'We are the Future'

by Ira Lee and Rubin Steiner

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about

The story began November 2010, in a secret studio in Tours, France where trendsetting and genre bending indie groups are inter breeding and working (including Boogers, Piano Chat, Pneu, Mesparrow, French Cowboys, Fort Damage, and Funken) and where exclusive membership is by rare and special invitation only.

As Rubin Steiner was jamming on a remix of French electro group Bosco's 'Push it to the Limit' he could not finish, Rubin Steiner only had to go to the room next door, where Funken was working with a huge semi - black person with a funny quebec accent names Ira Lee.

Over a bottle of wine and some baguettes, the three decided to start a group that would record and release only one song. Thus, The Motherbeepers was born, and died. Deciding to further indulge their new found friendship and inspiration and collaborate further, Rubin Steiner and Ira Lee recorded 'We are the Future' just for fun in 2days.

Required themes: dance, dope rap shit, soul sceaming and spontaneity.

Fun Facts about Rubin Steiner and Ira Lee's 'We are the Future' LP

Every song was recorded in one or take. All the way through.

With the exception of 'Gay and Proud' and 'Style' the ENTIRE album is freestyle. ( O.G. Project Blowed... NOT Hot 97 Freestyle)

'Gay and Proud' Was the official anthem of the Tours, FR 2011 'Gay Pride day.




TRACKLISTING

1. Style
2. Wack Freestyle
3. Come Back to Me
4. Who Killed Charly Brown
5. The Luckiest Man
6. Get Your Hands Off My Records
7. Taco Truck on Route 73
8. Weird Electro Hop
9. Gay and Proud
10. Andy Warhol Vampire
11. Noise In The City

credits

released February 22, 2011

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Track Name: Style
Hardcore, new wave, weirdo, eclectic, punk rock, disco, boogaloo, electric, 2 step, 8 bit, adult alternative, ambient, afro beat, j - pop.

Experimental, Arabic, brazillian, big band, calypso, celtic fusion, barbershop, miami bass core, barn dance, christian, bat cave, classical, beatbox

Bebop, Benga, bhangra, ragamuffin, blue eyed soul, Americana bitpop, bouncy techno, boy band, bossa nova, bohemian dub, in the club.

The best, that’s my style.
Goodness grief, you can’t trust my smile
In the meanwhile, I’m liable. I will.
Freestyle the bible, earful, eyeful
Hang your idols, at the dance recitals.

Boogie woogie. Boy band, klezmer, break core, brit funk, bubblegum acid jazz
Cha - cha - cha, Chicago blues, disco, black metal, chamber music.

Aiming to do it, and taking a shot. I think I’m so dope I’m, probably not.
Ticket to the top is non refundable. Hip and on the hop, on the drop, it’s wonderful
I’m a hunter full of rainbow blood. My records on record, are a record of love
career made of, hits and misses, x’s and o’s, and hugs and kisses,

I make music to make you dance.
Masturbate like cheap romance.
Way too drunk, to wake up without pants
Give me a break, if you won’t give me a chance
Another day, another cash advance
Chilling in a cape, and a b boy stance
Water the plants, and mustache ants
Wip it real good, and do the safety dance.

All you bananas in backwards bandanas, Fruit loops, in new suits, and blue spandex
Man sex, and it’s, wood on wood, currently being done, but nowhere near as good.
In the nearest hood, with the coolest hair, break into your car, and take a poop in their
Yes I rap, yes I rock, pigeonhole me homie, whether you know me or not
Style is my bitch, music’s my cock, I fuck all night, till I can hardly walk
Ready or not, here I come, your neon black, I’m plat - in - um
Rap’s that um, supercede the genre, short a couple crayons, like a kid from rwanda
Fat like yo momma, like eric loves donna.
Go tell Vince, and e, and turtle, and Drama.
high on life and a crack pipe full of marijuana. Doing pushups at the beach, eating mouldy peaches in the sauna
To each what they want a, florae, fauna. My style is all styles, every last one, comma.
Too weak to budge, to meek to stand, we need less rappers, and more rap fans
Never going to make it, never going to understand, Naked with a fake tan, back of the rape van
Greater the mistake man, harder the fall. liver than wildfire, eye of the tiger is all.
Wire your call, and fire your libido. My style is c4, see more, tor - pedo

I have no particular confine, un - re stricted, when I kick it, your on mine.
No de - fining characteristics, styling on you, with new stylistiscs.
Way too complex, with the concepts, you better stay home, alone, for palm sex
Math - e matically, incompatible, in - conceivably, incom - parable.

Un - I - denti - fiable phenomenom, unlimited homonym’s, here to comment on
Too distinguished and distinctive, undebateable, unfadeable, artistic
Way too phonetical, alien alphabetical, could say genius, but what I mean is, incredible
Math - e matically, incompatible, in - conceivably, incom - parable.

