Post by Sasha Kropotkin on May 7, 2004 1:14:54 GMT -5
I step on stage.
"Thank you, Bassarov. I am an untraditional mandolin player, what one may even call a folk singer of sorts."
I begin to play the mandolin.
"This is an Ani Difranco song. It's called Serpentine. I think all of the communists and anarchists in the crowd will appreciate it.
Pavlov hits me with more bad news
every time I answer the phone
so I play and I sing, and I just let it ring,
all day when I'm at home.
A defacto choice of micro or macro cosmic melancholy
but baby any way you slice it, I'm thinking I could just as soon
use the time alone.
Yeah the goons have gone global and the CEO's are shredding files
and the democrans and republicrats are flashing their toothy smiles
and Uncle Tom is posing for a photo op with the oval office clan
and Uncle Sam is riggin c'ock fights in the promised land.
And that knife you stuck in my back is still there,
it pinches a little, when I sigh, and moan, and these days
I'm thinking I could just as soon
use the time alone.
Cause all the wrong people have the power
of suggestion.
And the freedom of the press is meaningless if nobody ever asks a question
I mean causation by definition is such a complex compilation of
factors
that to even try and say way
is to oversimplify
but that's a far cry, isn't it dear?
From acting like you're the only one there.
Unrepentantly self-centered and unfair.
Enter all suckers scrambling for the truth,
exit Mister Eye Contact who took his flirt and flew the coup,
but whatever, no matter, no fishin trips, no fishin.
Cause momma's officially out of commision.
And did I mention somewhere.
Did I mention somewhere, in there,
that I traded Babe Ruth?
Yes I traded the only player that was bigger than the game,
and I can't even tell you why, cause you think I'm insane,
and that's the truth.
And the music industry mafia is pimping girl power,
sniping off sharp shooter singles from their styrofoam towers,
and hip-hop is tied up in the back room with a logo stuffed in its mouth,
'cause the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house, but then,
I'm getting away from myself, as I get closer, and closer to home,
and the difference between you and me baby, is I get f'ucked up when I'm alone.
(I'm going to do this song in 2 posts)
"Thank you, Bassarov. I am an untraditional mandolin player, what one may even call a folk singer of sorts."
I begin to play the mandolin.
"This is an Ani Difranco song. It's called Serpentine. I think all of the communists and anarchists in the crowd will appreciate it.
Pavlov hits me with more bad news
every time I answer the phone
so I play and I sing, and I just let it ring,
all day when I'm at home.
A defacto choice of micro or macro cosmic melancholy
but baby any way you slice it, I'm thinking I could just as soon
use the time alone.
Yeah the goons have gone global and the CEO's are shredding files
and the democrans and republicrats are flashing their toothy smiles
and Uncle Tom is posing for a photo op with the oval office clan
and Uncle Sam is riggin c'ock fights in the promised land.
And that knife you stuck in my back is still there,
it pinches a little, when I sigh, and moan, and these days
I'm thinking I could just as soon
use the time alone.
Cause all the wrong people have the power
of suggestion.
And the freedom of the press is meaningless if nobody ever asks a question
I mean causation by definition is such a complex compilation of
factors
that to even try and say way
is to oversimplify
but that's a far cry, isn't it dear?
From acting like you're the only one there.
Unrepentantly self-centered and unfair.
Enter all suckers scrambling for the truth,
exit Mister Eye Contact who took his flirt and flew the coup,
but whatever, no matter, no fishin trips, no fishin.
Cause momma's officially out of commision.
And did I mention somewhere.
Did I mention somewhere, in there,
that I traded Babe Ruth?
Yes I traded the only player that was bigger than the game,
and I can't even tell you why, cause you think I'm insane,
and that's the truth.
And the music industry mafia is pimping girl power,
sniping off sharp shooter singles from their styrofoam towers,
and hip-hop is tied up in the back room with a logo stuffed in its mouth,
'cause the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house, but then,
I'm getting away from myself, as I get closer, and closer to home,
and the difference between you and me baby, is I get f'ucked up when I'm alone.
(I'm going to do this song in 2 posts)
