What are you wanting from me? Look over my shoulder as much as you please. We're primed and we're ready to go toe to toe with disease. And what are you hoping to see? Would it set you back if I drop to my knees? We're running the gauntlet and filling our socks with debris. And what kind of game shall it be? If I played any faster, my tendons would freeze. And the boys in the back room are charging exorbitant fees.
Guitar, bass, drums, vocals - Les Claypool
Pick a name, pick a place. Chances are I've had the means to be there. Pick a date, pick a time, I've got it from a friend of mine. The ability to socialize. Holy Mackerel Once when I was young, I troubled over imperfection in my knees. When you cultivate a pompadour, it's best to keep the top up for the breeze. Cuts like hell, ya know. Sporty was a poetry boy and liked to puff his pipe into the night. But since he sold him hits of ectasy, Johnn Law, he took a decade of his life. That's a hunk o' life. Holy Mackerel.
Guitars - Joe Gore | Guitar Solo - Mark "Mirv" Haggard | Drums - Jay Lane | Bass and Vocals - Les Claypool
He came to conquer what he could but he held back 'Cause his tongue was tied by shy So he laid the money down and he drank up Put the sparkle in his eye Sittin' down you saw his paunch so he stood up And he gazed across the room The toxin squeezed the head so he slipped back He knew he left his seat too soon A-Haw Come the morning We'll be waiting and weilding the power to paralyze So we state now for the records you brought this upon you Paralyze, agonize, terrorize
Bass, Guitars, Drums, Vocals - Les Claypool | Additional Vocals - Adam Gates
Lonely, homely boy they called him Lucy Mama's little man And she calls him Hendershot His mama called him Hendershot Be seen and not be heard, they told him He grew into a big man they call Hendershot They always call him Hendershot Walking down the side streets of SoHo Chances are you'll bump into our friend Hendershot That's Hendershot Sitting on a blanket near Saint Marks is a man selling handbags he gets from Hendershot But he doesn't call him Hendershot
Guitar - Mark "Mirv" Haggard | Bass, Crums, Vocals - Les Claypool
His momma used to dance at the Broadway shows Broadway, where the young men go to drop the coins in one two three He remembered walking in Not knowing applesauce from sin And uncles trotted one two three Calling Kyle His pop was met at the Ballpark Franks He used to root the radio for Yanks They said they's aerate the greens On Coleman he would spot the sheep On Christmas he'd kept the keep Turkey Day saw no greens Calling Kyle
Bass, String Bass (Arco), Drums, Vocals - Les Claypool
Rancor, rancor Wake her up and thank her Where's Billy Bob? GEne, weigh the anchor Rancor, rancor You really oughtn't spank her Oh olalaberry Rancor, rancor Flarin' up my canker Isabella Dzermann grew up to be a banker Rancor, rancor The parasite wanker Does olalaberry She thinks she's so complimentary But it takes all kinda to bake a cake
Guitars - Mark "Mirv" Haggard | Bass, Drums, Vocals - Les Claypool
Mr. Hamster and Hot Potato Man turns the city on its ear. Mr. Hamster takes Hot Potato Man by the arm, Bombay Sapphire in his hand and Cohibas... Esplenditos. Saw Mr. Potato Man the other day down at the Wasteland. He's a happy boy, full of vim and vigor since the day he left his wife. Him and the Hamster, at the nudie shows, they like the finer things in life, like Cohibas... Esplenditos.
Electric-Bowed Backsaw - Mark "Mirv" Haggard | Drums - Jay Lane | Bass, Guitar, Vocals - Les Claypool
Now, because you own , you possess. You have something that they can take. You remember how it was when you had nothing. You looked at the ones who had what you wanted and you felt strong in your need. Brave in your limited surroundings. Righteous in your desires for something different. Contemptuous of those who had exactly what you wanted. You hated them because they looked weak and slightly scared. You circled the water hole and thought about closing in. Now you have it and feel weak in your power to keep it. You feel desperate to make them see that you won't let them take it away. Because it's yours. You never had to justify yourself and your possessions before. I earned this. I worked hard for what I've got. I paid my dues. I deserve this. You say these things to yourself as the animals circle and wait. Shake your fists at the Hyenas. Chase them away from your water hole. Justify. See them all differently.. Now you see that they all want something. You get some juice. Human becomes prey. Human gets scared. Figure out that you have to become hard to keep it yours. You have to be cruel. You have to kill them off just for looking. Leave the bodies by the water hole so the rest will see. Hang spent bullet cases from fishing line outside all the windows of your house. Put up signs. Please break in. I would love the opportunity to kill you legally. Let the fear turn into desperate anger. Start seeing the differences in people. They all start looking suspicious. They all want. The need never stops. Out there, someone is always needing. Always hungry. Always looking at you. Checking your eyes for weakness. Zeroing in on the vein in your neck. As they circle the water hole. And close in.
