EASY LIFE
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
(4.39)
Recorded by Chris Gefken at The Think Tank, Hoboken, mixed by James MacMillan at Mutiny Zoo, Hoboken, on John Siket’s > magnificent Helios “Brown” console, Paul Moschella = drums, James MacMillan = bass, Peter Stuart = Fender Bass VI, Chris Bolger = Jerry Jones “Dano” 6-string bass, Jim Higgins = guitar, Cranky J/Higgs/Mo = backing vocals extraordinairemy mind works like fireworks when I pretend it’s an easy life close my eyes and drift away Christmas every day in my easy life
I can do what I wantand I get what I want and if it breaks, I get a new one always more where that came from
if I need a check…I just write a check it’s such an easy life wouldn’t that be really nice!
and every morning breakfast in bed if that’s what I would like and every evening adjust the sunset ‘til it looks just right
first thing that I’ll do is move I’ll need lots of room for my easy life seven beaches just for me age gracefully in my easy life
I’ll give away my good junk…burn the rest surround myself with luxury…best of the best (I’ll say) look at that design! look at that workmanship! swell paint job, isn’t it? swell paint job, isn’t it?
and every morning breakfast in bed if that’s what I would like and every evening adjust the sunset ‘til it looks just right
anything I want…just ask everything has taste and class everything’s in harmony perfect, rhyming…feeling truly holy
and every morning dinner in bed if I stayed out all night and every evening adjust the moonlight ‘til it looks just right
anything I want…just ask everything has taste and class everything that’s late shows up perfect timing…always count on my good luck
what did I do to deserve this? what did I do to deserve such an easy life?
MILLIONS AND MILLIONS
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
(4.24)
Drums and Burns Double Six recorded at Peter Stuart’s studio in NYC, mixed by Chris Gefken at The Think Tank, Peter Stuart = bass and high vocals, James Mastro = keyboards (recorded at The Pigeon Club, Hoboken), Middle 8 arranged by Peter Stuart.no one…saw it but him everyone missed it…that’s how these things begin go ahead…give it a try1 becomes 10 in the blink of an eye
push it harder…see where it goes 100’s now hoping that they’re on a roll
then it’s 1000’s…riding the swell is this a fad or a trend, who can tell?
then you’re millions, millions and millions you’ve got a real live chain reaction
1 cries…“why is this like this?” “shut up…forget it”-they say-“that’s just the way it is.” “we won’t.”-there’s 10 of us now that’s 10 too many…harder to push around
listen…how loud 100’s can yell shoulder to shoulder…madder than hell
then there’s 1000’s…that makes you new seach eager to marry the match to the fuse
then you’re millions, millions and millions you’ve got a real live chain reaction
chained up, chained down chained up to that 1 desire
chained up, chained down burning up like a snake on fire
hurry up, hurry up hurry up and we’ll get there faster
tied up, tied down tied up and we’re tied together
tied in knots all those dots make up a picture snap your finger and…
millions…love it at first
‘til the fun runs down…slips into reverse
1000’s…bored to the bone
say “call if you need us…we’re going home”push it harder…more drift away 100’s complaining they can’t stand the pace
down to 10 true believers…just the hard core with 9 of them secretly eyeing the door
‘til that 1…that 1 in a million try’s it again, sparks a chain reaction
then it’s millions…
HEY STRANGER
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
(4.36)
Mixed by Fred Smith at Fred’s apartment, Carla Murray = backing vocals.she dives her submarine downtown and docks it at the door of the Buddha Loungea little over-dressed for noise and smoke cocktails, politics and dirty jokes
who’s she? “You know me,” she says five or six of us just scratch our heads strangers in here can be dangerous the crazy thing is…I know she knows us
she makes a table for one feel crowded
hey stranger, hey stranger
I hear a 100 opinions strictly local talent, no…a prowe can spot a fake a mile away she could be my muse, you never know
shut up, your logic’s all rusted can’t you hear the jazz time in her talk? nobody ever hears the catch if everybody’s eager to be caught…
why don’t ya just dive back in your drinks? didn’t swimming in the dark teach you anything?
hey stranger, hey stranger
that woman’s every loser’s pearl she’s every blind boy’s seeing-eye girlour lady of the down and outs anyway, the Buddha’s now in doubt
ice rattles in a drink, someone coughs local anesthetic wearing off?” I’m yours,” she said. I said “no you’re not.” “I’ll stick with the maybe I maybe got” “you’re too late. I don’t need you now” “you’re just someone I once dreamed about” she said “whatcha got if you don’t have me?” I said “Buddha always dug a mystery.”
