dabang lyrics

 

from Pig Over Seoul

 

Spinning Reel

home spun and sugar free . packed up and ready for the big adventure . wanderings in enchanted forests . feeling your way through the night, the needles and pines . tempting green nurseries . it’s a big one for the nominees of cloning

 

ain’t it a shame . that she’s left behind . the cable’s the same . and the house is mine

 

solar heating prodigies . caught up in big company that shadow them . hanging out at the water palace . saving all your coins for a rainy day . rucksacks full of memories . but you stayed there and you worked on the rites of Spring

 

Vega

it’s up to you to say that you don’t want it any other way when you get that dry biscuit you’ve got to slowly chew it

 

always stupefied by her dazzling, dazzling eyes she’s my spirit Vega she’s my one desire

 

candida multiplied a pox on you and your desires i never asked for your concern i’ll chop you up and watch you burn

 

cos i’m just a swine swimming in forsaken brine beleaguered now that she’s gone my Vega she’s the one

 

i still dream of her every day when she comes to me i will say you’ve got me hanging at every turn the Goddess of Mercy she’ll never learn

 

Mars

 

There is no life on Mars It’s a sad sad revelation You can see them all driving their cars There goes another gas station There is no life on Mars But there are those who watch the sky and wait

 

There are no fish on Mars Nothing to eat, nothing to pray to They all stare into their picture tubes Somewhere there’s a dream for two And yet they dream of water And all its lusty derivations

 

When you fly in through the clouds Hope glimmers and lifts the dust that’s settled down Light up the sky, fire up the night sky

 

Like a fire burning down Making friends then leaving town In a hurry to forget Running crazy lose my legs The many miles to you instead

 

Dancing Fool   I’ve been walking on fire Trying to bring your blue skies back Reaching out for your strangled features Kicking people in the gut for fun and pleasure   The TV man he dropped by Fed me biscuits and he said “you’re my style” Then he gave me a couple of white lines Fixed me up and made me the dancing fool   It wasn’t working Working at all The sun ain’t shining Shining no more				looking for mr. x You were in my dream last night all naked and bare pushing through the atmosphere with your cream coloured hair stretching coathangers out across the sky with a message for noone except for those real high   Cruising round in a beat up tank slowly closing in a town on life-support with its cornerstones blank waiting for a break in the heat waiting for the rain to polish the streets and the gutters for your message to crank   Your big ass big attitude won’t deceive me but I’m way too lazy you got your head in the clouds you got your feet in the sand but I’m way too lazy
			sex&electronics you hit the lights your fire is burning bright you stoke up the flames til it burns up again /you’ve lost all control electronics has taken your soul you’re pent up in shame til you it want it once again/ somewhere between my guilt and remorse your telepathic heat takes its course driven by lust and all things higher my computer, my love, my love takes me higher /your mind’s a parasiteflowering neon lights your feet have ossified and your brain liquidized
late afternoon grass Is it the sky that makes me blue Or is it just my mind Follow the sun as it makes its way Down to lagro time   Anyways I lost my head Left it in a cave somewhere Followed around by a horse and cart The driver was Wemantan   Seven days I’ve been waiting (You know it’s been such a long time) Anyway I’ve been deflating (You know the colour of the grapevine) Sifting through the day’s ashes (Finding the bones of the postman) Waiting round for the lagro time   Driving round the city square Makes my hair go grey Accusations fly like bees Is there any hope for you and me
		rsl noone listens to a word you say . noone listens anyway . the forest is burning underground . choppers are flying round and round . now you’re hit you’re going home . previously unappreciated . all the people that you’ll meet . down at the Bega RSL . the RSL what a great institution . spotted gums, casuarina, grey ghost, melaleuca . ive gotta see you

sea shanty

Caught up in a good dream Sand in my hair Walking thoughts and digging ditches The sun tastes the air Tastes the air Sun to stare Run aground

 

Caught up in a whirlwind Sand in my hair Laid down surrounded by sound The sun tastes the air

 

Sand through my fingers Sand through my hair Drawn to the circle My mother put me there

 

Shivaji and the Ecstasy of Butter

 

 

The harder they fall, alright.