Narration - Henry Rollins | Bass, guitar, drums - Les Claypool
Drums - Jay Lane | Bass - Les Claypool
There are stories of pleasure, there are stories of pain But the gods torment me with slabs of rain It started on a Thursday and went a double fortnight And Junior read Stern by the pilot light He ate more cheese than time allowed So we stood him up sharp, we stood him up proud And they looked at him funny, but they looked at him twice Undressing with the eyeballs, verbal lashing him with spice I speak the truth, I tell no lies Been masturbatin' since the Fourth of July Spill the beans, spill 'em all The precipitation filled Spring from Fall He didn't like faxes, he didn't like phones When he stoof among many, he stood alone He loved his sausage, but shied from greens Used to spin his little sister in the washin' machine
Vocals - Les Claypool and Adam Gates | Bass, String Bass (Arco), Drums - Les Claypool
All the time talking 'bout the inspiration Best leave off about the rhyme Along comes a boy He's filled with adulation Speculates if now is not the time She was known to take a drop or two in the morning Yesterdays and lazy days the same Will collagen and fingernails and silicon adorning All the boys, they knew her all by name Now he's a sport and she's a sport and all the world, they love a sport And if you got the urge, we got the time Layin' on her side, it makes her melancholy She speculates if now is not the time Now baby's breath and orchids are a lethal combination. When you get that girl you got to go And finger pie in April leads to penetration... But June, she's apt to take it kinda slow HE's born in Beverly Hills but raised in Albuquerque All the little girls, they thought him fine But George E. Porge, he's kissed the girls and felt he's rather kiss the boys And speculates if now is not the time
Guitar - Joe Gore | Bass, Drums, Rhythm Guitar, Vocals - Les Claypool
Brimming with all the hopes and desires of American youth, he set forth as a leader of sorts. Just what sorts it is impossiblew to say at this time. But he had the imaginary support he needed to venture beyond the small environment he'd come to know as his home town. Friends thought him foolish and felt free to fre- quently tell him so. Deep down they all felt envy. Envious that he could muster, where they could not, the courage that was necessary to embark beyond the notion that survival was based upon the ability to rise at seven a.m. five days a week. He felt joy. And well he should. He was a "babe in the woods" and a "kid in a candy store" all at the same time. The world was his oyster and he planned to shuck it, cover it with Tabasco, and slurp it down his cake hole all within an "El Sobrante fortnight". Definition of an "El Sobrante fortnight" is yet to be determined. But reliable sources say the time span is somewhere between two weeks and a decade.
Guitars - Mike "Mirv" Haggard | Bass, Drums, Vocals - Les Claypool
Content to stand alone Waiting, watching, guarding Granny's home His face reflecting simple joy But he is not a happy Plaster boy "Careful sonny, not too close Unless you want a lethal dose of hardening..." Patiently waiting for some shade Wishing he could run away Supressing any urge to roam Such devotion from a little gnome I once saw a calico that thought he could fly ANd then the lanky Doberman that tinkled in my eye A pacifict by nature, with amble common sense But if I had my druthers, I'd rather be a fence Now Granny, she's a good one, she shines me now and then ANd come around this springtime, I'm due for paint again On keeping Granny comfy, I try and earn my keep I'm just wishing I had some eyelids, so I could get some sleep
Bass, Guitar, Drums, Vocals - Les Claypool
Guitar - Charlie Hunter | Drums - Jay Lane | Bass - Les Claypool
Bass, String Bass (Arco), Drums - Les Claypool
Produced and engineered by Les Claypool. Assisted by Tim Soya. Recorded at Rancho Relaxo. Mastered by Matt Murman at Different Fur. All songs and lyrics by Les Claypool, Long Corn Publishing (BMI). Except: The Awakening by The Reddings, Dexotis Music/Band of Angels (BMI). Delicate Tendris dialogue by Henry Rollins, Human Pittbull Publishing, Inc. (BMI) from a forthcoming audio book (c) 1996 Henry Rollins/2.13.61 Publications, Inc. Charlie Hunter appears courtesy of Blue Note Records. Management: David Lefkowitz, 3470 19th St., San Francisco, CA 94110. A&R Direction: Tom Whalley. Project Coordinator: Jill Rose. Cover Art: Les Claypool. Design and Layout: PRAWN SONG DESIGNS. Photos by Miura Smith. (c) 1996 Interscope Records. All rights reserved. Printed in USA.