lirik lagu tim the beaver – lost at mit (ihtfp)
f-ck me? f-ck you, f-ck you and this whole inst-tute and everyone in it
f-ck the tech callers, grubbing for my parents’ money, and smiling at me behind my back
f-ck the hackers and mural artists dirtying up the clean roofs and tunnels – get a f-cking job!
f-ck the dweebs and the tryhards bombing down the infinite in their crusty reeboks, sweat steaming out their pores and stinking up my day
lifelong virgins in f-cking training
slow the f-ck down!
f-ck the baker boys with their spiky hair and pumped-up biceps. going down the river in my charles under my bridge, jingling their d-cks at each other in my locker rooms
f-ck the korean food truck with its boxes of overpriced bulgogi and its warm salads and dumplings wrapped in cardboard
ten years on campus, still can’t afford a f-cking indoor location? f-ck the architects in building 9
bland hipsters sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little gl-sses, cuffed-jean pretty boys. designin’ and splinin’ and cryin’
take your postmodernist trash to f-cking dubai!
f-ck the black-suited sloanies, strolling up and down amherst street in their dirty oxfords with their chests out
selling chinese slave labor iphones! f-ck the entrepreneurs. self-styled pioneers of the future. steve jobs, jeff bezos wannabe mother f-ckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. send those uber -ssh0l-s to jail for f-cking life! you think kalanick didn’t know about that harr-ssment sh-t? give me a f-cking break! james! damore! f-ck the frat brothers
twenty to a van during rush, swelling up the t-tle ix agenda, worst f-ckin’ djs in the city
and don’t even get me started on the bombers, ’cause they make the frat boys look good
f-ck the next house thespians with their affected accents, their dripping mascara, their scottish play bullsh-t, swinging their plastic swords, trying to audition for “rent.”
f-ck the east campus rebels with their pastel goth and their imported williamsburg ident-ties
whiny ingrates wanna act like oppression’s the reason they’re all c0ked up on a tuesday. you’re not fooling anybody, sweetheart!
f-ck the basketball team
they never p-ss the ball, they don’t want to play defense, they take five steps on every lay-up to the hoop
and then they want to turn around and blame everything on the refs. travel team ended five years ago
move the f-ck on! f-ck the self-serving admins with their dorm shutdowns and their fake comp-ssion, standing on a great dome of bullsh-t
you betray our trust!
f-ck the student financial services who stick their hands down innocent children’s pockets
f-ck the government that feeds their coffers, spending our taxes on foreign wars instead of education
and while you’re at it, f-ck reif! he gets off easy! a few nice emails every time a student offs themselves, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity!
try five years as an undergrad in this f-cking dump, rafael!
f-ck tea with teachers, cyril creque-sarbinowski, and backward–ss cave-dwelling m-ss-emailing -ssh0l-s everywhere
on the names of innocent thousands spammed, i pray you spend the rest of eternity with whoever the h-ll kevin lang is roasting in a flame-war fire in tetazoo glounge
you sc-m of the earth psychopaths can kiss my royal irish -ss! f-ck noam chomsky. whining malcontent
f-ck walter lewin, my first physics professor, grading my exams while he probably stared at my girlfriend’s -ss
f-ck wellesley girls, i give them my trust and they stab me in the back
f-ck you, dear reader, with your endless p-sets, sitting behind your screen sipping on boba, networking with startup recruiters, and cheering my sox and my pats as if you were f-cking born here
f-ck this whole school and everyone in it!
from the frat houses of back bay to the dorm houses on amherst alley, from the terraces of random to the towers of stata. from the bricks in chocolate city to the construction in kendall to zbt way the f-ck out in brookline. let an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, let it burn to f-cking ash and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole br-ss rat-infested place
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