Dazey and the Scouts started off as nothing more than an ephemeral live set phenomenon. Whispers of their performative glory wafted amidst Boston punks’ cigarette smoke; far off-cries of F***, Marry, Kill were heard emanating from a nearby basement. In answering the studio-dweller’s inquiry as to who this unapologetically third-wave feminist four piece was and what they sounded like.
¡Cuatro años de duro trabajo!Este mes de mayo cumplimos cuatro años al aire. Seguimos trabajando en la difusión de este maravilloso instrumento, ¡gracias por participar en nuestra historia!
[Verse] D don't wanna be somebody's mother F#m don't wanna be a wife D tell me i'm all that you're scared of F#m call me king dyke GBmD "so are you a boy or are you just your trauma?" GBmD i'm not a broken thing or one or the other
[Chorus] DF#m sweet cis teen, sweet cis teen DF#m sweet cis teen, sweet cis teen
[Verse] DF#m i can't leave the house every time i bleed per month DF#m can't reclaim what you don't know as dysphoria GBmD and i don't hate myself GBmD i'm just a dead name, and you're in my way
DF#m sweet cis teen, sweet cis teen DF#m sweet cis teen, sweet cis teen
[Spoken Word] F#m - A - D - C#m
to be trans is to be your own pall bearer— to carry the weight of a dead person around with you. if my gender could be sold, it wouldn't fit inside the pages of ms. magazine. my gender can't speak, but even if it could, it'd stay hidden in the corner of every room trying to keep quiet anyway. learn to piece my parts together on an assembly line— learn to code a language where i am not excluded if my gender had a pair of arms, it'd point out all the rallies i didn't get the invitation for. how in the second wave we fought for gender equality and limited the number to two. if my gender had legs, it would sprint. catch up with all the progress that feminism is making. all the FUCKING progress that T.E.R.F. feminism is making.