The Lyrics Thread. | Page 2

Discussion in 'Music Discussion (BAM'S Bieberverse)' started by Rimbaud82, Aug 3, 2016.

  1. Rimbaud82 Brown Belt

    Rimbaud82
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    Yeah I agree mate, and I can be pretty damn snobby at times ;)

    At a push I probably would say that folk is my favourite genre, I do love so much of it. And you are right, it is genuine. I don't think genuineness is a word, but it should be because I know what you mean. Authenticity is probably what you are after haha.

    Glad to hear it, post a few more songs yourself though :)

    You should check out my Irish folk thread as well, you'll like some stuff in there I reckon - http://forums.sherdog.com/threads/céad-míle-fáilte-the-irish-folk-music-thread.3288407/
     
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  2. Rimbaud82 Brown Belt

    Rimbaud82
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    Oh man love that song, not a bad song on that album tbf.
     
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  3. Rimbaud82 Brown Belt

    Rimbaud82
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    Ah now...

    Here's some lyrics for you lads:



    "Oh lord, it's no wonder, if lightning and thunder
    Weren't made from the plunder of whiskey me boys."

    @Gutter Chris
     
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  4. Rimbaud82 Brown Belt

    Rimbaud82
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    Oh, hand me down my old great coat
    Oh, hand me down my old great coat
    I believe I'll go walkin' in the woods
    Oh. my darlin'
    Oh, hand me down my big boots.
    Oh, hand me down my big boots
    I believe I'll go walkin' in the woods
    Oh, my darlin'
     
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  5. Rimbaud82 Brown Belt

    Rimbaud82
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    We were borne before the wind
    Also younger than the sun
    Ere the bonnie boat was won
    As we sailed into the mystic1

    Hark, now hear the sailors cry
    Smell the sea and feel the sky
    Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic

    And when that foghorn blows
    I will be coming home
    And when the foghorn blows
    I want to hear it
     
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  6. Rimbaud82 Brown Belt

    Rimbaud82
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    When you hear the music ringin' in your soul
    And you feel it in your heart and it grows and grows
    And it came from the backstreet rock and roll and the healing has begun
    That's where we come from, man
    I want you to put on your old summer red dress
    Put on your Easter bonnet and all the rest
    And I want to make love to you yes, yes and the healing has begun, ow

    I can't stand myself
    We're gonna make music underneath the stars
    We're gonna play to the violin and the two guitars
    And we'll sit there for playing in our for hours and hours and hours and hours
    And hours and hours and hours and hours, when the healing has begun
     
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  7. Rimbaud82 Brown Belt

    Rimbaud82
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    Linden Arden stole the highlights --
    With one hand tied behind his back --
    Loved the morning sun, and whiskey
    Ran like water in his veins
    Loved to go to church on Sunday
    Even though he was a drinking man
    When the boys came to San Francisco
    They were looking for his life
    But he found out where they were drinking
    Met them face to face outside
    Cleaved their heads off with a hatchet
    Lord, he was a drinkin' man
    And when someone tried to get above him
    He just took the law into his own hands

    Linden Arden stole the highlights
    And they put his fingers through the glass
    He had heard all those stories many, many times before
    And he did not care no more to ask
    And he loved the little children like they were his very own
    He Said, "Someday it may get lonely."
    Now he's livin', livin' with a gun
     
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  8. Svithjod För Moder Svea!

    Svithjod
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    I hope it's OK to post a Swedish song? I love this guy. Allan Edwall.

    He was also a great actor, and is probably most famous for his roles in Ingmar Bergman's 'Fanny & Alexander' and Andrei Tarkovsky's 'The Sacrifice'. In Sweden he is mostly known for his roles in various children films though...

    What a super talented man (and good person) who also was a musician, and made awesome Swedish songs like this one:



    Allan Edwall - Mice and Men

    Tweet tweet says all small birds
    When they jump on their branches,
    And the pig, he grunts and goes on
    To express what he means.

