"From Womb to Waste" by Dying Fetus: (lyrics by Dying Fetus)

"Burning urge to conceive like animals blind in heat
But they're human all the same copulation compulsion to breed, just anatomy and instinct lust consumed but the product is a human life.
A malicious maternal seed spewed forth in precarious birth from the womb into the trash.
Precious, twisting life, crawling on the filth of the dumpster floor.
Only known to the mother in guilt, as she stumbles from the alley covered in flies.
With a ten mile stare dead to the world she never gave one fuck for the child inside...none.
Sucks the crack pipe in shame just to forget.
Yet with another hit, she's on the streets again in another life she once had hope.
But that went down the drain.
Along with her pride.
Nurses habitually resigned.
Tossing the carcass, in the waste bin death legally designed?
Or fixing the future with quick extraction?
Conceived and thrown away from womb into the waste.
Human trash, putrid, the bodies overrun.
Aborted removal, with cold precision.
Tools specifically designed forcing fetal termination.
Blind the morally enraged.
Bomb the clinic into oblivion.
Kill the killer they will say.
Justice through murder goes both ways.
Conceived and thrown away from womb into the waste.
One more girl, mortified.
Never knew what was growing within.
Obese, diseased, down on her knees she gave birth on the toilet seat.
Insert anesthetize.
Late term feticide.
Orphan spawned from rape.
Short lived, half a face.
Crackhead whore for host.
Hatching living ghosts.
Pregnant, drunk and high.
It was no surprise, when she left it there to die.
One more girl who could never conceive.
Psychopath, maternity-mad.
Took a steel bat to her mother's head, hacked her up and took the baby out.
One more girl, six months in, takes a hanger and a bottle of pills.
The pro-life priest has nothing to say as the embryo's scraped away.
Straight into the trash with the unborn offspring, generations dead in time, progeny unwanted.
Dead flesh pile a mass of cells, 10 more bags and the landfill swells.
Ripened mass fetal decay, no one cares were they human anyway?"
               These are the lyrics for a new song by the death metal band Dying Fetus entitled "From Womb To Waste".  Its not for the faint of heart, muscially or lyrically. But that is mostly the point of death metal or all extreme music for that matter. You see, I've been a fan of this kind of stuff since the age of 13 or so and have heard all the criticizms and jokes.  I've had to defend my musical tastes to my parents, peers, strangers, even friends.  It's nothing new.  I've always pointed out that mainstream music and culture is at least as mindless and more corrupt than what I like.  What I've always asked is "What about what YOU listen to?"  Without fail, those who object most to what I choose to listen too almost always prefer whatever is most popular commercially at the time.  Which is fine, because I generally don't care whatever someone listens to, as it doesn't affect me in any way.  What I can never figure out it how to people not see that the reason mainstream "artists" rely on image so much to sell records is because most of the time, their music is really nothing new or special. There are exceptions to this general rule, but its true.  Take 50 cent for example. When he hit the big time. I never heard anything about any special abilities he had. It was all about his story. He was a crack dealer(which seems to be a pre requisite for gangsta rappers) in Queens NY who had been shot 9 times. This is suppossed to make his music more apealling to me for some reason.  I've always assumed that most people who watch MTV or listen to commercial radio don't generally ask these kinds of questions and just assume this guy is a great artist because whatever VeeJay or Rolling Stone tells them.  The thing that strikes me about rap music, is....how is it music?  It's someone talking! Now, when I say this people usually ask me if I can rap(yes, I CAN talk), or point out that death/speed/whatever metal is just screaming and noise rather than music.  Here's how they are wrong. First, I can take the beat for "In The Club" by 50 Cent and speak the lyrics and sound just like he does thereby performing a perfect "cover" of the song with no mistakes. If that doesn't satisfy someone's definition of "rapping" I could read a recipe for Bundt Cake, the Constitution, or anything over the beat of the song and it would still sound pretty close to the original. On the second point, any group of musicians that play arrangements regardless of what kind of music they are playing are making music.  It's not just cacophonic discord, you're just used to hearing relativly simple music that repeats simple parts over and over. So YOU'RE the one that's wrong. If you don't like extreme music, fine, most don't.  Leave us alone. 
                 As for the content of death metal and the like, I agree with some that it can be objectionable. Bands like Deicide and Behemoth who just try to offend Christians and God himself with every album I pretty much hate.  There are many bands whose lyrics I don't even bother looking at because I know they will offend me. I love the music itself.  Its brutality, complexity, energy, and R-complex fueled rage I find cathartic, intoxicating, even exhilarating. There's no accounting for taste, I always say, but if you read the lyrics above and still don't consider death metal true art, let me invite you to first, stop watching any movies or television shows with objectionable, offensive content of any kind: gore, murder, zombies, graphic violence, profane language, graphic sexual content, nudity, and or glorification of any lacivious or ignorant behavior. Then, read the lyrics from this platinum selling artist your kids probably listen to:

[Intro - The Weeknd]She’s about to earn some bragging rights
I’m ’bout to give it up like I’ve been holding back all night
Girl, take pride in what you wanna do
Even if that means a new man every night inside of you
Baby, I don’t mind
You can tell by how I roll
Cause my clique hard and my cup cold
My tongue slurred cause I’m so throwed
And I’m wiping sweat from my last show
And he’s TG and I’m XO
I’m only here for one night
And I’mma be your memory
Sing it in my ears, so I can hear what you’re saying to me
I got cups full of that Rose
Smoke anything that’s passed to me
Don’t worry ’bout my voice
I won’t need it for what I’m about to do to you
Bad bitch, girl I think I might get used to you
I’mma have to take your number when I’m through with you
All I ask of you is try to earn my memory
Make me remember you like you remember me
Bad bitch, girl I think I might get used to you
I’mma have to take your number when I’m through with you
All I ask of you is try to earn my memory
Make me remember you like you remember me

[Verse 1 - Wiz Khalifa]
Old rapping ass
Lightyears past the class
Hit it, don’t have to pass
Nigga, we the new Aftermath
Niggas after fame, I just had to laugh
Niggas after fame, I’m after cash
You’s a fan of a player
I’m the man, you’s a hater
And I only smoke papers
That’s how you tell them Taylors
Nigga listen
Break it down, rolling weed on the island of my kitchen
And not a thing comes out without permission
Look, everything I got on I was made for
Everything that I got I done came for
All the shit that you see I done slaved for
All the cars and the crib, yeah that’s paid for
Need I say more
Spend so much money on clothes
Said fuck a store, making my own
I hope that you’re rolling one up while you’re singing along
And know I was rolling one while I was making this song
Pour out some shots
You’re taking too long
Young and I’m rich
And plus all of my friends on that Bombay and lemonade

[Hook]
Good to you
Bad bitch, girl I think I might get used to you
I’mma have to take your number when I’m through with you
All I ask of you is try to earn my memory
Make me remember you like you remember me
Bad bitch, girl I think I might get used to you
I’mma have to take your number when I’m through with you
All I ask of you is try to earn my memory
Make me remember you like you remember me

[Verse 2 - Wiz Khalifa]
I’m on some gin, you on some gin
I’m moving slow, I’m driving fast
I hit the weed, you take the wheel
We lose control
Drop the top in that 69
Not Motor 1, not old Chevelle
Can’t say things like supposed to feel
Stacking all of this paper, dawg
I like to call this shit old news
It means haters jocking our old moves
Popping champagne cause we made it
Pack in the Phantom, we faded
All of this shit that I did I probably won’t remember tomorrow