snakebite

Generated 2007/06/08 20:03:15

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Into The Sun
Wake Up Sally
Afghan / Forklift
King For A Day
Your Rockin' Chair
Monsters Of The Id
Running With The Carnival
Our Manhattan Moment
Crow Hollow Blues
That Big 5-0
God Sleeps In A Caboose
Throw It Away
My Own Universe
Classic Hollywood Ending
Talkin' Wall Of Voodoo Blues Pt. 1
My Rose Marie (A Soldier's Tale)

Here, where the air's too thick to breathe
I'll hit the road now, and take my leave
No-one will care, I'll slip away
Into the sun

Where the clouds all meet the sky
Where the sand blows in your eye
I'll take your hand, we'll walk this land
Into the sun

Out where all the crows all dive your slack
Out where the beer cans don't talk back
We'll disappear––it's time we run
Into the sun (Into the sun)
Into the sun (Into the sun)

Now, for the times I've heard the sound
From way up high to underground
The wind will burn, our heads will turn
Into the sun

There where the cow walks the toad
The tumbleweeds speak in secret code
No lawns to mow, our new plateau
Into the sun

Out where the sagebrush sings our song
Some will be jealous of our home
But no friends we'll shun, as we fly off
Into a new day
Into the sun (Into the sun)
Into the sun (Into the sun)

Yeah, oh, we gonna get there
Drivin' on the highway
All night long
All night long
It's gonna be boilin' hot
Out in the sun
Out in the sun
Out in the sun

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: Jazzmaster guitar, squawk box, vocals
Adrid Frid: harp
Pietra Wexstun: wurlitzer piano, efx
Bruce Zeleznik: drums, sunblock
Hayden Burke: bass, bug repellant

Spoken:
Okay, now, try to stay quiet.

Chorus:
Wake up, Sally, yeah, the cops are here
And they keep knockin' at the door
Flashlights shinin' through the window in front
Keep quiet and lay flat on the floor

Now, someone musta told 'em we were hidin' out here
I bet yer big dumb brother told a friend
Now we gotta make it out the back before
Just saw two more pullin' round the bend

Hey, I shoulda known better than to rob that bus
Just-a twelve bucks layin' in the tray
Now I hear the sheriff on the radio
We gotta crawl out back and get away

Chorus repeat

Now didja gas up the truck like I told you to?
No, we can't take the dog, he's gonna bark
We're outside, now, slide into neutral gear
We'll roll out the back driveway and then we'll start

Chorus repeat

Now, there's ten more troopers on the roundabout
Turn the corner, see a camera and a light
Now, Sally, keep the dog down or we'll be had
And then up on the television next Monday night

Wake up, Sally, we're in Kansas now
I'm gonna pull out this map while you steer
We might as well drive on to Idaho
Hey, there's some more police behind us,
Better hide the beer

Chorus repeat

Chorus:
Wake up, Sally, yeah, the cops are here
So we'll just do what we did before
Crawl out back, get into that old truck
And slam that pedal––
Keep the dog down––
We gotta head south, gotta get outta town––
And slam that pedal to the floor

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: guitar, vocals
Pietra Wexstun: reed organ, backing vocals
Rick King: guitar, backing vocals
Hayden Burke: bass, backing vocals
Brantley Kerns: fiddle
Bruce Zelesnik: drums, siren

Ringin' on the telephone, pick it up and say
What's a man to do with all the trouble 'round today?
Heard it takes a worried man to sing a worried song
Sing it now, but Lord, don't let it all go on too long

Chorus:
Somethin' in the air, and it's movin' like a southbound train
Sun is goin' down, and it seems like I'll be the same

World keeps spinnin' 'round, people say there's debt to pay
I don't know––too busy with my life from day to day
But whosoever journeys up against that border line
The shadows of an ancient flame burn away in time

I was down in Arkansas, workin' graveyard shift
Movin' crates for exportation with a big forklift
Most were crackers, Coca-Cola, shoes and ceiling fans
Two were marked Top Secret, headed for Afghanistan

Chorus repeat

See shadows on the sun, see a comin' thundercloud
Nothin' will persuade, but all will be allowed
And some will seek their god from a heaven in the sky
Defendin' their affliction with a holy alibi

Ringin' on the telephone, pick it up and say
What's a man to do with all the trouble 'round today?
I'm callin' up the president, ask him what he say
No answer, left a message, when he's back from holiday

