Friday, October 1, 2010


Text: T.H. Metzger (1993)
See the man, see the God.
Incarnation in progress.
Behold the man, beneath the God.
beware the dog, behind you.
Believe, begone, behave yourself.
Be there, or beware.

Behold: I sing of Spam.
Oblong can, silver crown,
rounded corners, mysterious key
without a lock
Spam-killing man, man-killing Spam.
Calling all gods.
Squeeze and drain the juices,
down the sink, blood and oil,
trouble and toil.
When will we three meet again?
In Power, Glory, or in Shame?
Spam! The god in a can.
Spam! Baal's big bad brother.
Spam! Fears no man, eats no ham,
does not give a flying goddamn.

I'm gonna put on the Iron Jock,
and chase Satan round the block.
I'm gonna put on the Iron Fez,
and see what Jahweh says.

Evil ones: Juju priests,
secret Levite order
Spam-killing men of God.
Evil ones: vegetarian Hecate-junge
black as a kite, high as night.
Evil ones: goated-headed Melchizedeks
with the hots for what's not.

I feel the heat, I sing of meat,
I long for that throbbing
luncheon treat.
Unspeakable effulgence of by-products.
Ancient Anathema Cannibal
Spastic God in a Can.
Eating meat, spodee-odee
eating meat.
it slices, it dices, it sacrifices,
Culture is dead. Let's eat!

I loved that pig, pink and big.
I loved that lamb, the son of Spam.
The Pearl without a price.
Drop him in acid
and he disappears.

That's right, pilgrim,
the Mighty Yamm has returned.
Say it proud: I'm back and I'm loud.
The Mighty Yamm and his little Lamb
are back for more
of that precious ore.
Digging deep into your mainline,
poking for your hidden vein.
I Yamm what I am and that's all
what I am.
the sweetest of potatoes,
the Uber-tuber,
the root of all evil.
Sleek and hard, throbbing lard,
smooth and strong, a mile long.
I sing of me,
a perfect gram of the holy I AM.

Devil in a dead man's underwear,
uh huh.
Devil got a dead man's underwear on his head.
He's the life of every party
He's a can of poison meat.
Let me introduce you to the
petty paraclete.
Devil in a dead man's underwear.
Uh huh. Uh huh.

The spirits of food dissolve
in my body - acid and rise
as foul vapors into my brain.
Hydrochloric acid, HCL.
The magic letters
an acid bath to cook the ores.
Reagent of pure love
Caustic kisses, candy bliss.
burning in the abdominal abyss.
My body is a bag of acid,
conversion chamber,
innermost lake of fire.
Have you been washed in the acid
of the Lamb?

Body bag, wanna feel you in my
Body bag, gotta seal you in a
Body bag, wanna touch you in my
Body bag, you're too much inside my
Body bag, Body bag.

My guts a blast furnace,
blessed Bessemer converter.
Hydrogen sulphide, methane
from my vent holes.
flaming nether retrobooster.
deep, deeper, deepest.

On your feet or on your knees,
in the grotto of my
favorite agonies.
The Church of Beautiful Women
Who Hate Sex.
The Church of Hitting Each Other
with Iron Rods and
Pretending to Like it.
The Church of Our Lady of
Perpetual Mastication.
The Church of Smearing Yourself
with Lard and Baking
Until Light Browned.
Owwwww! Brown off!
Victory in my pants.
Golden baby, preemie homunculus
appearing full formed in my BVDs.
Spam-whiz: aerosol processed
meat-food product
squirting out in nacreous jets.

I ain’t just whistling gristle.
Am I blue? You'd be too.
Spewing bones, gizzard, skin
and feather too.

Don't you know about the bird?
Everyone knows that the bird comes third.
Bird, bird, bird,
the irrational word.
Surd, surd, surd,
the irrational bird.
Everybody knows
that the word comes first.
In the beginning was
the bird dance beat
the word made meat
the dove in heat
Must I repeat?

We have met the enemy and he tastes
Like ham. Too damn salty.
I am what I am
goddamn, goddamn.
I am what I eat.
Black bran, the key bone,
fowls of the air special,
the creeping thing plate,
cloven hoof burger.

Body bag, wanna cook you in this
Body bag, who forsook you in this
Body bag, lost and found inside this
Body bag, break you down into a
Body bag, Body bag,
Seals in flavorful juices.
ziplock. Ziplock. ZIPLOCK.

1 comment:

  1. I believe the line "When will we three meet again" should be "When will will three *meat* again." According to Mental Floss, "SPAM [Lite] is chopped pork shoulder meat with ham" and "some chicken." Somehow, SPAM is less "lite" if it doesn't have chicken in it. Evil math: More (ingredients) hake from a "liter" product.