Something's wrong 'cause my mind is fading
And everywhere I look, there's a dead end waiting
Temperature's dropping at the rotten oasis
Stealing kisses from the leprous faces
Heads are hanging from the garbageman trees
Mouthwash, jukebox, gasoline
Pistols are pointing at a poor man's pockets
Smiling eyes ripping out of his sockets
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Love machines on the sympathy crutches
Discount orgies on the dropout buses
Hitchin' a ride with the bleedin' noses
Comin' to town with the briefcase blues
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Something's wrong 'cause my mind is fading
Ghetto-blastin' disintegrating
Rock 'n' roll, know what I'm saying?
Everywhere I look, there's a devil waiting
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Devil's haircut in my mind
Devil's haircut in my mind
Devil's haircut in my mind
Beck - Odelay Album Lyrics
Beck - Odelay Lyrics
Writer: Ted Wright, Philip Michael Coulter, Tommy Lee Scott, Beck Campbell, John King, Michael Simpson
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group, CARLIN AMERICA INC
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group, CARLIN AMERICA INC
Hotwax
It takes a backwash man
To sing a backwash song
Like a frying pan when the fire's gone
Driving my pig while the band's taking pictures in the grass
In my radio 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' in my jury 'fros
Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro*
I can't believe my way back when
My Cadillac pants going much to fast
Karaoke weekend at the suicide shack
Community service and I'm still the Mack
Shocked my finger, spots on my hand
I been spreading disease all across the land
Beautiful air-conditioned,
Sitting in the kitchen
Wishing I was living like a hit man
Face down in the guarantees
Jaundiced honchos getting' busy with me
Because I get down I get down
I get down all the way
Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro*
Sawdust songs of the plaid bartenders
Western Unions of the country westerns
Silver foxes looking for romance
In the chain-smoke
Kansas flash dance ass pants
And you got the hotwax residues
You never lose in your razor blade 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 I'm flipping like birds
Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro
[Girl:] "Who are you?"
[Man:] "I'm the enchanting wizard of rhythm."
[Girl:] "Why did you come here?"
[Man:] "I came here to tell you about the rhythms of the universe...."
To sing a backwash song
Like a frying pan when the fire's gone
Driving my pig while the band's taking pictures in the grass
In my radio 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' in my jury 'fros
Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro*
I can't believe my way back when
My Cadillac pants going much to fast
Karaoke weekend at the suicide shack
Community service and I'm still the Mack
Shocked my finger, spots on my hand
I been spreading disease all across the land
Beautiful air-conditioned,
Sitting in the kitchen
Wishing I was living like a hit man
Face down in the guarantees
Jaundiced honchos getting' busy with me
Because I get down I get down
I get down all the way
Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro*
Sawdust songs of the plaid bartenders
Western Unions of the country westerns
Silver foxes looking for romance
In the chain-smoke
Kansas flash dance ass pants
And you got the hotwax residues
You never lose in your razor blade 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 I'm flipping like birds
Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro
[Girl:] "Who are you?"
[Man:] "I'm the enchanting wizard of rhythm."
[Girl:] "Why did you come here?"
[Man:] "I came here to tell you about the rhythms of the universe...."
Writer: Beck Hansen, John King, Michael Simpson
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.,
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.,
Lord Only Knows
Ah!
