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about

lyrics

(J. Campbell)

Living upon the notion that the every day’s a flim-flam
To the man who believes in due hate unto his fellow man
He could’ve been happy, but he chose to be not
Now he’s giving, giving what he hasn’t got

Walking on his path he doesn’t seem to be misled
He thinks his inward thoughts are out of place within his judging head
Stepping to the motion of self manifesting evil beats
He only speaks of God when his ego needs boosting

He takes his checkbook and writes unto the charity
Man doesn’t that feel great!
But peace starts right here, man and there’s no time to waste
The man’s a megalomaniac and he’s going down.

Sitting on his throne empty promises run wild
From his lips he sinks ships calling all but him a little child
“Go buy the book!”, with an order and a frown
While children do his work tending basil in the ground

Hungry people? Yeah, and ten are throwing seed
And one by one by one they are disappearing
At night we lick our wounds and pray for a meal
as Madam Wong soothes Evil Man’s primal feelings

Time passes, or so the story goes, and mutiny gets planted in the ground
Harvest time comes quickly, and we all share pesto
Evil Man and Madam Wong come out from the castle to shake their fingers
Saying there’s no cash at all,
and there’s no peace of mind at all to take home. No No.
You are hungry (please bring food) and all alone
“Won’t you praise me?”, cried the Evil Man
And in awe of the beast, was poor Madam Wong

Everybody tired of the motions of the Evil Man
and the lass who followed who couldn’t take her own hand
Courage uplifted! and puffed our chests out.
as Evil Man cried we all had given up!

Global peace? No, but just in you
promising something when your promise was untrue
Working all that time, I look at what I got
No food in my freezer, but for you a bag of rot!

Madam Wong, you should run back home!

credits

from It will come back to you, released October 8, 2011
A: bass, bvox
bt: melodion, bvox
db: BBD, vibraslap, bvox
hcm: ukelele, bvox
JC: mandolin, vox
TM: kit, bvox

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Oranga Tanga West Melbourne, Florida

Strange stirrings are reported from the jungle. A breeze swirls the atmosphere like a nun stirs her morning coffee. The smell of drums is heavy in the air, like a remembered punch. The natives, never ones to contemplate these things, are restless and getting restlesser. There is no unrestlesting the restlesserification of… this is where the doctor said I should stop writing. ... more

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