but tell me who chipped out this trail? it’s either run around in circles and chase your tailor sleep with this dragon on a bed of nails.
hey stranger, hey stranger
RED DRINKS! RED DRINKS! (YOUR LIFE STINKS)
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
(4.37)
Mixed by Chris Gefken at The Think Tank, Paul Moschella = drums, James MacMillan = fretless bass. It’s a Stylophone…in case you were wondering.red drinks, red drinks…
I see ya sitting on a stool with your brown drink floatin’ on your wit so ya don’t sink try’nta drown any thoughts that dare think your life stinks, life stinks…
all the stuff that was set up just right fizzled out like a ten-cent nitelite you were groomed to be a star, not a satellite whadda bite, a bit…
so ironic…
red drinks, red drinks…
fill ‘er up for a good disasterbob along on yer bulging bladder ya gonna make a big splash when ya splatter you splat, you splatter…
ya say ya wanna be the king of this play pen? ya say ya wanna be the queen of the s/he-men? or are ya gonna be the means to the endof the end, the end…
of yer tether?
red drinks, red drinks…
through a crack in the background chatter the sound track of the bistro culture a ton of guilt just hangs like a vulture eyeing yer bones…
everybody on the right’s got a red glass everybody on the left’s got a red glass everything’s closin’ in too fast leave me alone! leave me alone!
if yer gonna stay stuck in that bottle? the only way ya gonna spin’s with a swizzle and you’re gonna get sick when it wiggles ain’t no pill, no pill…
are ya gonna stay a numb in the Naughties? be the best of the bad faux Presleys? when ya finally gonna make some money? make money, money…
and crack this riddle…?
through a gash in the background chatter ya hear a nag, nag, nagging whisper everybody you know’s so clever & smarter than you…
everybody on the right’s got a red glass everybody on the left’s got a red glass everything’s movin’ in too fast leave me alone! leave me alone!
red drinks, red drinks…
sitting on a stool with your brown drink floatin’ on your wit so ya don’t sink try’nta drown any thoughts that dare think your life stinks, life stinks…your life stinks, life stinks…
BOX OF NOISE
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
(3.45)(burnt jazz)
a book and me’s a partyadd a cup and it’s an orgy drowsy java, liquid midnight wraps itself around me
I said, a book and me’s a party sorry if that sounds selfish drinking in the calm before my next creative crisis
the airshaft’s a cat bordello they must really love the echo and a burnt jazz combo tries to run from someone’s crapped-out stereo
and the solo’s so tuxedo and I ache to stay this painless numb inside the calm before my next financial crisis
so I yell some beatnik typing to the tune of two cats screwing and the plumbing in my building thuds like Afro-Cuban drumming
the carpet heaves with Hendrix the Guzmans fight next door the Kramers’s dogs are barking upstairs, they’re moving the furniture again I, I live, in a box of noise
then my crazy Catholic neighbor with a firecracker temper carpet bombs the airshaft with a string of lady fingers
“your cat’s a slut”, he screams at me (like his is such a nun?) I’m cloistered in the calm before my next romantic crisis
and a fire engine’s screaming like a saxophone Coltrane-ing is there a Chinese menu bonfire in the foyer of our building?
the carpet heaves with Hendrix and the Guzmans fight next door the Kramers’s dogs are barking upstairs, they’re moving the furniture around again
I, I live, in a box of noise I, I live, in a box of noise
and there’s a bird outside my only window and it’s chirping out of tune.
I DID I DID
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
(2.04)
I DID, I DID SET THE BED ON FIRE I DID, I DID BLOW UP THE CLOTHES DRYER I DID, I DID GIVE EVERYONE THE FINGER, BUT…
NOTHING WAS THE MATTER NOTHING WAS THE MATTER
I DID , I DID BAKE A RAZOR CAKEI DID, I DID PRAY FOR AN EARTHQUAKE I DID , I DID TRY TO LEVITATE, BUT…
NOTHING WAS THE MATTER NOTHING WAS THE MATTER
PLANTED TWENTY DOLLAR BILLS IN THE BACK YARD MAYBE THEY’LL GROW!?
