“Rock ‘n’ roll is Lemmy. Lemmy is rock ‘n’ roll.”

After sitting through Wes Orshoski and Greg Olliver’s Jack-and-Coke-drenched documentary “Lemmy” at its raucous world premiere Monday night, I couldn’t possibly argue. The Motörhead life force — and the rest of the band, Phil Campbell and Mikkey Dee — were in attendance at the Paramount to christen the brain-numbingly long but definitive rock doc with a Panzer full of metal credibility.

I mean it literally when I say that this film, and its subject, is about as rock ‘n’ roll as you can get. From his custom-made boots to his bandolier belt to his war-memorabilia headgear, Lemmy Kilmister is a rare breed of old-school rocker who, at 63 years old, apparently still lives as he did at 19. The whiskey, the endless cigarettes, the women, the house a block off Sunset, the ear-splitting shows — and a few things I certainly didn’t expect, like his obsession with one-arm bandits and the trivia game at the bar at the Rainbow Bar and Grill.

Thirty-three years and 25 albums in, Lemmy remains a revered figure to later musicians from punk, metal and rock, who step on camera to explain the influence of his music, his style and his hard living: Dave Grohl, Henry Rollins, James Hetfield, Nikki Sixx, Joan Jett, Dave Navarro, Slash, Ozzy, Scott Ian, Lars Ulrich, Mick Jones, Dave Varian, Jarvis Cocker, Alice Cooper, Ice T and tons more rhapsodize about Lemmy’s uncompromising lifestyle. As depicted in the documentary, it’s not without its cringe-inducing aspects, from the monumental drinking to the misogyny to the Nazi regalia to the dismissive way he refers to his kids. But the inclusion of the darker side of that life is what makes this such a fascinatingly complete picture. “I’m too old to find God, man,” Lemmy is quoted as saying.

So you get Lemmy playing video games, Lemmy making French fries, Lemmy shopping for Pat Benatar and Beatles CDs at Amoeba Records, Lemmy recording “Run Rudolph Run” with Grohl, Lemmy slurring praise on Little Richard and disdain on Prince (Lemmy was a roadie for Hendrix, whom he claims Prince is ripping off), Lemmy taping a cameo on “Californication,” Lemmy doodling in the margins of his lyric sheets, Lemmy handing designs to his bootmaker, Lemmy parsing drug advice to his son Paul (heroin bad; speed good), Lemmy chuckling about swapping girlfriends with his son, Lemmy piloting a 38(t) Hetzer tank, Lemmy showing off his collection of war swords and gold records, Lemmy in a Nazi uniform, Lemmy lamenting his firing from an earlier band (Hawkwind) because of “70s drug snobbery,” and, in one of the doc’s most hilarious moments, Lemmy sporting Daisy Dukes.

And, of course, Lemmy on stage, pummeling the audience and, at times, even his own band members with the violent thrash of his rock (one memorable shot has Dee with his fingers in his ears and Campbell cringing during a soundcheck as Lemmy does a microphone test count loud enough to cause sunburn). There are several songs performed in the film, including a guest appearance during a Metallica concert (Hetfield and company cop to ripping off a lot from Motörhead) and a shredding rendition of Motörhead’s classic “Ace of Spades.” It’s what Cocker describes at one point as “the aural equivalent of being in a sandstorm.”

That “controlled madness,” as Lemmy describes it, is on full display in Orshoski and Olliver’s well-edited but endless film. (Please, guys, I know you spent three years on this, but trim at least another 15-20 minutes.) Toward the end, Lemmy starts a show with the simple declaration, “We are Motörhead, and we play rock ‘n’ roll.”

Enough said.