Альбом Beck

Something's wrong 'cause my mind is fading
And everywhere I look
There's a dead end waiting
Temperature's dropping at the rotten oasis
Stealing kisses from the leperous faces

Heads are hanging from the garbage man trees
Mouthwash jukebox gasoline
Crystals are pointing
At a poor man's pockets
Smiling eyes ripping out of his sockets

Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind

Love machines on the sympathy crutches
Discount orgies on the dropout buses
Hitching a ride with the bleeding noses
Coming to town with the brief case blues

Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind

Something's wrong 'cause my mind is fading
Ghetto-blasting disintegrating
Rock 'n' roll, know what I'm saying
And everywhere I look
There's a devil waiting

Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind
Got a devil's haircut in my mind

Devil's haircut! In my mind!
Devil's haircut! In my mind!

It takes a backwash man
To sing a backwash song
Like a frying pan when the fire's gone
Driving my pig while the band's taking pictures in the grass
In my radio smashed
And I like pianos in the evening sun
Dragging my heels 'til my day is done
Saturday night in the captain's clothes
Tender horns blowing' in my jury 'fros

Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro*

I can't believe my way back when
My Cadillac pants going much to fast
Karaoke weekend at the suicide shack
Community service and I'm still the Mack
Shocked my finger, spots on my hand
I been spreading disease all across the land
Beautiful air-conditioned,
Sitting in the kitchen
Wishing I was living like a hit man

Face down in the guarantees
Jaundiced honchos getting' busy with me
Because I get down I get down
I get down all the way

Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro*

Sawdust songs of the plaid bartenders
Western Unions of the country westerns
Silver foxes looking for romance
In the chain-smoke
Kansas flash dance ass pants
And you got the hotwax residues
You never lose in your razor blade shoes
Stealing pesos out of my brain
Hazard signs down the Alamo lanes
Radar systems piercing the souls
You never get caught with the wax so rotten
All my days I got the grizzly words
Hijacked flavors that I'm flipping like birds

Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro*

[Girl:] "Who are you?"
[Man:] "I'm the enchanting wizard of rhythm."
[Girl:] "Why did you come here?"

You only got one finger left
And it's pointing at the door
And you're taking for granted
What the Lord's laid on the floor
So I'm picking up the pieces
And I'm putting them up for sale
Throw your meal ticket out the window
Put your skeletons in jail

'Cause Lord only knows it's getting late
Your senses are gone so don't you hesitate
To give yourself a call,
Let your bottom dollars fall
Throwing your two bit cares down the drain
Invite me to the seven seas
Like some seasick man
You'll do whatever you please
And I'll do whatever I can
Titanic, fare thee well,
My eyes are turning pink
Don't call us when the new age
Gets old enough to drink

'Cause Lord only knows it's getting late
Your senses are gone so don't you hesitate
Move on up the hill,
There's nothing dead left to kill
Throwing your two bit cares down the drain
orale, orale, orale, orale
orale, orale
Just passing through
orale, orale, orale, orale

Going back to Houston
Do the hotdog dance
Going back to Houston

She's got cigarette on each arm
She's got the lily-white cavity crazes
She's got a carburetor tied to the moon
Pink eyes looking to the food of the ages

She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution

She's got a hand on a wheel of pain
She can talk to the mangling strangers
She can sleep in a fiery bog
Throwing troubles to the dying embers

She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution

She's got a paradise camouflage
Like a whip-crack sending me shivers
She's the boat in a strip mine ocean
Riding low on the drunken rivers

She's alone in the new pollution

I dropped my anchor in the dead of night
I packed my suitcase and threw it away
I fell asleep in the funeral fire
I gave my clothes to the policeman

Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air

Shooting venom at the passers-by
I'm hi-jacking stop the heaven down
I put my eyes in a paper bag
I'm spinning round like a gambling wheel

Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air

I dropped my anchor in the dead of night
I packed my suitcase and threw it away
I fell asleep in the funeral fire
I gave my clothes to the policeman

Blow back derelict when
Lay my soul in the foul of the air
Blow back derelict when

Keep on trucking' like a novacane hurricane
Blowing static on the paranoid short-wave
Short fuse, got to dismantle
Code red: what's your handle?

Mission incredible undercover convoy
Full-tilt chromosome cowboy
X-ray search and destroy
Smokestack blacktop novacane boy

Got some rum, longhorn drums
Detonate with the suicide gate
Test tube, stillborn and dazed
drugstore plains in the razor's haze
Got the momentum radioactive
Lowdown!

