1. |
Members Only
03:52
|
|||
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
|
||||
2. |
Soulless Experience
04:21
|
|||
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
|
Streaming and Download help
Mad Conductor recommends:
If you like Mad Conductor, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp