1. |
Outlaw / Dream Thief
03:04
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Dear Ms. Ultra Violet, I haven’t learned to smile yet.
We were strong as the sea ‘til you pulled a Moses.
You drowned the dove and you dried the roses.
Oh baby, I can’t believe you could be so mean.
Baby, I can’t believe you’d steal my dreams.
I’m Mr. Ultra Black and Blue. I’ve not learned to forget you.
I count my money, it counts for nothing.
It’s not enough to buy your lovin’.
Oh Baby, you must think I’m some kind of creep.
It’s not enough that you stole my dreams, now I can’t even sleep.
Dear Ms. Ultra Violet, I can’t look at you yet.
It burns my heart with deep regret,
and I can’t believe that I made that bet.
Oh Baby, you ain’t nothin’ of what you seem.
You came for my love, but you left with my dreams.
She’s a dream thief.
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2. |
Child of God
02:33
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Ever since I got up today,
I’ve wanted to go to bed.
It seems like ever since I was born,
I’ve been wishin’ I was dead.
And I need brotherly love
just like a bullet in my head.
I wish everyone would get away from me
‘cuz I’m startin’ to see red.
(Chorus)
Bein’ a child of God,
well, it don’t please me as it should.
And given his gift of free will,
it don’t free me like they said it would.
You know, a deal with the devil
is startin’ to sound good.
I was born into a race
who has survived by bein’ mean;
the empire they built
is a mindless, money grubbin’ moron’s wet dream.
And if I stay, it’ll kill me,
but I don’t have the strength to leave,
so I gasp for air that can’t be spared
‘cuz the apocalypse needs to breathe.
So I went down to the crossroads
just like Robert Johnson of old
‘cuz that’s where you go for deals with the devil,
or at least that’s what I’m told.
But all I saw was storm clouds,
and all I felt was cold.
And all I heard was a belly laugh
from heaven as the thunder rolled.
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3. |
Artist in My Prime
03:02
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Since I sat down on this curb I’ve sung every song I know.
I don’t know how long it took me, but I know it’s far past time to go
‘Cuz I’ve seen a million people pass and not one of them dropped a dime.
Well, that’s what you get when you’re an artist in your prime.
Halifax ain’t bad, I guess, but it ain’t no better than all the rest.
The American dream, it seems, has come here, too.
A panhandlin’ kid kicked me off his block
for infringing on his profits, or so he thought.
I guess capitalists don’t even want to share the blues.
(Chorus)
Last night I slept out in the rain
and lately I can’t tell freedom from a ball and chain.
So this mornin’ I got down on my knees
and asked god for some kind of a sign,
He said to me, “You’re where you’re meant to be,
an Artist in your prime.”
Vincent Van Gogh was flat broke the day he laid down and died,
but since then a lot of business men have gotten rich off of his designs.
So if you’re a songwriter dreamin’ of cash, well you best dream of songs instead,
‘cuz in this day and age, for an artist to make a living, he’s gotta be dead.
I was in Cambridge last week playin’ at an open mic.
There was at least ten guys there over fifty
who had been doin’ it thier whole damn lives.
I said, “Hell, boys, how do ya pay the bills?”
They said, “We never have and probably never will.
What did ya think, that you were bound to get rich in time?
No, you’re an artist in your prime!”
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4. |
Elvis
02:33
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Somebody stole Graceland
Somebody made the King a man
What's this world comin' to?
I think it's comin' down to no man's land
He don't need his hair spray
He don't need no throne
the King flew to Heaven
Through a hole he burned in the ozone
There's only the cologne he used to wear
Floating around world-wide in the air
I breathe, no fair, I grieve, I swear....
The King is comin' back, so say your prayers.
"Don't be cruel, don't treat me like a fool
Didn't I define 'cool'
and now you come and steal all my family jewels?
No! I won't let you walk on my name!
No, I won't let you bring my family shame
you think it's a game
don't make me come down there, again...
I'll cause you pain."
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5. |
Goin' Home to GA
02:50
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I drove this rig 'round 47 states,
6 provinces and half of Mexico
The good Lord kept me awake, kept my foot off the brake
So, 18 hours more, and I'll be home
God, just keep me up, keep my hand on the wheel
Keep my eyes on the road
'Cause it would be a shame to die here
Out on the Kansas line
Dear God, send an angel to lead me home.
That's right, I'm going home to Georgia
I'm going home to pick a peach
And I ain't ever gonna roam,
Where that fine looking woman
Ain't within my reach
Well, the good Lord saw it fit
To bless me with 15 kids, a dog, an acre, and a wife
And though some men might hold spite
I thank him every night, for the joy that he's brought into my life.
I just watch that holy smile, with every passing mile
The one that makes me feel reborn
I got one eye on the road and another on the load
And one in the sky to lead me home
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6. |
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I guess you could say I’m just a whistle away
from the moon and the one I love.
But it wouldn’t be true without ya, babe,
sittin’ somewhere out in the lone star state.
I see your eyes reflected in the stars above,
I hear your voice rollin’ on the wind.
It pushes tumble weeds around my yard again.
I guess I’ll push on through another lonesome day.
But it just seems too easy to lose,
so I crack myself open a bottle of booze.
I sit down and prepare to waste away.
When you call me through the juke box,
and you sound just like Hank Williams,
singin’ a song that soothes my pain.
So I put down my bottle
and walk down to the mail box
and get a letter from Corpus Christi
that bears your name.
You say you hate it down south,
you say it’s just plain wrong,
you say you’ll shoot yourself
if you hear another country western song.
And you thank me in your note
for not singin’ that way.
You hope I’ve written you a song
by the time you get home Tuesday.
So I put down my guitar and I started all over again,
wearin’ nothin’ but the smile that your letter sent.
But soon that smile started to fade
‘cuz I realized you were still far away.
I grabbed the bottle from earlier that day
and prepared to waste away.
When you called me through the juke box
and you sounded like Billy Bragg,
it was at that time I was wonderin’
exactly how much liquor I’d had.
But the song he was singin’
made me feel a little less alone,
so I put down the bottle
and picked up the ringin’ telephone.
“I’m in Austin, Texas,” you say,
“and the Punk scene here is really fuckin’ lame.
The screamin’ guitars are like a virus in my brain,
and If I hear another ‘oi’ I’m gonna go insane.”
Oi! Oi! Oi! You said, “I miss you baby,
you know that ain’t no lie.
You’re still my number one sweet song writin’ guy.
And I’ll be comin’ home soon, babe,
you know it won’t be long,
and I can’t wait to hear my brand new Hip-Hop song.”
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Clay Rose Boulder, Colorado
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