1. |
In a Cadillac Hearse
03:15
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Hard times, nickel and dime’d
Paid all your dues but still doin’ the time
Oh a honky tonk opened up in vain
With a blonde fatale on a silver string
A Cadillac hearse with a convict bride
A black market baby in a vague disguise
Like a caviar cuck wearin’ alligator shoes
Dancin’ onstage singin’ ‘bout your drugstore blues
Cause I ain’t gonna dig no ditches
Never gonna be covered in grease
I got a velvet voice with nothing to say
But the one who’s gonna say it is me
Gonna have three big ass houses
Gonna have twenty vintage new cars
If you see me now, just give it a year
Cause I’m gonna be the brand new—
Rock ‘n Roll Star
A hospital stay with schizophrenic eyes
The magazines say you’re a genius mind
Oh Mr. Fancy Fancy champagne on ice
With a country smile showin’ pearly whites
Warm beer with your cold women
You lie about the times that you’ve been to prison
Oh I sympathize but don’t kill yourself
Got money to burn, and I’m burnin’ like a bat outta hell
Cause I ain’t gonna dig no ditches
Never gonna be covered in grease
I got a velvet voice with nothing to say
But the one who’s gonna say it is me
Gonna have three big ass houses
Gonna have twenty vintage new cars
If you see me now, just give it a year
Cause I’m gonna be the brand new—
Rock ‘n Roll Star
Well I get my money either wired or check
Cause I’m a cowboy, honey
And a Hollywood hick
Trade a couple of dogs for a Bowie knife
Put ‘em up on high
With your bad name in neon light
Cause I ain’t gonna dig no ditches
Never gonna be covered in grease
I got a velvet voice with nothing to say
But the one who’s gonna say it is me
Gonna have three big ass houses
Gonna have twenty vintage new cars
If you see me now, just give it a year
Cause I’m gonna be the brand new—
Rock ‘n Roll Star
Gonna be the Rock ‘n Roll Star
Gonna be the Rock ‘n Roll Star
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2. |
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Dear Mr. Eliot, I’ve found the Wasteland
It took a hundred years but it came at last
Didn’t come from without,
But it came from within
How to find love in a place like this
Sodom, D.C. or Gomorrah, Los Angeles
My tower of corpses is made of ivory
From the very tip-top
I can look down and see
All of my citizens who are less than me
Prancin’ on your grave, a big parade
That love is gone and I’m the one to blame
The Poet has died and the songs are all the same
And we ain’t got a clue
Dear Mr. Cohen, I’ve lost my romance
It’s whittled away over decades past
And all that is left
Is my heart turned black
How am I supposed to write a poem with that?
Tell me what we gained when we gave up the myth
No meaning to pain, no reason for bliss
What was a mistake?
The Enlightenment
How to find love in a place like this
Prancin’ on your grave, a big parade
That love is gone and I’m the one to blame
The Poet has died and the songs are all the same
And we ain’t got a clue
Dear Mr. Dylan, your time is fleeting
The world keeps changing as you are leaving
Not for the better
From what I can see
I don’t even know if the youth can bleed
The zealots are marching and they invent sins
They erect new gods and then eat them
It seems like the end
Is about to begin
How to find love in a place like this
Prancin’ on your grave, a big parade
That love is gone and I’m the one to blame
The Poet has died and the songs are all the same
And we ain’t got a clue
Prancin’ on your grave, a big parade
That love is gone and I’m the one to blame
The Poet has died and the songs are all the same
And we ain’t got a clue
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