Chorus repeat

Now the drums are poundin', hear them blowin' on the horn
Two hands are on the hammer, and the fabric has been torn
Dam's about to burst, floods are all around
No more water, little Sylvie, 'cause I think I'm gonna drown

Ringin' on the telephone, pick it up and say
What's a man to do with all the trouble 'round today?
Heard it takes a worried man to sing a worried song
Sing it now, but Lord, don't make it all go on too long
All go on too long

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: guitar, harmonica, vocals
Pietra Wexstun: organ, backing vocals
Hayden Burke: bass
Bruce Zelesnik: drums, handclaps, percussion, 2 string jawbone
Alvin Fike: french horns

Yeah, I'm drivin' down your freeway
In a brand new car that I just found
Oh, it was parked there in your driveway
Didn't want to wake you with a sound
So I pushed it down the street
Hopped in runnin', I rolled the window down

Yeah, I'm doin' 95 now
I'm smokin' crack, it can't be beat
And thanks for all the money
You left in your wallet on the seat
Oh, it's generosity like yours
That keeps us poor folk off the street

Hey, I'm doin' 110 now
Can you still hear me on your phone?
I got a hundred cops behind me
And overhead I hear the choppers groan
Oh, I'm headed for the wall, now
Gotta hang up now, thanks for the loan

Chorus:
So is this how we'll end
My face here on TV
Here's a message for your mother
Out the window––can she see?
So I'm cuttin' to the exit
I can see people on the shoulder wave at me
They're wavin' at me

Don't know how things will end, now
But I never wanted this to be so hard
That's how love will go, it's either there
Or it's not there in the cards
So I'll leave you now, but you'd better check
The fire I set in our backyard

Now I wonder if they'll shoot me
Or just fire that taser gun
And to tell you all the truth,
It don't matter a difference either one
I know it's just a job they're doin'
A man's gotta take it as it comes

Oh, I think my bumper fell off
Somewhere ten miles back
The transmission is history
The engine block is cracked
I'm pickin' through these bottles
Left here behind the seat
The radiator's boilin' and
The needle's in the heat

So this is how it ends, now
You get the kids and kick me out
So I guess I had to show you
That this man is not a mouse
Hey, I hope you're happy now
I gotta hang up now and crash into this house
Daddy's home!

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Bruce Zelesnik: drums
Pietra Wexstun: mellotron, farfisa organ
Stanard Ridgway: guitars, celeste, harmonica, vocals
Hayden Burke: bass
Jerome Bangote: flute
Alvin Fike: french horns

A gamblin' man was dealin'
I drew a jack a' spades
A-way down in the swamp somewhere
Deep in the Everglades
The candle on the table
Lit up your face and hair
I lost it at the game but then
I won your rockin' chair

Chorus:
Your rockin' chair
Your rockin' chair

Now, I can hear the creakin'
The sound there on the floor
The way ya rock that chair with me
Just makes me want some more
The legs are carved and slender
The seat is soft as snow
And when we get to sittin' down
It's back and forth we go

Chorus repeat

Now other chairs I sat in
May I pay you regard
None never fit me quite as snug
Or rocked me quite as hard
Now when you think of sittin' down
In some new rockin' chair
No other one's in mind but yours
And nothin' will compare

So now the night is darker
Don't know what's 'round the bend
I'm back there at the table
And I'm losin' once again
The years go by like lightnin'
A year seems like a week
But I still every night think of
Rockin' there in your seat

Chorus repeat

The way you move in moonlight
Yeah, you always took me in
The wind blow through your curtains
And the way ya burned the gin
And then you'd start to dancin'
Hear the music from the shore
You'd pull out that old rockin' chair
And rock me on the floor

I wake up in the mornin'
Here in this vacant lot
That bottle in my hand
So I just took another shot
Sometimes in life a hand is dealt
That you don't think is fair
But you can fold, or maybe bluff
Or ride that rockin' chair

Chorus repeat x2

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: slide guitar, vocals
Kelly Murdoch: cello and viola
Hayden Burke: bass
Rick King: wooden swamp flute
Bruce Zelesnik: percussion, dice

Monsters of the id
No longer stayin' hid
And terrors of the night
Are out in broad daylight

No need to knock on wood
Don't stop to say a prayer
It won't do any good
They're multiplyin' in the air

