T's "Don't Talk To Strangers" is probably the album's most egregious example of a badass tough guy from yesteryear shitting all over his own image for the sake of pandering to children. His voice takes on the affectation of one speaking to a dog that has a penchant for running into windows.
You're walking home after school
And this man drives up, and he's acting real cool
He'll say, "You want some candy, or do you need a ride?"
You just say, "No thank you, sir. I'm doing just fine!"
Bam! Abduction thwarted. I love it when a plan comes together.
Edward Furlong: Hold On Tight
You'll be forgiven if you weren't aware that the lovable scamp from Terminator 2 had a music career back in the day, because it's likely the CDC took possession of every copy of his album and buried it with those E.T. Atari games before humanity had a chance to unleash their plague.
These days young actor/singers are a dime a dozen, and, honestly, it wasn't even rare in the '70s for people to be marketed the same way, from your Donny and Marie Osmond all the way up to your modern-day Selena Gomez (I say "your" to imply it's someone else's fault). The difference between them and Eddie Furlong is that some fans would argue the Osmonds can sing. No one would extend that courtesy to the gravelly, limp-noodled throat farts of Furlong. Not now, not back in the 1990s. And that's just his technique. The actual songs he sings somehow lower his musical prowess into an abyss previously reserved for people who whistle while selling tainted baby aspirin.