Primus - Sailing the Seas of Cheese

Seas of Cheese

When the going gets tough
And the stomach acids flow
The cold wind of conformity
Is nipping at your nose
When some trendy new atrocity
Has brought you to your knees
Come with us we'll sail the
Seas of Cheese

Here Come the Bastards

Here they come
Here come the bastards
I heard it from a confidant - 
Who heard it form a confidant
They're definitely on their way
There's one with this idea
Something about a hammer head shark
Nosehairs and flatus
Best keep your distance because
Here they come here come the bastards
Bury your head deep in the sand
Anonymity is a virtue in this day and age
Amazing hand dexterity
Flagrant misuse of security
Better run, run, run, run, run
Run Run Run Run, here they come.

Sgt. Baker

Sgt. Baker is my name
I'm gonna teach you how to play the game
of warfare
Suddenly it appears to me
You got a bit much dignity
For your own good, boy
Yes sir, yes sir.

I will rape your personality
Pummel you with my own philosophy
Strip you of your self-integrity
To make you all a bit like me
I said right, left

Sgt. Baker here again
And if you calls me "puddin Tame"
I'll stomp you down, boy
Steers and Queers
Steers and Queers where you come
from there's just steers and queers
And you ain't got no horns, boy
Yes sir, yes sir

I will rape your personality
Pummel you with my own philosophy
Strip you of your self-integrity
To make you all a bit like me
I said right, left

American Life

In a town in southernmost Sicily
Lived a family too proud to be poor
In the year that fever took father away
They hastened for American shores
Now a mother and her son are standing in line
It's a cold day on Ellis Isle
And they look to the Statue of Liberty
For the boy we have American Life

Ong is a Laotian refugee
He works in the audio trade
The smoke from flux is filling his lungs
He's earning minimum wage
Spending spare time down on
San Pablo ave
Once a week gets a woman for the night
And he writes home tales of prosperity
For the boy we have American Life

Bob is an unemployed veteran
Born and bred in the South Bronx
He's living off the streets down in east L.A.
Residing in a cardboard box
Now he plays a little quit and he has a small dog
Searching for aluminum cans
And he hold on tight to his dignity
He was born into American Life

Jerry Was a Race Car Driver

Jerry was a race car driver
And he drove so goddamned fast
He never did win no checkered flag
But he never did come in last
Jerry was a race car driver
He'd say "El Sob number one"
With a Bocephus sticker
On his 442 he'd light 'em up
Just for fun

Captain Pierce was a fireman
Richmond engine #3
I'll be a wealthy man when I get
A dime for all the things that 
Man taught to me
Captain Pierce was a strong man
Strong as any man alive
It stuck in his craw that they
Made him retire at the age of 65

Jerry was a race car driver
22 years old
Had too many cold beers one night
And wrapped himself around a telephone pole.


I just can't seem to blend
Into society
I have no hope for this dim
Simplicity of law and order
By whose rules I see no rhyme in
the reason
I hold no hope for this holy treason
Of love and so soft
By whose standards
They tell me, they tell me
Who are they, who is they

Is it Luck?

My socks and shoes always match
Is it Luck?
There's a foot at the end of each of my legs
Is it Luck? I can play my bass for you
Is it Luck? Some gals like to kiss my face
Is it Luck? Is it Luck?
There was food inside your mouth today
Is it Luck? Your barber cuts your hair just so
Is it Luck? When the taste of sex is on your lips
Is it Luck? Is it Luck?

Cyanide works oh so fast
Is it Luck? Polyester makes you sweat
Is it Luck? If a graham cracker gets you off
Is it Luck
Love. Love?
Is it Luck? Is it Luck?

Additional lines:

"She said she wanted my body not my mind so I showed her my dictionary
 to show the words that I know and how loquacious I can be when I set
 my mind down to it, and she wasn't impressed.  She wasn't impressed at

 She whispered in my ear.  she said. `Wanna get lucky little boy?' Well
 I smiled. I smiled and I said: "Is it luck?"

Grandad's Little Ditty

As I stand in the Shower
Singing Opera and such
Pondering the possibility that I 
Pull the pud too much
There's a scent that fills the air
Is it flatus?  Just a touch.
And it makes me think of you.

Tommy the Cat

"I remember as it were a meal ago"

Said Tommy the Cat as he reeled back to clear whatever foreign matter
may have nestled its way into his mighty throat.  Many a fat alley rat
had met its demise while staring point blank down the cavernous barrel
of this awesome prowling machine.  Truly a wonder of nature this urban
predator.  Tommy the cat had many a story to tell, but it was a rare
occasion such as this that he did.

