Time for another “Song to be massacred to in a film.”
The good thing about this number is its playful self-awareness. Lyrically it has charming little touches – “Move your hips like battleships” – while the driving rhythm powers on. It’s a play on red-necks, twitchy, white net curtains, green lawns and blue blood, all petty conservatism embroiled together in joyous contempt.
Perfect for a Chainsaw Massacre credit sequence. Or a scene where, finally, the neighbourhood cult starts to make motions towards the inevitable human sacrifice.
But also, if I absolutely had to be hacked to death in a mid-Western outhouse in the middle of nowhere, to have it all over with to this record would be right up there as one of my final requests.