You only got one finger left
And it's pointing at the door
And you're taking for granted
What the Lord's laid on the floor
So I'm picking up the pieces
And I'm putting them up for sale
Throw your meal ticket out the window
Put your skeletons in jail
'Cause Lord only knows it's getting late
Your senses are gone so don't you hesitate
To give yourself a call let your bottom dollars fall
Throwing your two bit cares down the drain
Invite me to the seven seas like some seasick man
You will do whatever you please and I'll do whatever I can
Titanic, fare thee well, my eyes are turning pink
Don't call us when the new age gets old enough to drink
'Cause Lord only knows it's getting late
Your senses are gone so don't you hesitate
To move on up the hill well there's nothing dead left to kill
Throwing your two bit cares down the drain
Odelay, odelay, odelay, odealy odelay, odelay
Just passing through
Odelay, odelay, odelay, odealy
Going back to Houston
Do the hot dog dance
Going back to Houston
To get me some pants
You only got one finger left
And it's pointing at the door
And you're taking for granted
What the Lord's laid on the floor
So I'm picking up the pieces
And I'm putting them up for sale
Throw your meal ticket out the window
Put your skeletons in jail
'Cause Lord only knows it's getting late
Your senses are gone so don't you hesitate
To give yourself a call let your bottom dollars fall
Throwing your two bit cares down the drain
Invite me to the seven seas like some seasick man
You will do whatever you please and I'll do whatever I can
Titanic, fare thee well, my eyes are turning pink
Don't call us when the new age gets old enough to drink
'Cause Lord only knows it's getting late
Your senses are gone so don't you hesitate
To move on up the hill well there's nothing dead left to kill
Throwing your two bit cares down the drain
Odelay, odelay, odelay, odealy odelay, odelay
Just passing through
Odelay, odelay, odelay, odealy
Going back to Houston
Do the hot dog dance
Going back to Houston
To get me some pants
Writer: Beck Hansen
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
The New Pollution
She's got cigarette on each arm
She's got the lily-white cavity crazes
She's got a carburetor tied to the moon
Pink eyes looking to the food of the ages
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's got a hand on a wheel of pain
She can talk to the mangling strangers
She can sleep in a fiery bog
Throwing troubles to the dying embers
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's got a paradise camouflage
Like a whip-crack sending me shivers
She's a boat through a strip-mine ocean
Riding low on the drunken rivers
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's got the lily-white cavity crazes
She's got a carburetor tied to the moon
Pink eyes looking to the food of the ages
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's got a hand on a wheel of pain
She can talk to the mangling strangers
She can sleep in a fiery bog
Throwing troubles to the dying embers
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's got a paradise camouflage
Like a whip-crack sending me shivers
She's a boat through a strip-mine ocean
Riding low on the drunken rivers
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
Writer: BECK HANSEN, JOHN ROBERT KING, MICHAEL S. SIMPSON
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Derelict
I dropped my anchor in the dead of night
I packed my suitcase and threw it away
I fell asleep in the funeral fire
I gave my clothes to the policeman
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
Shooting venom at the passers-by
I'm hi-jacking stop the heaven down
I put my eyes in a paper bag
I'm spinning round like a gambling wheel
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
I dropped my anchor in the dead of night
I packed my suitcase and threw it away
I fell asleep in the funeral fire
I gave my clothes to the policeman
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
I packed my suitcase and threw it away
I fell asleep in the funeral fire
I gave my clothes to the policeman
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
Shooting venom at the passers-by
I'm hi-jacking stop the heaven down
I put my eyes in a paper bag
I'm spinning round like a gambling wheel
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
I dropped my anchor in the dead of night
I packed my suitcase and threw it away
I fell asleep in the funeral fire
I gave my clothes to the policeman
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
Writer: BECK DAVID HANSEN, JOHN ROBERT KING, MICHAEL S. SIMPSON
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Novacane
Keep on trucking' like a novacane hurricane
Blowing static on the paranoid short-wave
Short fuse, got to dismantle
Code red: what's your handle?
Mission incredible undercover convoy
Full-tilt chromosome cowboy
X-ray search and destroy
Smokestack blacktop novacane boy
Got some rum, longhorn drums
Detonate with the suicide gate
Test tube, stillborn and dazed
drugstore plains in the razor's haze
Got the momentum radioactive
Lowdown!
Circumcised for the operation
Full spectrum generation
Cyanide ride down the turnpike
After hours on the miracle mic
Grinding the gears eighteen wheels
Pigs and robots riding on their heels
Power through the roadblock
Making a sandblast
Diesel aluminum cruising like drain-o
Down the horizon purple gasses
Semi-trucks hauling their asses
Novacane, hit the road expressway
Explode!
Novacane! Novacane!
Blowing static on the paranoid short-wave
Short fuse, got to dismantle
Code red: what's your handle?
Mission incredible undercover convoy
Full-tilt chromosome cowboy
X-ray search and destroy
Smokestack blacktop novacane boy
Got some rum, longhorn drums
Detonate with the suicide gate
Test tube, stillborn and dazed
drugstore plains in the razor's haze
Got the momentum radioactive
Lowdown!
Circumcised for the operation
Full spectrum generation
Cyanide ride down the turnpike
After hours on the miracle mic
Grinding the gears eighteen wheels
Pigs and robots riding on their heels
Power through the roadblock
Making a sandblast
Diesel aluminum cruising like drain-o
Down the horizon purple gasses
Semi-trucks hauling their asses
Novacane, hit the road expressway
Explode!
Novacane! Novacane!
