come come fuck apart in here
I die in the process
You die in the process
Kettle drum roll hard shit
Fuck I said fucker don’t start shit
Come come fuck apart in here

Full Lyrics

The cacophonous opening track of Death Grips’ ‘Government Plates’ album serves as a battlefield of sound and fury, where the frenetic energy of ‘You Might Think He Loves You for Your Money But I Know What He Really Loves You for It’s Your Brand’ hits listeners like a jackhammer to the cortex. Peeling back the layers of this chaotic track reveals a complex narrative woven with themes of identity, control, and the hollow nature of materialism.

Death Grips, as a band, has consistently delivered an aggressive sonic assault that blurs the lines between punk, hip-hop, and noise music. This track is no exception, pushing boundaries with its abrasive textures and enigmatic lyrics, challenging listeners to explore the hidden depths within the din.

A Descent into Sonic Anarchy

From the opening moments of the track, Death Grips establishes a realm wherein traditional musical structure falls apart. The raw and unrefined production, coupled with MC Ride’s visceral vocal performance, embodies a sense of disintegration that is simultaneously disconcerting and exhilarating.

The driving beats and distorted samples confront the listener with an urgency that demands attention, evoking a primal reaction akin to a fight-or-flight response. It’s not just music; it’s an aural depiction of chaos.

Identity Crisis in a Material World

Peering into the lyrics, the struggle for an authentic self amidst a consumerist society rears its head. The line ‘You die in the process’ suggests a metaphorical death of self-identity, wounded by the relentless pursuit of possessions and status symbolized by ‘your brand.’

The mention of ‘unlawful possession’ and being stretched ‘on like latex mask’ further indicates the loss of personal agency and individuality. In the throes of commodity fetishism, are we not but hollow shells, masked and repurposed for the entertainment of others?

Artists as Shamanic Figures

Throughout history, shamans have ventured into the spirit world to reveal hidden truths. Similarly, Death Grips takes on the shamanic role in the modern soundscape, attempting to disrupt the mundane and reveal kernels of truth through their sonic explorations.

This concept is encapsulated when MC Ride proclaims, ‘I hover above you, Life pulled out your mouth, I become you.’ It’s as if the artist transcends his physical self to embody the collective unconscious, channeling and confronting societal demons.

The Hidden Meaning of Vocal Volatility

MC Ride’s explosive delivery is not merely for shock value. Each syllable heaved out is a punch thrown at the invisible structures that bind and confine. Language itself is weaponized, the lyrics a series of coded messages that provoke a re-evaluation of reality.

In the charged refrain ‘Come come fuck apart in here,’ there is an incitement to dismantle one’s perceptions, to deconstruct what is presented as normal and to rebel against the imposition of external narratives.

Unforgettable Lines: Poetic Provocations

‘My sigil’s your epitaph’—such a line captures the essence of Death Grips’ artistry. A sigil, often a symbol with magical intent, here stands as an omen of the listener’s own mortality, or perhaps the mortality of their constructed identity.

‘Freelance motherfucker’ is equally potent, serving as a relentless self-designation or a reminder that in a world convoluted by pretenses and false idols, one can still command control over their existence, existing outside the demands and expectations of society.

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