POOPED ON THE SIDE WALKAND STOLE MY OWN CAR’S TIRES AND RADIO
BOILED THE TV IN KEROSEN EPAINTED MY GOLDFISHES AQUAMARINE, BUT…
NOTHING WAS THE MATTER NOTHING WAS THE MATTER NOTHING WAS THE MATTER JUST NEEDED A REMINDER THAT
SOME THINGS JUST HAPPEN WITH NO EXPLANATION SOME THINGS JUST HAPPEN WITH NO EXPLANATION
LIKE A WHACK ON THE SIDE OF THE HEAD SOMETHING NEW TO DEAL WITH…
I DID, I DID…REALLY!…I DID, I DID, I DID!
HORSESHOES & HANDGRENADES
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
(4.48)
Recorded in my apartment on a Tascam 244, 4-track Port-A-Studio.HORSESHOES AND HANDGRENADES ALMOST COOKED, ALMOST SAVED ROUND NUMBERS AND CLOSE SHAVES A STONE’S THROW FROM A HAIR AWAY
HORSESHOES AND HAND GRENADESSO CLOSE…NEARLY MADE IT TO HEAVEN…ALMOST…DON’T COUNT FOR NOTHIN’.
“40 days and 40 nights? all right, all right…”, Noah said, “Lord, about that boat…I think I better go build it”
two by two them creatures came, but….I didn’t want to go out in the rain besides I’m unique… not much of a “joiner”
oh tell me, tell me, Captain Noah why this cruise to nowhere? I can’t find a dateand your tub’s a zoo…I get seasick, too bon voyage…catch ya later
three-card monte game, shoutin’ shill step right up with a $20 bill tap that ace, and chief…it’s chicken on Sunday
angel says “pay the rent” devil says “make a bet” devil wins…like he does usually
back and forth that Jackson goes a lucky streak!…then uh oh badges flash…handcuffs pop outta nowhere
“oh tell me, tell me Constable was that ace in the middle?” “why, yes I do believe that’s true you’re one hell…of a lucky fella”
almost…kinda…shoulda…sorta
yeah…coulda been so great coulda had the whole world on my plate everything working for ya
yeah…coulda been so nice lady luck blowing on my dice intoxication….euphoria eu-phor-ia
Johnny was a hot-shot guitar man 6-string key to the promised land he was so cool, he had a roadcase just for his ego
a genius poet, a household name the new Messiah was proclaimed so he rented Kansas and threw himself a little party
satellite feeds, pay-per-view, simulcast, the networks, too Johnny made ‘em all pay to kiss the feet of the Master
oh tell me, tell me Gabriel…what’s the key of this number? you see, Johnny B. Goode, but now Johnny B. Deadon the way to the gig crashed in a helicopter
like being just a little bit pregnant and in other news today…..that ball is going…going…going…foul
almost…so close…don’t count for nothin’.
HEAT NIGHT
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
This is Tin Huey’s ‘79 demo version for our never-to-be–made-let-alone-released 2nd album, Michael Aylward = guitar, Harvey Gold = keys/vocals, Stuart Austin = drums, Ralph Carney = reeds, Mark Price = bass. Carried over to The Waitresses era, it made it to our first album. Recorded & mixed at Bushflow, Akron, OH, (Mark’s house) under every possible chemical influence available.Stop! Damn! Reverse the wires Switch the ground! Something’s crazy here We’re twisted around… What got into us anyway’? Who threw the rules away? Who tore the boundaries down?
Suddenly I - Shy boy is seamless smooth Laugh with the she-bitch at this grand cartoon Everything’s inside out And turned around Bite that bad bourbon down What spirits healed these wounds up?
Heat Night, make it a heat night Heat Night, height of the rut Heat Night, heat lightning, no cut
Pure rabid mutiny The enemy is…
I rule this thunderhouse of rouge and ruin Arc all my sister’s secret fevermoons (She thinks) We’ll make it easyfor them tonight… We’ll make it easy tonight What planet rules these tides?
Riding a longshot nightIn overdrive Novels flashing, advertising eyes. Got nothing to say after the juke box stops? Who cares we’re all on top Why waste your breath on lies…don’t lie!!!
