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The Lyrics Thread


Oedo 808

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Henri Got Cancer by Kartta. For the record, this song has nothing to do with the debilitating disease.

Kartta on MySpace Music - Free Streaming MP3s, Pictures & Music Downloads

Henri died today,

Only papa would say,

What he saw the last time.

He looked, he said: "Above the buildings, above the sky",

And was struck so he sang off key,

And danced with the dead.

At least he played true to what he knew.

He wrote true to what he knew.

"Nothing scares me more", he said,

"Put a gun to my head",

"It's funny", Fate said,

Peering over his all shoulder.

At least he played true to what he knew.

He wrote true to what he knew.

And as all our heroes die, we try to remember.

Thank you!

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Ropes - Indian Red Lopez

Sometimes the wrong thing

Feels like the right thing

Its a chance that you're willing to take

Sometimes the best thing

feels like the worst thing

cause it blew up in your face

Sometimes your helpless

nobody throws you

the rope you need

Sometimes your helpless

nobody throws you

the rope you need

sometimes the best thing

ends up the worst thing

sometimes the next thing

could be the best thing

there's a chance that its coming your way

theres a chance now coming your way

Sometimes your helpless

nobody throws you

the rope you need

Sometimes your helpless

nobody throws you

the rope you need

Then out of nowhere

the voice of the father

reminds you

Then out of nowhere

they throw you a lifeline, a lifeline

Sometimes your helpless

nobody throws you

the rope you need

Sometimes your helpless

nobody throws you

the rope you need

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I just wrote this and am quite happy with it for once! I included the chords in case anyone fancies messing around with it. Four chords repeated. Classic.

True Colours

Chorus:

[E]You can [G]be what you [C]want to be[A]

You can be what you want to be

A Buddhist in a cave or a city girl in LA

You can be what you want to be

[E]Ive no grip on you [G]anymore

We [C]used to be so [A]close

Ive no grip on you anymore

We used to be so close

You come running into my dreams

Im trying to forget

You come running into my dreams

I cannot let you in

I dont wana be a stickler

A pedant or a purist

I dont wana be a stickler

A pedant or a purist

I dont want to lose you

But cannot let it show

I dont want to lose you

Im too afraid to show...

[Am]My true colours (repeated)

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I just wrote this and am quite happy with it for once! I included the chords in case anyone fancies messing around with it. Four chords repeated. Classic.

True Colours

Chorus:

[E]You can [G]be what you [C]want to be[A]

You can be what you want to be

A Buddhist in a cave or a city girl in LA

You can be what you want to be

[E]Ive no grip on you [G]anymore

We [C]used to be so [A]close

Ive no grip on you anymore

We used to be so close

You come running into my dreams

Im trying to forget

You come running into my dreams

I cannot let you in

I dont wana be a stickler

A pedant or a purist

I dont wana be a stickler

A pedant or a purist

I dont want to lose you

But cannot let it show

I dont want to lose you

Im too afraid to show...

[Am]My true colours (repeated)

Pretty good, but you're no Cyndi Lauper.

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Surprised this thread is so popular actually. I've never really had the balls to post my lyrics anywhere... Seems pretty stupid, i know, but meh!

Heres a wee start I've made to a song. Been struggling to write to this peice of music for days, so go easy.

Dont let the sky outside, fool you,

Its still a fucking cold day,

The sunshine is just another mask,

Blinding and, diverting from the scars.

so predictable,

so irrational,

so irrational.

And I dont want to hear you cry,

I dont want to see you die, in my eyes.

In my mind i know. I'm letting go.

of my grip, on reality

feeling strangely free for a prisoner

Oh and ignore the punctuation. It sometimes seems like its in odd places, but it's more just to help me remember rhythms.

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our bassist wrote this, we're thinking about making it into a rap song, what you think?

THE STORY OF HOW RANDY ENDED UP A JAILBIRD

19380_104133952938507_100000257090849_100007_6249177_n.jpg

Six foot three, hun/

Im tons of fun/

Got caught on the run/

With a gun.

BPD [brisbane Police Department] split asunder/

My plot like thunder/

Behind bars and as stupid as Dumb & Dumber

What a thought when Down Under!

Now I find myself in jail/

Locked up in the Summer of 2004

For even a minimal term is failing/

To stop this ship of murder from sailing.

Damn, I was SO close/

Chased the bastard from coast to coast.

Finally pinned him down on Brisbanes beach of nudity

Damn, this lust to bust a cap with ***** *******s name on it/

Is not new to me.

