ODELAY LYRICS

Songs -
1. Devils Haircut
2. Hotwax
3. Lord Only Knows
4. The New Pollution
5. Derelict
6. Novacane
7. Jack-Ass
8. Where It's At
9. Minus
10. Sissybeck
11. Readymade
12. High 5 (Rock The Catskills)
13. Ramshackle

something's wrong cause my mind is fadin'
and everywhere I look there's a dead end waiting,
temperature's dropping at the rottin' oasis
stealing kisses from the leperous faces
heads are hanging from the garbageman trees
mouthwash, jukebox, gasoline,
pistols are pointing at a poor man's pockets
smiling eyes with 'em out of the 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
hitchin' a ride with the bleedin' noses
comin' to town with the briefcase 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 blastin' disintegrating
rock 'n' roll, know what I'm saying?
everywhere I look there's a devil in 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

devils haircut - in my mind
devils haircut - in my mind
devils haircut - in my mind
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It takes a backwashed man to sing a backwashed song
Like a frying pan when the fire's gone
Driving my pig while the bear's taking pictures in the grass
And my radio's 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 jewelry fros

Yo soy un disco cabrado*
Yo tengo chicle en cerabo

I can't believe my way back when
My Cadillac pants going much to 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 cabrado*
Yo tengo chicle en cerabo

(i'm a nasty nasty man 2x)
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 words
Hijacked flavors that I'm flipping like birds

Yo soy un disco cabrado*
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

*chorus translation: "I'm a broken record I have bubblegum in my brain"
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AHHRRRRHHHH!!!

(pull out the big one ...yeah)
you only got one finger left, and it's pointing at the door,
and your taking for granted, what the lords laid on the floor,
so i'm picking up the pieces and i'm puttin' them up for sale,
throw your meal ticket out the window, put your skeletons in jail

cause lord only knows it's gettin' late
the censors are gone, so don't you hesistate,
give yourself a call, letcha' bottom dollars fall
throwin your two bit cares down the drain.

invite me to the seven seas, watch some seasick man.
you'll do whatever you please, and i'll do whatever i can.
titanic 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 censors are gone so don't you hesitate,
move on up the hill, theres nothing there, left to kill,
throwin' your two bit cares down the drain...

yeah...
๓rale
๓rale
๓rale
๓rale
๓rale
๓rale
just passin' through...

๓rale
๓rale
๓rale
๓rale...........

Yow!

...goin' back to houston, do the hot dog dance,
goin' back to houston, to get me some pants.............
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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 wind, lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict wind, lay my soul in the foul of the air

Shooting venom at the passers-by
Hijackers tie the heavens down
I put my eyes in a paper bag
I'm spinning round like a gambling wheel

Blow back derelict wind, lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict wind, 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 wind, lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict wind, lay my soul in the foul of the air

(Funky Baby)
Keep on truckin like a novacane hurricane
Blowin 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 forthe operation
Don't expect some generation
Cyanide ride down the turnpike
Hundred hours on the miracle mic

Grinding the gears eighteen wheels
Pigs and robots riding on their heels
Fine tune road block making a sand box
Diesel infernos burning like drano
Down the horizon purple gasses
Semi-trucks hauling their asses
Novacane, hit the road expressway
Explode!

Novacane! Novacane!
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I been drifting along in the same stale old shoes
Loose ends tying a noose in the back of my mind
If you thought that you were making your way
To where the puzzles and pagans lay
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 you smiled
When the gravity shackles were wild
And something is vacant when I think it's all beginning

I been drifting along in the same stale old shoes
Loose ends tying a noose in the back of my mind
If you thought that you were making your way
To where the puzzles and pagans lay
Put it together: It's a strange invitation
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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
Jig-saw jazz and the get-fresh flow

Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts
Two turntables and a microphone
Bottles and cans and just clap your hands and 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! [robot] I got two turntables and a microphone

[sample]: take me home in my elevator bones!

[sample]: that was a good drum break

Pick yourself up off the side of the road
With your elevator bones and your whip-flash tones
Members only, hyponotizers
move through the room like ambulance drivers
Shine your shoes with your microphone blues
Hirsuits with your parachute flutes
Passing the dutchee from coast to coast
Let the man Gary Wilson [sample]: "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

[sample]: "What about those who swing both ways: AC-DC's"

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. Make Out City is a two-horse town

[sample]: "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
Jig-saw jazz and the get-fresh flow
Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts
Two turntables and a microphone
Bottles and cans and just clap your hands and 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
Telephone plastic baby
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It's a sensation
A bankrupt corpse
In the garbage classes
With the crutches of frogs

Don't be confused when your 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 hailing the call
Rubbing in a blind man's running mall
With the canker sores and the robot pills
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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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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An open road where I can breathe
Where the lowest low is callin' to me
I can pull myself back up back down
Stuck together like a readymade

And nobody knows where we been
Cancelled rations are runnin' thin
Watches tick out of tune
Fallin' apart like a readymade

And my bags are waiting
In the next life

Rubbish piles fresh and plain
Empty boxes in a pawn shop brain
License plates stowaway
Standin' 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 callin 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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High 5 (Rock The Catskills)
Words by Beck Hansen
Music by Beck Hansen, John King, and Mike Simpson.

High 5, High 5!
High 5, High 5!

[sample]: " 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
Or 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 Tandy
Rhumba, brickshot, doing the foxtrot

In my car sweating like a dog
Beers and cheers, new 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!

[spoken]:Yeah, put that machine in random mode
Talking about popping jugger
Like...like the last century

[sample]: "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!

[sample]: "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: SergioValente! Say: Jordache!"
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