I'm 'onna drive my van
through the plateglass window
Of your heart
I'm 'onna drive my van
through the styrofoam-brick wall
Also of your heart
I'm 'onna wrap my chains
'Round the muscles and veins
Once again, of your heart
I'm 'onna put my fist
Through the side of the cranium
Of the side of your cranium
B.A.
B-A-R-A-K-A-S
B-A-B-Y
Don't settle fo' less than
B.A.
B-A-R-A-K-A-S
B.A. Barakas
Who is this apparition
With the feathers and chains?
Who bullies the dull life
And rapes the mundane?
Who's the subject of this white boy's modest refrains
Between a micro-tape recording and
"Look, Ma, No Brainz!"?
B.A.
B-A-R-A-K-A-S
Is just an
Educated guess
B.A.
B-A-R-A-K-A-S
B.A. BARAKAS
Guilty of vehicular assault they
Threw him in jail
Not even eighty pounds of necklace could
Cover the bail
So they sentenced him from
Now till the World's end
to convert to Islam
and be someone's girlfriend
But B.A. became the best Daddy on his cellblock
A black Adonis
Bringin' the shellshock
All the boys from cellblocks A through Z
Would let Barakas drive 'em like he drove that GMC
And all the thugs and the theives and
Even the Fonze
Were all putty in his mitts
And sheaths on his schwanz
Even the three-hundred-pound guys
The Meanest-Around-Guys
Confessed he was the best man at
Rammin' the round-eye
NOW B.A. DON'T WANT CASH
'N' B.A. DON'T SMOKE GRASS
B.A. DON'T WANT YO' PUSSY
HE'LL GO STRAIGHT F' YO' ASS
And if you listen real close, 'round a-quarter-tuh-Two
You'll hear the heavy-breathin', sugar-mouthed
White women coo,
"B.A.
B-A-R-A-K-A-S
B-A-B-Y
Oh, Fuck Yes!"
B.A.
B-A-R-A-K-A-S
B.A. BARAKAS.
The Children cheer
The Neighbors jeer
The Sugar-Mouthed White Women
Ice their Rears 'n'
The Mothers Sneer
The White Man's Fear settin'
Civil Rights back another
Fifteen Years, 'n' they blame
B.A.
B-A-R-A-K-A-S
Hulk Hogan scares us far less than
B.A.
B-A-R-A-K-A-S
B.A. BARAKAS
Look who's here to save your farm with
a watermelon on each arm and uh
B.A.
B-A-N-J-O, it's
TAP-DANCE BARAKAS
He'll defy your histrionics
And occasionally phonics, but
He's a Social Tonic rising
Up from the FRAKAS
He'll make that
H-U-L-K-
H-O-G-A-N
Look like a gay librarian he's
B.A.
B-A-R-A-K-A-S
¡BAD-ASS BARAKAS!
©2007, 2010 Andy Klosenski
Also appears on the album Johnny Got His Axe [RPM Challenge 2007]
[http://honkygabacho.bandcamp.com/album/johnny-got-his-axe]
Showing posts with label rpm challenge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rpm challenge. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
3) Lonesome Electric Robert Pete Williams [Single Edit]
I'm high-voltage, babe,
Ah glow inna dark, I'm a
Conflagration at the slightest spark, 'n' I'm
Lonesome like nobody should be,
Throw that toaster inna tub, Mama,
Set me free...
Ahhh'm from th' Bayou
Of outer space, I'm an
Alligator with a
Pretty Face, I'm a
Ninety-million volt, high-amperage
Infiltrator of the human race.
Well, mah teeth 'n' gums start tuh
Glow 'n' hummm, ah crack uh
Gap-toothed smile while mah
Strings go numb, 'said the
Whole uh m' parts ain't but a
Part uh my sum,
I'll put a charge in yer spark-plug with uh
Flick uh m' tongue,
[Chorus]
Sweeeet, sweet static, mama,
Hissin' in y' ear, like a
Holophonic whisper...
Mah kiss is the sermon inna church uh m'body, 'n' my
Guitar is my vespers.
So, take my hand fer now, little girl, 'n'
Take the rest uh me, if you dare,
'Said I'm uh Mega-watt Buddhist, I gut Ohmmmmm's tuh spare...
