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| 1. |
| 3:13 | 
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Something's wrong 'cause my mind is fading
And everywhere I look there's a dead end waiting Temperature's dropping at the rotten oasis Stealing kisses from the leperous faces Heads are hanging from the garbage man trees Mouthwash jukebox gasoline Pistols are pointing at a poor man's pockets Smiling eyes ripping out of his sockets Got a devil's haircut in my mind Got a devil's haircut in my mind Got a devil's haircut in my mind Got a devil's haircut in my mind Love machines on the sympathy crutches Discount orgies on the dropout buses Hitching a ride with the bleeding noses Coming to town with the brief case blues Got a devil's haircut in my mind Got a devil's haircut in my mind Got a devil's haircut in my mind Got a devil's haircut in my mind Something's wrong 'cause my mind is fading Ghetto-blastin' disintegrating Rock 'n' roll, know what I'm sayin' And everywhere I look there's a devil waiting Got a devil's haircut in my mind Got a devil's haircut in my mind Got a devil's haircut in my mind Got a devil's haircut in my mind Devil's haircut! In my mind! Devil's haircut! In my mind! Devil's haircut! In my mind! |
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| 2. |
| 3:49 |
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It takes a backwash man to sing a backwash song
Like a frying pan when the fire's gone Driving my pig while the band's taking pictures in the grass In my radio smashed And I like pianos in the evening sun Dragging my heels 'til my day is done Saturday night in the captain's clothes Tender horns blowin' in my jury 'fros Yo soy un disco quebrado Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro * I can't believe my way back when My Cadillac pants going much to fast Karaoke weekend at the suicide shack Community service and I'm still the mack Shocked my finger, spots on my hand I been spreading disease all across the land Beautiful air-conditioned, sitting in the kitchen Wishing I was living like a hit man Face down in the guarantees Jaundiced honchos gettin' busy with me Because I get down I get down I get down all the way Yo soy un disco quebrado Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro * Sawdust songs of the plaid bartenders Western Unions of the country westerns Silver foxes looking for romance In the chain smoke Kansas flashdance ass pants And you got the hotwax residues You never lose in your razor blade shoes Stealing pesos out of my brain Hazard signs down the Alamo lanes Radar systems piercing the souls You never get caught with the wax so rotten All my days I got the grizzly words Hijacked flavors that I'm flipping like birds Yo soy un disco quebrado Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro. * girl: "who are you?" man: "I'm the enchanting wizard of rhythm." girl: "why did you come here?" man: "I came here to tell you about the rhythms of the universe...." *chorus translation: "I'm a broken record, I have bubblegum in my brain" |
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| 3. |
| 4:14 |
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You only got one finger left
And it's pointing at the door And you're taking for granted What the Lord's laid on the floor So I'm picking up the pieces And I'm putting them up for sale Throw your meal ticket out the window Put your skeletons in jail 'Cause Lord only knows it's getting late Your senses are gone so don't you hesitate To give yourself a call, let your bottom dollars fall Throwing your two bit cares down the drain Invite me to the seven seas like some seasick man You'll do whatever you please and I'll do whatever I can Titantic, fare thee well, my eyes are turning pink Don't call us when the new age gets old enough to drink 'Cause Lord only knows it's getting late Your senses are gone so don't you hesitate Move on up the hill, there's nothing dead left to kill Throwing your two bit cares down the drain odelay, odelay, odelay, odelay odelay, odelay Just passing through odelay, odelay, odelay, odelay Going back to Houston Do the hotdog dance Going back to Houston To get me some PANTS..... |
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| 4. |
| 3:40 |
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She's got cigarette on each arm
She's got the lily-white cavity crazes She's got a carburator tied to the moon Pink eyes looking to the food of the ages She's alone in the new pollution She's alone in the new pollution She's got a hand on a wheel of pain She can talk to the mangling strangers She can sleep in a fiery bog Throwing troubles to the dying embers She's alone in the new pollution She's alone in the new pollution She's alone in the new pollution She's alone in the new pollution She's got a paradise camoflauge Like a whip-crack sending me shivers She's the boat in a strip mine ocean Riding low on the drunken rivers She's alone in the new pollution She's alone in the new pollution |
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| 5. |
| 4:13 |
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I dropped my anchor in the dead of night
I packed my suitcase and threw it away I fell asleep in the funeral fire I gave my clothes to the police man Blow back derelict wind, lay my soul in the foul of the air Blow back derelict wind, lay my soul in the foul of the air Shooting venom at the passers-by I'm hi-jacking stop the heaven down I put my eyes in a paper bag I'm spinning round like a gambling wheel Blow back derelict wind, lay my soul in the foul of the air Blow back derelict wind, lay my soul in the foul of the air I dropped my anchor in the dead of night I packed my suitcase and threw it away I fell asleep in the funeral fire I gave my clothes to the police man Blow back derelict wind, lay my soul in the foul of the air Blow back derelict wind, lay my soul in the foul of the air |