Circumcised for the operation
Full spectrum generation
Cyanide ride down the turnpike
After hours on the miracle mic

Grinding the gears eighteen wheels
Pigs and robots riding on their heels
Power through the roadblock
Making a sandblast
Diesel aluminum cruising like drain-o
Down the horizon purple gasses
Semi-trucks hauling their asses
Novacane, hit the road expressway
Explode!

I been drifting along
In the same stale shoes
Loose ends tying a noose
In the back of my mind
If you thought that you were making your way
To where the puzzles and pagans lay
I'll put it together:
It's a strange invitation
When I wake up
Someone will sweep up my lazy bones
And we will rise in the cool of the evening
I remember the way that you smiled
When the gravity shackles were wild
And something is vacant
When I think it's all beginning

I been drifting along
In the same stale shoes
Loose ends tying the noose
In the back of my mind
If you thought that you were making your way
To where the puzzles and pagans lay
I'll put it together:

There's a destination a little up the road
From the habitations and the towns we know
A place we saw the lights turn low
The jig-saw jazz and the get-fresh flow

Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts
Two turntables and a microphone
Bottles and cans just clap your hands
Just clap your hands

Where it's at!
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at!
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at!
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at!
[robot vocal effect:]
I got two turntables and a microphone

(take me home with my elevator bones!)
(that was a good drum break)

Pick yourself up off the side of the road
With your elevator bones
And your whip-flash tones
Members only hyponotizers
Move through the room like ambulance drivers
Shine your shoes with your microphone blues
Hirsute with your parachute fruits
Passing the dutchie from coast to coast
Let my man Ken Wilson (rock the most)

Where it's at!
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at!
I got two turntables and a microphone

[Man speaking]:
("What about those who swing both ways? AC-DC's?)

Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone
Two turntables and a microphone

Where it's at!
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at!
I got two turntables and a microphone

Oh, dear me.
Make-out City's a two-horse town
[girl speaking]:
("That's beautiful, Dad.")

(Got my microphone....)
There's a destination a little up the road
From the habitations and the towns we know
A place we saw the lights turn low
The jig-saw jazz and the get-fresh flow

Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts
Two turntables and a microphone
Bottles and cans and just clap your hands
And just clap your hands

Where it's at!
I got two turntables and a microphone
Where it's at!
I got two turntables and a microphone

I got plastic on my mind
(make it out, baby)
yeah, yeah, yeah
let's make it out, baby
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

telephone plastic baby
Ah, so good
oh, yeah
let's play good

The last survivor of a boiled crown
Another casualty with the casual frown
The janitor vandals they bark in your face
Juveniles with the piles and paste

It's a sensation
A bankrupt corpse
In the garbage glasses
With the crutches of frogs(that bores)

Don't be confused when the fuse is up
And you're taking a leak
Into your brother's cup
When the cup is filled
You can run and be killed
In the billion miles
Of the muscles that build

Radiation
Feeling the force
Karaoke
Vomiting morons

The scalps of zero hear the call
Rubbing in a blind man's running hall
With the canker sores and the robot pill
Throwing imbeciles on the window sills

It's a sensation
A bankrupt corpse
In the garbage glasses
With the crutches of frogs

I don't need no wheels
I don't need no gasoline
'Cause the wind that is blowing
Is blowing like a smoke machine

If I said to you
That I was looking for a place to get to
'Cause my neck is broken
And my pants ain't getting no bigger

I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys
I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time

All my friends
Tell me something is getting together
I got a beard that would disappear
If I'm dressed in leather
Now let me tell you about my baby
She was born in Arizona
Sitting in the jailhouse
Trying to learn some good manners

I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys
I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time

Matchsticks strike
When I'm riding my bike to the depot
'Cause everybody knows my name
At the recreation center
If I could only find a nickel
I would pay myself off tonight
'Cause nobody knows
When he good times have passed out cold

I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys
I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time

I got a stolen wife
And a rhinestone life
And some good ol' boys
I'm writing my will
On a three dollar bill
In the evening time

Don't talk to me
If you're looking for somebody to cry on
Don't talk to me
If you're looking for somebody to cry on

An open road where I can breathe
Where the lowest low is calling to me
I can pull myself back up back down
Stuck together like a readymade

And nobody knows where we been
Cancelled rations are running thin
Watches tick out of tune
Falling apart like a readymade
My bags are waiting in the next life

Rubbish piles fresh and plain
Empty boxes in a pawn shop brain
License plates stowaway
Standing in line like a readymade
And my bags are waiting in the next life

An open road where I can breathe
Where the lowest low is calling to me
I can pull myself back up back down
Stuck together like a readymade

High 5, High 5!
High 5, High 5!
[Rappers:] " C'mon on! 8! Everybody! C'mon! 7! C'mon, now! 6! 5!
Awe, yeah, I like that shit."

