Tales From Mongolian BBQ

by Cougar Magnum

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about

We titled this EP Tales from Mongolian BBQ for a couple reasons: First, because we all have a passion for Mongolian BBQ. Back in our hometown of Sacramento, Steven and I used to regularly hit up all the mongo’s in the area. We would literally spend hours there, filling up our bowls and talking about whatever’s going on in our lives (usually some trivial suburban white people shit). Before Robbie joined Cougar Magnum, we needed to know he valued Mongolian BBQ at least half as much as we did—luckily, the kid has good taste.

Secondly, because this is our first project together, this EP contains a variety of styles and flavors, much like a delicious bowl of Mongo. That is why we divided it up into four different sections: Beef (Where’s the Tylenol, Sactown Summer), Veggies (HHHC, These are the Nights), Noodles (Parentz Hot Tub, Road to Nowhere), and Sauce (Jeremy Lin, Outro). Having a cohesive album with a signature sound is important, but I also believe that people should be able to make whatever the hell they want without worrying about restricting themselves to a single style or sound. We love all kinds of hip-hop, so we make all different kinds of hip-hop, and although that might not be conducive to success or growing a fan-base, we don’t really give a damn. It’s cliché as shit but it’s true; we didn’t start this to become famous, we started it because we love it and we have a fucking blast doing it.

The last thing I want to say is more of a disclaimer. One of the main reasons I love hip-hop is that it is expression in its rawest form. It’s unfiltered, uncomfortable, and rarely politically correct (at least the best stuff is). So you’re gonna hear some stuff that doesn’t sit well with you, and it might even make you angry. I say good. My goal is to move you in some way, whether it’s laughter, anger, reflection, or inspiration. Regardless of how tasteless and/or offensive I can be, I’m always expressing something, even if it’s indirect or disguised in humor. It’s rarely logical, but that’s the beauty of expression.

Some of these songs were written over four years ago, some were written a few months ago, and as a result it is a bit all over the place. So tuck your napkin into your shirt and enjoy these Tales from Mongolian BBQ.

credits

released 22 August 2013

Produced by Rob-Dawg-The-Reaper & Sticky Bandit
Lyrics by Nick the 6'4 Satyr

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Track Name: Where's the Tylenol?
I'm 21 years old and I'm past my prime
If the glass is half full, hope it’s a glass of wine
I pass the time by passing gas in line
And I like girls in jeans, the elastic kind
Big fat bottom, muffin top goddess
One piece at the beach, oh girl you're so modest
Baby girl you gotta flaunt it if you got it
Took her sky diving people thought she was a comet
Had to break it off but not because I’m shallow
I told her I was sick of always living in her shadow
I know, I’m an asshole,
A burnt down school like "Hey where’d the class go?"
Speaking of which, I’m getting whiskey dick
So let's go get wet and wild like some frisky fish
I'm indifferent to the change
Undoubtedly lifted and gifted in the brain

I got a text from my ex the bitch said she miss me
Then my ass made a crack about how she should kiss me
Asshole I control all the dissing
If you wanna be a dick don't shit start pissing
Shootin the shit cuz this girl has killer tits
Think this honey thinks I’m funny like Mac Millers lisp
But really it is pretty funny
Like these sluts at the bar who think they're getting drinks from me
Listen sweetheart, I know it's your birthday
Just sit there and pretend like you understand the word play
Bird brain's skirt's raised I'm saying shit that pervs say
I pissed on your truck cuz your Ed Hardy shirt's gay
Horoscopes help whores cope
with the fact they get tapped more times than a morse code
Pathologically illogical
Hallelujah, holy shit, where’s the Tylenol?

Cue Chevy Chase monologue:
I want to look him straight in the eye, and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is! Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol?
Track Name: Sactown Summer
It's wet, it's hot, it's a Sac-Town summer.
lyrics
(Verse 1)
It’s summer time in the city of trees,
So put that turtle neck away and let them titties be free girrrrl.
Shit it’s triple digits in the valley,
We congregate at waters with daughters of Northern Cali.
Local folk seek refuge at the river,
With zig-zags and bitch slaps directly to their livers.
Saints and sinners, all breakin sweats,
But only the drunkards are out here breakin bread.
Let’s get wrecked at a River Cats game,
Dollar beers make us heckle right fields last name.
(You SUCK!) And if we last all nine,
It’s cuz we passed out on the grass for a farmer’s tan line.
Bob Marley at the BBQ,
We dread the party’s end like Marley’s doo.
That’s only partly true, cuz it’s hardly June,
And the sub 21’s are having parties too.

(Chorus)
When the sun gets brighter, the people get dumber.
White dudes, no sunblock, bummer.
But Mother Nature’s lookin hot so I love her,
Yeahhh, another Sac-Town summer!
Another Sac-Town summer! (x2)
But Mother Nature is my lover,
Another Sac-Town summer.

