Lyrics:
It's just an old piece of wood
On top of four legs
It's got a few coffee stains, and a thousand marks from "god knows when"
Ain't too many
they say
Once burned, forever marked
Hurt by just a few but so many have to pay
Pressure coming down
Down on me, gonna break
Broken fingernails
subdue
Through many warlike ages
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor's wages
The English steel we could disdain
Secure in valour's
today I started loving you again
What a fool I was to think I might get by
With only these few million tears to cry
I might have known the day was
Go by the name of Weezie F.
An fuck 'em out the belly store with ten bags?
Fly as a muthafucka girly on my staple
'Cause her friends say I'm a tummy
(You'll be like me)
Some glad morning life was born
(You'll be like me)
In the shadows of a lifeless dawn
(You'll be like me)
Just a few more weary
guitar to the baker's son
For a few crumbs and a place to hide
But I can get another one
And I'll play for Magdalena as we ride
No llores, mi querida
station
Craving warmth and beauty
You settle for less than fascination
A few drinks later you're not so choosy
When the closing lights strip off
I only had a couple drinks last night
And few good hits from an antler pipe
And I must admit, I had a few white lines
And I don't know what all
forgot
That's when I came upon a book covered in cobwebs
Story of a romance torn apart by fate
Hundreds of years ago, they fell in love, like we did
Go by the name of Weezie F.
An fuck 'em out the belly store with ten bags?
Fly as a muthafucka girly on my staple
'Cause her friends say I'm a tummy
to hide
A place for me to hide
Can you find me soft asylum
I can't make it anymore
The Man is at the door
Peppermint, miniskirts, chocolate candy
Go by the name of Weezie F.
An fuck 'em out the belly store with ten bags?
Fly as a muthafucka girly on my staple
'Cause her friends say I'm a tummy
a triangle that means change you can studyEcho is the bounce of a sound that won't endFoxtrot is a dance or comic by Bill AmendGolf is like croquet but with
Take a few M-16s to the hood
Pass 'em all out on the block, what's good?
I'ma put the Compton swap meet by the White House
Republican run up, get
I was down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I.
There armed lines of marching men
In squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no
down
For just one more drink, oh yeah
Here's to us, here's to love
All the times that we fucked up
Here's to you, fill the glass
'Cause the last few
You might be an enemy
Or even worse, you could be a friend
A friend
A friend
A friend
I like to be by myself
It's better than anything else
Party for
Here's to us-
Who's like us?
Damn few
Hey, old friend
Are you okay, old friend?
What do ya say, old friend?
Are we or are we unique?
chosen, my kin
Who am I? Who am I?
The sum of these parts, a human work of art til I die
Who am I?
Magical thinking, procrastination
Grouch in
Words by Adrian Mitchell, music by Arlo Guthrie
Victor Jara of Chile
Lived like a shooting star
He fought for the people of Chile
With his songs
they're forgotten men remembered by so few.
But the war is over and the fighting ended many years ago.
The war is over. The battle's won but what is
requests
I've got a few for you
Play that song called "Shot gun"
Play that one called "My girl"
Don't forget them
No other song will do
said it only takes time
That soon I'd be on my feet again
And over my cryin' i fought every memory
I conquered a few but what I can't get over
Is getting
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