    Ba Ba bleat all the white lambs
    And the cluck's heard from the geese
    With the neigh the horse is neighing up
    He wants to show that he is sorry.

    But the mice, they run quiet around,
    Wherefore "quiet as mouse".
    From mice you never hear anything
    Though they are teeming in the houses.

    A mouse never dares to stand up,
    He is always so quiet and closed.
    A peep and you get yourself a wallop
    So you learn to shut your mouth.

    A boorish and unpolished way
    It is appropriate to supplement
    With ordinary cynicism and lack of sense
    And an inclination to hector.

    'Cause if the trap is as wide as the butt
    And full of sharp teeth
    Then every thing is almost always solved
    Whatever in the world happens.
     
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  9. Losfer Words Purple Belt

    Losfer Words
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    Leonard Cohen is the Dracula of lyrical songwriting, he cannot be killed and he holds dominion over all others.
     
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  10. SenorFranko Purple Belt

    SenorFranko
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    Outkast's lyrics I always find are very underrated, they're are usually filled with many funny lines that go unnoticed. I've highlighted my favourite line from this song. Cracks me up every time.



    Damn damn damn James

    Dickie shorts & Lincoln's clean
    leanin' checking out the scene
    Gangsta boys Bigga's lit ridin' out talkin' shit
    :eek::eek::eek::eek::eek: where you wanna go?
    You know the club don't close 'til four
    let's party 'til we can't no more
    Watch out here come the folks

    As the plot thickens it gives me the dickens
    Reminiscent of Charles a li'l disco-tech
    nestled in the ghettoes of :eek::eek::eek::eek::eek:ville, USA
    via Atlanta, Georgia a li'l spot where
    young men & young women go to experience
    they first li'l taste of the nightlife
    Me? Well I've never been there, well perhaps once
    But I was so engulfed in the Old "E"
    I never made it to the door you speak of hard core
    while the DJ sweatin' out all the problems
    and the troubles of the day
    While this fine bow-legged girl fine as all outdoors
    lulls lukewarm lullabies in your left ear
    competing with "Set it Off, " in the right
    But it all blends perfectly let the liquor tell it
    "Hey hey look baby they playin' our song"
    And the crowd goes wild as if
    Holyfield has just won the fight
    But in actuality it's only about 3 A.M.
    and three :eek::eek::eek::eek::eek:s just don' got hauled
    off in the ambulance [sliced up]
    two :eek::eek::eek::eek::eek:s don' start bustin' [wham wham]
    and one :eek::eek::eek::eek::eek: don' took his shirt off talkin' 'bout
    "Now who else wanna fuck with Hollywood Court?"
    It's just my interpretation of the situation

    Damn damn damn James

    When I first met my SpottieOttieDopalicious Angel
    I can remember that damn thing like yesterday
    The way she moved reminded me of a Brown Stallion
    horse with skates on smooth like a hot comb
    on nappy ass hair

    I walked up on her & was almost paralyzed
    her neck was smelling sweeter
    than a plate of yams with extra syrup


    eyes beaming like four karats apiece just blindin' a :eek::eek::eek::eek::eek:
    felt like I chiefed a whole O of that Presidential
    My heart was beating so damn fast
    never knowing this moment would bring another
    life into this world
    Funny how shit come together sometimes [ya dig]
    One moment you frequent the booty clubs &
    the next four years you & somebody's daughter
    raisin' y'all own young'n now that's a beautiful thang
    that's if you're on top of your game
    and man enough to handle real life situations [that is]
    Can't gamble feeding baby on that dope money
    might not always be sufficient but the
    United Parcel Service & the people at the Post Office
    didn't call you back because you had cloudy piss
    So now you back in the trap just that, trapped
    Go on and marinate on that for a minute
     
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  11. Svithjod För Moder Svea!

    Svithjod
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    Time for my favorite progressive rock band to enter the thread...

    No album version on YT of course, so this one will have to do.



    Said the straight man to the late man
    Where have you been
    I've been here and I've been there
    And I've been in between.

