SONGS FOR DRELLA - A Fiction

1. Small Town
2. Open House
3. Style It Takes
4. Work
5. Trouble With Classicists
6. Starlight
7. Faces And Names
8. Images
9. Slip Away (A Warning)
10. It Wasn't Me
11. I Believe
12. Nobody But You
[13. A Dream]
14. Forever Changed
15. Hello It's Me

SMALL TOWN

When you're growing up in a small town
When you're growing up in a small town
When you're growing up in a small town
You say no one famous ever came from here
When you're growing up in a small town
and you're having a nervous breakdown
and you think that you'll never escape it
Yourself or the place that you live
Where did Picasso come from
There's no Michelangelo coming from Pittsburgh
If art is the tip of the iceberg
I'm the part sinking below
When you're growing up in a small town
Bad skin, bad eyes - gay and fatty
People look at you funny
When you're in a small town
My father worked in construction
It's not something for which I'm suited
Oh - what is something for which you are suited?
Getting out of here
I hate being odd in a small town
If they stare let them stare in New York City
as this pink eyed painting albino
How far can my fantasy go?
I'm no Dali coming from Pittsburgh
No adorable lisping Capote
My hero - Oh do you think I could meet him?
I'd camp out at his front door
There is only one good thing about small town
There is only one good use for a small town
There is only one good thing about small town
You know that you want to get out
When you're growing up in a small town
You know you'll grow down in a small town
There is only one good use for a small town
You hate it and you'll know you have to leave

OPEN HOUSE

Please
Come over to 81st street I'm in the apartment above the bar
You know you can't miss it, it's across from the subway
and the tacky store with the mylar scarves
My skin's as pale as outdoors moon
My hair's silver like a Tiffany watch
I like lots of people around me but don't kiss hello
and please don't touch
It's a Czechoslovakian custom my mother passed on to me
The way to make friends Andy is invite them up for tea
Open house, open house

I've got a lot of cats, here's my favorite
she's lady called Sam
I made a paper doll of her - you can have it
That's what I did when I had St.Vitus dance
It's a Czechoslovakian custom my mother pased on to me
Give people little presents so they remember me
Open house, open house

Someone bring the vegetables, someone please bring heat
My mother showed up yesterday, we need something to eat
I think I got a job today they want me to draw shoes
The ones I drew were old and used
They told me to draw something new
Open house, open house

Fly me to the moon, fly me to a star
But there are no stars in the New York sky
They're all on the ground
You scared yourself with music, I scared myself with paint
It almost made me faint
Open house, open house

STYLE IT TAKES

You've got the money, I've got the time
You want your freedom, make your freedom mine
'Cause I've the style it takes
and money is all that it takes
You've got connections, I've got the art
You like my attention and I like your looks
and I have the style it takes
and you know the people it takes
Why don't you sit right over there, we'll do a movie portrait
I'll turn the camera on and I won't even be there
A portrait that moves, you look great I think
I'll put the Empire State Building on your wall
For 24 hours glowing on your wall
Watch the sun rise above it in your room
Wallpaper art, a great view
I've got a Brillo box and I say it's art
It's the same one you can buy at any supermarket
'Cause I've got the style it takes
And you've got the people it takes
This is a rock group called The Velvet Underground
I show movies on them
Do you like their sound
'Cause they have a style that grates and I have art to make
Let's do a movie here next week
We don't have sound but you're so great
You don't have to speak
You've got the style it takes (Kiss)
You've got the style it takes (Eat)
I've got the style it takes (Couch)
We've got the style it takes (Kiss)

WORK

Andy was a Catholic, the ethic ran through his bones
He lived alone with his mother, collecting gossip and toys
Every Sunday when he went to Church
He'd kneel in his pew and say, "It's just work,
all that matters is work."
Andy was a lot of things, what I remember most
He'd say, "I've got to bring home the bacon, someone's
got to bring home the roast."
He'd get to the factory early
If you'd ask him he'd tell you straight out
It's just work, the most important thing is work
No matter what I did it never seemed enough
He said I was lazy, I said I was young
He said, "How many songs did you write?"
I'd written zero, I'd lied and said, "Ten."
"You won't be young forever
You should have written fifteen"
It's work, the most important thing is work
It's work, the most important thing is work
"You ought to make things big
People like it that way
And the songs with the dirty words - record them that way"
Andy liked to stir up trouble, he was funny that way
He said, "It's just work, all that matters is work"
Andy sat down to talk one day
He said decide what you want
Do you want to expand your parameters
Or play museums like some dilettante
I fired him on the spot, he got red and called me a rat
It was the worst word that he could think of
And I've never seen him like that
It's just work, I thought he said it's just work
Work, he said it's just work
Andy said a lot of things, I stored them all away in my head
Sometimes when I can't decide what I should do
I think what would Andy have said
He'd probably say you think too much
That's 'cause there's work that you don't want to do
It's work, the most important thing is work
Work, the most important thing is work

The trouble with a classicist he looks at a tree
That's all he sees, he paints a tree
The trouble with a classicist he looks at the sky
He doesn't ask why, he just paints a sky

The trouble with an impressionist, he looks at a log
And he doesn't know who he is, standing, staring, at this log
And surrealist memories are too amorphous and proud
While those downtown macho painters are just alcoholic
The trouble with impressionist is The trouble with impressionist is

The trouble with personalities, they're too wrapped up in style
It's too personal, they're in love with their own guile
They're like illegal aliens trying to make a buck
They're driving gypsy cabs but they're thinking like a truck
The trouble with personalities is
The trouble with personalities is

I like the druggy downtown kids who spray paint walls and trains
I like their lack of training, their primitive technique
I think sometimes it hurts you when you stay too long in school
I think sometimes it hurts you when you're afraid to be called a fool
The trouble with classicists is
The trouble with classicists is

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