[Chorus]
©2007, 2010 Andy Klosenski
This title also appears, in its original form, on Johnny Got His Axe [RPM Challenge, 2007]
[http://honkygabacho.bandcamp.com/album/johnny-got-his-axe]
Ah glow inna dark, I'm a
Conflagration at the slightest spark, 'n' I'm
Lonesome like nobody should be,
Throw that toaster inna tub, Mama,
Set me free...
Ahhh'm from th' Bayou
Of outer space, I'm an
Alligator with a
Pretty Face, I'm a
Ninety-million volt, high-amperage
Infiltrator of the human race.
Well, mah teeth 'n' gums start tuh
Glow 'n' hummm, ah crack uh
Gap-toothed smile while mah
Strings go numb, 'said the
Whole uh m' parts ain't but a
Part uh my sum,
I'll put a charge in yer spark-plug with uh
Flick uh m' tongue,
[Chorus]
Sweeeet, sweet static, mama,
Hissin' in y' ear, like a
Holophonic whisper...
Mah kiss is the sermon inna church uh m'body, 'n' my
Guitar is my vespers.
So, take my hand fer now, little girl, 'n'
Take the rest uh me, if you dare,
'Said I'm uh Mega-watt Buddhist, I gut Ohmmmmm's tuh spare...
[Chorus]
©2007, 2010 Andy Klosenski
This title also appears, in its original form, on Johnny Got His Axe [RPM Challenge, 2007]
[http://honkygabacho.bandcamp.com/album/johnny-got-his-axe]
5) Crawling On My Belly
Some people are pleasant, some people are cool, but they're
More the exception
Than they are the rule.
¿What could you expect from these kinds of conditions,
With folks all pushed together
In all kinds of positions?
Half the races of the world,
Tossed into one pot;
You lift up the cover
And what have you got?
One twisted, confused,
Unimaginative lot,
With cataract souls, and
Heads full of snot,
¡Rush to the middle,
Rush to the middle,
Rush to the middle,
They say!
Racial acquittal; betray and belittle...
...C'mere, gimme a whiff of your
Saccharine aroma,
Gimme just a nibble of that
Acrid Diploma, or a
Love between
Catatonia and Coma;
Final stage of
Intellectual
Carcinoma...
Lift off yer face,
Lift off yer face,
Lift off yer face
Every day.
Just hope you never find
You won't change what's behind it,
No matter how much you
Cinch, Suture or Pay
"¡This RIDICULOUS nose, no,
This ain't where it goes!
¿What could that GOD have been THINKING
With the shapes that HE chose?"
¡Lift off yer face!
¡Lift off yer face!
¡Lift off yer face 'n' put it
Any old place, now,
LIFT!
¡I'm Mr. Out-of-Place-Man in
Prosthetic Face Land,
Crawling on my belly through the
Cultural Wasteland;
The half-devoured, high-powered
Fascist Graceland is
Ours for the taking by the
End of the day!
I'm Mr. Out-of-Place-Man in the
Human Race, 'n' I'm
Crawling on my belly, tryin' to
Keep with the pace;
Just so many distractions and
So little space, but
It Is What Is, and all the rest is just waste...
¡We're gonna blitz, full-glitz, up the
Ass o' the beast,
Don't give a good-god-damn
What they tell me, I'll tell ya, mama;
Balls-deep up the ass o' the beast, I got
Two sixes on my head 'n' a third one on my guitar when we
Blitz, full glitz, up the
Ass o' the beast,
Don't give a good-god-damn if we're
Less than svelte,
We bring the noise and the gamble
Outright from the preamble,
Not particularly sorry if your
Stereo melts!
©2008, 2010 Andy Klosenski
This title originally appeared on ¡The Jugband Cannibala Court a Bride! [RPM Challenge 2008; soon to be re-released as ¡The Jugband Cannibala Take a Bride!. More on that later...]
[ http://honkygabacho.bandcamp.com/album/the-jugband-cannibala-take-a-bride ]
More the exception
Than they are the rule.
¿What could you expect from these kinds of conditions,
With folks all pushed together
In all kinds of positions?