    I talk to the wind
    My words are all carried away
    I talk to the wind
    The wind does not hear
    The wind cannot hear.

    I'm on the outside looking inside
    What do I see
    Much confusion, disillusion
    All around me.

    You don't possess me
    Don't impress me
    Just upset my mind
    Can't instruct me or conduct me
    Just use up my time

    I talk to the wind
    My words are all carried away
    I talk to the wind
    The wind does not hear
    The wind cannot hear.
     
    #31
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  12. Pixelated Porn Double Yellow Card

    Pixelated Porn
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    gunship's shadow fury

    The first fist of fury is thunder You chop em down with the sight of your glass Take a turn its a night for bleivers (oohoohoh oohoohoh)
    The first fist of fury is thunder
    You chop em down with the sight of your glass
    Take a turn its a night for bleivers (oohoohoh oohoohoh)

    Your just a breath away and your ready to blast

    In to the shadows again
    In to the shadow again ain ain

    No one said it would feel this good (oooohohohohh)
    With the warmth of smoke on your lungs
    And the taste of blood on your tounge
    No one said it would feel this good
    oooohohohohh
    Give it away ay ay
    dont give it away ay ay

    You turn it on for belivers (for belivers, for belivers)
    You turn it on for the fame (the fame the fame)
    Trigger happy 8mm's
    Calling out your name (calling out, calling out, out)

    In to the shadow again
    In to the shadow again ain ain

    No one said it would feel this good
    oooohohohohh
    With the warmth of smoke on your lungs
    And the taste of blood on your tounge
    No one said it would feel this good (oooohohohohh)
    Give it away ay ay
    dont give it away ay ay

    Cut it off when i stop breathing in twenty twenty knuckles gripped
    Just when you thought it was cold
    Still calling out your name
    Just when you thought it was cold
    Still calling out your name
    Whos Calling out my name

    No one said it would feel this good
    oooohohohohh
    With the warmth smoke on your lungs
    And the taste of blood on your tounge
    No one said it would feel this good (oooohohohohh)
    Give it away ay ay
    dont give it away ay ay
     
    #32
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  13. Flemmy Stardust King of Lea

    Flemmy Stardust
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    Most of the music i like isn't because of lyrics, but i have been getting more into it.

    Like it or not, Conor Oberst writes lyrics that make a lot of the greats look second-rate.




     
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  14. Essie cable up

    Essie
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    This is a great thread. I am pretty tired right now or else I would expand more upon some of this stuff but I really enjoyed going through it. @Rimbaud82 I think we would get along in terms of taste. Dylan is one of the musicians that made me get into writing and love music in the first place. I prefer his 70s era, rustic lyricism nowadays more though. I think every song on Blood on the Tracks could fit here. Or all of the original basement tapes. Shelter from the Storm in particular really means a lot to me. And I do prefer the New York recordings.

    I would say in general I don't care about lyrics in music as much as I once did, and especially considering I listen to mostly music without vocals. But the music with lyrics that I love is usually pretty literary. Joanna Newsom's Only Skin is probably my favorite song lyrically and I think it basically works like a novella.

    and there was a booming above you
    that night, black airplanes flew over the sea
    and they were lowing and shifting like
    beached whales
    shelled snails
    as you strained and you squinted to see
    the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry

    you froze in your sand shoal
    prayed for your poor soul
    sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl
    and when the bread broke, fell in bricks of wet smoke
    my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke

    then there was a silence you took to mean something:
    mean, run, sing
    for alive you will evermore be
    and the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulkin'
    has gone east
    while you're left to explain them to me
    released from their hairless and blind cavalry

    with your hands in your pockets, stubbily running
    to where I'm unfresh, undressed and yawning
    well, what is this craziness? this crazy talking?
    you caught some small death when you were sleepwalking

    it was a dark dream, darlin', it's over
    the firebreather is beneath the clover
    beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever
    a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather

