Arinedea thunder song

Lyrics

ARANEIDAE THUNDER The Fuckin’ Exercise Blues [Spoken Intro – slow dirty blues guitar] Ladies and gentlemen… Welcome to Araneidae Thunder. Where the plan is questionable, the coffee is terrible, and somehow… these motherfuckers are responsible for national defense. Lord have mercy. [Verse 1] Peter’s been serving since the Bible came in print, Fifty fuckin’ years and he still ain’t got the hint. Got a thousand ancient stories and a permanent grin, While Wim-Jan’s in the corner gettin’ every damn thing in. Pete says, “Back in my day…” while admirin’ himself, Wim-Jan’s already fixed it, filed it, put it on the shelf. Then he starts talkin’ solo, havin’ meetings in his head, Answer him by accident and you’ll wish that you were dead. Leo guards the gate yellin’, “This whole place is shit!” Conspiracies and explosives — he knows everything ‘bout it. Says he’s fuckin’ leaving, retirement’s overdue… Then signs another contract. Yeah, Leo… We fuckin’ knew. [Chorus] Ohhh, Araneidae Thunder, What a beautiful fuckin’ mess. Radar hummin’, people runnin’, Everybody under stress. We got guns, we got fuel, We got PowerPoint disease, We got twenty different experts Who agree on fuck-all, please. But when the air picture lights And somebody screams, “CONTACT!” All these dysfunctional bastards Somehow get the fuckin’ job intact. [Verse 2] Surveillance watches heaven with their eyes upon the screen, One old Sergeant Major’s been there since nineteen-seventeen. Quiet as a graveyard till he murders you with wit, Then goes right back to Germany like nothin’ fuckin’ happened, shit. Beside him sits the lieutenant with the bright blue hair, Ready for a discussion while nobody else would dare. Different generations, different ways to run the show, But when those tracks start moving — somehow both of ‘em know. Then Jason and his GM400 start their love affair, Captain Price inside his head, porn-stache everywhere. Two Army boys walk past and say, “Why’s my asshole warm?” Jason says, “Relax, boys… probably fuckin’ normal.” His wife could send him naked pictures, roses, wine and more, But one tiny radar fault? Motherfucker’s out the door. [Chorus] Ohhh, Araneidae Thunder, What a beautiful fuckin’ mess. Radar hummin’, people runnin’, Everybody under stress. We got guns, we got fuel, We got spreadsheets by the ton, Nobody knows what SIS prepared… Because SIS prepared fuck-all. Yet when the briefing crashes And the timetable gets fucked, Some miserable bastard fixes it… Through pure dumb fuckin’ luck. [Verse 3] Logistics got two heroes keepin’ everything alive, One screams, “FUEL THE FUCKIN’ TANK!” like twenty times past five. Enemy-lookin’ beard, rifles counted day and night, If diesel had a pussy he’d propose beneath the light. Beside him comes the tiny storm with miniature fuckin’ shoes, Can’t remember where she’s sleeping but she’ll tell you what to do. Small enough to lose inside a fuckin’ Bergen sack, But piss her off at breakfast and you’re never coming back. Then SIS rolls in — four geniuses without a fuckin’ plan, One giant, couple baldies and yesterday’s biggest fan. Monday: “Plenty time, boys.” Friday: “WHO THE FUCK OWNS THIS?” Preparation at SIS is apparently a fuckin’ myth. And somewhere sits the Golden Tok, dignity long gone, Mustard, broken elbows, hairy backs — just carryin’ on. Yvette gives a cluck and suddenly three grown men erupt: “TOK TOK, MOTHERFUCKERS!” Jesus Christ… Shut the fuck up. [Bridge – slow blues breakdown] And underneath it all… S.B.A.M.D. Three bastards in a bunker, two young… one produced before HDMI. Pilots say they own the sky with helmets, scarves and pride, While SBAMD watches radar going: “Cute fuckin’ story, guys.” Two exercise drones came buzzing, two exercise drones went down. Now every time they drink a beer they act like kings of town. Surface Based Air Missile Defense? Sure. But tonight it stands for: SPECIAL BASTARDS AGAINST MOTHERFUCKIN’ DRONES. [Final Chorus – full band] Ohhh, Araneidae Thunder, Raise your fuckin’ glasses high! To every weird-ass section keeping bastards from the sky. H.I.D. is telling stories, Wim-Jan’s fixing what he can, Leo hates the organization while signing up again. Jason fucks his radar, Logistics fuels the fleet, SIS forgot the planning, Golden Tok forgot their feet. Surveillance keeps on watching, SBAMD brings the boom… And somehow this whole circus makes it safely through the room. [Outro – guitar fading] So here’s to Araneidae Thunder… Where professionalism is mandatory… Competence is strongly encouraged… And sanity? …apparently optional. FUEL THE FUCKIN’ TANK! TOK TOK! WHO TOUCHED THE RADAR?! And Peter… For fuck’s sake… PUT SOME GODDAMN PANTS ON.