Creatures of the deep
Are going without sleep
And phantoms of the dark
Have their own place to park

No need to lock the door
They're sprouting through the cracks
They're making room for more
They're deputizing maniacs

Prehistoric ghouls
Are making their own rules
And resurrected huns
Are passin' out the guns

No need to cause a fuss
Don't go and make a scene
They know what's best for us
They're fightin' fire with gasoline

The creatures from the swamp
Rewrite their own Mein Kampf
Neanderthals amuck
Just tryin' to make a buck

And goblins and their hags
Are out there wavin' flags
Oh, when will we be rid
Of monsters of the id

Monsters of the id

credits

Written by: Mose Allison
Published by: © Copyright Audre Mae Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Pietra Wexstun: elka strings, sci-fi machine
Hayden Burke: bass
Stanard Ridgway: guitars, harp, vocals
Virajan': violin:
Laslo Vickers: brass & monsters
Bruce Zelesnik: brushes, percussion, angry birds

Oh, down by the river where the wildflower grow
All the people comin' to a carnival show
Got my little brother Bobby here, so come along
Oh, we gotta get there early or the seats are all gone

Hey, now, you can smell the sawdust up your nose for a mile
There's a bearded lady and that man's a crocodile
Slip inside the tent and see the giant rubber man
Oh, I bet his momma's proud of him, he's doin' what he can
Doin' what he can.

Oh, I wonder if they'd let me join up with 'em if I could
Get down to the city, get off this hill for good
Yeah, I'm tired of totin' water, feedin' chickens in a shack
I'm runnin' away to the carnival, an' never comin' back
Nope! Never comin' back.

Now, the strong man got no hair, he can lift a heavy stone
Monkey woman's screechin', in her nose there's a bone
The cracker barrel's open and the cider's filled with flies
Oh, take a seat down in front, 'cause the curtain's 'bout to rise

Yeah, wander past the fortune teller, readin' someone's hand
What future does she see while we listen to the band?
And I can hear the music now from that calliope
Oh, when the carnival's in town there's always somethin' new to see
Somethin' new to see...

Oh, the people in the carnival, they all act just like kin
And you can't be in the middle when you're sleepin' with a Siamese twin
Oh, the dog-faced boy lifts his leg out in the pourin' rain
When you're travellin' with the carnival, there really is no shame
Nope, no shame.

Down by the river where the wildflower grow
All the folks are packin' up that carnival to go
I guess I'll soon be leavin', then, but you can come with me
And we all run to the carnival and see what we would be

Repeat and fade:
Run, run, runnin' with the carnival

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: guitar, vocals, stylaphone
Rick King: guitar
Pietra Wexstun: farfisa organ, glockinspiel
Laslo Vickers: trombones
Hayden Burke: bass, backing vocals, efx
Bruce Zelesnik: carny drums

The city streets burst at their seams
And flood the earth with people's dreams
But you're only concerned with some new shoe
Once up Broadway, we had walked
My mind was racing as you talked
I wish that I could be as dumb as you

We bought the lampshades and the cars
The wind-up toys and cookie jars
Another swap meet and bazaar with you
But now your pointless lazy drawl
Puts me to sleep and then I fall
Into a place where I'm encased in glue

Chorus:
Keep it light (Keep it light)
And keep it loose (Keep it loose)
What's the fuss? (What's the fuss?)
And what's the use?

One night up in a penthouse suite
Your famous friends I got to meet
So nice to have my pinky painted blue
And now I hear your voice an' pour a drink
Don't you ever stop to think
Beyond the safe and sanctioned point of view

Chorus:
Keep it light (Keep it light)
You gotta keep it loose (Keep it loose)
What's the fuss? (What's the fuss?)
And what's the use?