    but I took my fishingpole (fearing your fever)
    down to the swimminghole, where there grows bitter herb
    that blooms but one day a year by the riverside - I'd bring it here:
    apply it gently
    to the love you've lent me

    while the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed
    and the string sobbed, as it cut through the hustling breeze
    and I watched how the water was kneading so neatly
    gone treacly
    nearly slowed to a stop in this heat
    - frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath

    press on me: we are restless things
    webs of seaweed are swaddling
    you call upon the dusk
    of the musk of a squid
    shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib

    rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes
    I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it!
    smell of a stone fruit being cut and being opened
    smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking

    and when the fire moves away
    fire moves away, son
    why would you say
    I was the last one?

    scrape your knee; it is only skin
    makes the sound of violins
    when you cut my hair, and leave the birds the trimmings
    I am the happiest woman among all women

    and the shallow
    water
    stretches as far as I can see
    knee-deep, trudging along
    a seagull weeps; "so long"

    I'm humming a threshing song
    until the night is over
    hold on!
    hold on!
    hold your horses back from the fickle dawn

    I have got some business out at the edge of town
    candy weighing both of my pockets down
    'til I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them
    (and knowing how the common-folk condemn
    what it is I do, to you, to keep you warm
    being a woman, being a woman)

    but always up the mountainside you're clambering
    groping blindly, hungry for anything:
    picking through your pocket linings - well, what is this?
    scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus?

    I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain
    little sister, he will be back again
    I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain
    spiders ghosts hang soaked and dangelin'
    silently from all the blooming cherry trees
    in tiny nooses, safe from everyone
    - nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done
    be a woman, be a woman!

    though we felt the spray of the waves
    we decided to stay 'til the tide rose too far
    we weren't afraid, 'cause we know what you are
    and you know that we know what you are

    awful atoll
    - o, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow!
    bawl, bellow:
    Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow

    toddle and roll;
    teeth an impalpable bit of leather
    while yarrow, heather and hollyhock
    awkwardly molt along the shore

    are you mine?
    my heart?
    mine anymore?

    stay with me for awhile
    that's an awfully real gun
    I know life will lay you down
    as the lightning has lately done

    failing this, failing this,
    follow me, my sweetest friend
    to see what you anointed in pointing your gun there

    lay it down! nice and slow!
    there is nowhere to go, save up
    up where the light, undiluted, is weaving in a drunk dream
    at the sight of my baby, out back:
    back on the patio watching the bats bring night in
    - while, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white
    wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped

    last week our picture window produced a half-word
    heavy and hollow, hit by a brown bird
    we stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake
    and pant and labour over every intake

    I said a sort of prayer for some sort of rare grace
    then thought I ought to take her to a higher place
    said: "dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you
    and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view"

    then in my hot hand
    she slumped her sick weight
    we tramped through the poison oak
    heartbroke and inchoate

    the dogs were snapping
    so you cuffed their collars
    while I climbed the tree-house
    then how I hollered!
    cause she'd lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two

    then, saw the treetops, cocked her head and up and flew
    (while, back in the world that moves, often
    according to the hoarding of these clues
    dogs still run roughly around
    little tufts of finch-down)

    the cities we passed were a flickering wasteland
    but his hand in my hand made them hale and harmless
    while down in the lowlands the crops are all coming;
    we have everything
    life is thundering blissful towards death
    in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness

    you stopped by, I was all alive
    in my doorway, we shucked and jived
    and when you wept, I was gone:
    see, I got gone when I got wise
    but I can't with certainty say we survived

    then down, and down
    and down, and down
    and down, and deeper
    stoke without sound
    the blameless flames
    you endless sleeper

    through fire below, and fire above, and fire within
    sleeped through the things that couldn't have been if you hadn't have been

    and when the fire moves away
    fire moves away, son
    why would you say
    I was the last one?

