Lyrics:
People getting mugged by strung out junkie thugs
Legalize Drugs
People getting shot and you know it's over pot
Legalize Drugs.
Drugs.
Legalize
Will you not forget me, forsake my soul
...Low-spirited is my song, downhearted my tune...
Beyond enchanted sea, wistful is my sleep
Darkness by my
like hatin' is your profession
And I know a couple Texans that got killed for over-reppin'
So I never be oversteppin' boundaries bounded to my weapon
beauty and youth and a treasure of lies
You gave up your honour
A compulsion to suicide
Surrendered ya truth and you've already died
For a man without
dead gay son!
My son! My son!
Not half bad, your dead gay son!
Wish I had your dead gay son!
Thank you, dad, for your
Dead! Gay! Son!
Murderous Joy
standing in the wake of a sleeping pill now
or staying up for days in the poppy fields now
so when i see you on the streets and i
Love me tender, love me true
Oooh baby what a song could do
We were sharp like needles in the dark, no question mark
My friend billy was one
Yeah this song is dedicated in memory of mister Terell Alfago Davis
Mister Davis was gunned down at the hands of two Richmond County
Sheriff's
ringing the bell
Some of us down here ain't doing very well
Some of us with our windows open in the southern cross motel
Still waitin
For you
can't hurt to ask
If I could stay the night
And sing a pretty song for free
I walked up to the house
And then I knocked hard on the door
That old dark
over here trying not to do anything wrong
My enthusiasm tends to come on too strong
Everybody's shakin' it for the camera
Yeah, you're beautiful but
friends for my crib
On some literal fuck shit what up bitch
Day and night I pray that I could find the
Tools to face this life on my own
No, no, no, no, no
Got the chance of a real good time
If you're by yourself, don't hesitate
Spent too long on a wooden fence
If you want to come don't have to wait
Juno
Was a star
Everyone loved how he sang
They would
Follow him
Like the pied piper of Hamlin
With a song he'd make them cry
Then he'd take them,
And under my coat
I got a micro-recorder,
A pad, and a pencil,
And a picture of you
I can't believe you did that
I see two love birds walking by
With
listen patiently anyway
I wrote a little song for you
with a melody I'd borrowed put to words that didn't rhyme
to repeat what you already knew
short by a bunch of jealous,
party bashin', buzz thrashin', gate crashin', stinky bastards
And if you're one of them
And you hear this song
Fuck you
You
And if you can help being all by yourself
Make my phone start ringing
Not getting your name
hidden
But you'll find sweetness at you pass by
The palms like El Che bring pride to the landscape
While I'm singing
"De donde son los cantantes"
Only
The thirteen tracks which you are about to hear were long ago hidden away
Deemed too grotesque for public consumption by the American recording
on sale for dimes,
In a game of chutes and ladders run by mimes.
There's this voice, it won't shut up.
Says I should spill my juice and overflow
Don't be fooled by promises that sounds so very nice.
Can't you see that lie in their eyes?
We don't want this land ruled by some foreign hand.
Hear
The night when I lay myself to sleep
I'm in a world of beats.
And I've never been to a place
where happiness is for real;
I'm glad that wasn't
Sam Oakenhurst, ‘I shall take the Star up
to Natchez and from there make my way to McClellan by way of the Trace.
Will you come?’
(The vision
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