I’m Terrible, so be careful thief. Bite my style, it’ll break your teeth,
Unwearable, like a itchy wool scarf, you regurgitate, like a vermin ate barf
Colossal, hostile, a jawful of awful, tasting, unkempt, and unlawful, a - mazing
Flexing, inflection, steroid freak. I’m losing my mind, a - busing the beat

I have no particular confine, un - re stricted, when I kick it, your on mine.
No de - fining characteristics, styling on you, with new stylistiscs.
Way too complex, with the concepts, you better stay home, alone, let’s be honesst
Math - e matically, incompatible, in - conceivably, incom - parable.

dark wave, cello rock, film score, doo woop, doom core, industrial, freak folk, gangster
Girl group, ghettotech, hiplife, horror core, jam band, jitterbug, jesus music
Nashville, g - funk. No wave, classical, Nordic, nu soul, oriental, parody
psycho Billy, peace punk, queer core, rare groove, ragga jungle, rock steady, shoe gaze, show tune
speed core, soundtrack, space pop, square dance, negro spiritual, surf ballad, swing funk
Vaudeville, techhouse, world beat, zydeco, europop, square dance, straight edge, stoner metal.
Sri lankan, power ballad, sea chanty, screamo, Scottish, baroque, anime, anti folk
Black metal, ballet, art rock, break beat, bubblegum, cakewalk, british invasion.
NowI’msaying? I got styles, many mini, mayhem.

I have no particular confine, un - re stricted, when I kick it, your on mine.
No de - fining characteristics, styling on you, with new stylistiscs.
Way too complex, with the concepts, you better stay home, alone, for palm sex
Math - e matically, incompatible, in - conceivably, incom - parable.
Track Name: Wack Freestyle
Freestyle
Track Name: Get your hands off my records
I dig, deep, down, in the crates, for 7, 10, and 12 inch breaks.
Dirty, stinking dust you name it, there ain’t no rules making beats in the basement
Bass, kick, high, snare, chef is the kitchen and he’s cooking with care.
Choppedy chop, needle full of dirt. Mixing, matching, and making it work.
b- boy, the real McCoy, sleeping at the studio, with my new toys.
Vintage, vinyl, criminal, minded. Sample my sample, cause you’re never going to find it.

Get your hands of my records. Sucker, your pissing me off.
If I was in your shoes, buying re issues, the drums wouldn’t be so soft

Get your hands off my records. They belong to my dad and mom
all you making is original beats, when you going to make an original song? Huh?

I’m on the newness, you knew this all along, your whole style is mathematically wrong.
Nice loop their el producto, you got a turtle poking out the back of your butt so
I think it’s time that you kids learn to behave, jay dee’s rolling over in his grave
Better play another game of Nintendo, and throw your m - p - c out the window.
You couldn’t cut up a piece of cake. Googling the internet for hip hop breaks.
There’s nothing musical about your music. You’re never going to make it, don’t be stupid.

Get your hands off my wax. You hacks,…and freaks and fashionable geeks
Is there a button on your new computer, you can press to make dope beats?

Get your hands off my records, they don’t belong to you.
If I could call James brown right now, that’s exactly what he’d tell you to do.

true

Listen up, I’ll save you some tears, the truth is going to hurt a lot more in a couple years.
I know you’re young, and still paying dues, and you’re brand new sounds already re - used
One time for your mind I guess. Do yourself a favour cause your flavor is tone deaf.
It’s never too late, to throw in the towel. Stop making those wack beats right now
You’re so foul, nobody cares, production of order, it needs some repairs.
It takes talent, and I quote, some people have it, some people don’t.

Get your hands of my records. Loser. You never going to win.
Spend your money in the soul section, in - stead of mining diamonds in the dollar bin.

Get your hands off my records. Sucker, don’t know how to act.
1995 is on the phone, and he says he wants his style back.

Sucker.
Track Name: Who killed Charly Brown
If I didn’t drink, I would have died at twenty. I got the stink of Paris, rotting through my bones,
If I didn’t drink, I would have died at twenty. I got the rats in Paris, I’m never lonely their

Going back to Paris, with a gun in my hand, and I’m going to stand where we met, with a wet cigarette, and tap dance a little hole into the ground
Going back to Paris, with a gun in my hand, and a bottle full of whisky, for the gypsy downtown
Who killed Charlie Brown.

Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, / nah, nah, nah, nah /

Who killed Charlie Brown?
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, / nah, nah, nah, nah /

Who killed Charlie Brown?
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, / nah, nah, nah, nah /

Who killed Charlie Brown?
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, / nah, nah, nah, nah /

If I didn’t drink, I would have died at twenty. I got the stench of Paris, like a French cowboy
If I didn’t drink, I would have died at twenty. I got the rats in Paris, and the midnight air.