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| 6. |
| 4:38 |
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Keep on truckin' like a novacane hurricane
Low static on the paranoid shortwave Short fuse, got to dismantle Code-red: what's your handle? Mission incredible undercover convoy Full-tilt chromosome cowboy X-ray search and destroy Smoke stack black top novacane boy Got some rum, long horn drum Detonate with the suicide gate Test-tube, still-born and dazed Chump scum plays in the razor's haze Got the momentum radioactive Meltdown! Circumsized with the operation full spectrum generation Cyanide ride down the turnpike After hours on the miracle mic Grinding the gears eighteen wheels Rigs and robots riding on their heels (?) roadblock making a cell block Heats and infernos burning like drano Down the horizon purple gasses Semi-trucks hauling them asses Novacane, hit the road express mode Explode! Novacane! Novacane! |
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| 7. |
| 4:01 |
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I been drifting along in the same stale shoes
Loose ends tying the noose in the back of my mind If you thought that you were making your way To where the puzzles and pagans lay I'll put it together: It's a strange invitation When I wake up someone will sweep up my lazy bones And we will rise in the cool of the evening I remember the way that you smiled When the gravity shackles were wild And something is vacant when I think it's all beginning I been drifting along in the same stale shoes Loose ends tying the noose in the back of my mind If you thought that you were making your way To where the puzzles and pagans lay I'll put it together: It's a strange invitation |
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8. |
| 5:30 |
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There's a destination a little up the road
From the habitations and the towns we know A place we saw the lights turn low With the jig-saw jazz and the get-fresh flow Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts Two turntables and a microphone Bottles and cans just clap your hands just clap your hands Where it's at! I got two turntables and a microphone Where it's at! I got two turntables and a microphone Where it's at! I got two turntables and a microphone Where it's at! [robot vocal effect] I got two turntables and a microphone take me home in my elevator bones! Pick yourself up off the side of the road With your elevator bones and your whip-flash tones Members only hyponotizers move through the womb like ambulance drivers Shine your shoes with your microphone blues Here-suits with your parachute fruits Passing the dutchie from coast to coast Let the man get loose while I rock the most Where it's at! I got two turntables and a microphone Where it's at! I got two turntables and a microphone Man[spoken]: "What about those who swing both ways: AC-DC's? Two turntables and a microphone Two turntables and a microphone Two turntables and a microphone Two turntables and a microphone Two turntables and a microphone Two turntables and a microphone Where it's at! I got two turntables and a microphone Where it's at! I got two turntables and a microphone Oh, dear me. Make Out City is a two-horse town girl[spoken]: "That's beautiful, Dad." (Get my microphone....) There's a destination a little up the road From the habitations and the towns we know A place we saw the lights turn low With the jig-saw jazz and the get-fresh flow Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts Two turntables and a microphone Bottles and cans just clap your hands just clap your hands Where it's at! I got two turntables and a microphone Where it's at! I got two turntables and a microphone I got plastic on my mind Telephone plastic baby |
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| 9. |
| 2:31 |
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The last survivor of a boiled crown
Another casualty with the casual frown The janitor vandals they bark in your face Juveniles with the piles and paste It's a sensation A bankrupt corpse In the garbage glasses With the crutches of frogs(that bores) Don't be confused when the fuse is up And you're taking a leak into your brother's cup When the cup is filled you can run and be killed In the billion miles of the muscles that build Radiation Feeling the force Karaoke Vomiting morons The scalps of zero hear the call Rubbing in a blind man's running hall With the canker sores and the robot pill Throwing imbeciles on the window sills It's a sensation A bankrupt corpse In the garbage glasses With the crutches of frogs Frogs! Frogs! Frogs! |
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| 10. |
| 3:53 |
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I don't need no wheels
I don't need no gasoline 'Cause the wind that is blowing Is blowing like a smoke machine If I said to you That I was looking for a place to get to 'Cause my neck is broken And my pants ain't getting no bigger I got a stolen wife And a rhinestone life And some good ol' boys I'm writing my will On a three dollar bill In the evening time All my friends Tell me something is getting together I got a beard that would disappear If I'm dressed in leather Now let me tell you about my baby She was born in Arizona Sitting in the jailhouse Trying to learn some good manners I got a stolen wife And a rhinestone life And some good ol' boys I'm writing my will On a three dollar bill In the evening time Matchsticks strike When I'm riding my bike to the depot 'Cause everybody knows my name At the recreation center If I could only find a nickel I would pay myself off tonight 'Cause nobody knows When he good times have passed out cold I got a stolen wife And a rhinestone life And some good ol' boys I'm writing my will On a three dollar bill In the evening time I got a stolen wife And a rhinestone life And some good ol' boys I'm writing my will On a three dollar bill In the evening time Don't talk to me If you're looking for somebody to cry on Don't talk to me If you're looking for somebody to cry on [scream] Ahhhowwww!! |
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| 11. |
| 2:37 |
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An open road where I can breathe
Where the lowest low is calling to me I can pull myself back up back down Stuck together like a readymade And nobody knows where we been Canceled rations are running thin Watches tick out of tune Falling apart like a readymade My bags are waiting In the next life Rubbish piles fresh and plain Empty boxes in a pawn shop brain License plates stowaway Standing in line like a readymade And my bags are waiting in the next life An open road where I can breathe Where the lowest low is calling to me I can pull myself back up back down Stuck together like a readymade And my bags are waiting in the next life |
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| 12. |
| 4:11 |
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High 5, High 5! High 5, High 5! [rappers]: " C'mon on! 8! Everybody! C'mon! 7! C'mon, now! 6! 5! Aw, yeah, I like that shit." When I rock it's like a high 5 Want a slap in the face I love the taste All my days with my wheelchair ways Watch me die in my suicide high I don't mean it 'cause I only come on to you When I step to the room with a powerful motion Leopard skin let the records spin 'Round and round with the speed of sound High 5! More dead than alive! Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills! High 5! More dead than alive! Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills! Rocky mountain low we gotta go Put that gadget in the random mode Cripple candy rocking the candy Rhumba, brickshot, doing the foxtrot In my car sweating like a dog Beers and chairs no frontiers On my way from the 'Frisco Bay Dixieland, soda-pop man High 5! More dead than alive! Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills! High 5! More dead than alive! Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills! [spoken]:Yeah, put that machine in random mode Talking about popping jugger Like the last century [Mike D]: "Turn that shit off, man! What's wrong with you? Man, get the other record! Damn!" High 5! More dead than alive! Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills! High 5! More dead than alive! Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills! High 5! More dead than alive! Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills! High 5! More dead than alive! Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills! [Mike D]: "Ok, now. Do like designer jeans. Everybody, designer jeans! say, say, say, say, say: Ooh, la la, sasoon! C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! Everybody! One more time, let me hear you say: Ooh, la la, sasoon! Just do it everybody, c'mon! Now I want the ladies. All the ladies, say: Sergio Valente! Sing it, girl. Let me hear you say: Sergio Valente! Say: Jordache!" |
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| 13. |
| 4:47 |
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You've been so long
Your blind eyes are gone Your old bones are on their own So take off your coat Put a song in your throat Let the dead-beats pound all around We will go Nowhere we know We don't have to talk at all Hand me downs Flypaper towns Stuck together One and all The bargains you drive Buckets and bags And all your belongings Your train's in the sand Ramshackle land Let the rats watch the races We will go Nowhere we know 'Til we find our one and all Hand me downs Flypaper towns Stuck together One and all Praises get spent Your trick face is bent Pigsties and prizes 'Cause there's no kind of 'well' You're suiting yourself You leave yourself behind We will go Nowhere we know 'Til we find our one and all Your hand me downs Flypaper towns Stuck together One and all |
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| 14. |
| 3:35 |
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([gotta get it) ([gotta] get it) (yeeah-oh!) (yeeah-oh!) (plastic classic) Can't forget my [bestial] [???] Close electric telephone [phones] Ballin like hordes! About the shout! Nasty distortion, [out on my road-jump] All my friends gout [biscuit/sixties] soul Rockin the plastic Takin the [no no / robo] Rough as a river Cowboy nowboy [biscuit / risk it] [tripper] hittin the wicked Man with soul, above the road Takin' it back for the finger-point crowd Ooh, [gotta] get it, plastic classic Totem] [poles] in the briefcase shows Diskobox, [so] action! Gotta [let forget] with the jazz effect *(gotta [let forget] with the jazz effect)* Diskobox, [so] action! Gotta [let forget] with the jazz effect *(gotta [let forget] with the jazz effect)* Once the whistle blows, my sucker froze Last saturday night, i couldn't find my [fight] [drinkin] whiskey an' i did not shave Paralyzed, like'd didn't have no time [pumping] [whimper] and round the road A traveling man with a crooked van Soda-pop oo sittin like slime Lets get [soul] an' i realized Diskobox, [so] action! Gotta [let forget] with the jazz effect *(gotta [let forget] with the jazz effect) - beck sings at the same time* Diskobox oh! Diskobox oh! Diskobox oh! Diskobox oh! Diskobox oh! Diskobox oh! Diskobox oh! |
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