(Bridge)
It’s almost summer stick a finger down your neck.
Go to the water but don’t get that hair wet. (x2)

(Verse 2)
Girls sippa Corona as I get a bona,
And admire the glow of stage one melanoma.
Now we at Shady Oaks, flickin discs with shady folks,
Wet from ‘D Creek’ call me Katy Holmes.
No shirt, no shoes, no shits.
Popo sniffs but we blow .06, oh shit!
No bros wit a boat don’t trip,
Cuz we loaded up the fridge with at least fo’ fifths.
The ocean’s cool but the lake is church,
Bake the purps, stay alert cuz rangers lurk,
Then lace the verse with punchlines that make us jerks,
But rays that burn radiate for nature first.

(Chorus x2)
credits
released 01 July 2013
Produced by Sticky Bandit and Rob-Dawg-the-Reaper
Mixed and Mastered by The Reaper
Lyrics by Nick the 6'4 Satyr
Track Name: HHHC
It's wet, it's hot, it's a Sac-Town summer.
lyrics
(Verse 1)
It’s summer time in the city of trees,
So put that turtle neck away and let them titties be free girrrrl.
Shit it’s triple digits in the valley,
We congregate at waters with daughters of Northern Cali.
Local folk seek refuge at the river,
With zig-zags and bitch slaps directly to their livers.
Saints and sinners, all breakin sweats,
But only the drunkards are out here breakin bread.
Let’s get wrecked at a River Cats game,
Dollar beers make us heckle right fields last name.
(You SUCK!) And if we last all nine,
It’s cuz we passed out on the grass for a farmer’s tan line.
Bob Marley at the BBQ,
We dread the party’s end like Marley’s doo.
That’s only partly true, cuz it’s hardly June,
And the sub 21’s are having parties too.

(Chorus)
When the sun gets brighter, the people get dumber.
White dudes, no sunblock, bummer.
But Mother Nature’s lookin hot so I love her,
Yeahhh, another Sac-Town summer!
Another Sac-Town summer! (x2)
But Mother Nature is my lover,
Another Sac-Town summer.

(Bridge)
It’s almost summer stick a finger down your neck.
Go to the water but don’t get that hair wet. (x2)

(Verse 2)
Girls sippa Corona as I get a bona,
And admire the glow of stage one melanoma.
Now we at Shady Oaks, flickin discs with shady folks,
Wet from ‘D Creek’ call me Katy Holmes.
No shirt, no shoes, no shits.
Popo sniffs but we blow .06, oh shit!
No bros wit a boat don’t trip,
Cuz we loaded up the fridge with at least fo’ fifths.
The ocean’s cool but the lake is church,
Bake the purps, stay alert cuz rangers lurk,
Then lace the verse with punchlines that make us jerks,
But rays that burn radiate for nature first.

(Chorus x2
Track Name: Parentz Hot Tub
Every fast food connoisseur's dream comes true in this classic American tale about love, lust, and greasy food.
lyrics
I’ll take a number 3 plain with just cheese please
I’m watchin what I eat so make the nuggets a 3 piece
I release the break and coast to the window
Decrease the speaks cuz I’m creepin with that indo
My ends low so I’ll be diggin for some quarters
I turn to pay the face that was patient with my order
She is gorgeous, gotta full sleeve and a nose ring
Aroma of grease mixed with roses and O-rings
Oh please God let this woman be single
My match account was banned so I’m lookin to mingle
Hi Amy I like your “open late swag”
“How you know my name?” Girl I read your name tag
Now she’s blushin and the guy behind me’s cussin
Here’s my number on a napkin, take it sleazy then I punched it
And if she ever calls up
I’ll invite her to some bubbles in my parent’s hot tub
Roll up my parent’s have a hot tub
Here’s my number hit me up when you’re off hun
You’re out of cigarettes GIRL I got some
Now watch me one pump blast like a shotgun
She hit me up sure enough so I hit her with my address
Double pits to chestie hit the scope for my bad breath
Mattress cleaned with febreze smellin mad fresh
Blast Gladys tunes to get the right mood established
Knock knock on my door so I let her in
Smooth talk locked but I’m shakin like a veteran
It’s irreverent but there’s never a better sin
Than lusting over clever chicks who meet all of your preferences
She wants some champagne but I got apple juice
Mix it with some key stone *sip* yup, that’ll do
Philosophical talks fueled by toxins
Existential thoughts exchanged like the stock is
We lock eyes there are no words necessary
Things are getting hotter in this wet, square nest we’re sharing
Our hands are getting lost under the surface
30 seconds later I say thank you for the service
(Chorus)
Watch me one pump blast like a shotgun (x2)
credits