Beck--Odelay
1: Devil's Haircut
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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
Crystals 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-blasting disintegrating
Rock 'n' roll, know what I'm saying
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: Hotwax
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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 bear's taking pictures in the grass
In my radio smashed
And I like pianos in the evening sun
Dragging my heals 'til my day is done
Saturday night in the Captain's clothes
Tin horns blowing with my jury 'phros
Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en cerabo
Translation: "I'm a broken record, I have gum in my brain"
I can't believe my way back when
My Cadillac pants going much too fast
Karaoke weekend at the suicide shack
Community service and I'm still the mack
Shocked my finger spicing 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 marshalls getting busy with ease
Because I get down I get down
I get down all the way
Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en cerabo
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 using the souls
You never get caught with the wax so rotten
All my days I got the grizzly worms
Hijacked flavors that I'm flipping like birds
Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en cerabo
"Who are you?"
"I'm the enchanting wizard of rhythm"
"Why did you come here?"
"I came here to tell you about the rhythms of the universe"
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3: Lord Only Knows
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Ahhhhhhhhhh
You only got one finger left and it's pointing at the door
And you're taking for granted what the Lord's made 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 will 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: The New Pollution
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She's got cigarette on each arm
She's got the lily-white cavity crazes
She's got a carborator 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 camouflage
Like a whip-crack sending me shivers
She's a boat through 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: Derelict
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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 when, lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict when, 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 when, lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict when, 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 when, lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict when, lay my soul in the foul of the air
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6: Novacane
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Keep on talking like a novacane hurricane
Low static on the poor man's short-wave
Stampede's 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 so low your mom won't drum
Getting late with the suicide beat
Test-tube, still-born and dazed
Chump scum plays in the razor's haze
Got the momentum radioactive
Lowdown
Step aside for the operation
Don't expect to generation
Crying out loud down the turnpike
Hundred hours on the miracle mic
Grinding the gears eighteen wheels
Pigs and robots riding on their heels
Lightblue robot making a sandbox
Diesel infernos burning like drano
Down the horizon purple gasses
Semi-trucks hauling them asses
Novacane, hit the road expressway
Explode
Novacane, novacane
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7: Jack-ass
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I've been drifting along with 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 she smiled
When the gravity shackles were wild
And something is vacant when I think it's all beginning
I been drifting along with 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: Where It's At
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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
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
Hypnotizers move through the womb like ambulance drivers
Shining 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
What about those who swing both ways, AC-DC's
Let's make it out, baby
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, making slaves at two-horse town
"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
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9: Minus
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The last survivor of a boiled crap
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 classes
With the crutches of frogs
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 hair on the call
Rubbing in a blind man's running mall
With the cancer sores and the robot pants
Throwing imbeciles on the window sills
It's a sensation
A bankrupt corpse
In the garbage classes
With the crutches of frogs
Frogs, frogs, frogs
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10: Sissyneck
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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 the 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
Ahhhowwww
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11: Readymade
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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
Cancelled 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: High 5 (Rock The Catskills)
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High 5, high 5
High 5, high 5
"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
Yeah, put that machine in random mode
Talking about popping jugger
Like the last century
"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
"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: Ramshackle
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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
(
geocities.com/gvidal.geo)