Heat Night, make it a heat night Heat Night, height of the rut Heat Night, heat lightning, no cut
Pure rabid mutiny The enemy is…
CONVENIENCE
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
(4.05)
Mixed by Scott Anthony at The Viewing Room, Springfield, NJ.murdered another cigarette in her honor still she didn’t show up why do I even bother? 19 others died to burn away the minutes 20 reminders to myself to keep my distance…
this is just convenience, something for the moment much less than forever this is just convenience, something for the moment business before pleasure…
two mature adults strike a bargain with each other me - I get my back scratched, she - a crying shoulder but I’m wrecking it by wanting real affection to her I’m cheap excitement to me that’s a rejection…
this is just convenience, something for the moment better get hip, man this is just convenience, something for the moment don’t make any long term plans…
and lighten upsee it as it is, not what it could be enough’s enough piling all my hungers on this poor, dumb girl when she’s just being friendly that girl can be friendly…
I said I could love her, she looked at me funny that was out of line, made her angry and uneasy giving something that she’d never be returning sets me up for slaughter brands me for a burning…
this is just convenience, something for the moment nothing I can count on this is just convenience, something for the moment man, I think you got it wrong…
DAVEY’S SISTER’S HOME FROM COLLEGE
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
(4.09)(blowing like wild leaves)
COME ON, COME ON, COME ON, COME ON WAIT UP, HOLD ON YOU GUYS AIN’T NO FUN COME ON…LET’S DO LET’S DO SOMETHING…
THEY’RE JUMPIN’ AT JERICHO’S LET’S GO DOWNTOWN LET’S GO DOWN TO CASTRO’S KICK SOME SPIC’S AROUND
I’LL BUST FOR CAB FARE DAVEY’S SISTER MIGHT BE THERE LET’S GO SOMEWHERE LET’S GO ANYWHERE…
CAN I STAND IN YOUR SHADOWS A MINUTE? LET’S RENT SOME BEERS AND TALK ABOUT STUFF I’VE BEEN DOING LOTS OF THINKING… WHAT IF I DON’T STOP GROWING UP???
COME ON….
THERE’S A NEW FLICK AT THE REGENCY YOU CAN SEE WHAT’S-HER-NAME’S TITS DAVEY’S SISTER’S HOME FROM COLLEGE I WONDER IF IT CHANGED HER MUCH?
BODY BY FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT BRAIN BY UNIVACHER FOLKS ARE DOWN AT DISNEYWORLD SHE WAS ALWAYS ALRIGHT…FOR A GIRL
I COULD STAND IN HER SHADOW CATCH MY BREATH SHE WAS ALWAYS GOOD FOR COVER SHE MADE A BETTER DOOR THAN A WINDOW
COME ON…
DAVEY’S SISTER ALWAYS SAID THAT 18 WAS JUST THE BEST THAT 21 AND LEGAL WAS ANOTHER NAME FOR LEGALLY DEAD
BUT SHE NEVER TOLD MEW HAT’S SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN AFTER THAT? WHEN YOU WEAR OUT THE SLEEVES OF YOUR VARSITY JACKET?
DO YOU STILL HAVE FUN? DOES EVERYTHING CHANGE? ARE ALL THESE DRUGS REALLY FRYING MY BRAIN?
CAN YOU STILL DRIVE FAST? WILL THERE BE A GIRL FOR ME? COME ON, LET’S DO SOMETHING THAT MAKES US FEEL FREE
SO WE DID…
WE JUST KEPT ON WALKING…
WALKING WILD…(blowing like wild leaves)
MY HOMETOWN
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
(3.29)
Mixed by Claudio DiZefalo at Mutiny Zoo, Hoboken.MY HOMETOWN’S NO COLD STAR MY HOMETOWN SAYS WHATCHA ARE’S ALRIGHT WITH ME
THINGS JUST ARE THE WAY THEY ARE AND WHAT THEY ARE IS HOW THEY ALWAYS WILL BE
MAIN STREET’S GRIT IS GOLDEN CINDER LIFE NEVER TASTES LIKE GRAVEL THERE’S NO WRONG WAY TO DO IT
I CAN CARE AND NOT BE CHAINED I CAN STARE AND NOT BE BLAMED THE GIRLS ARE WISE THAT WAY
AND THEY SAY “WE’RE WISE TO YOU, TOO…CITY BOY”…
MY HOMETOWN WAS ALWAYS WORKING HOMETOWN HOPED HE WAS CREATING A TICKET OUT OF HERE
HOMETOWN TRIED TO MOVE AWAY HOMETOWN TRIED TO CHEAT HIS FATE HOMETOWN OFTEN VISITS ME
AND HOMETOWN ALWAYS SAYS…
I MISS THE TASTE OF MY CITY WATER I MISS THE SNOW ON MY SIDEWALKS IN WINTER I SHOULD’VE WAITED FOREVER IF I HAD TO DOES ANYTHING HERE MEAN A DAMN THING TO YOU?
