Posts Tagged ‘SWINGIN UTTERS’
Jakie jab is looking fab. he’s got treble and a bass and a big tab. he’s got oil in his hair from arab and when he falls down, he dalls smack dab.
hey fellas, get him a cab, what’s his name, jackie jab!
three square means everyday, but nothings square about the american way. his friends get off on doris day and he hasn’t a clue what to say.
hey fellas, get him a car, what’s his name, jackie jab!!!
Pubiead*. 05.11.11 таgs: Etiquetas: SWINGIN UTTERS Autar djLA
We saw gold when there was only dust in the worst we saw in us what no one else could we traveled far and tramped the dirt down deep to where our souls could keep the time and never rest. mind the road flares watch the steep stairs pace yourself harbor your fate temptation, hate, destiny sells. i’ve asked all the bitter, hapless, and broken down they just return my frowns and tell me to forget simplicity is not what i was hoping for i thought it’d be much more than what i’d always dreamt. read the roadmaps thumb through atlases and charts try to lose yourself in powder, booze and bars. i’ll return to all my favorite hunts frequent familiar spots i never really left distance myself from scattered, lofty thoughts make them resolute, destitute, vague and deaf
Hello charlatan, you must have been gone a long time what with the t.v. on i lost track of the days gone by i don’t think that i owe you anything, and i’ve thought about it, many times, but still can’t seem to make up my mind hello charlatan, it seems you want something of mine, and through your cunning lies i see a measure of guilt in your eyes i don’t mean to imply you’re trying to take something of mine but i’ll try and speak up, so you can hear, because the message that i have is very clear friendship seems to make a man much wiser and without it i feel i’ve become a drifter so it’s time to push and time to shove but i’ll never push and shove too hard, because the pleasure of you, and the measure of your eyes has made wonder how i could’ve missed the days gone by
The day grows old and gray with rain skies and the troubles keeping you are likewise go to bed after television as outside the moon is turning crimson
all alone like a sunday "tomorrow’s no different" as you say sleep with a drink in your hand stick your head in the sand and sign it all away
the tomb where the deadmen sleep reminds you that your time’s too short to grow remorseful you prick up your ears and find it disconcerting to hear the din of the boys in the chapel praying
you’ve got a burden that’s sandbagging you but you can’t quite let it out it’s like a poison like a sickness that’s got you cryin’ out
I am not suave i am not bare there’s seven pair of pants and stuff in my hair are you scared of me sitting under the tree i strike a striking pose while i’m wiping my nose you say not to leave i don’t see why i should but i end up doing it cause i know that i could are you scared of me sitting under the tree i strike a striking pose when i’m wiping my nose there’s a fever pitch brewing in the club there’s a deck of cards sitting in a tub i’m wearing #5 dresser drawers burning up but not on the dance floor cause the people are screaming for more and the singers so lovely talking about war
i am not suave you are a bear 12 feet tall with balding hair are you scared of me sitting under the tree i strike a striking pose while i’m wiping my nose
So sick of silence broken and plagiarized with play tokens somebody stole my only daydreams and took the credit for my miseries. i feel suffocated boiled up and blind and claustrophobic completely insufficient indignant and defiant i’m trying to remember all the names of the ones who hopped aboard the taken train. they took my constitution tore it up and made revisions changed the color of the ink tried to forge the way i think. so sick of tired nothings that have the gall to put a foot in never knowing they’re unwanted never having a guilty conscience. i’ve been "rolling with the punches" i’ve taken all i can there’s something sad about the symptoms of the ordinary man. i don’t take relief or comfort in ignoring the rise to fame of the tedious and tiresome the pretentious, dull and plain
"hello again," you say to the folks at the e.d.d. you’ve been dire and disgusted and come in most everyday to keep yourself alive you have insults and forever curse the almighty fuckin talisman that lives in the dirty church
and you keep running
from each new day
you never felt true pleasure or felt ill from real pain but you complain so consistently as if you’ve been betrayed and nothing’s ever met the guidelines that you set for each new day and there’s always someone standing nonchalantly in your way
to all the optimistic players you heave a sigh those loyalists keep counting on everything being worthwhile but you don’t catch the light of day and you’ve been accused of carrying on this way see, you don’t believe in preaching or praise you just want to barely make it through each time consuming day
The fascists and their many guises
anarchists and their fantasizing
it seems sometimes they’re sailing the same boat
politicians mesmerizing throngs of automated souls
as some similar psycho’s screwing on the scope
I’m leaving town
to join sophisticates in my head
we’ll have our fun playing the hypocrite critic
and when all the creatures in their palaces are crushed
i can safely say "i’m coming home"
Fairy tales and fruitless fortunes
acquired from some sad story teller
can sometimes be enough to keep me mum in my keep
organ grinders orating overtures of madness
as the heinous hipster’s spending his unearned currency
There may be many ways of reaching the same plateau
i’ll take the road less traveled
if it looks like it ain’t been sold
the chains around my neck won’t break
but at least they’re made of solid
Bite your tongue, fight your addictions. fall in line ,fall in love and know your predictions.
tomorrow is not new.and yesterday was due.
ridiculed by the fools, usually the culprit. figurines and little beeds, jesus christ and pulpit.
put on the pedastal by work mates and your pedigree.by the balls, the rise and fall of the hatred that’s inside of me .
entrance keys, threshold fees. exits to your memory. waited death, bated breath. i sleep with no anxiety. missed my time, crooked spine. my friends and i are plain ugly and drinking a bit more heavily. tomorrow is not new, and yesterday was due
and tickets to free dances
a buck bottle of wine
under a minute of my time
i’ll give you all that i can’t have
it may be less than i have, son
don’t cut the lines that border us, son don’t waste my time
you’re no son of mine
i’ve got so many errands to run, son
fraternize with poker buddies and
their cash, son
i spent the better part of my life singing you stupid lullabies
handcuffed tight behind my back
under your mother’s watchful eye
god rest her soul
god bless a wasted life