The city streets burst at their seams
And flood the earth with people's dreams
But you're only concerned with some new shoe
So we'll still amble through the bars
And count the pretty colored jars
I still wish that I could be as dumb as you
As dumb as you
As dumb as you
Just as dumb as you

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway and Pietra Wexstun
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music / Queenie Pie Music (both administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: underwater bells, vocals
Skip Heller: nylon & octave guitars, piano
Pietra Wexstun: PPG Wave, organ, vocals
Jerome Bangote: flute
David Sutton: acoustic bass
Bruce Zelesnik: cocktail drums

Workin' in the sun, a-scrapin' down the tar
If we made a run fer it, we wouldn't get far
Shovel on a stone, diggin' deeper down
Every day a good day that you above ground

Chorus:
Hear that crow a-laughin' at me
Rain comin' down on the hangman tree
Swing that shovel, and push that dirt
Brady got it in the back, you know it gotta hurt

One day last week, when the boss man slept
Stopped shovelin' for a while and we all made a bet
Who could run an' catch a frog, or grab a dandelion
Billy got caught, he in the hothouse fryin'

Chorus:
Hear that crow a-laughin' at me
Rain comin' down on the hangman tree
Some people gone missin', some people have died
You never know when God'll kick you offa this ride

Been cuttin' me a notch on the bunkhouse floor
One for every year, and now I'm countin' fourty-four
Swing that shovel, and push that dirt
Brady got it in the back, you know it gotta hurt

Workin' in the sun, scrapin' down the tar
If we made a run fer it, we wouldn't get far
We toil and strain, we kick and scream
We may be just a drop of rain a-swimmin' in a dream

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: banjo, vocals
Hayden Burke: bass
Pietra Wexstun: tape loops
Bruce Zelesnik: shovels and rakes
Jeff Stooger: bamboo flute

Yeah!
Bring me water, bring me coal
We just missed hittin' that telephone pole
Yeah, we're fallin' down in a cactus patch
When it get dark, you light the match
Yeah, and I'm happy for it

Keep a-rollin' down that dusty road
Time to lighten up this load
No regrets, no should've-beens
Salvation waits for those who sin
Don't confuse the driver,
Gotta bottle it up and go––and

Chorus:
Head for that big 5-0
Headed towards that big 5-0

Now, read the map, tell me how come
Interstate 49 jumped to 51
Yeah, somebody musta skipped that thing
Yeah, but we're on it now, and the mystery's closin' in
Midnight see the moonshine lightin' up the sky
Headlights on the highway, jus' hear the wind outside just sigh

Chorus:
Movin' towards that big 5-0
Headed towards that big 5-0

Now, who's that scarecrow I do see
In the mirror lookin' back at me
Some things you gotta take your shot
Half work out and half do not
The nickel laughs when it gets tossed
Yeah, we're bangin' on that drum now
And shake that rattlesnake
We're plowin' through 'til sunup,
Oh, just tryin' to stay awake––and we're

Chorus:
Headed towards that big 5-0
Headed towards that big 5-0

Repeat and fade:
Big 5-0

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: bo guitars, tap shoes, vocals
Hayden Burke: bass, beercans
Bruce Zelesnik: drums, spoons
Greg Hobart: baritone sax

Hear that train rollin' down the track
Passin' by this old shack
Whistle blow and it blow again
Just a lonely sound comin' through the wind

And on those tracks, in an old boxcar
My mind is racin' and a-travellin' far
Far away
Just ridin' on that train

Big boss man, he work me awfully hard
Liftin' freight out in his railroad yard
But hungry kids need clothes and shoes
And moms and dads need their pills and booze
Pills and booze
Just ridin' on that train

Now maybe one day I'll climb up inside
And in that old boxcar, I will ride
Ride away
I'll be ridin' on that train

Now, can you hear me, Mister Engineer?
It's not my place to push or interfere
On your train
I'm ridin' on your train

This world is old and this world is mad
Some people only missin' what they never had
On your train
I'm ridin' on that train

Hear a drop of rain hit the windowsill
Thunder rolls up behind the hill
But tonight alone I got no sleep I've found
I can hear that clock tickin' my seconds down
Seconds down
Ridin' on that train

And if there's one thing people know is true
Everybody here end up leaving you
On that train
Just ridin' on that train

And over the hill where the full moon shine
The only thing left is love you leave behind
On that train
I'm ridin' on that train

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: guitar, harmonica, hammer dulcimer, vocals
Pietra Wexstun: mellotron, piano, samples
Hayden Burke: bass, backing vocals
Bruce Zelesnik: hand drums, percussion, rhythm ace, train whistles
Lazlo Vickers: cello

Bobby had a background
He'd done some prison time
He borrowed a police car
Drove it over the state line
His partner wore a red dress
She looked like Stubby Kaye
And when they finally caught 'em
Oh, she said to the DA

Chorus:
Throw it away
Oh, throw it away
There's nothin' left to do but throw it all away
Throw it away
Yeah, throw it away
There's nothin' left to do but throw it all away

