The DC3 - No App lyrics

I'm waiting for the man, 26 hundred dollars in my hand I've got to have to latest app it tells me who I am I'm waiting for the man The Man leaned back in his place, his knowledge-captured, lean-manufactured wi-fi workspace, his face, a look of rote insouciance, belied the voice lugubrious in his head, insidious, invidious, a chorus of idiots that said: “It's been three seconds since your last idea, man. Your career, man, it's dead.” Already the colour was draining from his Dorian Gray psyche - not good when you're Jesus Zeitgeist Almighty. Around him on the floor: discarded toys, failed ploys from the poor lesser versions of himself. Ideas men left on the shelf. Gizmos, gimmicks a hundred or more, gimcrack gewgaws jackdawed from some sweatshop kid at the fat end of the pyramid, watching fame pa** them by. The Man thought: “There but for the grace of d** go I.” I pay the price and I'm online In the blink of an eye I'm fly wired and wi-fied Synergised paralysed I no longer care what's real I no longer have to feel there's no anybody else there's no other there's no self Flecking the three thousand dollar razor lapel of his Ezra London suit - “je m'appelle success” it screamed, the finest sheen, a dusting of powder, Bolivian faster louder – subsistence, when you're rich enough for a hand to mouth existence. It set the scene, his brain widescreen, his pupils configured, his pulse hair trigger. At last it appears: that rush of ideas in 2s and 3s, ring tone epiphanies. Shards, slivers, snippets, scintillas, soupcons, a thousand songs - only not songs, but sub riffs, sequences, 2 second shreds, secret sounds on shuffle in his head. He conjured the ultimate app, that everyone wanted but nobody needed. The app that constantly self-superseded. His vision, his mission, the frisson of transition. The app that would double triple his fame. The app that would bring everlasting acclaim. Change forever the rules of the game. The ultimate app - it just needed a name... And I leave what I've become and I feel I am the one and I think I can touch the sun and I feel like Jesus' son Until the time when it connects and then I only want the next cos the feeling is the best on the brink of emptiness He needed a name for his greatest creation. One word for the orgy of information One word for the goldfish generation. With a million apps but no application A word to describe how far we've come. What technology-driven modern living's become And at last – the word came from above. And the word was good. And the word was: iVuvuzela.