|
1. |
|
|
|
|
O where will I shelter my sheep tonight?
Where is that peaceful land?
Where will I shelter my sheep tonight
Where the beast won't steal my lambs?
We travel on, far at night,
Weary, sin-sick and sore.
O where will I shelter my sheep tonight?
I'll shelter my sheep in God's fold.
|
|
2. |
|
|
|
|
Well, the Doctor he's a busy man.
He's got no time for you.
He only treats the pretty ones,
Yeah, the ones he can cure.
And the rich folks love his tinctures.
Their "sphinctures" draw tight,
As he opens up his little bag
With the pretty pink pills inside.
So go throw yourself at the mercy
Of the Missionary Hostel.
They'll sponge your sweaty brow down
And feed you some gruel.
Your friends can't come see you,
Pray your soul Lord to keep.
They'll play cards in the corner
For your clothes while you sleep ...
(C) 2010 MORE YEN!
|
|
3. |
|
|
|
|
Woke up in a Seville, by the side of the highway,
Against the powder blue backseat and the door.
Brown sack filled with cash, I used for a pillow,
A .38, A liquor store.
I don't start walkin
To end up like Dustin Hoffman,
A hobbled counterfeit
In Papillion.
(alternate) I don't start walkin
To end up like Chris Walken,
A hobbled clairvoyant
In the Dead Zone.
I sniff my revolver,
Fan out the
Liquor store's money
That I've been sleepin upon.
Naught is extinguished. My cousin's distinguished.
He calls crows, they land on his arm.
Some kinda Montana, I mean, Arizona,
Well anyway, down on the farm.
The trooper reached over to a white paper bag.
He could tell when a girl's feelin rotten.
I had it half eaten by the time we reached the station.
I thought it homemade, but found it was boughten.
Not just for nothin, I mention my cousin.
He calls crows, they land on his arm.
Some kinda Montana, I mean, Arizona,
Well anyway, down on the farm.
Affix a crossover to that night in October,
To those times, to these times, besotten.
I kept a cherry bed in my heart just for you.
I thought it handmade, but found it was boughten.
(C) 2010 MORE YEN!
|
|
4. |
|
|
|
|
Three men out on the beach,
The queen of swords ascendant.
If you had thought even for an instant
That mankind had a chance,
You might have chosen differently.
It's your inability to compromise
That's brought this on,
But what do I care.
The sun begins to send
Threads of light out,
Dawn over the ocean.
Daylight spreading like a fungus,
Feathery fingers,
Filaments of silver myth.
A piping sound,
A whistle made out of a bird's skull.
The three men on the beach
Begin to sing.
If you knew which language,
You could join in.
Tied up in the bottom of the boat,
I'm not a child anymore.
Blind maybe, a little careless,
But I can feel these first few
Moments of dawn.
Warm, I'm crusted with salt,
Naked otherwise.
My hands and feet are numb with mingles.
Foolish, dreamlike,
Shall I sing the song for you?
(C) 2010 MORE YEN!
|
|
5. |
|
|
|
|
'Lot of times there won't be nothing but frogs.
'Lot of times there won't be nothing but frogs out there.
'Lot of times there won't be nothing but frogs out there
Jump, jump, jump, Jump, jump, jumpin
From lily pad to lily pad.
|
|
6. |
|
|
|
|
The Archon seed and embryos
Breed striation wherever it goes.
Filter feeders, prisms of light,
You and I and the trilobite.
Cut the heel thong,
Sing the wheel song.
My God, Wednesday's
Speaking in tongues.
Wrestle the messenger
Down the ladder rung ...
(C) 2010 MORE YEN!
|
|
7. |
|
|
|
|
No, brother I'll never be better
T'is useless to tell me so now
My heart only is waiting
For resting place under the snow
I only was dreaming, dear brother
How happy our home was with joy
Till a serpent crept into our eden
In the fair form of Christine Leroy
I was dreaming again of a bridal
One year ago, only tonight
When I blushed 'neath the gas lights above me
In the jewels and garments, so white
Now, she came with the face of an angel
And wished me a life time of joy
Oh, my heart sank within at the meeting
In th dark eyes of Christine Leroy
O, the diamonds shown bright in the tresses
Falling back from her fair waxen brow
And sparkled like tins, in the gas light
On her fingers as white as the snow
As she gave her soft hand to my husband
I knew that he thought me a toy
Beside the bright radiant glory
Of beautiful Christine Leroy
So, time wore away and my husband
Grew restless, care worn each day
And I knew t'was the wiles of a demon
That artfully (awfully) lured (blew) him away
At last, one bright night when I found them
T'was the sight of my life to destroy
Hand in hand, with her head on his shoulder
Sat my Harry and Christine Leroy
So, brother, be kind to your darling
Her poor heart is stricken and faint
At the thought of the wiles of the demon
Neath the beautiful face of a saint
When I lie 'neath the snow drifts of winter
Where no sorrow nor thing can destroy
Will you tell them they murdered your sister
God forgive him and Christine Leroy
|
|
8. |
|
|
|
|
9. |
|
|
|
|
10. |
|
|
|
|
Kicking over headstones,
That bottle in full swing.
