You are correct. What is “I got my squeaky voices mixed up”?
It’s Trebek’s terrible botching of the cadence that creates a mental block and makes the question much harder than it should be.
One must block Trebek out completely, and read the words to oneself (imagining Mike D’s voice), at which point the answer just pops to the frontal lobe. But try doing that in front of cameras, and with Trebek staring dumbfounded at your failure to appreciate his ill flow.
Johnny Rotten would like to take this opportunity to remind you that he doesn’t give a fuck.
It’s a pretty darned well-made song, to be honest.
Having seen The Entrance Band twice, I can confirm that Lenchantin is a veritable monster of a bass player and a musician. Shame that she has now thrice signed up to subjugate her talent to the whims of bald, pasty megalomaniacs (Keenan, Corgan, Black).
Oh, well, musicians gotta eat!
As seen in the documentary, the “My lifestyle determines my deathstyle!” lyric was actually Hammett’s delightfully addled brainchild.
Also, it’s easily the worst song Trent Reznor has ever written.
Totally. I love how the song transitions from the whisper-to-yelp lo-fi histrionics of early YYYs material to the gospel-appropriating histrionics associated with high-production-value acts from the Rolling Stones to Madonna.
It’s like a 4-minute recap of the YYYs visibility arc.
Seriously. Diplo is the laziest motherfucker ever to stumble into success.