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Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Johns 2:22, 6: The Boule Oui, Plenty Wrong to Go Awry, Hex City, 3: Trickgnosis, 2, Just The Two of Us, and Churchwood.
1. |
Ain't Your Choir
03:10
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2. |
Steal It Back
04:32
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This feelin’ has got me up from my knees
Freewheelin’ past lunatics and disease
I’m reelin’, I’m floatin’ light as a breeze
Pinwheelin’ three hundred sixty degrees
Sold down the river to the Royal Orleans
They tried to hold it but it kicked down their dreams
They tied it to the kitchen table for fun
It stole the silver and made off with a gun
And now it’s movin’
Looky there it’s moving again
Hey, it’s movin’
Yeah, movin’ again
Anybody got a better way to battle boredom?
Anybody got a better way to battle by the book?
A bottle and a bible and the bottom of a barrel
Put the boogie in the boogeyman and crooked in the crook
This feelin’ has got me up from my knees
Freewheelin’ past lunatics and disease
I’m reelin’, I’m floatin’ light as a breeze
Pinwheelin’ three hundred sixty degrees
Ran through the jungle to the ricochet beat
Holed in the bayou where it met Jean Lafitte
He sent a pirogue to the place where it stood
Je suis une connasse, but this feeling is good
And now it’s movin’
Here it comes it’s moving again
Yeah, movin’
Looky there it’s movin’ again
Anybody got a better way to battle boredom?
Anybody got a better way to battle by the book?
A bottle and a bible and the bottom of a barrel
Put the boogie in the boogeyman and crooked in the crook
Sold to Cotton Mather
Sold in New Orleans
Stole my soul I gather
Now steal it back for me
This feelin’ has got me up from my knees
Freewheelin’ past lunatics and disease
I’m reelin’, I’m floatin’ light as a breeze
Pinwheelin’ three hundred sixty degrees
It hangs its hat up in the Tupelo trees
Lies down with dogs but never gets up with fleas
Keeps seven steps ahead of any old hound
On feet like match heads over sandpaper ground
And now it’s movin’
Looky there it’s moving again
Hey, it’s movin’
Here it comes, it’s movin’ again
Yeah, it’s movin’
Yeah, moving again
There it goes, it’s movin’
Yeah, movin’ again
Anybody got a better way to battle boredom?
Anybody got a better way to battle by the book?
A bottle and a bible and the bottom of a barrel
Put the boogie in the boogeyman and crooked in the crook
Anybody got a better way to battle boredom?
Anybody got a better way to battle by the book?
A bottle and a bible and the bottom of a barrel
Put the boogie in the boogeyman and crooked in the crook
Sold to Cotton Mather
Sold down in New Orleans
Stole my soul I gather
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3. |
Plenty Wrong to Go Awry
03:16
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I saddled the blood weed on the lawn before daybreak
All throatlatch, gaskin, hock, and withers in the sprint
I rattled the mud fleas on the bawn near the canebrake
Like a bolt from a bowstring lent my feathers to the flint
There’s plenty wrong to keep my mind off the mishaps
There’s plenty wrong to keep the puzzle implied
There’s plenty wrong that’s plenty fraught with plenty missteps
There’s plenty wrong to go awry
I followed the river down through pastures of crowbait
Caught forty-seven winks inside a rusted-out Ford
Unhallowed ground was all I found at such a slow gait
I jinxed the best in me when I cursed out the Lord
There’s plenty wrong to keep my mind off the mishaps
There’s plenty wrong to keep the puzzle implied
There’s plenty wrong that’s plenty fraught with plenty missteps
There’s plenty wrong to go awry
Can’t straddle a mudhole with a wheelbarrow most days
I can’t recall at all which way that I came
I keep my satchel full of bones to feed the devils that the ghosts raise
Call me “Whatever Boy” though that ain’t my real name
I saddled the blood weed on the lawn before daybreak
All throatlatch, gaskin, hock, and withers in the sprint
I rattled the mud fleas on the bawn near the canebrake
Like a bolt from a bowstring lent my feathers to the flint
There’s plenty wrong to keep my mind off the mishaps
There’s plenty wrong to keep the puzzle implied
There’s plenty wrong that’s plenty fraught with plenty missteps
There’s plenty wrong to go awry
There’s plenty wrong to keep my mind off the mishaps
There’s plenty wrong to keep the puzzle implied
There’s plenty wrong that’s plenty fraught with plenty missteps
There’s plenty wrong to go awry
There’s plenty wrong to go awry
There’s plenty wrong to go awry
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4. |
In The Rex
03:34
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5. |
Bees of the Invisible
05:10
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Oh! insidious I says in medias res
Oh! the hexagony of it all
Waxing noetic we mourn the bona fide
Six sides to every fable, six sides
There is an ape in the apiary stealing honey and time
While we workers shuck & jive
We, the makers of the hive
We, the takers of the dive
We break us, they survive
Hexagony!
