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by Mad Conductor

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The tiger got to hunt The bird got to fly The man got to sit and wonder why The tiger got to sleep The bird got to land The man got to tell himself one day he'll understand They cancelled all my shows throughout the lower south So with my rapid fire motormouth I capsized the show promoter's house Claimed my coin and copped a case of cola Hopped a train-sylvania with Stoker down to NOLA I'm the scatterbrain eating boxes of Zatarain's At the lacquer stained tavern table tops Tellin' K-Ville cops that I don't have a name or occupation That's when they lost their patience And brought me to the station for some cross examination I'm being held under wrongful suspicion All bundled up in an awkward position 'Til my man the jailer handed me a file I filed the bars like documents and wandered down the aisle Once back on my hurtin' feet I hurdled free to Bourbon Street Where unexpectedly I met a fleet of Atakapa chiefs who want to murder me Because my eighth-great grandpops stole the land with a gun in his hand Now lookin' back it's just a blur They stuck me for my fur plus my frankincense and myrrh I had the "been beaten in the head with a bison femur" blues My wound spewed all my philosophical views Although I didn't have many to lose The most significant of 'em is one I often abuse I was awoken several hours later by defibrillators Headed to the sixth level in a crowded elevator of the medicinal center Where the doctors all said I would be shackled in forever to a hospital bed They tried to calm me down with the sedatives and drowsiness Then I read the proud text of Malcolm x It taught I should never let 'em put my mouth to rest and speak out against Money hungry charlatans and counterfeits One day I snapped, gnawed through my straps Fled my ward and lunged into the rumpus room while during mass And asked the parishioners, who were all in awe "Why you worship this awful god with volume knobs?" Jumped on a table ripped the box from off the wall Swung it by a cable through a window in the hall The nurses pulled cans of pepper spray from their purses But their disperses proved worthless As I made a getaway to the surface Pirated a charter boat, crossed the gulf Along the Florida coast to the Galapagos Off in the distance a perforated roll Ran through player piano like worms through a skull Yo, Nietzsche couldn't reach me nor could any of his kind 'Cause cutting down vines with a simian mind Is like tryin' to drain the ocean out onto dry land Even if you succeed the water meets up again It's been a long time since my introspective journey And with the help of a respected attorney I moved out west to find a home in Idaho Long from the land of Cajun catfish and Zydeco And up here there ain't nothing to do Unless your into having barnyard fun and huffing glue And I'm not So I sit and wonder lots As my troglodytic mind slips into another spot Where steatopygic women swim without a sullen thought In reality a man killed the next and stole his crops And I used to do the same for an answer to my question Until I figured out there ain't a man who has possession Assuming there's a foundation there to possess It's all too human to expect any sense The thought'll always claw at the back of my mind Out of all the great beasts why I had to be mine Leg, leg, arm, head, upright spine It's a members only club with one way to resign The tiger got to hunt The bird got to fly The man got to sit and wonder why The tiger got to sleep The bird got to land The man'll never understand even if he thinks he can
I used to call people on the phone and leave messages While eating lettuceless ends meat sandwiches Then I married into fortune and riches Divorced and took a portion of her porcelain dishes And like a lazy basset hound I sat around Waiting for a world renowned businessman to track me down Sure enough one day when I was rockin' my rhyme A famous record producer happened to be walkin' by He said: "Hey kid, I really like what I hear, How'd you like to make a million a year?" Hell to the yeah, where do I gotta sign? "right here on this dotted line" So we thought up a shtick, anarchistic politics 'Cause we knew all the young, punk chicks would swallow it And if they did all the dudes would follow suit And that to us meant a whole lotta loot So I re-worded old Sex Pistols lyrics sheets And we sold 9 billion copies in the first week it was released Our popularity increased when an ordained priest spoke against us in the streets Of course he was hired by the label to hype us up 'Cause whatever adults hate the kids want to buy it up And whatever kids put on, the parents say to shut off Then they turn around and buy stock, in whatever labels might stock The most vilest, stylist 'cause they know the child gets whatever he wants And that means fat cream, for these class-addled crack fiends Their morals ride in the back seat So after 5 years of touring every street earth jails With extraordinary t-shirt sales I began to recognize the real root of the problem It wasn't the branches it was the trunk going rotten As we the citizens, denizens of every den crumble within ourselves to meet a deadly end Self pity, self hate, and self involvement help us to corpulate this snowball while falling Is an avalanche spawned on our own crooked ground There is no they to blame, we keep ourselves lookin down I'm not saying there's no group of greedy men I'm aware of who they are our society is breeding them Out of necessity to feed our own gluttonous hunger Forcing our minds into comfortless slumber We don't need to cut off the branches, We need to uproot the tree and plant a new seed to make advances Check it out, to remove the defective products from off the self We gotta consult the manufacturer within ourselves I woke up, my band broke up, I cut the cable And then I beat to death the owner of the label Began preaching my new ideas, although I was reaching not many would hear All those kids formed bands of their own copying the same thing I copied five years ago The chord progression and the style of dressing To clean this mess will take many a lesson My goal's not to crush this empire of evil It's to merge on it's network and inspire the people There's no more hypocrisy anywhere than there is in the punk scene My man Jesse told y'all back in '87 still peace is unseen Yo, yo, yo the mainstream wants to keeps us unorganized So that their records can poison the important minds of the children Growing up dumb, blind and deaf 'til they're mentally dead And there ain't no one left to save em I don't listen to no chump ass indie rock I listen to big band jazz and do the Lindy Hop My name is MC Devlin, no last known address The most dangerous mind you'd be hard pressed to catch


released February 14, 2008

MC Devlin - Music and Lyrics
Dan McKinney - Music and Production

Recorded at Dan's House Studio, 2007-2008
Center Valley, PA


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Mad Conductor Nazareth, Pennsylvania

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