All yellowing collar,
Y'all been clipping your wing.
And it's pouring down your neck,
All problematic hour,
To occupy your ass
With another Brompton sour.
And by the roadside,
Lie all those stricken sons.
The wind across the bottle's mouth
Apes their lamentations.
Like some pawn shop instruments
Toothsome in the corner,
They slipped through your fingers
In the meddlesome-assed morning.
Wayside, by the way,
Old World screwworm flies,
But there was nothing left to kill, but the mouse
That pulls the levers behind your eyes.
Fallow ground,
You traded your docks for dead crops, Hoy!
Eyesore twists for miles, an Autumn's almsbox,
Dreamless sleep, yes, boys,
Dreamless sleep, yes, boys.
Swallow up your death
And walk over your grave.
I want no bite
From the hand that sold snake.
'Cause I been workin
On the Nod's Sleep
While you went and drank your
Ass awake.
And by the roadside,
Lie all those stricken sons.
The wind across the bottle's mouth
It apes their lamentations, lamentations.
Dreamless sleep, dreamless sleep, yes, boys.
(C) 2010 MORE YEN!
|
|
11. |
|
|
|
|
Well, the priest is to holy
What boots are to mud
And a tramp is to money
What a wound is to blood.
I will grapple your dead weight
'Til down in the dust.
Your soul is to my soul
What a knife is to rust.
Samson was a funny fellow,
Caught all of the little foxes,
Tied all of their tails together,
And set a fire to them.
Then he let em all a'loose and
They burnt up the fields of Canaan,
And he gave a little chuckle
'Cause he was a righteous man.
All this for a wedding present
That he thought he was due.
All this for a wedding present,
Don't you wish you were holy too?
When the time comes won't you tell me
What that was all about?
When I was ragged and dirty
And down at the mouth.
Whoa, rough, rutting, and ready,
Red velvet and musk,
I'm daring by daylight,
But doubtful by dusk.
Where the priest is to money
What boots are to mud
And a tramp is to holy
What a wound is to blood,
I'll grapple your dead weight
Down in the dusk.
Your soul is to my soul
What knife is to rust.
(C) 2010 MORE YEN!
|
|
12. |
|
|
|
|
perched up on his wagon, wearin the plumed hat and regulation tunic.
|
|
13. |
|
|
|
In 2009, Moolah Temple $tringband began work on a tribute album, Chitterlings Volume II, burlesquing the Pimalia label’s successful compilation, Smatterings Volume One. Moolah Temple $tringband‘s song, “Rum & Pepsi” was included as track nine on Smatterings Volume One.
The project was more daunting than readily apparent, requiring the two composers (Johnny Favorite and Eden Moor) to create several new and spurious bands. One of the fake bands, Tuckaseegee Anchorites, were in regular rotation for a time on Dandelion Radio. Unfortunately, the song, “Cherry Bed Antique,” made it into the Festive 50, but was correctly credited to Moolah Temple $tringband, rather than Tuckaseegee Anchorites. Their plan failed miserably.
Too add insult to injury, the perception that they were biting the hand that feeds arose due to the fact that they were receiving a lot of airplay for a song attributed to a fake band. Logically, attention for “Cherry Bed Antique” would have led to attention for the label and would be a show of good faith between all parties involved.
Expecting a hug and a soulshake upon the label’s receipt of the tribute, Moolah Temple $tringband found themselves in a rotten mess.
Pimalia artist and co-owner, 400 Lonely Things either didn’t get the joke, didn’t find it amusing, or just didn’t care. In addition to offending their benefactors, Moolah Temple $tringband received cease and desist requests from the attorney’s of Pimalia artists and Smatterings Volume One contributors, Hawaiian Garbage (HI), Robot Buckwheats (NC), Mookoid (AUS), The Penetralia (FL), Diarmuid Mac Diarmada (IE), and Forms Of Things Unknown (CA).
Moolah Temple $tringband were summarily dropped from their recording contract and have returned to their previous and precarious state of basement obscurity. Ultimately, no one believed that any of the fake bands were anyone other than Moolah Temple $tringband in the first place.