Writer: BECK DAVID HANSEN, JOHN ROBERT KING, MICHAEL S. SIMPSON
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Jack-Ass
I been drifting along
In the same stale shoes
Loose ends tying a noose
In the back of my mind
If you thought that you were making your way
To where the puzzles and pagans lay
I'll put it together:
It's a strange invitation
When I wake up
Someone will sweep up my lazy bones
And we will rise in the cool of the evening
I remember the way that you smiled
When the gravity shackles were wild
And something is vacant
When I think it's all beginning
I been drifting along
In the same stale shoes
Loose ends tying the noose
In the back of my mind
If you thought that you were making your way
To where the puzzles and pagans lay
I'll put it together:
It's a strange invitation
In the same stale shoes
Loose ends tying a noose
In the back of my mind
If you thought that you were making your way
To where the puzzles and pagans lay
I'll put it together:
It's a strange invitation
When I wake up
Someone will sweep up my lazy bones
And we will rise in the cool of the evening
I remember the way that you smiled
When the gravity shackles were wild
And something is vacant
When I think it's all beginning
I been drifting along
In the same stale shoes
Loose ends tying the noose
In the back of my mind
If you thought that you were making your way
To where the puzzles and pagans lay
I'll put it together:
It's a strange invitation
Writer: BECK HANSEN, BOB DYLAN, JOHN ROBERT KING, MICHAEL S. SIMPSON
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, AUDIAM, INC
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, AUDIAM, INC
Where Its At
There's a destination a little up the road
From the habitations and the towns we know
A place we saw the lights turn low
Jig-saw jazz and the get-fresh flow
Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts
Two turntables and a microphone
Bottles and cans and just clap your hands and just clap your hands
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Take me home in my elevator bones!
That was a good drum break
Pick yourself up off the side of the road
With your elevator bones and your whip-flash tones
Members only, hyponotizers
Move through the room like ambulance drivers
Shine your shoes with your microphone blues
Hirsute with your parachute fruits
Passing the dutchie from coast to coast
Let the man Gary Wilson rock the most
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
What about those who swing both ways: AC-DC's
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Oh, dear me. Make Out City is a two-horse town
That's beautiful, Dad
Get my microphone
There's a destination a little up the road
From the habitations and the towns we know
A place we saw the lights turn low
Jig-saw jazz and the get-fresh flow
Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts
Two turntables and a microphone
Bottles and cans and just clap your hands and just clap your hands
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
I got plastic on my mind
Telephone plastic baby
From the habitations and the towns we know
A place we saw the lights turn low
Jig-saw jazz and the get-fresh flow
Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts
Two turntables and a microphone
Bottles and cans and just clap your hands and just clap your hands
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Take me home in my elevator bones!
That was a good drum break
Pick yourself up off the side of the road
With your elevator bones and your whip-flash tones
Members only, hyponotizers
Move through the room like ambulance drivers
Shine your shoes with your microphone blues
Hirsute with your parachute fruits
Passing the dutchie from coast to coast
Let the man Gary Wilson rock the most
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
What about those who swing both ways: AC-DC's
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Oh, dear me. Make Out City is a two-horse town
That's beautiful, Dad
Get my microphone
There's a destination a little up the road
From the habitations and the towns we know
A place we saw the lights turn low
Jig-saw jazz and the get-fresh flow
Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts
Two turntables and a microphone
Bottles and cans and just clap your hands and just clap your hands
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at
I got two turntables and a microphone
I got plastic on my mind
Telephone plastic baby
Writer: BECK HANSEN, JOHN ROBERT KING, MICHAEL S. SIMPSON
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Minus
The last survivor of a boiled crown
Another casualty with the casual frown
The janitor vandals they bark in your face
Juveniles with the piles and paste
It's a sensation
A bankrupt corpse
In the garbage glasses
With the crutches of frogs(that bores)
Don't be confused when the fuse is up
And you're taking a leak
Into your brother's cup
When the cup is filled
You can run and be killed
In the billion miles
Of the muscles that build
Radiation
Feeling the force
Karaoke
Vomiting morons
The scalps of zero hear the call
Rubbing in a blind man's running hall
With the canker sores and the robot pill
Throwing imbeciles on the window sills
It's a sensation
A bankrupt corpse
In the garbage glasses
With the crutches of frogs
Frogs! Frogs! Frogs!