AND I SAY…YEAH!
OVER THERE IS THE SPARKLE MARKET THERE’S A HOUSE NICKNAMED “ROCK CITY” FOR A GOOD $2 HAIRCUTTRY THE SHOP IN THE WISHBONE ALLEY
I DRINK MY BEER AT CAFE ST. RAYS OR THE BLUES BAR IF IT RAINS I’M THE TALLEST BUILDING IN MY HOMETOWN THERE’S LOTS OF ROOM TO BE STRANGE
AND STRANGER…YOU MOVED AWAY THIS IS MY HOMETOWN NOW AND I DON’T HAVE TO GET ALONG WITH YOU BUT YOU…YOU HAVE TO GET ALONG WITH ME.
BEGGAR’S BULLETS
(CAPTAIN TRIPS BUMS CLEVO or WHAT A SHORT DULL TRIP IT WAS)
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
Recorded in 1989 at my house in Centerport, NY, with the Tascam 244 for the 20th anniversary of the murders of four students at Kent State University.holster that fist, boy ummmm…that’s what I used to say back in the days when I had words and reason in my armory
gone…all gone…wasted nowout-gunned…arrested my words netted in their newspapers reason bounced off their helmets
new history plotted out in poverty and silence you know we have to…they took away our drums
every window is my enemy’s eye every rock is a beggar’s bullet and when I bring the two together
it’s my turn, my time, this street is my state
I am riot not just some whiner with a city’s worth of sidewalks now stacked in my armory.
and I’m a poet I rhyme in cobblestone granite the art of the instant arc my only ideology
and every window … my manifesto every rock … a beggar’s bullet when I bring the two together
it’s my turn, my time, this street is my state
when I see a mountain….I see ammunition when I see a mountain….I see ammunition beggar’s bullets flying through your televisions
into your living rooms. ‘round the corner of Tank and Bayonet down all your lovely boulevards now draped in gas and barricade
am I senseless? no! exhilarated? absolutely! ‘cause one thing that’s for sure I’m not a victim anymore
every window… every window…
…the excruciating tension between yes and no… between the only two choices ever I seem to have …of either being anxious or depressedevery window… …is my skin
…my song …my biography
and every rock is a beggar’s bullet when I bring the two together
it’s my turn, my time, this street is my state
when I see a mountain….I see ammunition when I see a mountain….I see ammunition beggar’s bullets flying through your televisions
(CAPTAIN TRIPS BUMS CLEVO or WHAT A SHORT DULL TRIP IT WAS)
…there are no accidents
“I had all their records. i had all their records and i’d played them so many times i’d worn them out. then I’d buy new ones and wear them out. even today I can sing every note, every drum part, every solo from “st. steven” straight through to “turn on your lovelight”. i can/could play them, too. i’d brought my drum set down to school, but my roommates had said uh uh we’ve got to study this 1/4, and so it being the Twang Age and all, i’d gone out and bought my first electric guitar–a single cut-away Les Paul Junior for 50 bucks. it would be worth around 2,000 now. i got the money working part-time at an antique shop called airflow junk, the owner paying me $10 a day under the table. unless he was high. then he would ask “have i paid you yet?” and i’d say “no”. this would happen 2 or 3 times on a good day.
now, i would spend hours noodling along with their tunes especially the ones on the live album til i got the licks right, and was very impressed that a band of known drug abusers could play a song in 11/8 time and more or less come down on the 1 together. the music was only a simple major scale–book 1 page 1 lesson 1, but to me that was the beauty of it! so imagine my excitement when i opened the cleveland plain dealer’s friday magazine and saw that for one night and one night only belkin bros. proudly presenting in their first area appearance…the Grateful Dead.
on d-day, 7 or 8 of us cut classes, piled into my vw, drove the 30 miles from kent to cleveland, coped with a flat tire no spare, and ran out of gas 2ice. see, my bug’s ‘fuel delivery system’ had a hole in it and could only take an 8th of a tank at a time no gas gauge either. but we had anticipated all this. we’d left 6 hours before showtime so we could get lost. we had the proper amount of controlled substances in our bloodstreams. we knew there was a long journey ahead of us…after all, this was the Dead!…so there would be adventures built in and ordeals to endure and little trials and challenges to experience and that we could and would triumph because when it came right down to it we knew this one shining truth–we were immune!! nothing could stop us.
