The Singles - Season 5

by Kicksville

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04:02
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02:52
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03:24
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05:05
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about

The Singles - Season 5 is a serial release (y'know, like a TV show), running from April 9 through June 25, 2013.

credits

released April 9, 2013

recorded and mixed at Kicksville Dept. of Works
engineered, edited, and mixed by Conrad St. Clair
additional recording at:
- Mastersuite, engineered by Jay Frigoletto
additional editing by Lou Caldarola
additional mix assistance by Beaker Parpovich
mastered by Jay Frigoletto at Mastersuite
album front cover art by Tone Deaf
cover art for individual songs by Terry Flowers, Bob DeGroof, Gorka Samos Ez Dakizue, Robert Varlez, Jo Hubert, Biff Blumfumgagnge, Annette Marx, Murielle Ikizek Jorgensen, M.Nomized, Joe Myers, Albano Ruela, Alain Adam
all songs written by Kicksville (Dept. of Publishing/BMI)
c/p 2013 Kicksville Dept. of Records
produced by Kicksville

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all rights reserved

about

Kicksville Madison, Wisconsin

There's really no explaining Kicksville, but fear not! All the music is FREE, so have at it. Then, go visit www.kicksville.com and see what we're all about. Or, visit www.youtube.com/kicksvillevideo and give your eyeballs a treat. Enjoy!

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Track Name: Shidara Stomp
Leave me a life on HDTV
Live my life you can sit on my facebook
Leave me some life while I deal with my fever
Live my life while I drink myself silly

Shirts and hair have left my head
My life is one long golden thread
I want my Bob inside my head
I'm drinking with Bob in an antique bed

Chocolate love sex chicken house
I wait upon the mighty mouse
Gristle missile bone in bone
Wait eviscerate upon the throne

Bob of my dreams, yeti of my life
Sasquatch mozzarella, yeti get into my life

Losing chunks of space ‘n time ‘n drinking even more
It’s only matter till the time I wind up on the floor
Bugs will come ‘n vultures soar to pick me very bones
The only thing that will be left: chalk outlines, ash ’n loans

Scrape me up in hefty bag, mix in lye ‘n herb
Marinate for one half day ‘n leave me on the curb
Scrape me up in hefty bag, mix in lye ‘n herb
Marinate for one half day ‘n leave me on the curb

Bob of my dreams, Yeti of my life
Sasquatch mozzarella, Bob into Bob
Track Name: Georgia Scene, 1964
And so this cat
he was from the GBI
that’s the cracker FBI
kept feeling up the chicks legs with the electric cattle prod
making them wiggle and holler
He couldn’t get enough of that stuff
poking that hot thing under they dresses
And I be dog
if one of them cracker polices
didn’t break down and cry like a baby
just watching him
but he didn’t try to stop him
No, I guess that would be too much to expect of any cracker

I disremember all the meanness that they did
treating them Yankees like they was us
dragging that 70 year old white lady
down the courthouse steps
with her head going bam on every step

Her heart gave out
and the ambulance came
but when the driver saw she was
one of them agitators
he just took off again and left her laying in the street
Finally one of us took her to the hospital
propped up in the back seat of a car
but wouldn’t no white doctor touch her when they got there
Had to find one of ours
and put her in the Jim Crow section
Sure ain’t like no ofays I ever knowed
coming down here and getting their heads beat for nothing
trying to love these crackers into being Christian
like crackers was human
Track Name: Hash For Guns
Green dreams
and shiny things
hand in hand
down the garden path

There was a knock upon the door,
i failed to answer it, in case it was there
It thinks it’s being honest
but it’s just a nasty way of being nice

Green dreams
and crystal eyes
lie buried in the sand
from a simpler time

Green dreams
bleeding from my TV
We screamed and screamed
and then we went to bed.

“No offense was meant, it’s what i do,” it would hiss
I mourn the loss of a simpler time
when you could leave your mind unlocked
while you went to the shops
Track Name: Life In A Day
Day in a life, life in a day, too poor to get out of my own way
Stuck in this box I call my skull, I text the guy to see what's for sale
Coke, dope, and weed that's what I need
to get me back to where I been
Help me forget reality because this is one big con
Is this all it's gonna be?
Is there nothing left to see?
Is there no-one left to be?
And then you die, man what a con

Locked in a billet of racists with faces of hatred, never given space to exist in these places. Everybody looking for the easy way out, well I can tell you you can scream and you can shout, but nobody ever yet got out of here living. Give in to the pressure drop of one day given. Never was told that it would get this bad, and I never even knew of all the choice we never had.

