| Lyrics
|
My sweetheart is a yogi
The painter's still asleep
I'm stuck here in my scoggie
The smell is in trouble deep
The president's head is played
The garbage is pilin up
The schoolyard kids are playin
I'm on my second coke
Nick's goin with me
The neighbor’s bangin
Don’t make me a bug
Nick’s goin to a hangin
Oh, honey please, won’t you come
The dancin sweetheart's smokin
Mercury is higher
I’m scared to death but fallin
Now Jupiter is on fire
I wish I had a dollar
For every dream I’ve had
The cat took off her collar
Now I need to calm her down
Nick’s goin to me
Guitars are playin
You can hear them strum
We're goin to a hangin
Oh, honey please, won't you come
It's called a crime of passion
It's called a circus tribe
The media teeth are nashing
While wearin that anchor's smile
I sure can face the ocean
The desert burnt the toast
I wish I had some lotion
I feel like a piece of toast
Nick’s goin to leave
Bells are ringin
Goin to death and to jump
We’re goin to a hangin
Oh, honey please, won’t you come
Oh, honey please, won’t you come
Goin to a hangin
|
| Notes
|
 Available On: Desert Sessions vols. 5 & 6 (1999)
Notes:
Poetry entry #107 by Teddy Quinn
Musicians:
Teddy Quinn - vocals
Tony Mason - guitar, bass
Dave Catching - fluffy guitar, leads
Schneebie (Schneeble) - drums, noises
Guitar Tab
all lyrics unofficial
all interpretations © thefade.org 2000-2002
back to lyrics
|
|
|