Almost like my desire to see the split of the Stereophonics.

So shit/

Not done it good/

Since Performance and Cocktails/

Anyway, SO close to bleeding that baby beached whale/

Leached dry, he couldve been/

The victim of The Bloodsucker,

Out in stores now,

The story of how I murdered that motherfucker.

A tale to regale to my nephew and nieces/

The Whale Tailed Around Australia AND Blown To Pieces!

Thankfully, the Cerebral Crew got me out on bail/

Inferno in Torry/

Would make me jolly/

Oh, how I wish I could see the folly,

Of this Double Fantasy.

His death, his loneliness.

Racked with stress, I keep it inside,

And tell myself,

Relieving a strain thats enough to depress,

That its all in the mind, itll never happen.

Only when Im rapping,

Does it occur to me/

That a rock of lit dynamite through the window/

Smashed up in the Winter of 2009

Not even a lady of the night sucking his dick would be such a bimbo/

Though mighty fine

Unless he got her, I interjected, a limo

Would be admission to the penitentiary indefinitely!

Back to the Lennon Double Fantasy at hand,

A sour taste in the mouth of the so-called woman with the big buns/

Who could break the curse of the perpetual bachelor

No, not me; the one that seeks sex from a tight bitchbastard bastardbitch in latex,

Fucking chick with a dick spanking Simons buns with a spatula!

I imagine, telling the tranny he wouldve been a dud/

Between the sheets, anyway

She/he/he/she sobbing uncontrollably

It wouldnt shut up, no matter what I would say/

Can I fuck you?

No way!

I seek more depth/

Than a slut being throated/

Dreams of cooked beached whale getting the better of me/

Getting me metaphorically/

Bloated.

Me, Im like Dracula, dreaming of drawing his blood,

A mail order Yoko Ono bride bribed to pop his cherry,

Not knowing about me in the cupboard/

Jacking off, aiming my cum...BULLSEYE!

On the dartboard/

In the corner/

Next to the pile of spunky pants/

Man, its getting warmer.

Nah, only kidding. That stuff isnt exactly the kink in my kinky

Fire in my hand, lets make this sucker dance

And have beached whale winky

Remember, that fat bastard Chapman took Lennon out with guns in either hand/

No, subtract one because thats the single pistol/

The chrome to the dome before he loses his virginity/

Thats his Single Fantasy, no doubt/

But hell bite the ammunition

Mark Chapman Mark II seeking S****s eternal burnout.

And Ill send him in transition

His eulogy: he wished to beat the bullet and become a man/

Cargo, on this ship of murder, his burnt out body sent to Pakistan!

The tranny that split The Beatles with the prat P****** and his limp dick/

Musically and sexually speaking, this prick is no Bryan Ferry/

Once I burn him on the stake/

Ill plead insanity and say it was a mistake; itll be Christmas many a Merry!

Pull his eyeballs out his bloody head with a garden rake/

And make sure the buggers dead.

Having last thoughts is in a surgically transgendered characters nature/

For fate tells her,

Him, sorry, that hed be better off in Australia than give simple Simon/

His maturity dimple/

The bastard is dead, though not because of a shot to the temple.

Thats one/

Him dying alone without knowing what is love

Thats two/

Me laughing in the company of those who set free the white dove/

The symbol of purity, virginity and my bloody glove.

Death of a small time disc jock/

Who never quite found where to put his cock.

Randy Watson

Sexual Chocolate Copyright

25th December 2009

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here's one of ours, not been recorded yet though:

Fatal Psychosis

trapped inside

the mind of a psychopath

i delved too deep

trapped in his train of thought

my quest was to understand

instead i have now become

that which i swore to kill

that which i swore to kill

whores and scum walk the earth

unworthy of existence

must take their lives

kill the filth at its source

none shall escape

trapped inside

the mind of a psychopath

i delved too deep

trapped in his train of thought

my quest was to understand,

i became what i swore to kill

hundreds fall to my blades of cleansing

streets filled with the blood

of the filthy and obscene

no redemption in their deaths

only an eternity of torment awaits

with every death i bring release

soon i finally wake from that awful dream

only to have death come for me

as my blind rage caught up with me

this was the cost

of my fatal psychosis

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  • 3 months later...

Have just been introduced to this little ditty.

YouTube - Nicole 12 - Ballerina

Lyrics:

Did you enjoy pink ballerina dress?