Skies gettin' darker
Cloudburst comin' on
I've gotta clean my closet out
And move this thing along
Some things are gettin' hard to part with
Most have gotta go
Some memories can haunt your mind
Stored underground below

Chorus repeat

Walkin' down a highway
I stopped into a church
Heard an empty sermon
From a parrot on a perch
Slept under a bridge
Heard those big trucks haulin' freight
So many things to buy and sell
But none are worth the wait
Rang up the conciliere
Said to him "there's somethin' wrong"
He put me back on hold
And said he'd heard that radio song

Woke up at the hotel
In the Mussolini Suite
I tried to put my shoes on
But someone had stole my feet
I rang up that old bellboy
Said to him "there's somethin' wrong"
He put me back on hold
And said he'd heard that radio song

Chorus repeat

Shadows of the past
Keep messin' up my mind
Some mistakes I made
Some people I can't find
Where did the road get twisted?
And did I let you down?
But you never were a cowboy
And I ain't no radio clown
Tryin' to paint a picture
But blue turns into red
Some people have gone missing
Some people end up dead
Chasin' near the shadows
I'm just tryin' to stay in the light
I wonder sometimes if y'ever thought
I was ever right

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: guitars, piano, vocals
Pietra Wexstun: organ, backing vocals
Hayden Burke: bass, backing vocals
Bruce Zelesnik: drums, dustpan, trash compactor
Alvin Fike: saxophones

One night I was lookin' high up at the sky
A shootin' star was fallin' and I didn't know why
Whenever it rains like this, I think of you
I am sitting here inside my own universe
Thinkin' of the memory of you and your purse
The planets are aligned, but I think ours are askew

Telephone is ringin'
I think I'll let it pick up
My life is one big black hole
And my planetarium is shut

Watchin' that horizon, yeah, I see the sun set
Disappear in water, can it ever forget
Lately, I've been tired and lazy
Moonglow on my shoulder tells me

I'm sitting here inside my own universe
Spinning 'round the planets while we try to converse
Meteorites are fallin', and our satellite is broke
Can we rendezvous? One can only hope
Oh, I can see the planets fallin'
Oh, our space is out of whack
I'm lookin' through that telescope
I wonder if you're lookin' back

Repeat six times:
I'm sitting here inside my own universe

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: guitars, vocals
Pietra Wexstun: wurlitzer, mellotron
Hayden Burke: bass
Bruce Zelesnik: drums
Tommy Arizona: accordian

Hear the wind blow back those sycamore trees
There's a screen test haunting my memories
I've been driving down the boulevard, not much change
It's the same old town, just rearranged
But by the time our feature ended, fear still stood
Like an old time movie, like a film from Hollywood

Oh, my screen goes up, and my lights go down
My picture starts but there is no sound
The only thing I hear is a guitar play
From a lonesome place so far away
And I'd let you do the rewrite now, if I only could
Like an old time movie, like a film from Hollywood

Now when that scene starts to fade out fast
The one where I exit, stage right
And then we cut to the boxing match
Inside the colosseum, with that crowd so ugly

And by the time we see dreams disappear
The audience has learned to cheer
But then fashion changed that underground
It's the same old circus with brand new clowns
And I'm lookin' out this window now on the corner where we stood
Like an old time movie, like a film from Hollywood

Now I never knew how your curtain came down
Or what was backstage in your mind
We never played that lost reel we found
The lights went up, and we'd run out of time
Out of time

And it's only when the curtain's down that the ending's understood
Like an old time movie, like a film from Hollywood

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: mandolin, nylon guitar, harmonica, vocals
Pietra Wexstun: piano, samples
Alvin Fike: woodwinds and brass
Laslo Vickers: cellos, cinema string quartet
Hayden Burke: bass, popcorn box
Bruce Zelesnik: percussion, marching drum

Didn't want no MTV,
Didn't want no VH-1
Was a time so long ago
Yeah, we had some punk-rock fun
Made a great big noise
For all the girls and boys
It was 1977
Now two are gone to heaven

Yeah, I was in an office space
There across the street
Down an alley, dirty stairs,
And a basement underneath
Brendan ran The Masque
He played drums, we drank a lot
We started playing underground
People started comin' round
Comin' round.