Another casualty with the casual frown
The janitor vandals they bark in your face
Juveniles with the piles and paste
It's a sensation
A bankrupt corpse
In the garbage glasses
With the crutches of frogs(that bores)
Don't be confused when the fuse is up
And you're taking a leak
Into your brother's cup
When the cup is filled
You can run and be killed
In the billion miles
Of the muscles that build
Radiation
Feeling the force
Karaoke
Vomiting morons
The scalps of zero hear the call
Rubbing in a blind man's running hall
With the canker sores and the robot pill
Throwing imbeciles on the window sills
It's a sensation
A bankrupt corpse
In the garbage glasses
With the crutches of frogs
Frogs! Frogs! Frogs!
Writer: Beck Hansen
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Sissyneck
I don't need no wheels
I don't need no gasoline
'Cause the wind that is blowing
Is blowing like a smoke machine
If I said to you
That I was looking for a place to get to
'Cause my neck is broken
And my pants ain't getting no bigger
I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys
I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time
All my friends
Tell me something is getting together
I got a beard that would disappear
If I'm dressed in leather
Now let me tell you about my baby
She was born in Arizona
Sitting in the jailhouse
Trying to learn some good manners
I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys
I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time
Matchsticks strike
When I'm riding my bike to the depot
'Cause everybody knows my name
At the recreation center
If I could only find a nickel
I would pay myself off tonight
'Cause nobody knows
When he good times have passed out cold
I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys
I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time
I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys
I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time
Don't talk to me
If you're looking for somebody to cry on
Don't talk to me
If you're looking for somebody to cry on
Ahhhowwww!!
I don't need no gasoline
'Cause the wind that is blowing
Is blowing like a smoke machine
If I said to you
That I was looking for a place to get to
'Cause my neck is broken
And my pants ain't getting no bigger
I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys
I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time
All my friends
Tell me something is getting together
I got a beard that would disappear
If I'm dressed in leather
Now let me tell you about my baby
She was born in Arizona
Sitting in the jailhouse
Trying to learn some good manners
I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys
I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time
Matchsticks strike
When I'm riding my bike to the depot
'Cause everybody knows my name
At the recreation center
If I could only find a nickel
I would pay myself off tonight
'Cause nobody knows
When he good times have passed out cold
I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys
I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time
I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys
I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time
Don't talk to me
If you're looking for somebody to cry on
Don't talk to me
If you're looking for somebody to cry on
Ahhhowwww!!
Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher
Readymade
An open road where I can breathe
Where the lowest low is calling to me
I can pull myself back up back down
Stuck together like a readymade
And nobody knows where we been
Cancelled rations are running thin
Watches tick out of tune
Falling apart like a readymade
My bags are waiting in the next life
Rubbish piles fresh and plain
Empty boxes in a pawn shop brain
License plates stowaway
Standing in line like a readymade
And my bags are waiting in the next life
An open road where I can breathe
Where the lowest low is calling to me
I can pull myself back up back down
Stuck together like a readymade
And my bags are waiting in the next life
Where the lowest low is calling to me
I can pull myself back up back down
Stuck together like a readymade
And nobody knows where we been
Cancelled rations are running thin
Watches tick out of tune
Falling apart like a readymade
My bags are waiting in the next life
Rubbish piles fresh and plain
Empty boxes in a pawn shop brain
License plates stowaway
Standing in line like a readymade
And my bags are waiting in the next life
An open road where I can breathe
Where the lowest low is calling to me
I can pull myself back up back down
Stuck together like a readymade
And my bags are waiting in the next life
Writer: BECK DAVID HANSEN, JOHN ROBERT KING, MICHAEL S. SIMPSON
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
High 5 (Rock the Catskills)
High five, high five
High five, high five
"C'mon on! Eight
Everybody! C'mon
Seven! C'mon, now
Six! Five
Aw, yeah, I like that shit"
When I rock it's like a high five
Want a slap in the face I love the taste
All my days with my wheelchair ways
Watch me die in my suicide high
I don't mean it 'cause I only come on to you
When I step to the room with a powerful motion
Leopard skin let the records spin
'Round and round with the speed of sound
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
Rocky mountain low we gotta go
Put that gadget in the random mode
Cripple candy rocking the candy
Rhumba, brickshot, doing the foxtrot
In my car sweating like a dog
Beers and chairs no frontiers
On my way from the 'Frisco Bay
Dixieland, soda-pop man
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
Yeah, put that machine in random mode
Talking about popping jugger
Like the last century
"Turn that shit off, man! What's wrong with you?