Day in a life, life in a day, too poor to get out of my own way
Stuck in this box I call my skull, I text the guy to see what's for sale
Coke, dope, and weed that's what I need
to get me back to where I been
Help me forget reality because this is one big con

We've been stitched up, we've been led on,
then I woke up, it's one big con
We've been stitched up, we've been led on,
man this is one big con
Is this all it's gonna be?
Is there nothing left to see?
Is there no-one left to be?
Man, this is one big con

With a beer and a bong, worship what's on the telly or streaming pod-cast. Curry and chips flow past your numb lips as the pictures go grinding along. A day in the life is a life in a day, too poor to be living too well. You'll call or you'll text for what you need next, safe in your box where you’ll stay. One day they will come to carry you on to heaven or hell's brimstone: to hang with the host, or slowly spit-roast, or find it was just a big con.
Track Name: Shriveled Soul
naught but scars and pain to show
killing infection from years ago
no veins in arm no 'arm in vain
all the years go down the drain

sitting alone, a mind at play
with too much time to think or pray
look for reasons to carry on
and on and on and on and on

punctured lung, blood too sweet
one crushed hand, two fractured feet
neck full o' rocks, back in knots
ears full o' wax, eyes seeing dots

some pus-filled spots, a runny nose
teeth gone bye, three broke toes
knee with a break, lungs of coal
old broke heart and shriveled soul
Track Name: Sex With Meatloaf
Take two pounds of 96% lean chuck
One tablespoon of cream
Two cups of onion soup
350 degrees
Make a loaf hole
You gotta furrow into the loaf
You put the pickle in there,
You put the pickle in there

I see you watching from the corner, baby
That's right, I know you like what you see
How do you feel about earmuffs, baby?
Would you like to try on my thighs for size?
Say the word, I'm yours

I was sittin' tight and combing my hair
A beautiful spray bottle
is what I'm looking for
Let me try those thighs for size
They're the right size in the night time
Sweet lips slide, honey hips ride

I'm hot and ready for your manhood, baby
I need a tillin', you'd better plow my field
I'm bendy like Mary Lou Retton, baby
Can I take a ride on your pommel horse?

[ with those hungry eyes and jar full o' pee, I can tell by your mind you're gonna rape me. You're something special, that's plain to see, but with me balls in me hand, I fear I must flee ]

Let your fingers do the walking
Would you like to try on my thighs for size?
I like your trembling manhood
Put it in the oven, baby
You know I'm bendy like Mary Lou Retton, baby
Put it in the oven, baby
Real nice and hard, and glistening
Put it in there
That's right, that's how I like it baby
Lovin' in the oven, in the loaf-hole of love
Track Name: Bored
too bored with the freedom to create all day
too bored to pick up an instrument to play
too bored to do the things that you love
too bored to push and pull and shove
too bored with the past, beginning to drown
too bored with what is yet to be found
too bored with others to hear what they say
i'm just too bored to get the fuck out of my own way!
bored, i'm bored
i'm bored with the things that you love
i'm bored, too bored to push n pull n shove
i'm bored

we're so bored with your life
and why you're trying to shove it down our throats
on the telly every night, with your stupid little games
while others are rotting in the fucking gutter
i'm just so goddamn bored with your life and what you think
i'm so fucking bored, i think i need a drink
i'm bored, you're bored
we're all so fucking bored of life

let's do it in, let's grab a hope
let's put the knife next to our throats
i bet you won't
i bet i will
i think i care
i care i think
it's so boring to be bored when you're living
why don't we all die and see if its a new beginning?
but we're so bored
i think i'll get a cigarette
oh shit i'm out!
what next?

i hate it when people take care of me and i got nothing better to do than to be creative all day and and i'm just so bored that i can't because i'm so frustrated with my little penis not getting any it's not getting any it's not getting licked it's not getting sucked it's not even getting kissed i don't even get a hello no not me not me no no no no i'm so fucking bored!
why can't....
why can't i just be happy for once?
Track Name: Just Like Waves
and when we move it's just like waves
and when we move it's just like waves
and when we move it's just like waves
and I'm drifting out to sea
and I'm drifting out to sea

take me away just like the wind
take me away just like the wind
take me away just like the wind
and my mind is flying free

Jump drunk naked into the milk trench, where the crickets howl the axe routine. My wife, the asthmatic cheerleader, has left me again, this time for a tree stump who keeps shitting himself just when he's supposed to give the commencement speech at the firing school.