Hexagony! I cry
Fly about the blooms of the field
Weighed down by all the dust that they yield
Spy what no one else can reveal
Rely on what you know to be real
Hey! Who carried the cult in a box for you?
Hey! Who cultured a pearl from your pain?
Hey! Who cultivates food for thought free for you?
Hey! That difficult buzz in your brain.
Oh! spurious I says in some corner of Juarez
With sunlight coaxing maximum taboo
Lunatics sour the underworld
Six sides to every table, six sides
There is an ape in your apostasy stealing beauty and mind
While we workers indivisible
Offer nothing more inquisible
Yeah, we know that it’s all risible
We’re the Bees of the Invisible
Hexagony!
Hexagony! I cry
Fly about the blooms of the field
Weighed down by all the dust that they yield
Spy what no one else can reveal
Rely on what you know to be real
Hey! Who saddled the horse that took wing for you?
Hey! Who paddled the course through the gloom?
Hey! Who battled the forces that bring to you
Those flatulent voices of doom?
Why by why we cradle “because”
Sigh by sigh we sally along
Fly by fly, though fatal we buzz
Before we die we’re sullied by song
Fly about the blooms of the field
Weighed down by all the dust that they yield
Spy what no one else can reveal
Rely on what you know to be real
Hey! Who carried the cult in a box for you?
Hey! Who cultured a pearl from your pain?
Hey! Who cultivates food for thought free for you?
Hey! That difficult buzz in your brain.
Why by why we cradle “because”
Sigh by sigh we sally along
Fly by fly, though fatal we buzz
Before we die we’re sullied by song
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6. |
Piss On The Fire
03:49
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Well, if the brass wakes up a bugle, my boy
Is reveille really its fault?
And if the wood wakes up and it’s a red violin
Is it Stradivari assault?