Going back to Paris, with a gun in my hand, and two bullets, for the, woman, with a, rose in her hair.
Going back to Paris, with a gun in my hand, Cause I’m the rat king of the Bastille underground
The man who killed Charlie Brown

Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, / nah, nah, nah, nah /

Chuck has got to die
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, / nah, nah, nah, nah /

Who killed Charlie Brown
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, / nah, nah, nah, nah /

Who killed Charlie Brown?
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, / nah, nah, nah, nah /
Track Name: The luckiest man
Hot summer’s night in a pick up truck, two best friends taught each other how to fuck.
She Bit my lip and whispered slow, don’t chase our ghosts just, let them go.
you re - mind me, of my dad. I want you in - side me, right now, so bad.
Long as you live and as you breathe, I’ve got my reasons to believe.
Bullfrog, gave the princess a kiss, that dragged her back from, the a - byss.
Fell down on to my, hands and knees, and screamed so loud, birds flew out of trees.

I always knew I was the luckiest man,
When I wake up next to you and know exactly who and what I am.
I always felt like I’m, the luckiest man
Push in so deep, you scream for god, and push even deeper, until I am

Your tender, sweet, forever heart, cut out of the cold and golden dark, everything you own in a shopping kart?, and you still, blame me
I found you lying in the road, dying from trying to explode, I couldn’t rescue you, with these old rubber chicken wings, baby

I feel empty without, you inside me, like a zombie’s dream, on a runaway lazer beam
I feel empty without you, in - side me. Like a shiny new machine without a tiny human being,

Use this useless, dried up and toothless, bumbling, slovenly, crumb - ling karate, drunken dead body, oddly positioned, obviously hidden, a new lobby in my prison, guilt is a tradition, silken till it’s sickened, built in a respected, perfected, precision, it’s dark and we’re fishing, the skate park in your kitchen but you never want to listen, like a Sunday Christian, few screws missing, teenage fiction, chicks dig it, like a DJ mixing, listen, I’m risking, crashing and, burning, smashing your fashion, rash and determined,

I feel empty without, you inside me, where your fingers fit between, to work the puppet like a real human being
I feel empty without, you inside me, like a lonely hunter, rolling out the thunder, for a beauty pageant queen.

I always knew I was the luckiest man.
Because you love me so much, you can’t even see who I am.
I always felt like I’m, the luckiest man
to beg and cry, and cheat, and lie, and live and die, that’s who am I, ---
the luckiest man x2
The luckiest man.
Track Name: Gay and Proud
My name is ira and I’m here to say. a lot of my friends are secretly gay
Born that way, and scared to admit, because of the stigma‘s, attached to it.
And it’s no fair, and it’s not cool. Being yourself is the golden rule.
Don’t be scared, to be queer. Gay is the new chic, this year.
hypocrites, and conservatives. Poisoning the minds, of innocent kids.
Stop the hate, consider a minute. Homophobia, makes you a bigot.
Why are you so, afraid of gay men, if all your porno’s, lesbian?
Do you hate fag’s, and homo’s too. cause you think they want to have sex with you?
A bit confused, change your views. The world is so fucked, because of your attitudes.
Ignorance, is a disease, to all you misogynistic emcee’s.
Take a second, and listen to this, you fucking Nazi son of a bitch.
You’re not a racist, or sexist eh? But you hate gay people, because their gay?
It’s 2010, raise your voice, mother fuckers think, being gay is a choice.
Believe in the bible, read it then, Jesus preferred, the company of men.
Boys and girls, have different parts. But it’s all the same thing, in the dark.
It’s your time, and it’s your world. To all of my playboy’s, that read playgirl
To all my playgirls, that read playboy.

(chorus x 4)

Say it loud, gay and proud
We’re here. We’re queer. Get used of it.

How can you, discriminate, when anal sex feels so great.
Human rights. do whoever you like. Come out of the closet, and live your life.
Easier said, that done I know. When your family disowns you, where do you go?
Reality is. People are different, you can be ignorant, or you can get with it.
Fundamentalists are embarrassed, at their sun and daughter’s gay marriage
Don’t be stupid, don’t be crass, even hockey player’s, slap each other’s ass?
Jeffery Star, Amanda blank, stereotypes are pretty rank.
Moral and natural, making it work. My boyfriend is a priest at your church
Me and my crew, we do it all. Boys kiss boys like, the kids in the hall.
Basically, what you’re actually saying, is you have to hate gays, cause you’re a Jamacain?
Explain to me, how that makes sense. Do you hate backyards, cause one time, you painted a fence?
What’s the point, of getting violent, The truth can never be, ever be, silent.
Social justice, nothing but this.
Social justice, nothing but this.

