| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
| 2:26 | 
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Metal guitars in every town
White rap and DJ's, hard and loud You slice through strange air The new icon in eden Clueless and arrogant A beast of no real burden All of your answers pose as questions As per the rules and regulations You're allowed to fuck the world And still get to fuck the girl So content with being average As all the kids finger your curls And now Your place in life Is to bow down Not to ask why Just shut your mouth give it to them and do or die Your future never was so bright 'Cause you never were the sharpest knife You've had the time of your life With more cash than you can carry And those sleeves not six months old Tell tall tales of your story Polluted air filled with your sound You're all big package and low brow Bridges, Barbed wire, and mirrored walls You've built yourself into it all You spend your precious time Perfecting every line Pratice your pretension Because they buy it every time |
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2. |
| 2:43 | 
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| 3. |
| 1:55 |
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Five lovely lessons learned today
Coating my throat with the dust of a new day As the saints pray their lonely way And their deadweight lays the passion to waste Maybe if I sew my heart on my sleeve They'll drop the bomb on me and I'll wake up I can only fix so much in my sleep I can only drink so much from this empty cup I know I must not think bad thoughts I'm always beaten to the punch I'm holding aces high and low And in between I'm trying to break my fall Give me a piece of what you've got I'll make it new with much less thought it's symbolic and full of trash Lofty endearments whispered under your breath Five lessons remembered from yesterday Easing my mind and seizing each new day Beyond and back I??짝??????짝 still the same Kicked over some old trash but I still waste |
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| 4. |
| 2:11 |
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Jackie Jab is looking fab. He's got a treble and a bass and a big tab. He's got oil in his hair from an arab and when he falls down, he falls smack dab. (Chorus) hey fellas, get him a cab, what's his name - jackie jab! Three square meals everyday, but nothing's square about the american way. his friends get off on Doris Day and he hasn't a clue what to say. (Chorus) hey fellas, get him a cab, what's his name - jackie jab! (Bonnel/Koski/Wickersham)
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| 5. |
| 2:01 |
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I have crossed this road before for many years, i'm sure don't recognize the faces, though, that pass me by i've been off and on my way again, passed marsh road, atherton, black mountain way and bored stale houses on the yellowed plains
i'm going off again, and for no good reason year by year i've achieved some type of feeling that suggests i've traveled miles that lead to nowhere fast i've seen the lot of them from queens to journeymen bigots and confidantes i've spoken to and laughed with destructive catalysts professionals and loyalists punk rock pop nihilists have grown up amongst suburban architects who can say it was all deceiving or that anybody was mislead? i'm not the one to be judging i may not even be who i think i am the asphalt is my burning bed has left me invalid put me to sleep at night in the arms of some strange no man's land i'll be back northbound and west i need the fucking rest but in the meantime these broken roads and homes will ring in my head (Koski) |
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| 6. |
| 2:10 |
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Some sang their songs
like flying on uppers so sweet and smug that I lose my supper some mumble psalms of solace and virtue hang by their palms and choke on the cud they chew I'm glad we met So sad you left Sometimes the sweetest things turn sour Love songs are cheap and only get cheaper They prey on the meek Who only get Meeker Cliches sung by stars Looks so good on paper Each bar fed to you A communion wafer I'm glad we met(so glad) So sad you left Sometimes the sweetest things turn sour Don't even think of being average Cuz you're so much more to me than edequate I'm hanging on to every word you speak I'll burn the torch until you come to me I'm glad we met(so glad) So sad you left Sometimes the sweetest things turn sour The time we spent(so glad) Was heaven sent Opened my eyes and stole my hours glad we met 8x |
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| 7. |
| 1:19 |
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you better go, or you'll be stepped on with your sharpened bayonette boots you'll be long gone you gotta go, you gotta get on with all the glory of good riches you've been brainwashed (Chorus) and as far as for all the days and what you'll do with them, just spend some quiet time you need some rest to mend, you're getting slow, you're getting old now, you gotta run, just like you used to, you're tied down, boy, you've been tied down and spit on. (Koski)
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| 8. |
| 2:17 |
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My bastard brother's hopeless vow
