Everything Must Go
Album - 10 giugno 2003 - Debaser id 67405

I don't mind the quiet
Or the lonely nights
I don't miss the funky attitudes
And I don't miss the fights
I lie on the couch 'til suppertime
And hunker down and read the Post
And that's when I remember the things I miss the most:

The talk
The sex
Somebody to trust
The Audi TT
The house on the Vineyard
The house on the Gulf Coast
These are the things I miss the most

I kinda like frying up
My sad cuisine
Getting in bed and curling up with a girlie magazine
Sometimes in the corner of my eye
I see that adorable ghost
And then ba-boom I remember the things I miss the most

The talk
The sex
Somebody to trust
The comfy Eames chair
The good copper pans
The '54 Strat
These are the things I miss the most

I had a little birdy friend
By morning she was gone
Birdie good-bye
Birdie bye bye

I'm learning how to meditate
So far so good
I'm building the Andrea Doria out of balsa wood
The days really don't last forever
But it's getting pretty damn close
And that's when I remember the things I miss the most

The talk
The sex
Somebody to trust
The Audi TT
The house on the Vineyard
The house on the Gulf Coast
These are the things I miss the most

In the beginning
We could hang with the dude
But it's been too much of nothing
Of that stank attitude
Now they curse your name
And there's a bounty on your face
It's your own fault daddy
Godwhacker's on the case

We track your almighty ass thru seven heaven worlds
Me, Slinky Redfoot
And our trusty Angel-girls
And when the stars bleed out
That be the fever of the chase
You better get gone poppie
Godwhacker's on the case

Be very very quiet
Clock everything you see
Little things might matter later
At the start of the end of history

Climb up the glacier
Across bridges of light
We sniff you, Big Tiger
In the forest of the night
'Cause there's no escape
From the Rajahs of Erase
Better run run run
Godwhacker's on the case

Be very, very quiet
Clock everything you see
Little things might matter later
At the start of the end of history

Yes we are the Godwhackers
Who rip and chop and slice
For crimes beyond imagining
It's time to pay the price
You better step back son
Give the man some whacking space
You know this might get messy
GodWhacker's on the case

Our man Abu squeezes off 20 tracer rounds
And that's when she jumps the turnstile
And as she clings to the roof of the speeding train
The Double A down to Sheridan Square

Her cell phone rings
It's, like, her stupid father
Be in the door by ten—again

Pixeleen
Dream deep my three times perfect ultrateen
Pixeleen
Born in the bogs of Jersey
Trained how to love and spy hard
Dropped on the streets of Roppongi
Soaked through on the floor of a noodle shop

And when Abu rams the clip in the miniglock
Up on the catwalk inside the warehouse
You whip a knife from the top of your go-go boot
Just a flash of spectacular thigh

Your pager starts to throb
It's your as-if boyfriend Randall
Better keep it real—or whatever

Pixeleen
Rave on my sleek and soulful cyberqueen
Pixeleen
Penned by a hack in the Palisades
Backed by some guys from Columbia
Shot all in digital video
For a million and change

Flash back to cool summer nights
Freddy can we cut to the chase?
In a room above your garage
Everything about me is different
Symmetrical and clean

This is what I see
Just a girl in girlie trouble
Dancing in the video
With gun and tambourine

Pixeleen
Be good my three times perfect ultrateen
Pixeleen
Born on the floor of a noodle shop
Dropped in the bogs of Jersey
Shot by a guy from Columbia
Soaked through all in digital video
Girl with the sweet backstory
Pitched in a trailer in Burbank
Cast by a cool-enough yes man
Screened at a festival in Utah

That must be her again
She's leaning on my bell
That cold psychotic brain
The one I know so well
So I'm nailed to the floor in the no-option zone
There's about zero chance she'll give up and go home

This endless afternoon
It started on the day I met her
Lunch with Gina is forever

She's coming round the corner
Her body's just a blur
I peel out like The Flash
It don't mean boo to her
So I duck into Nino's—she's barred from the place
The minute I walk out she's right in my face

She's got nothing but time
No use in trying to be clever
Lunch with Gina is forever

Now I'm in my apartment
The blinds down the lights out
The phone rings God help me
There's nobody home
I crouch on the carpet
Not breathing just being
Like meat on the bone

I'm in a cozy booth
Maybe my watch is fast
Another Tanqueray
I'll wait till twenty past
I'm about to go postal when she waltzes in
I guess she's a knockout—hey where have I been?

The waiter never comes
God knows the service could be better
Lunch with Gina is forever

Coffee and a kiss
Maybe later maybe never
Lunch with Gina…