When I arrive it's like a high 5
A slap in the face I love the taste
All my days with my wheelchair ways
Watch me die in my suicide high
I don't mean to cause a holy commotion
When I step to the room with a powerful motion
Leopard skin let the records spin
'Round and round with the speed of sound

High 5! More dead than alive!
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills!
High 5! More dead than alive!
Rocking the plastic like a man from a casket!

Rocky mountain low we gotta go
Put that gadget in the random mode
Cripple candy rocking the Tandy
Rumba, buckshot, doing the foxtrot
In my car sweating like a dog
Beers and chairs new frontiers
On my way from the 'Frisco Bay
Dixieland, soda-pop man

High 5! More dead than alive!
Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills!
High 5! More dead than alive!
Rocking the plastic like a man from a casket!

[spoken:] Yeah, put that machine in random mode
Talking about popping chocolate
Beck--Like in the last century
[Rapper:] "Turn that s--t off, man! What's wrong with you?
Man, get the other record! Damn!"

High 5! More dead than alive!
Rocking the plastic like a man from a casket!
High 5! More dead than alive!
Rocking the plastic like a man from a casket!
High 5! More dead than alive!
Rocking the plastic like a man from a casket!

High 5! More dead than alive!
Rocking the plastic like a man from a casket!

[Rapper:] "Ok, now. Who likes designer jeans. Everybody,
designer jeans!
Say, say, say, say, say: Ooh, la la, Sassoon!
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! Everybody!
One more time let me hear you say: Ooh, la la, Sassoon!
Just do it everybody, c'mon! Now I want the ladies.
All the ladies, say: Sergio Valente!
Sing it, girls. Let me hear you say: Sergio Valente!

You've been so long
Your blind eyes are gone
Your old bones are on their own
So take off your coat
Put a song in your throat
Let the dead-beats pound all around

We will go
Nowhere we know
We don't have to talk at all
Hand me downs
Flypaper towns
Stuck together
One and all

The bargains you drive
Buckets and bags
And all your belongings
Your train's in the sand
Ramshackle land
Let the rats watch the races

We will go
Nowhere we know
'Til we find our one and all
Hand me downs
Flypaper towns
Stuck together
One and all

Praises get spent
Your trick face is bent
Pigsties and prizes
'Cause there's no kind of wealth
You're suiting yourself
You leave yourself behind

We will go
Nowhere we know
'Til we find our one and all
Your hand me downs
Flypaper towns
Stuck together

Gotta get it!
Gotta get it!
Yeah-OH!
Yeah-OH!
(Plastic classic)

Can't forget my bestial
Close electric telephone [phones]

Balling like hordes!
About the Shout!

Nasty distortion, [out on my road-jump]
All my friends gout [biscuit/sixties] soul
Rocking the plastic
Taking the no no robo
Rough as a river
Cowboy now-boy
Biscuit risk it tripper hitting the wicked

Man with soul, above the road
Taking' it back for the finger-point crowd

Ooh, gotta get it, plastic classic
Totem poles in the briefcase shows

Disco-box, action!
Gotta let forget with the jazz effect
Gotta let forget with the jazz effect)

Diskobox, [so] action!
Gotta [let forget] with the jazz effect
(Gotta [let forget] with the jazz effect)

Once the whistle blows, my sucker froze
Last Saturday night, I couldn't find my [fight]

[Drinking] Whiskey an' I did not shave
Paralyzed, like he didn't have no time
[Pumping] [whimper] and round the road
A traveling man with a crooked van

Soda-pop ooh sitting like slime
Lets get [soul] an' I realized
Diskobox, [so] action!
Gotta [let forget] with the jazz effect
(Gotta [let forget] with the jazz effect)

Has it come and gone?
Is it long before the spirit shaves his legs?
Is it wrapped in trash, sent back to a sanitation tank?
Is it disinfected, disconnected 'til it grafts some wires?
Is it sped up, spun around brown and yellow in the fires?

What is this town?
They said I got no place to be
The money meter's taking everything I see

Is it comes in lovely bones that put their shirts on ice?
Is it fireflies that cross out eyes with any spice?
Is it normal, born-again?
Let the vultures drink and drown
Is its force from weathers, birds of feathers never found?

What is this town?
They said I got no place to be
The money meter's taking everything I see

Has it come and gone?
Is it long before the spirit shaves his legs?
What is this town?
They said I Got no place to be