of leaving off to another town Has once again soaked deep into the cold and rotting ground He never shares his lovesick bed or listened to a word they said He hoards the beer and wine and bread Christ, I wish he were fucking dead Bury yourself in blame Drown yourself in flame Burn the bottle that beckons you to betroth yourself to shame give yourself a break Break the ones you hate Hate those that've fed off of you and your pathetic plate I've left it up to the gods above I don't believe in, ain't seen or heard from and nearly sick to death of this being neither ignorant nor in bliss with a family of parasites and feckless friends with shameless eyes all the endless miles caught up with me wearing the face of my own kind Bury yourself in blame Drown yourself in flame Burn the bottle that beckons you to betroth yourself to shame Yeah, jump that fuckin' train wed the goddamn stain live your life ina fuckin' cell be the martyr with no brain Step inside this room mind the open wounds cross yourself and carry on that claptrap may do you good |
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| 9. |
| 3:54 |
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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 |
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| 10. |
| 2:42 |
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I took so many roads to find you
Full of dead ends and one way streets It took some luck just to get near you I like to believe it was destiny Come to me, mine I've so many things to show you Come to me, mine There's so much I have to tell you My heros have fallen, been abandoned I'd rather walk in my own shoes Most of my idols have just vanished Cleared Dusty shelves for something new Come to me, mine Follow the light that I left shining Come to me, mine Accept all that I am offering I took so many drugs to see you But ended up staring at my feet Took up with derelicts and toyed with manipulation and conceit My days are numbered, as are your, dear We're all aboard a stinking ship I'm making all I can of mine, love I'm giving all that I can give Come to me, mine I'm making all I can of mine, love Come to me, mine I'm giving all that I can give you, love |
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| 11. |
| 2:15 |
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give me just a second to grasp your two-bit theories as that's more than enough time i need to see through their innate queries you're telling me to shape up or ship out but i'd never shape myself for something so offending as you and your kind
one day you sweetly sigh and say to yourself "music's my religion and i'm born again" next week your muse has got some corporate cash and all of a sudden the tunes are crap keep your politics to yourself, kid to me you're just spitting wind a windspitting punk with high-brow views a P.C. fool who's saying nothing new again and again what about the kids, piss-poor people and the broke or the sluts with overflowing pockets? or the cursed fucks, pointin' pistols at the pope. are they jusy martyrs fallen from your graces? (Koski/Goddard/Bonnel/Huber) |
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| 12. |
| 2:46 |
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ample inquiry active, not electric but she is wirey i'm missing, i'm affected futile and fiery sights moved into you a fixture, a filed-b the blessed this fucked up gun miscues, mishandling red-faced, not a case of drunken ramblings lip locked to second faze weaklings, not amputees gut wrenching, gut seeking trends set on trampolines the blessed this fucked up gun telling, like the tides severe, unaware sparing suspicious bribes fifteen kings in stares nary a lorry lies straight-forward, blisters bubble green as blushing bride the blessed this fucked up gun no one can teach you how to play no one can teach you the ropes no one but... the courage of a younger pope
(Bonnel/Koski) |
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| 13. |
| 3:08 |
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he's a shadow of what he used to be ever since i put him in his place she's just a memory that's scarred him horribly and looks like lipstick on his face
this side of paradise is slow no eager men go to the show, except for me she wore a bright red dress always looked half undressed and he stuck by her side like glue she's give him perfect eyes smiled at him every time and when she spoke it was the truth now it's been twenty days sleepless and stupid days wasting good time on feeling bad she's taken everything greenbacks and anything that she could steal behind his back (Koski) |
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| 14. |
| 2:03 |
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| 15. |
| 2:06 |
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well, you don't really know what you wanna do except to spend some time just being you but the game's unfair and the stakes are high what with the threat of being embalmed in formaldehyde
i don't wanna go before my time i don't wanna go before my time well you've got good time to put down a few so you take carrer castanyer down to the gloob it's the only fuckin place that'll serve you a tiny hideaway from parents, work and school it's just like teenage genocide it's just like teenage genocide now you can cast your vote and elect a joke but you'd better not fuck, dream, drink or smoke and watch your back when the man offers you a ride because it's just like teenage genocide (Koski/Wickersham) |