    all my bones they are gone, gone, gone
    take my bones, I don't need none
    cold, cold cupboard, Lord, nothing to chew on!
    suck all day on a cherry stone

    dig a little hole, not three inches round
    spit your pit in the hole in the ground
    weep upon the spot for the starving of me!
    till up grow a fine young cherry tree

    well when the bough breaks, what'll you make for me?
    a little willow cabin to rest on your knee
    what'll I do with a trinket such as this?
    think of your woman, who's gone to the west

    but I'm starving and freezing in my measly old bed!
    then I'll crawl across the salt flats to stroke your sweet head
    come across the desert with no shoes on!
    I love you truly, or I love no-one

    fire
    moves
    away

    fire moves away, son
    why would you say
    I was the last one?

    clear the room! there's a fire, a fire, a fire
    get going, and I'm going to be right behind you
    and if the love of a woman or two, dear,
    couldn't move you to such heights, then all I can do
    is do, my darling, right by you

    Just a few others for now.

    The Mountain Goats - No Children

    I hope that our few remaining friends
    Give up on trying to save us
    I hope we come out with a fail-safe plot
    To piss off the dumb few that forgave us

    I hope the fences we mended
    Fall down beneath their own weight
    And I hope we hang on past the last exit
    I hope it's already too late

    And I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here
    Someday burns down
    And I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away
    And I never come back to this town again in my life

    I hope I lie
    And tell everyone you were a good wife
    And I hope you die
    I hope we both die

    I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow
    I hope it bleeds all day long
    Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises
    We're pretty sure they're all wrong

    I hope it stays dark forever
    I hope the worst isn't over
    And I hope you blink before I do
    And I hope I never get sober

    And I hope when you think of me years down the line
    You can't find one good thing to say
    And I'd hope that if I found the strength to walk out
    You'd stay the hell out of my way

    I am drowning
    There is no sign of land
    You are coming down with me
    Hand in unlovable hand

    And I hope you die
    I hope we both die

    I think this is one of the most beautiful love songs and ghost stories written really. I guess to love someone so much that you hope you both die is a really rare feeling but I have been there.

    Belle and Sebastian - If You're Feeling Sinister

    Anthony walked to his death because he thought he'd never feel this way again
    If he goes back to the house then things would go from bad to worse, what could he do?
    He wants to remember things exactly as he left them on that funny day
    And if there is something else beyond, he isn't scared because
    It's bound to be less boring than today
    It's bound to be less boring than tomorrow

    Hilary walked to her death because she couldn't think of anything to say
    Everybody thought that she was boring, so they never listened anyway
    Nobody was really saying anything of interest, she fell asleep
    She was into S&M and bible studies
    Not everyone's cup of tea she would admit to me
    Her cup of tea, she would admit to no one
    Her cup of tea, she would admit to me
    Oh but her cup of tea, she would admit to no one

    Hilary went to the Catholic Church because she wanted information
    The vicar, or whatever, took her to one side and gave her confirmation
    Saint Theresa's calling her, the church up on the hill is looking lovely
    But it doesn't interest, the only things she wants to know is
    How and why and when and where to go
    How and why and when and where to follow
    How and why and when and where to go
    How and why and when and where to follow

    But if you are feeling sinister
    Go off and see a minister
    He'll try in vain to take away the pain of being a hopeless unbeliever

    When she got back, her spirituality was thrown into confusion
    So she got a special deal on renting
    From the man at Rediffusion
    "Look at me! I'm on TV
    It makes up for the shortcomings of being poor
    Now I'm in a million pieces", picked up for deliberation
    By the people listening at home
    By the people watching on the telly
    By the people listening at home
    By the people watching on the telly

    But if you are feeling sinister
    Go off and see a minister
    He'll try in vain to take away the pain of being a hopeless unbeliever
    But if you are feeling sinister
    Go off and see a minister
    Chances are you'll probably feel better
    If you stayed and played with yourself


    I've always thought that song brilliantly describes how mundane suicide can be and how the idea of wanting to die starts as a comfort and becomes a real option. Also the mixing of the religious and the temporal always hits me in the gut.
     
