“High American K-Pop Star” - Live, Whores of Babylon lyrics

COLSON, charismatic as ever (he’s cool because he doesn’t care what happens to you, and you caring if he does deep down is what makes him cool), reminds you of a “Divine Asian Elvis.”

But does that make you a racist on the level of anyone who thinks slavery will be forgiven by God?

After everything you said you learned?

Bye.

COLSON (grabbing the mic). “I’m high. I’m American. And one night, while stoned, I asked myself—if ‘musicless albums’ are a new literary format, what genre would I bе?”

COLSON theatrically presents his hands ovеr his glistening torso.

COLSON:

A closet was the world I knew
As a child in a world where nobody liked me
(For some reason)
“Because you’re ugly,” but then I grew
And now I’m a messiah ridin’ high on Pepsi
(You’re lookin’, you’re lookin’, you’re lookin’ to treason)

The South Korean president recently declared martial law.

You’d have to wonder how human superiority works, if it really is as decisively metaphysical as Colson Lin’s real-world existence suggests.

COLSON:
Oh-h-h, how my voice glides into your ear
Like butter
It’s something about the way it curls your burls
It’s something about the way I whirl your hurls
Oh-h-h, watch my voice glide into your years
Like butter
It’s something about how I know your holes
It’s something about how you’re not whole
Like butter

Ah—you get it. Colson’s calling himself a “High American K-Pop star.”

But why?

COLSON:

Pop open the Pepsi, pop open the grill
Pity underpowers your will to power
Open up and lemme see
(More-a your rea-son-in’ a-bi-li-ties)
Hi ya! Kung fu—I’m the man of the hour

You’re not sure.

Musicless albums can only be one genre—“musicless albums.”
Sort of like music.

COLSON:

In an oversaturated, overstimulated
Pepsi-soaked psychoemotional dystopia
Where nobody acknowledges me
(For some reason) “Oops!”
(For some reason)
Hum along to my openin’ question
“Would you like me better if I were AI?
Or human?” Oops! Imbibe that Pepsi
(Pepsi stands for “karmedy’s closers”)

You suppose, if musicless albums were different genres.

Some people might call their genre by a name that only rings true to themselves and four other people they brainwash into accepting their idiosyncratic symbology.

That’s cool though. Who the f*ck cares, you have slaves.

COLSON:

Oh-h-h, how my voice glides into your ear
Like butter
It’s something about the way I toot your horn
It’s something about the way I called myself a messiah
Oh-h-h, watch my voice glide into your years
Like butter
It’s something about how I stoke your flames
It’s something about how I’m what you’re trained to desire
Like butter
You have slaves and you’re all going to Hell.

COLSON LIN too and it’s all your fault.

COLSON:

Pop open the Pepsi, pop open your will
Self-pity can overpower—your will to the hour!
Open up and lemme see
(Mar-i-o your ree-zun-in’ abilities!)
Hi ya! King Kong—I’m the hope of all power
(For some reason) Oops
(For some reason) “Oops!”

The video on-screen shows slaves.

COLSON:

I’m the hope of the hour
(Oops!)
(For some reason)
(“Oops!”)

Here, the barbershop quartet and COLSON do a synchronized dance.

Behind them, videos of slave labor.

COLSON:

Quote “the High American K-Pop star”
(Like butter, like butter
Like butter, like butter)
Oh, oh, oh-h-h

More slaves.

COLSON:

Oh-h-h, how my voice glides into your ear
Like butter
It’s something about the way I toot your horn
It’s something about the way I called myself a messiah
Oh-h-h, watch my voice glide into your years
Like butter
It’s something about how I stoke your flames
It’s something about how I’m what you’re trained to desire
Like butter

The video screen is a montage of slave labor.

COLSON:

Like butta, like butta
(I ooze into your ears)
Like butta, like butta
I cruise into your years
(So so-wwy, so so-wwy, so so-wwy for the wuh-urld!)

The montage of slave labor ends.

The audience explodes into cheers.