Half the races of the world,
Tossed into one pot;
You lift up the cover
And what have you got?
One twisted, confused,
Unimaginative lot,
With cataract souls, and
Heads full of snot,
¡Rush to the middle,
Rush to the middle,
Rush to the middle,
They say!
Racial acquittal; betray and belittle...
...C'mere, gimme a whiff of your
Saccharine aroma,
Gimme just a nibble of that
Acrid Diploma, or a
Love between
Catatonia and Coma;
Final stage of
Intellectual
Carcinoma...
Lift off yer face,
Lift off yer face,
Lift off yer face
Every day.
Just hope you never find
You won't change what's behind it,
No matter how much you
Cinch, Suture or Pay
"¡This RIDICULOUS nose, no,
This ain't where it goes!
¿What could that GOD have been THINKING
With the shapes that HE chose?"
¡Lift off yer face!
¡Lift off yer face!
¡Lift off yer face 'n' put it
Any old place, now,
LIFT!
¡I'm Mr. Out-of-Place-Man in
Prosthetic Face Land,
Crawling on my belly through the
Cultural Wasteland;
The half-devoured, high-powered
Fascist Graceland is
Ours for the taking by the
End of the day!
I'm Mr. Out-of-Place-Man in the
Human Race, 'n' I'm
Crawling on my belly, tryin' to
Keep with the pace;
Just so many distractions and
So little space, but
It Is What Is, and all the rest is just waste...
¡We're gonna blitz, full-glitz, up the
Ass o' the beast,
Don't give a good-god-damn
What they tell me, I'll tell ya, mama;
Balls-deep up the ass o' the beast, I got
Two sixes on my head 'n' a third one on my guitar when we
Blitz, full glitz, up the
Ass o' the beast,
Don't give a good-god-damn if we're
Less than svelte,
We bring the noise and the gamble
Outright from the preamble,
Not particularly sorry if your
Stereo melts!
©2008, 2010 Andy Klosenski
This title originally appeared on ¡The Jugband Cannibala Court a Bride! [RPM Challenge 2008; soon to be re-released as ¡The Jugband Cannibala Take a Bride!. More on that later...]
[ http://honkygabacho.bandcamp.com/album/the-jugband-cannibala-take-a-bride ]
8) Kill, Murder 'n' Mame
My mama, she wasn't a bad woman,
My mama, she wasn't a mean woman,
My mama, she wasn't an evil woman, just
Intolerant of the forces of nature
That put one foot in front of the other 'fore we're
Ready tuh move.
Spent all uh her time pressed for time, just
Lickin' her wounds, 'n' tryin' tuh
Ease her mind, 'n'
It ain't bad, 'n'
It ain't mean, but a little
Evil in the way that she'd
Relinquish her hand to it,
Now, my ears are ringin',
I'm seein' stars, 'n'
She wanna run away...
She gets a mean ol' rush, 'n' the
Paint start in tuh peelin',
At the top of her lungs 'n'
Starin' at the cielin', screamin,
"¡Kill, Murder 'n' Mame!"
¿Now, do ya love me?
¿Do ya hate me?
Here I am, the way ya
Made me,
All sideways and nasty, like a
Rash of slide-fire; like a
Blind dog with rabies,
Like a live, broken wire, 'n' I wanna,
Kill, Murder 'n' Mame
Now Jimmy had a steady girl, but
That wasn't enough, 'cuz that
Jimmy was a charmer, oh, 'n'
He thought he was tough.
He scattered all his belly-warmers
All over town, while his
Steady laid awake at night 'n'
Cried the ceiling down.
She was tired uh bein' sweet on him,
Tired uh bein' tame, she got
Tired uh bein' another pulse,
Another bitch, another dame.
A piece of paper in his pocket held
A much familiar name, with a
Much familiar number, her
Best friend's was the same.
There's only one picture she can
Put in that frame,
So who are you to stop her, 'n'
Who is she tuh blame, if she wanna
Kill, Murder 'n' Mame
Nah, you better run, Jimmy, 'n'
You better heed,
'Cuz yer gonna weep, Jimmy, ah,
You're gonna bleed.