Mark Moreland played his guitar
And I clawed there at the keys
Little brother Bruce showed up one day
And now we're three
I had this rhythm box
That I got from Yogi Bear
And Joe and Chas jumped on to play
And we practiced music night and day
Night and day.

Hey, the scene was growin' out
People everwhere
Old hippies, beatniks, glam-rock kids
Goin' punk rock––cut their hair
One night we played The Whiskey
With Miss Ivy and Mister Lux
Backstage the record man approached
Yeah, we thought we had hit the bucks
Big bucks.

So we put out a record EP
Jim Hill was our engineer
And when it got played on the radio
We could not believe our ears
There it was.

So we went out on the road
Started playin' near and far
Drivin' in that beat-up van
Or two or three old cars
Drivin' everywhere.

Then the sharks showed up and circled
A big manager for Sting
Said sign here, boys, you'll all be stars
We'll go for that brass ring
The contract was like a book
Two hundred pages long
We signed there on that dotted line
Just a dollar for each song
Just a dollar.

Things started gettin' wild
With the band and me and Marc
We did that methedrine a lot
And drank that Cutty Sark
Richard Mazda came from the UK
Helped us to record in a brand new way
One weekend, Marc's song fell out
The single they still talk about
We made a video
With Frank Delia behind the lens
Labor Day in Mexico,
Lots of beans 'n drugs 'n friends
But all was gonna bust
Hey, how are chumps like us to know
We took off on that tour so long
And played and sang our radio song.
Oh-woah.

Now, it seemed like that old voodoo dog we had
Was payin' for its fleas
We lost control of our own band
To the record company
Yeah, I guess we blew it big time
Business got us bent
We played a show for fourty grand
And the manager took every cent
Every goddamn cent.

Yeah, things got worse, and pretty soon
It was time for me to go
I did my best to patch it up
But we were all just big assholes
So, if you wanna make a band,
Get ready for a good ride
Don't let weasels, sharks, and fiends, and creeps
Force you to comprimise

Uh-huh.

Didn't want no MTV,
Didn't want no VH-1
Was a time so long ago
Yeah, we had some punk-rock fun
Made a great big noise
For all the girls and boys
It was 1977
Now two are gone to heaven

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: slide guitars, snake guitar, melodica, vocals
Pietra Wexstun: oberhiem, juno 106
Bruce Zelesnik: drums, rhythm ace, percussion
Hayden Burke: moog bass

Well, now, I'm out here under guard tonight
I wear the ball and chain
Joined up to fight the Yankee cavalry
Oh, we got here cold and hungry
Then they marched us through the rain
And I was thinkin' 'bout you then, my Rose Marie

Oh, the cannonballs, the bayonets
The bloody battle cry
Oh, there's nothin' but these days of misery
And when those Yankees got me on the wire
I could hear the bullets fly
And I was thinkin' of you then, my Rose Marie

Seems like a thousand summers past
Oh, since we rode that circus wheel
And kissed there at the top
For all to see
But now outside there is a firing squad
And now they're servin' me up my last meal
And I was thinking of you then
Oh, my Rose Marie

Two guards walked me to that prison wall,
The preacher reads a prayer
But your face is all of heaven that I see
And as they tie that blindfold on
I see the sky and taste the air
And I'm thinkin' of you then, my Rose Marie

Oh now I can hear the rifle triggers cockin' back
And the order shouted out
Oh, but I feel there's somethin' wrong here, now
Please, Lord, let it be
Oh, all around us bombs exploding, shells are dropping here
From the army to the south
And then a corporal cut the ropes there on my wrists
And I was free
I was thinkin' about you then, my Rose Marie

I marched back with all the others
That had proudly wore the gray
Finally made it back here home to Tennessee
But all they said was that you'd married
And you had moved away
And I was thinkin' of you then, my Rose Marie

Now years have passed, I'm still alone
No new one to desire
Still starin' into flames of memory
I see circus wheels, and summers,
And a face there in the fire
And I'm thinkin' of you now, my Rose Marie

My Rose Marie

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Pietra Wexstun: reed organ, mellotron, celeste, autoharp
Hayden Burke: bass
Adrid Frid: harp
Bruce Zelesnik: drums, marching percussion
Laslo Vickers: woodwinds, french horns
Skip Heller: hi- strung guitar
Jerome Bangote: flutes
Stanard Ridgway: guitar, mandolin, vocals