To the bygone era streets of NYC, across the tops of record players, strewn across ominous hoodie cults – week 30 in the year’s best weekly nets of lyric videos is inspiring us to splay chorus and verse on virtually everything our eyeballs rape. This is a good thing, have trust.

Holy Ghost! – ‘Teenagers in Heat

Sewn with warm, grainy VHS footage of bygone-era NYC streets and a little editing trickery that allows the most gifted shots to display the finest moments of “Teenagers in Heat,” throwback synth-poppers Holy Ghost! with another example of how to use the lyric video with supreme force:

I had a dream
Inside a dream
You were rooting for you
And I was rooting for the proverbial fall

Alice in Chains – ‘Voices

An ominous hoodie cult leads another sludgy jam from a post-Layne Alice, with black holes for faces and wisdom on that pesky chatter we all – hopefully – have a handle on inside our heads. All creepy, entertaining and clever:

Who am I?
Is this me?
Am I one?
Or thirteen

Kanye West – ‘Black Skinhead‘ (Moleskin Video)

Not an official ‘Ye video, but so damn clever and creative shame-inducing – seriously, what can you complete in a train ride’s time? – it has its own hashtag: #BlackMoleskinhead. Behold, the best free advertising Moleskin ever saw, and hilarious illustrations – spartans to Pokemon characters – of this year’s most contentious hip-hp lyrics:

Stop all that coon shit
Early morning cartoon shit
This is that goon shit
Fuck up your whole afternoon shit
I’m aware I’m a wolf

The Cataracs – ‘Big Dipper

What’s left of dance-hip-hop project Cataracs after founding member David “Campa” Singer-Vine bolted unveils this sexual-inuendo club banger with an equally bright-neon text assault of its most cheesiest lines. We call this eye-lyric candy:

You got that wicked style
Loosen that zipper
Show me that big dipper

Elvis Costello & The Roots – ‘Walk Us Uptown

The first single from The Roots and Elvis Costello’s odd little funk-country project, Wise Up Ghost, sees the crew chillaxin’ about a record player as little strips of censor-esue sentiments wobble over the vinyl. Simple, effective and curiously infectious:

Will you walk us uptown
And we’ll stand in the light
Of your new killing ground
And we won’t make a sound
Except to sing our sorrow