She pawned yer Telecaster 'n' yer
Smith-Corona, too;
She bought herself a gun, 'n' now she's
Gunnin' after you.
She called off work three weeks ago, she's
Nowhere to be found,
'N' ya know Hell hath no fury than a
Woman dogged around.
Meanwhile, as you
Sweat 'n' moan
Inside some
Teenage Megaphone, she's screamin'
Kill, Murder 'n' Mame
¿What could he have done?
¿Oh, what could he have said
To leave him clingin' tuh life in
Another woman's bed?
His Steady's got an alibi, or
So she said, and
Jimmy's got a .44 caliber
Hole in his head.
¿What could he have done?
¿What could poor Jimmy have said
To leave his lifeless body in
My woman's bed?
Now, I'm on the run,
'N' Poor Jimmy's dead,
They matched the caliber of my guitar
To the hole in his head.
©2008, 2010 Andy Klosenski
Title originally appeared on ¡The Jugband Cannibala Court a Bride! [RPM Challenge 2008; eventually to be re-released as ¡The Jugband Cannibala TAKE a Bride! with added material].
[ http://honkygabacho.bandcamp.com/album/the-jugband-cannibala-take-a-bride ]
My mama, she wasn't a mean woman,
My mama, she wasn't an evil woman, just
Intolerant of the forces of nature
That put one foot in front of the other 'fore we're
Ready tuh move.
Spent all uh her time pressed for time, just
Lickin' her wounds, 'n' tryin' tuh
Ease her mind, 'n'
It ain't bad, 'n'
It ain't mean, but a little
Evil in the way that she'd
Relinquish her hand to it,
Now, my ears are ringin',
I'm seein' stars, 'n'
She wanna run away...
She gets a mean ol' rush, 'n' the
Paint start in tuh peelin',
At the top of her lungs 'n'
Starin' at the cielin', screamin,
"¡Kill, Murder 'n' Mame!"
¿Now, do ya love me?
¿Do ya hate me?
Here I am, the way ya
Made me,
All sideways and nasty, like a
Rash of slide-fire; like a
Blind dog with rabies,
Like a live, broken wire, 'n' I wanna,
Kill, Murder 'n' Mame
Now Jimmy had a steady girl, but
That wasn't enough, 'cuz that
Jimmy was a charmer, oh, 'n'
He thought he was tough.
He scattered all his belly-warmers
All over town, while his
Steady laid awake at night 'n'
Cried the ceiling down.
She was tired uh bein' sweet on him,
Tired uh bein' tame, she got
Tired uh bein' another pulse,
Another bitch, another dame.
A piece of paper in his pocket held
A much familiar name, with a
Much familiar number, her
Best friend's was the same.
There's only one picture she can
Put in that frame,
So who are you to stop her, 'n'
Who is she tuh blame, if she wanna
Kill, Murder 'n' Mame
Nah, you better run, Jimmy, 'n'
You better heed,
'Cuz yer gonna weep, Jimmy, ah,
You're gonna bleed.
She pawned yer Telecaster 'n' yer
Smith-Corona, too;
She bought herself a gun, 'n' now she's
Gunnin' after you.
She called off work three weeks ago, she's
Nowhere to be found,
'N' ya know Hell hath no fury than a
Woman dogged around.
Meanwhile, as you
Sweat 'n' moan
Inside some
Teenage Megaphone, she's screamin'
Kill, Murder 'n' Mame
¿What could he have done?
¿Oh, what could he have said
To leave him clingin' tuh life in
Another woman's bed?
His Steady's got an alibi, or
So she said, and
Jimmy's got a .44 caliber
Hole in his head.
¿What could he have done?
¿What could poor Jimmy have said
To leave his lifeless body in
My woman's bed?
Now, I'm on the run,
'N' Poor Jimmy's dead,
They matched the caliber of my guitar
To the hole in his head.
©2008, 2010 Andy Klosenski
Title originally appeared on ¡The Jugband Cannibala Court a Bride! [RPM Challenge 2008; eventually to be re-released as ¡The Jugband Cannibala TAKE a Bride! with added material].
[ http://honkygabacho.bandcamp.com/album/the-jugband-cannibala-take-a-bride ]
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