Did you notice your father had such fetish?

He financed you to best schools.

He was strict at home, keeping your body in thin sexy form.

He was the one who wanted to put the shoes on your tender feet. Wrap

them tightly

Accidentally touching your thin legs.

He forced you to struggle in border of anorexia.

Did you look in the mirror, seeing the ugly fat girls reflection? Did

you refuse to eat so you would look better? Was it like that?

Not for your father.

Your father looked you in every possible practice and show, yet he saw

nothing but the thinnest and smallest little darling, he wished to

hold close and penetrate.

Something so beautiful he had created,

but so willing to taint and force under his power

You and your friends, stretching in those tights.

Into positions what made your orifices so available,

but hidden under surface of thin clothing.

He'd like nothing more but expose his cock, thicker than your arm,

and penetrate every orifice of his beloved child.

Sometimes you could see stains in your ballerina shoes. You couldn't

yet understand what it was.

It was sometimes semen, from your father private fetish games. And

sometimes cunt slime, when your father forced your mother to

masturbate with those little shoes.

Watching her tightly closed eyes and facial expressions which made

her look so guilty. So guilty, but even more weak. Adjusting her life

under power of man of the house.

Your father wanted you naked

He wanted you to dance for him.

With slow movements, with calm music on the background.

While watching your movements, he would see the romantic visions, of

you gagging on semen, holding little tummy with both hands, messy

tear blurred wet eyes watching pieces of torn tights.

Traces of shit and blood, red and bruised orifices.

You're so hungry, but fathers control doesn't allow bigger meal.

You're so scared, and can nothing else but play along.

This is the life you have.

Living doll.

Fathers own toy.

Jesus fucking christ.

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I read the whole first page and most of the lyrics were imo poor. Debutant's were nae bad.

The fact is, most lyrics don't stand up well without accompaniment. They are not poetry - well, the ones on p1 certainly aren't anyway. My favourite lyric ever is in Nick Cave's Brompton Oratory, where he sings:

No God, up in the sky

No Devil, beneath the sea

Could do the job that you did, baby

Of bringing me to my knees

My favourite lyric ever, yet, out of context, it does not seem outstanding in any way. I guess my point is that sincerity in lyric writing comes, at least in part, from the performance and accompaniment. Your words have to be fucking magnificent to stand up on their own, out of context.

Up until 2001 and the Up album, Michael Stipe would not publish his lyrics in the sleevenotes of REM records. His reasoning was that lyrics were meant to be heard, not read. To a large extent I agree with him. He changed his mind when he felt that he truly had a worthwhile message to convey.

Anyway, just my $0.02. I don't think that many of the lyrics ITT are in any way good.

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The fact is, most lyrics don't stand up well without accompaniment

That's often true. Or, at least, they don't hold up as well as they would with an accompaniment.

out of context, it does not seem outstanding in any way. I guess my point is that sincerity in lyric writing comes, at least in part, from the performance and accompaniment.

The context of the lyrics in this thread however is within the context of a lyrics thread, the basic concept of which I outlined in the OP.

Post your lyrics in here, either with links to the accompanying music (preferred) or on their own.

Also, if there's a lyric you have and can't think of something to follow on from it or if you're just plain stuck here might be a good place to seek some collective advice.

Please try to keep the feedback as constructive as possible and in good spirit.

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I was referring to the context of song, not the actual physical context of where the lyric is read (ie. ITT). I know that this is a lyrics thread, but my point is that most lyrics do not entirely fulfil their potential outwith the context of song. Good lyrics can be transformed into great lyrics with accompaniment and a suitable delivery. Average lyrics can still form a great song.

On the first page of this thread there were (imo) no lyrics that stand up as prose, but I know for a fact that there are good songs there (Debutant's and Diarmaid's are lovely songs, in particular).

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Knockouts and Blackouts

V1

Ive thrown all my problems to the ground

im sick of trying to solve them always end up drowning

All my sorrows in the bottom of a bottle

Reality kicks in and im rotting

V2

Sick of throwing all my guts up on the street

My hands are all glass cut and im dragging my feet

To the sound of her voice that echoes in my head

My heart is pounding on to an early death

C

You can do what you want

But fate steps in line

The time is now

The time is right

Im going nowhere and im not going nowhere fast

Live for the present fuck my future and my past

V4

Love for me is hard to take and hard to find

I need an escape from my work ethic and grind

Drinking myself doesnt cut it anymore

Sick of always waking up alone on the floor

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