Skin hard like cane reed, he squats low

in some alleyway, syringes in his many hands,

rubber tourniquet clenched between his teeth, 

ghee boiling hard in filthy spoons. It’s impossible to tell:

is that his natural shade? or is the blue his withdrawal?

Nobody can drag words back past the brink of his accent,

not even in the shadowy corner of Kwality Tandoori

on West 52^nd; or is it in Harlem now, where he hangs,

recounting stories of Parvathi’s lush addictions,

explaining the roots of his interest in free-form jazz,

the strange octopus beauty of Roland Kirk, with

his rack of duct-taped horns across his chest, which

convinced Shivaji, eight-armed, he could do it, too.

 

When he woke at the top of Mt. Kaylash,

she was gone. He searched for eleven years,

found her shacked up with some musclehead

Hittite, essentially a hit-man for a small

cartel of Egyptian demigods, trying to make a comeback.

He left her there, in plastic flip-flops, at Giza, 

and off he went, to  America, to be a jazzman.

A tactical error. The death of one saxist Coltrane

came in 1967. Disarray. Sleeping under peoples’ porches,

having to play tonal in funk bands just to eat,

solos on tunes like “Big Mama!” and “Mama Come

and Jump Me!” and “Red Hot Big Mama Song Hyunh!”

 

Eventually he sold his horns, pawned them off

one by one. Took to drinking, syringe in hand, bitching

at his loss of Vedic income to that slick

bastard Krishna — “that slimy populist”, as he says.

Too broke for ghee, doing regular unsalted

butter in the darkness of numberless alleyways.

Spitting randomly at Hittite-faced cabbies and paperboys,

wishing on fire-escapes that he’d never bloody heard

of Rahsaan Roland Kirk. Always comparing

himself to Krishna, whose charm was always a little

more glittery, “the Elvis of the Ganges, he were,”

And Shiva will then point out to you, the name

Elvis contains within it Evil in the plural.

 

Other Lyrics

                                                                 Chewing Corn

Drifting away back home Finding mercy in the shade Laid my head into restless hands See it slide into grey

Sleeping sand, see the sun Sad and bleeding, red and crazed Eyes to the sky Tears falling Free falling, from the day

And I say to you There's nothing more I can do for you

 

 

                In Pursuit of the Jeonju Jew

 

 

people stopped me in the street to suggest to me this jeonbuk treat they say it to everyone who’s new -- you gotta visit the jeonju jew

 

i saw him in my mind a lone jew all hasidic ringlets and interjections acerbically acidic walking through the shijangs emitting shouts of oy! the jeonju jew won’t notice me i’m just another bloody goy it took a while to penetrate the accent but i got it straight a few weeks later then i knew they meant not jew but jeonju zoo

 

they took me there in soopah style inside an airconn’d Tiko while the weather was both bright and fair i wish they’d never brought me there.

 

an elephant without a trunk a balding obese chimpanzee two tigers sulking in a funk nothing much to see a wolf lacking a lower jaw a quadriplegic polar bear one featherless schitzoid macaw you’re better off not going there

 

it’s not good for you… it’s not good for you… it’s not good for you… to go to the jeonju zoo

 

i’d rather go to gyeongijeong when I’ve got nowt to do, and wander through the crowd down there, hunting for the jeonju jew

 

it’s not good for you… it’s not good for you… it’s just not good for you to go to the jeonju zoo

           

all lyrics by Myoung Jae Yi except Shivaji and the Ecstasy of Butter and In Pursuit of the Jeonju Jew by Gord Sellar (Shiva was originally published in Matrix #59). all © 2002 except Shivaji and the Ecstasy of Butter © 2001.