Rockin Broken Record

from Junk Worship (September 12th 2003) (as "Rockin Broken Record (My Hero)") (3:23)

Check, check one, check one two
Mic mic check, check one, check one two

Sheddin sweat bullets like a sawed-off gun
Flyin off walls in a room of one
Peeling off plaster from my ceiling fan
With a toothpick wound in the middle of my hand
Limp wet dollar laying down in a glass
With a filter smokin killer jumpin on my ass
Broken record rockin from five to nine
With a burnt-out jimmy workin for the wine

Semaphore junkies waving plastic flags
Wake of confusion in my sleepin bag
Blue dye running down the side of his face
Well I want a whiskey sour with a shot of mace
Corporate disco on the side of the street
Dusty gray bones looking for the meat
Salivate your life on the side of the ditches
While your Frankenstein monster's pickin at his stitches

Fisherman's net caught up in a draft
Suicidal monkey hangin on the raft
Detrimental can in the back of a truck
Where you ask for directions and you're out of luck
Silver tongued artist with the tarnish blues
Road hockey hitcher with nothing to lose
A cremated man in a brown ashtray
You can't hit a note when you try to play

Downin my coffee like there's no tomorrow
Sittin in a joint with the temporary sorrow
Semaphore lover in my distant past
Smokin joes takin blows to my fixated ass
With the hippie lifestyle callin both my names
Chain smokin chasers with no one to blame
Tablecloth's messing with my black ink flow
Like the watery coffee and the ashtray low
I'm givin my lemons to my drummer's girl
Thinkin of my seventeen different worlds
Tall blond waitress with the paycheck blues
Fightin back time on a midnight cruise
Two stoned losers on my friendship list
When you find love they get all pissed
Example of timing evident at the diner
One-time shot on the laid-off headliner
Workin class stiffs two tables away
Livin for the paycheck and never for the day
It's a shame for a person to be so stuck
My future's playin songs in the back of a truck
I'm throwin out numbers of the local bars
Phone book junkies who don't want to be stars
Stars are too common and come out too soon
I make my wishes on a bright blue moon

from Chaotic Narcotic (August 29th 2009) (3:02)

Sheddin sweat bullets like a sawed-off gun
Flyin off walls in a room for one
Peelin off plaster from my ceiling fan
With a neon stigmata in the middle of my hand
Limp wet dollar laying down in a glass
With a filter smokin killer jumping on my ass
Broken record rockin from five to nine
With a burnt-out loser workin for the wine

Yellow-eyed junkie waving plastic flags
Wake of confusion in my sleeping bag
He got blue dye runnin down the side of his face
Singin "I want a whiskey sour with a shot of mace"
Corporate disco on the side of the street
Now my dusty gray bones looking for a beat
Wastin my life at the side of the ditches
While your Frankenstein monster's pickin at his stitches

Suckin back tobacco like there's no tomorrow
Sittin in a joint with some temporary sorrow
Semaphore lover in my distant past
Smokin joes takin blows to my fixated ass
Silver tongued artist with the tarnish blues
Road hockey hitcher with nothing to lose
I want to be cremated in a black ashtray
Leave me outside on Decatur til I'm blown away
This drifter lifestyle calling both of my names
Chain smokin chasers with no one to blame
Tall blond waitress with the punchcard blues
Tryin hard to fight time and she's bound to lose
Workin class stiffs two tables away
Livin for the paycheck and never for the day
It's a shame for a person to be so stuck
Though my future's gettin high in the back of a truck
Throwin out numbers of the local bars
Dirt-poor zeroes who don't want to be stars
Stars are too common and come out too soon
I make my wishes on a bright blue moon