The Lyrics Thread.

[Rimbaud82]

Oh, yeah, don't get me wrong... I'm not really a snob when it comes to music. I listen to a lot of different styles all the time. But still, the quality of the best folk songs out there... It's petty hard to beat IMO. I don't know, it's just a special feeling of genuineness (is that the right word?)

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.

Yes, exactly! I agree with everything. That's what makes folk music so unique and beautiful... I like all of the music in your post man. I'll definitely tune in to this thread now and then, for some quality music and discussion!

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/

 

[Rimbaud82]

Haha, damn. I forgot to post John Martyn!

I love him too. I'll contribute with this one:



There's a man in the station and a train in the rain
There's a face in the mirror that's showing the strain
There's a woman in the dark that's standing apart
There's a love in the man that's breaking his heart
But it's alright, I'm catching the next train home
The next train home

There's one more circle I'm dying to try
There's a piece of my head that's asking why
There's a piece of my heart that's dying to fly
There's a baby in the woman that's waiting to cry
But it's alright, I'm catching the next train home
The next train home

There's got to be a way for a lazy face and
Get up and start loving the human race
There's just got to be a way for a crazy face
Get out from under this paper chase
But it's alright, I'm catching the next train home
Next train home

There's a man in the station and a train in the rain
There's a face in the mirror that's showing the strain
There's a woman in the dark that's standing apart
There's a love in the man that's breaking his heart
But it's alright, I'm catching the next train home
Next train home

Oh man love that song, not a bad song on that album tbf.

 

[Rimbaud82]

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

 

[Rimbaud82]

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'

 

[Rimbaud82]

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

 

[Rimbaud82]

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

 

[Rimbaud82]

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

 

[Svithjod]

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

Spoiler: Translated lyrics

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.

 

[Losfer Words]

Leonard Cohen is the Dracula of lyrical songwriting, he cannot be killed and he holds dominion over all others.

 

[SenorFranko]

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
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 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 s just don' got hauled
off in the ambulance [sliced up]
two s don' start bustin' [wham wham]
and one 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
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

 

[Svithjod]

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.

 

[Pixelated Porn]

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

 

[Flemmy Stardust]

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.

 

[essie]

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.

Spoiler: Joanna Newsom Only Skin

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.

 

[Flemmy Stardust]

Propagandhi

For all their politics, their best lyric ever is:

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

Against Me!

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"

 

[Svithjod]

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!

 

[BeardotheWeirdo]

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"

"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.

I guess life is just a popularity contest
Success, the ability to perform within a framework of obedience
Just ask the candy-coated Joy-Cam rock-bands
selling shoes for venture-capitalists,
silencing competing messages,
Rounding off the jagged edges

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"

I am oh so fascinated,
I am oh so entertained,
Standing here like a comedian,
I repeat what I say, again and again and again
until the meaning has become an imitation of itself,
An impression of an original defeats the fucking purpose.

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"

 

[Flemmy Stardust]

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

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.

 

[Flemmy Stardust]

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

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"

 

[BeardotheWeirdo]

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.

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?

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"

Those are some beautiful lines.