Call it what you want to
Call it what you will
Call it anything at all for a spell
And then piss on the fire and call in the dogs
It’s two below and fallin’ in hell
Well, you can paddle through the puddle to Byzantium town
Or perne there in the gyres of yore
We is the light in the darkness T H F O
’Cause we remember when the poets kept score
Stranger things have happened
They’re happenin’ still
You’d better buckle up and strap in pell-mell
And then piss on the fire and call in the dogs
It’s four below and fallin’ in hell
When all the lights went out on the merry-go-round
The ticket takers drew up a sign
It read HELL FROZE OVER, CALLIOPE FROWNED,
AND HADES HAD IT COMING—THE SWINE
Well, that’s a sign of things to come and
A sign of the pill
Blue or red, the dead have tales to tell
Before they piss on the fire and call in the dogs
It’s six below and fallin’ in hell
Back on the roof, meanwhile, I watched the furnace blow out
The paparazzi gathered around
Snappin’ fake-news photos of the fires below
Before they took the elevators back down
Remember where they’re goin’ and where they’ve all been
They’ll make a fortune on the tales they tell
I said remember where they’re goin’ and where they’ve all been
They’ll make a fortune on the blankets they sell
And then piss on the fire and call in the dogs
It’s eight below and fallin’ in hell
Yeah, piss on the fire and call in dogs
It’s ten below and fallin’ in hell
Yeah, piss on the fire and call in the dogs
It’s twelve below and freezin’ in hell
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7. |
Haint Blue
03:42
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Writhing, kything, sly thing ophidian
Roiling, spoiling, uncoiling the pridian
Who dreams of you will find that few
Can charm the hue of blackness from your hide
The ceiling’s blue, this house is true
Away with you, no darkness shall abide
Blazing, phasing, amazing meridian
Cerulean blues and hues of viridian
Beneath your blues a purpling bruise
Contagions ooze from one vast ugly mind
But if we choose these blue suede shoes
We flat refuse its haunted, hunting kind
Writhing, kything, sly thing ophidian
Roiling, spoiling, uncoiling the pridian
Who dreams of you will find that few
Can charm the hue of blackness from your hide
The ceiling’s blue, this house is true
Away with you, no darkness shall abide
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8. |
Famous Last Words
04:27
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Eliot whispered “Valerie.”
Dylan mocked the mystery:
“I’ve just had eighteen whiskies straight.”
But Thoreau saw clear in his dire state.
He said “Moose. Indian.”
Moose. Indian.
“It’s a long time since I drank champagne,”
Said Chekov circling his drain.
Silence harried Ezra Pound,
But Dickens uttered “On the ground.”
“Goodnight, my Kitten”—Hemingway
When The Boss shot out his lights that day.
“Why do we live?” Rimbaud made note,
“Send me the news.” And that’s all s/he wrote.
Moose. Indian.
Moose. Indian.
O. Henry lay cold knees to head.
His feet are warm; he can’t be dead.
No one goes out with feet on fire.
“Joan of Arc did,” O. said, then expired.
Like John the One-Eyed Human Drum
Succumbed to plague ere the win had come,
“Make my hide, my feet, and paws
Drum heads for the Bohemian cause.
And say, “Moose. Indian.”
Moose. Indian.
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9. |
Tantamount
03:25
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10. |
Fixin' to Crawl
05:27
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I drove a Thunderbird
up Highway 67
I rode a lightnin’ bolt
down the gutter pipe from heaven
Fixin’ to call on you
Fixin’ to fall for you
Fixin’ it all for you
Fixin’ to call on you
Hitchhiked from Tupelo
clear to Chincoteague Point, Virginia
With a big idea, girl
just to see if I could put it in you
Fixin’ to call on you
Fixin’ to fall for you
Fixin’ it all for you
No matter if it’s right or if it’s wrong
Fixin’ to crawl for you
Like a king snake in some John Lee Hooker song
Swam up from New Orleans
on the mighty Mississippi
Drank my fill of muddy water
now my head’s a little trippy
Fixin’ to call on you
Fixin’ to fall for you
Fixin’ it all for you
No matter if it’s right or if it’s wrong
Fixin’ to crawl for you
Like a king snake in some John Lee Hooker song
Snakin’ my ways to you
All in a daze, it’s true
Stakin’ my claim to you
If it’s all the same to you
Natchez by mornin’
Cape Girardeau by November
Driven on by three or four things
I can’t help remember
Fixin’ to call on you
Fixin’ to fall for you
Fixin’ it all for you
Fixin’ to call on you
High in the high grass
When I sidle up beside her
Giddy-up and go
my little sweet St. Louie rider
Fixin’ to call on you
Fixin’ to fall for you
Fixin’ it all for you
No matter if it’s right or if it’s wrong
Fixin’ to crawl for you
Like a king snake in some John Lee Hooker song
Snakin’ my ways to you
All in a daze, it’s true
Stakin’ my claim to you
If it’s all the same to you
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