- Hotwax

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November 12, 2015


It takes a backwashed man to sing a backwashed song,
Like a frying pan when the fire's gone.
Driving my pig while the band's taking pictures in the grass,
And my radio's smashed.
And I like pianos in the evening sun,
Dragging my heels 'til my day is done.
Saturday night in the captain's clothes,
Tender horns blowing when my jewelry froze.

Yo soy un disco quebrado,
Yo tengo chicle en cerebro.

I can't believe my way-back-when,
My Cadillac pants going much too fast.
Karaoke weekend at the suicide shack,
Community service, and I'm still the mack.
Shocking my finger, spicing my hand,
I been spreading disease all across the land.'
Beautiful, air-conditioned,
Sitting in the kitchen wishing I was livin' like a hitman.
Face down in the guarantees,
Jaundiced honchos gettin' busy with ease.
Cause I get down, I get down, I get down all the way.

Yo soy un disco quebrado,
Yo tengo chicle en cerebro.

Sawdust songs of the plaid bartenders,
Western unions of the country westerns.
Silver foxes looking for romance
In their chainsmoke Kansas flashdance ass-pants.
And you've got the hotwax residues,
You never lose in your razorblade shoes.
Stealing pesos out of my brain,
Hazard signs down the Alamo lanes.
Radar systems piercing the souls,
You never get caught with the wax so rotten.
All my days I got the grizzly words,
Hijacked flavors that are flipping like birds.

Yo soy un disco quebrado,
Yo tengo chicle en cerebro.

Who are you?
I am the enchanting wizard of Riven.
Why did you come here?
I came to tell you about the rhythms of the universe.

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