A little kiss in the dead of night
And a lovebite at midnight
Sometimes I fee-eee-el, like I’ve been tied to the whippping post
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I’m on the drugs,
I’m on the drugs,
I’m on the drugs that killed River Phoenix!
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Grig! The stop sarn !*
*In Kiwi.
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Heard of a van that is loaded with weapons
Packed up and ready to go
Heard of some grave sites out by the highway
A place where nobody knows
The sound of gunfire off in the distance
I’m getting used to it now
Lived in a brownstone, lived in a ghetto
I’ve lived all over this town
This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco
This ain’t no fooling around
No time for dancing, or lovey dovey
I ain’t got time for that now
Transmit the message to the receiver
Hope for an answer someday
I got three passports, a couple of visas
You don’t even know my real name
High on a hillside, the trucks are loading
Everything’s ready to roll
I sleep in the daytime, and I work in the nightime
I might not ever get home
This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco
This ain’t no fooling around
This ain’t no mudd club, or C.B.G.B.
I ain’t got time for that now
Heard about Houston? Heard about Detroit?
Heard about Pittsburgh, PA?
You oughta know not to stand by the window
Somebody see you up there
I got some groceries, some peanut butter
To last a couple of days
But I ain’t got no speakers, ain’t got no headphones
Ain’t got no records to play
Why stay in college? Why go to night school?
Gonna be different this time?
Can’t write a letter, can’t send no postcard
I ain’t got time for that now
Trouble in transit, got through the roadblock
We blended in with the crowd
We got computers, we’re tapping phone lines
I know that that ain’t allowed
We dress like students, we dress like housewives
Or in a suit and a tie
I changed my hairstyle so many times now
I don’t know what I look like
You make me shiver, I feel so tender
We make a pretty good team
Don’t get exhausted, I’ll do some driving
You ought to get you some sleep
Burned all my notebooks, what good are notebooks?
They won’t help me survive
My chest is aching, burns like a furnace
The burning keeps me alive
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So I went to the doctor, see what he could give me
He said, “Son, son, you’ve gone too far
‘Cause smokin’ and trippin’ is all that you do”
Yeah!
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I was sitting in my basement I just rolled myself a taste
Of something green and gold and glorious to get me through the day
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And we note our place with bookmarkers that measure what we’ve lost.
I read that as ‘bookmakers’, who do the same thing I’m told.
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Send lawyers, guns and money
The shit has hit the fan
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Warren Zevon! That’s such a good album
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The eternal Thompson gunner, still wandering through the night
Now it’s ten years later, but he still keeps up the fight
In Ireland, in Lebanon, in Palestine and Berkeley
Patty Hearst heard the burst of Roland’s Thompson gun and bought it
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My futures in the fate of a femme fatale
You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be lead mate
Reminded me of this
“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.
You can lead a man to wisdom, but you can’t make him think.”
(Terry Callier)
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