and so of course we found a parking space right in front of public hall-proof! and so of course we bumped into the rest of the kent contingent in the lobby-more proof! and oohhh the stage was sssssooooooo beautiful could you believe all that equipment? they’d replaced the stock speaker cabinet grill cloth of their guitar amplifiers with tie-dye!! even the p.a. stacks were tie-dye!! even…hey! there they are! even the band was in tie-dye!!…and jumping like a willy’s in 4-wheel drive.
but as good as it was, it was not good enough. i had to get closer closer i wanted to be the music not watch it it seemed so phony so square this arbitrary 4th wall concept separating ‘band on stage’ from ‘people in audience’ weren’t we all one? and didn’t we lose so much with the artificial divisions we were forced forced! to live with dictated mind you dictated! by a straight society who didn’t know they just didn’t know.
the hell’s angels who had been hired as concert security had all gone to take a collective leak or gang rape a hippette or something and magic magic magic of magics there was an open door right by the stage no one was watching it the band had drifted into ‘dark star’ and they had fired a spotlight at the cut glass mirrored ball and pin-points of light creamed around the hall fast at first and then slowly slowed down and then aahhhh actually went the other way and no one else had seen the unguarded door but me it was for me there are no accidents. a path had been cleared and it was my duty and destiny to take it. so in i went and the next thing i knew i was in the wings on the stage and oh it was wonderful and this beautiful lady said hi to me and it was Mountain Girl! the Mountain Girl! a real merry prankster and she smiled at me and asked if i wanted a beer and i said yes and she showed me a whole wash tub a whole wash tub! of iced coors and i had one one of the band’s beers! and then i had a few more and then i heard the unmistakable opening lines to “st. stephen” the patron saint of hungary i am half hungarian it was no accident there are no accidents and off we went and i knew the rumors must be true that owsley had really brewed up a batch of his finest and had put it in a mason jar and before each show garcia would dip his fingers in it it’s true i was there it sounded like it anyway and i was it and i sang along and danced and we worked it we that’s right we! we worked through the whole 2 sides of the album and i was the band the band was me and pigpen lurched into “lovelight” and i sang along and then i grabbed 2 empty beer cans and i started playing when the percussion breaks came right on cue i knew where they were i was on jerry’s side of the stage and i was banging along and singing and dancing and staring at that wonderful face so deep lined and wise with that wonderful beatific look of pure knowing and i sang louder and banged the cans harder and that wonderful face and it’s halo of hair slowly it took forever drifted floated over to me to me and he was no more than a foot away i could smell the sweat and the reefer smoke on him and from out of that wonderful mouth and those twinkling eyes came at the top of his lungs WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!!!
I sold my guitar back to the guy I’d bought it from for thirty-five dollars and lent my drums to my friend Jeff Miller. He didn’t get to play them much. Three weeks later he was shot and killed by the Ohio National Guard.”
when I see a mountain….I see ammunition when I see a mountain….I see ammunition beggar’s bullets flying through your televisions.
FORTUNATE SON
FORTUNATE SON
by John Fogerty, © 1969 Jondora Music (BMI).
All drones created by Nick Berry/Dots Will Echo, > Ridgefield, NJ, Everything else recorded at Dun Giggen, Bath, OH, Mixed by Bruce Hensal at ARTI Studios (on Pink > Floyd’s SSL console!), Orlando, FL.Some folks are born made to wave the flag, oh, they are so red, white and blue. And when the band plays “Hail To The Chief”, oh, they point the cannon right at you…and me
but that ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no senator’s son, It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t the fortunate one.
Some folks are born silver spoon in hand, why don’t they just help themselves? But when the taxman comes to the door, the house looks like a rummage sale, yes it does…
that ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no millionaire’s son, no It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t the fortunate one, no.
Yeh, some folks inherit star-spangled eyes, and they send you down to war, And when you ask them, how much should we give?, oh, they only answer is more, more, more,
but that ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no military son, It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t the fortunate one,
13 Seconds
© 2014 Chris Butler/Future Fossil Music (BMI).
On one side…youth/hope/promise On the other…defenders of all things corrupt/degrading & oppressive Which side are you on? Which side are you on? We didn’t hate you…we hated what you represented. But you hated us for who we were You accepted your “cogness”…your “this is the best I can do”…your “guess this is my place in the scheme of > things” Well…we didn’t. You believed that if you played along, you would be rewarded. We knew that wasn’t true. We must have been one hell of a threat… …why else would you have shot at us?