In my father's closet, somewhere between the mothballs and the oxygen mask, a calamity is taking place in the shoebox. And now, by the pool, a fat little buzz bee in a short white skirt whispers,

"Hit me with the axe routine...."

and when we move it's just like waves
and when we move it's just like waves
and when we move it's just like waves
and I'm drifting out to sea
and I'm drifting out to sea
and there will be no more of me
and there will be no more of me

take me away just like the wind
take me away just like the wind
take me away just like the wind
and my mind is flying free
Track Name: Freedom
We are still waiting.
Waiting for the answer.

What I mean by the answer
is not just something that satisfies your mind
so you stop thinking about the problem and feel comfortable again,
but I mean an answer that takes ahold of you,
that won't leave you alone,
that makes you act its way,
that won't let you act any other way,
that you go to sleep with,
and wake up with,
and it hasn't changed.

Freedom.
The word freedom.
Freedom the word.
A good word freedom.
But who using it means it?

What we've got now is half of the answer,
and where an answer's concerned,
a half's worse than none.
Freedom.
I have seen men fighting for their freedom here in America,
fighting to make the law mean what the law says,
fighting to make the Bill of Rights mean what the Bill of Rights says.

These are the things we can't help remembering,
these are the things that give us pause:
the beaten picket at the mill gate,
the tear gas and the riot squad,
the kneeling children in the berry fields.
The slum.
The slums.
The slums upon slums upon slums upon slums
and nothing really done.
Freedom here?
What freedom?
Whose freedom?
When freedom?
The freedom of children to labor in the fields?
The freedom of the tractor to plow under the sharecropper?
That is not the freedom we mean to fight for.

The answer:
Freedom the word.
The word freedom.
Worn smooth in the mouths of the orators,
slick as an old coin in the pocket.
A word of clean silver, though.
Freedom meaning?
Of the press to fight against freedom in the here and now?
Of the few to own and the rest to be lucky to work?
The old coin freedom is worn slick and smooth,
the inscriptions rubbed off and the eagle dim
but it is clean silver, and can be re-minted.

We are still waiting.
Waiting for the answer.
Track Name: CLAMS!
Saxophones?
You gotta fucking be kidding me
You motherfuckers are sucking all over this joint
Assholes
You're playing like fucking children up there

Saxophones?
You gotta fucking be kidding me
You're breaking my heart up there
Assholes
Everybody can hear your fucking clams out there
You don't need a mic for that

Stand out here all fucking night
Trying to blow your fucking brains out
When it comes time to play
What do you play - clams?
One clam and this whole fucking band is through tonight
Try me

You wanna fuck with me on the bandstand?
Nights off, nothing to do
You come in and play this kind of shit for me?
You got nowhere to fucking go the next set
Because if I hear one fucking clam from anybody
You've had it
Fuck all of you

Saxophones?
You gotta fucking be kidding me
You're breaking my heart up there
I'm up there working my balls off trying to do somebody a favor
And you motherfuckers are sucking all over this joint
Assholes
Fuck all of you
Everybody can hear your fucking clams out there
You don't need a mic for that

You're all over the fucking place
Miscue after miscue

Assholes
Fuck all of you
How dare you play like that for me
We don't play two fucking bars in one fucking tempo
Not one
You try one fuckup the next set
When you get back to New York
You'll need another fucking job
Count on it
Track Name: The Purple Hum
Now here's a tune for everyone
No more fun when day is done
Nowhere to hide
Nowhere to run
The purple hum is gonna come
The purple hum is gonna come
The purple hum is gonna come
Track Name: Crystallizer
Inaptly named, Glaucis the raven
is totally inside-out, brown reddish-brown
and glistening with a clear viscous coat
On the inside, a womb of black feathers
which is where I lie, tiny and naked,
glass clouds on my mental teevee

it's talking it's talking it's talking it's talking it's talking
shouts
move along people, ain't nothing to see

This truck contains an awareness of teeth,
black velvet fortress binding the eyes
The abdomen splits, glass window reveals
vertical cannon thick painted red,
its exit wound pointed towards tissue carnation
hemoglobinious mouth in the sand

it's talking it's talking it's talking it's talking it's talking
says
move along people, ain't nothing to see