Man, get the other record! Damn"
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
"Ok, now. Do like designer jeans
Everybody, designer jeans! say, say, say, say, say
Ooh, la la
Sasoon
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon
Everybody
One more time, let me hear you say
Ooh, la la, Sasoon
Just do it everybody, c'mon
Now I want the ladies
All the ladies, say
Sergio Valente
Sing it, girl
Let me hear you say
Sergio Valente
Say, Jordache"
High five, high five
"C'mon on! Eight
Everybody! C'mon
Seven! C'mon, now
Six! Five
Aw, yeah, I like that shit"
When I rock it's like a high five
Want a slap in the face I love the taste
All my days with my wheelchair ways
Watch me die in my suicide high
I don't mean it 'cause I only come on to you
When I step to the room with a powerful motion
Leopard skin let the records spin
'Round and round with the speed of sound
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
Rocky mountain low we gotta go
Put that gadget in the random mode
Cripple candy rocking the candy
Rhumba, brickshot, doing the foxtrot
In my car sweating like a dog
Beers and chairs no frontiers
On my way from the 'Frisco Bay
Dixieland, soda-pop man
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
Yeah, put that machine in random mode
Talking about popping jugger
Like the last century
"Turn that shit off, man! What's wrong with you?
Man, get the other record! Damn"
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
High five! More dead than alive
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills
"Ok, now. Do like designer jeans
Everybody, designer jeans! say, say, say, say, say
Ooh, la la
Sasoon
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon
Everybody
One more time, let me hear you say
Ooh, la la, Sasoon
Just do it everybody, c'mon
Now I want the ladies
All the ladies, say
Sergio Valente
Sing it, girl
Let me hear you say
Sergio Valente
Say, Jordache"
Writer: Michael S. Simpson, John Robert King, Beck David Hansen, Vincent Willis
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Ramshackle
You've been so long
Your blind eyes are gone
Your old bones are on their own
So take off your coat
Put a song in your throat
Let the dead-beats pound all around
We will go
Nowhere we know
We don't have to talk at all
Hand me downs
Flypaper towns
Stuck together
One and all
The bargains you drive
Buckets and bags
And all your belongings
Your train's in the sand
Ramshackle land
Let the rats watch the races
We will go
Nowhere we know
'Til we find our one and all
Hand me downs
Flypaper towns
Stuck together
One and all
Praises get spent
Your trick face is bent
Pigsties and prizes
Cause there's no kind of 'well'
You're suiting yourself
You leave yourself behind
We will go
Nowhere we know
'Til we find our one and all
Your hand me downs
Flypaper towns
Stuck together
One and all
Your blind eyes are gone
Your old bones are on their own
So take off your coat
Put a song in your throat
Let the dead-beats pound all around
We will go
Nowhere we know
We don't have to talk at all
Hand me downs
Flypaper towns
Stuck together
One and all
The bargains you drive
Buckets and bags
And all your belongings
Your train's in the sand
Ramshackle land
Let the rats watch the races
We will go
Nowhere we know
'Til we find our one and all
Hand me downs
Flypaper towns
Stuck together
One and all
Praises get spent
Your trick face is bent
Pigsties and prizes
Cause there's no kind of 'well'
You're suiting yourself
You leave yourself behind
We will go
Nowhere we know
'Til we find our one and all
Your hand me downs
Flypaper towns
Stuck together
One and all
Writer: Beck Hansen
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Odelay is the fifth studio album by American musician Beck, released on June 18, 1996, by DGC Records. The album featured several successful singles, including "Where It's At", "Devils Haircut", and "The New Pollution", and peaked at number sixteen on the Billboard 200.
As of July 2008, the album had sold 2.3 million copies in the United States, making Odelay Beck's most successful album to date. Since its release, the album has appeared in numerous publications' lists of the greatest of the 1990s and of all time.
Performed By:
BeckAs of July 2008, the album had sold 2.3 million copies in the United States, making Odelay Beck's most successful album to date. Since its release, the album has appeared in numerous publications' lists of the greatest of the 1990s and of all time.
Genre(s): Alternative rock, sampledelia, alternative hip hop, experimental rock, folk rock, neo-psychedelia
Producer(s): Beck Hansen, The Dust Brothers, Mario Caldato Jr, Brian Paulson, Tom Rothrock, Rob Schnapf
Length: 54:06
Released: June 18th, 1996
Year: 1996