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  15. Flemmy Stardust King of Lea

    Flemmy Stardust
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    For all their politics, their best lyric ever is:

    "I like to party fucking hard. I like my rock n roll the same"

    I really like T....uhhh Laura's lyrics. I do feel like her lyrics suffered from being a dopey anarchist though. When she was singing about anything but...she had some dope lyrics.



    And



    "She can still hear that Rebel Yell, just as loud as it was in 1983"
     
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  16. Svithjod För Moder Svea!

    Svithjod
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    I can't say I listen to a lot of rap/hip hop, and there's so much crap in the genre tbh.
    But some guys are still fucking brilliant and unique!




    I just love the raw lyrical style with these crazy rhyme schemes, still connected to a brutal reality all the time, even when it goes over-the-top...
    I don't know, it's something I can feel and respect. None of this ghetto complacency for me, thanks. But Cage and Leak Bros is the shit yo!
     
    #36
  17. BeardotheWeirdo Silver Belt

    BeardotheWeirdo
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    "Back to the motor league" is one of my favourite Propagandhi songs... but that line is uncharacteristically cheesy for Chris Hannah. I still remember hearing it for the first time and thinking "What? really?

    This is the part of the song I love the most.
    As far as Tom's anarchist lyrics go, here's a quote:

    "I burn down buildings
    While you sit on a shelf inside of them"

    Beautifully written, it poses the dilema, words or actions? Both are necessary and valid, but action is what really makes change. I agree with young Tom.

    The earlier stuff (2000-2005) is their best by far, imo.

    To quote from the song "Holy Shit"

    The songs from their 2005 "Searching for a Former Clarity" The name of the album says it all, as do the lyrics I quoted. He was feeling lost and confused. He started to feel like an actor, the passion was gone. You can hear it in their music too, they changed, it didn't have the same energy and passion that it used to have.

    The lyrics might cover more mature subjects in their later material, but it never had the same feeling imo. There are hints of it still on Searching for a Former Clarity but the magic seemed to die for Tom after that. In those early years the music meant everything to them, and it showed.

    "If this GM van don't make it
    across the state line
    we might as well lay down and die"

    Sure it's childish and silly, but he meant it, and the music meant everything to them at the time. You can just feel his passion oozing out of the speakers. I haven't got that feeling from them since "Searching For a Former Clarity" when he was still honest and passionate but also confused and lost. Everything after that is OK at best, boring at worst.

    I still get choked up every time I hear "Pints of Guinness Make you Stronger"
     
    #37
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  18. Flemmy Stardust King of Lea

    Flemmy Stardust
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    Haha, it seems we like very different things about the same artists. It's all good.

    I was kind of alluding to "Baby, I'm an Anarchist" as being pretty corny for the quality of writer he/she typically is.
     
    #38
  19. Flemmy Stardust King of Lea

    Flemmy Stardust
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    From that song, and even from their whole discography, these are the best lyrics imo:

    "And there will be a poetry
    spoken silently between me and the stereo
    I'll work mornings
    and you can work through the night"
     
    #39
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  20. BeardotheWeirdo Silver Belt

    BeardotheWeirdo
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    :D It's still nice to meet a fellow Propagandhi fan.

    I'll repsond with some lyrics from F.Y.P.

    F.Y.P. - Inmatoor

    i'm the poop of the party
    i'll litter and waste
    i'll puke on your master plans,
    how does that taste?
    cos i can't stand your idea of grown up
    go pay your fucking mortgage
    or your idea of punk,
    you stupid fucking emo prick
    i should be a gentleman, to leave it be
    but no, cos i have to be the poop of the party
    i'm proud of it
    and i don't give a shit
    the word "mature" is a synonym for chickenshit


    The stupid fucking emo prick part makes me laugh everytime. I like emotional songs too, the singer hates all these old songs he wrote now, but the last line is quite interesting though. In the culture of Punk music growing up means selling out. Being mature means accepting the world for the shit-hole it is and moving on... is that really the grown up thing to do?

    Those are some beautiful lines.
     
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