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| 16. |
| 2:33 |
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| 17. |
| 2:21 |
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now you can't help feelin' your the mother of the mad while market street's reelin in memory of the dead and capp street's greeting the tourists with good head you got your fix with the tricks that put you on your death bed life moves along and the trains are backing up and accidents will happen you can bet you're on then-judah put your pills in your coffee and liven up your cup cuz the mother of the mad needs the stimulant to love mother of the mad, sister of the sad brother of the bad and it's the only father you will ever have i was lost for words and the screams were curious i was giddy for the girls who found me hideous wishing for a world that would spin less furious because the money and time spent has become too obvious the lesson and the leash the leader and the led smith and wesson teach the bleeder to be bled reasons out of reach feeders overfed if you catch the mumbled speech the jargon's overhead
(Bonnel/Koski) |
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| 18. |
| 3:32 |
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i'm burning in this pit i dug myself in an hour ago and up around the corner lies that bastard pub's front door and in my many changing moods and on similar days i've cursed and spat mercilessly at the foot of her firkin grace chaos comes inevitably, like a monarch dressed in rags grinning like a maniac and splashing cider in my face
i'm going back to san francisco to be finally at ease as i've reached the heralded last rung and become a part-time London Drunk the Bristol Boys are lunatics but madness has its virtue they all smash their pints and feign legless fights because its what they're fucking used to one autumn night in Birmingham after the band had played we piled into that filthy van and got out of that place by half a mile or half a minute i was a sunken, bloated slag i puked up on the floorboards, my fucking jacket and pant-leg (Koski) |
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| 19. |
| 4:13 |
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Look at my face turn it around I'm the invisible man I'm the expletive deleted
Give me my suit hand me my tie flash me a smile I'm the expletive deleted take off my facial expression give me lines to say without reason I'm an incredible sight an average obsession a beautiful dream with perfect discretion |
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| 20. |
| 3:47 |
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Born on the southside you live alone Four walls a roof and its always cold look out the window and there is nothing to see. But, a Riot torn city and the death of your country and your chilled to the bone with no possessions to call your own yet you control your rage and you resist the crime Because your the next in line
out the back door and to the corner store all you want is a drink and nothing more Sit on the stoop and Let the liquor sooth your pride before you go inside you cut in front and now your the next in line you never thought you'd lead a life of crime freedoms the only thing you need but the truth is something few understand and an unwelcome reality now its dark and Black and sad and gone you express and repress the things gone wrong and you want to be the man who ran away and you wish you could go back to yesterday Now he's in her room and he's about to lie so you pull the gun squeeze the trigger and you let the bullets fly... (Huber) |
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| 21. |
| 3:06 |
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Nothing comes over me
Nothing like inspiration Not even on the seaside No fantasies to ration The swell looks mighty slim And the water level's down The dirty sea adds to the junk I'm in Until the sun creeps up the sound And then I'm outright broken Disgusted and outspoken My drinks are watered down and sick Like my old man's tired convictions Nobody has a hold on me At dusk it gets mighty dim And the lights fire up the beach I don't feel much like a swim 'Cause I'm afraid of the dirty sea The swell looks mighty slim And the water level's, they're all down The dirty sea adds to the junk I'm in Until the sun creeps up the sound I wake myself hastily In time for the break of day The air smells sweet by the sea It stinks of my old memories I try to grab hold of things Or anything I can reach But I'm only swatting at air Staring blankly at the dirty sea (Koski/Dison) |
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| 22. |
| 0:56 |
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| 23. |
| 4:27 |
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you can't believe your children you can't believe your wife, you can't take the credit fucking up your life, some people don't believe me when i tell them "i'm alive" they see me walking so slowly they think i'm too uptight (Chorus) it's a catastrophe such a strange way to live well let me try a new strategy i'll try and make it work i'll take myself away and get out of the dirt (Koski)
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