---
title: "Economic Kama Sutra"

meaning: "Finding $D body-politics satire: women as currency, Ring of Gyges, Al Franken: welcome to your future hell, economic kama sutra, blow your way to the top."

year: 2017
release: "Finding $D"
releaseType: "album"

artist: "Scoobert Doobert"
artistId: "#scoobert"

credits: "Written, performed, mixed, and mastered by Luke Francis Walton."

spotify: "https://open.spotify.com/album/1RD1nblfKnDDT42FXZ0eZL"
apple: "https://music.apple.com/us/album/economic-kama-sutra/1506552414?i=1506552560"
bandcamp: "https://scoobertdoobert.bandcamp.com/album/finding-d-lp"

themes: ["Finding $D", "politics", "satire", "2017"]

isrc: TCADN1849868
isrcSource: soundexchange
lyrics: |
  Simmer down
  Pop goes the vestibule
  Send a nuckle
  To rap tap the testicle
  Vestigal mistical jewel
  Desire the pain
  We one in the same
  Ascetic never criss-crossed the brain
  You see

  When men determine women to be currency
  They living like Gheddafi in a tyranny
  That oompa loompa man got anonymity 
  He slipped the ring of Gyges on his itty bitty hand
  Then he passed that evil shit off to his brother Al Franken
  Ay
  Lock 'em naked in the town square
  Ay
  Colony, OG pillory 
  Spit on me and he and we for she's sake
  Had enough of your fat ass
  Cheesecake

  Welcome to your future hell
  Settle in you'll know it well
  There is no more room for escape
  (Oh)

  You're guilty when you're feeling great
  Now go ahead and procreate
  Babies have no hope for escape
  Ay

  Economic kama sutra
  Economic kama sutra
  Economic kama sutra
  What what what ya got?
  What ya got?
  Economic kama sutra

  You'll blow your way up
  To the top

  Welcome to your future hell
  Settle in you'll know it well
  There is no more room for escape
  (Oh)

  You're guilty when you're feeling great
  Now go ahead and procreate
  Babies have no hope for escape
  (Oh)
  Ay

  Welcome to your future
  Welcome to your future
  Welcome to your future

  Welcome to your future hell
  Settle in you'll know it well
  There is no more room for escape
  (Oh)

  You're guilty when you're feeling great
  Now go ahead and procreate
  Babies have no hope for escape
  (Oh)
  Ay

  Economic kama sutra

draft: false

---

Track six on [*Finding $D*](/albums/finding-d-remastered/), Luke solo; [every song on the LP](/albums/finding-d-remastered/) was written, recorded, mixed, and mastered in a single day. It sits between [*Damned*](/songs/damned/) and [*Gud Gud Medicine*](/songs/gud-gud-medicine/), and it's **body politics and sexual economics** delivered as a gross-out funk sermon.

The opening verse is anatomy-as-mysticism in deliberately broken rhyme, with the misspellings (*nuckle*, *vestigal*, *mistical*) left intact and pain and pleasure collapsed into one. Then the song names its target: *when men determine women to be currency / they living like Gheddafi in a tyranny*. The references are pointed but oblique. An *oompa loompa man* who *slipped the ring of Gyges on his itty bitty hand* fuses an unnamed enabler with Plato's myth of invisible impunity, before the blame gets passed to *his brother Al Franken*, who resigned amid the 2017 #MeToo reckoning.

The chorus is a trap with no exit (*welcome to your future hell... there is no more room for escape*), where pleasure reads as guilt and reproduction as a sentence handed down to babies who *have no hope for escape*. The hook inverts a sacred text for capitalism, and the bridge spells out the climb: *you'll blow your way up / to the top*. Same satire register as [*My Meddling Kids (Hallelujah Sexy)*](/songs/my-meddling-kids-hallelujah-sexy/) and the senator verses of [*My Friend, Scoobert*](/songs/my-friend-scoobert/), the horror here being economic sex under patriarchy, no comic mask in sight.

---