"She came slidin' down the alleyway like butter drippin' off a hot
biscuit.  The aroma, the mean scent, was enough to arouse suspicion in
even the oldest of Tigers that hung around the hot spot in those
days.  The sight was beyond belief.  Many a head snapped for double,
even triple, takes as this vivacious feline made her her way into the
delta of the alleyway where the most virile of the young tabbys were
known to hang out.  They hung in droves.  Such a multitude of
masculinity could only be found in one place... and that was
O'malley's Alley.  The air was thick with cat calls (no pun intended)
but not even a muscle in her neck did twitch as she sauntered up into
the heart of the alley.  She knew what she wanted.  She was lookin'
for that stud bull, the he cat.  And that was me.  Tommy the Cat is my
name and I say unto thee...

Say baby do you wanna lay down by me"

Sathington Waltz


Those Damned Blue-Collar Tweekers

I've seen them out at Soco
They're pounding sixteen penny nails
The truckers on the interstate
Have been known to ride the rails
The sweat is beating on the brow
Can't keep these fellas down
'Cause those damned blue-collared tweekers
Are runnin' this here town

I knew a man who hung drywall
He hung it mighty quick
A trip or two to the blue room
Would help him do the trick
His foreman would pat him on the back
Whenever he would come around
'Cause these dammed blue-collar tweekers
Are beloved in this here town

Now the union boys are there
To protect us from all the corporate type
While curious George's drug patrol
Is out here hunting snipe
Now they try to tell me different
But you know I ain't no clown
'Cause those damned blue-collar tweekers
Are the backbone of this town

Now the flame that burns twice as bright
Burns only half as long
My eyes are growing weary
As I finalize this song
So sit back and have a cup o' joe
And watch the wheels go round
'Cause those damned blue-collar tweekers
Have always run this town

Fish On (Fisherman's Chronicles, Chapter II)

Felt a pang late one afternoon
I was fishin' off Muir beach
With Larry LaLonde
Grabbed a tuna salad sandwich 
And I started to chew
Pretty soon Ler's yellin'
        "fish on, fish on."

I was just a little pup
And it was derby day
Was dad and me and Darrell
Out in San Pablo bay
Taco flavored Doritos
And my orange life vest
Dad caught a hundred pound sturgeon
On twenty-pound test
Now he fought that fish for an hour
And a half
Darrell'd say "Jump ya sons a bitch!"
And he grabbed for the gaff
When we got him in the boat
He measured six feet long
I was so danged impressed I had
To write a song called
        Fish on

T'was a bright and sunny day
It was me and Todd Huth
Fishin' shark & stingray
Out of Bolinas Lagoon
Well hey, hey, hey I'll be screwed,
Blued and tatooed
Looks like I got me one of them fish on
        Fish on.

Los Bastardos

Shut up you bastards!


Produced by Primus
A&R Direction: Tom Whalley
Engineered by Ron Regler
Second Engineers - Dave Luke, Nancy Schartau, Drew Walters
Recorded at Fantasy "D" Studio, Berkeley, LA January '91
Mixed at Differnent Fur-SF, and the Plant-Sausalito, CA
Mastered by Chris Bellman at Bernie Grundman Studios, Hollywood, CA
Sculputres by Lance "Link" Montoya-airbrushes by Snap
Ship by Mitch Romananski
Chees coordinator and scenery by Mark Kohr
Jacket Designand Photography by Paul Haggard
Band Photo: Michael Lavine

Tim "Herb" Alexander - Drums, water jug
Larry LaLonde - Eletric Guitar, Six-String Banjo
Les Claypool - Electric Bass, String Bass, Six-String Fretless bass, Clarinet, and Vocals

Whistle - Trouz
Voice of Tommy the Cat - Tom Waits
Two-skinned foreskin Drum - Mike Bordin
Additional Fishermen - Adam Gates, Lance Link - Yo Ho!
Bastardos - Drums: Brain Mantia, Mike Bordin, Herb
            Guitars: MIRV Haggard, Todd Huth, Derek Greenberg, Matt Winegar, Ler
            Bass: Butthouse, Adam Gates, Les
            Vocals: Adam Gates, Puffster, Herb, Ler, Les
All accordion molestation by Matt Winegar
All songs written and arranged by Primus, Lyrics by Claypool.
Guitar Melodies on Tommy the Cat and Sgt. Baker by Todd Huth.
Lyrics (c) 1991 Sturgeon Music.  All Rights Reserved.  Used without permission.

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