(chorus x 4)

Say it loud, gay and proud
We’re here. We’re queer. Get used of it.
Track Name: Andy Warhol's Vampire
I want what I want. Everything.
Ain’t going out like the dinosaurs.
My imagination is a time machine
Andy Warhol’s Vampire.

I want what I want, Everything
Chicks in a tank like master p
All of it, that’s for me
Everything
To - tally.

Bigger than bass. Bigger than space. Bigger than death, staring you in the face
Bigger than time. Bigger than air. Love will put a little bit of god in their.
Bigger than lies. bigger than truth. The club’s for walls, we burnt off the roof
Bigger than love. Bigger than hate. Rat in a cage, theirs no escape

I want what I want. Everything.
I ain’t going out like Eazy E.
Sucking the blood from the industry
Andy Warhol’s Vampire.

I want what I want. Everything
Never get enough, there’ll never be enough
want it all.
Don’t want to work for it.
Want It handed to me

Someone going to tell me it’s unhealthy being mechanical, robots are individual, intrinsically expandable mechanically intangible, example and predicament, impotent, as a pyramid, the poison of a period, periodically the quality we call ingenious is defeatist, and I mean it, give your penis a lobotomy,
attack of the attackers, fat, wack, rappers, world peace police with geese, in weed wackers, beast masters, b movie actors, drinking moka frapu, - ccino‘s at chapter‘s, photocopy of the mono lisa, know what you’re a piece a, found it in my pocket, brown chocolate pizza… lay fiver on the driver like MacGyver in Ibiza, just to tease the seniorita, with a worm in her tequila, feel the, style is, stylish, lucy, let me play my little piano in silence. Linus. The wildest, posse in effect, finest flyest recordings in re - corders, mic check, Against the fake in it, faking it,… a vet, I want to suck your blood and swall - ow it.
Track Name: Weird Electro Hop
All the girls are doing it, with the boys, uh - huh.
All the boys enjoy, having the girls , uh - uh - huh
No matter how you paint it, the american dream,
Everybody’s tripping out on different drugs I mean
I know you grew up on disco, and classic rock.
Let me show you how to do the weird electro pop.

You do whatever you want, you do whatever you like, cause you been working nine to five, and it’s a Friday night,
You do whatever you want, you do whatever you like, you got a salt pepper shaker better shake it, alright.
Grab your girl by the hand, and drag her out to the floor.
Cause it’s the only decent song the Dj’s plays anymore.

All the girls are doing it, with the boys, o - kay?
All the boys enjoy, girls that do it that way.
Call the dancing police, say the music’s too loud
All the momma’s and the poppa’s, everybody, in town
Why don’t I bring my keyboard, to the record shop
let me show you how to do the weird electro pop,

You put your right hand in, take your left hand out, do the hokey pokey, and you turn yourself about
You put your left foot in, and take your right foot out, and bust a finger licking, funky chicken no doubt
Red lipstick on, g string hanging out,
let me show you what this rock and roll life is about.

Everybody on the floor, it’s time to twist and shout

All the girls are doing it, with the boys, uh - huh.
All the boys enjoy, having the girls , uh - uh - huh
I come home every night with different blood on my jeans.
Like I’m the king of French electro, since I murdered the queen.
on a magic carpet ride going straight to the top
Let me show you how to do the weird electro pop

All the girls are doing it, with the boys, all night.
know the boys enjoy, girls do what they like
Call the dancing police, cause we shaking the ground.
All the momma’s and the poppa’s, everybody in town.
Why don’t I bring my keyboard, to the ice cream shop.
Track Name: Come back to me
Can’t you see, what’s become of me.

Can’t you see, what’s becoming of me.

Why don’t you come back to me,

ever since you been gone, I had a little bit of trouble moving on.

I had a little bit of trouble staying strong. Had a little bit of trouble, but then I, had to, get a little bit out of my bubble.

Why don’t you come back to me, ever since you been gone

Why don’t you come back to me, ever since you been gone, I’ll admit, I been dealing with some shit.

Why don’t you come back to me, Why don’t you come back to me, Why don’t you come back to me,

Ever since you been gone, I’ll admit, I been dealing with some shit.


Ain’t nothing been going right. Ain’t nothing that I can ‘like’, Ain’t nothing that going to get me out of the house tonight,.

Cause I ain’t got no reason, I been dying here bleeding, I been trying to find a way, and I been trying to find a reason but no.

Why don’t you, why don’t you, why don’t you know, and come back to me, cause I been sitting here and I’m getting so lonely.

Cause I been sitting here waiting and it’s so lonely.
Track Name: Noise in the City
Freestyle