Bred Mice

Bred Mice CoverAll songs by Nathan Beach and Grant K
© 1999 Bryan’s Cabin Songs, ASCAP

Recorded in The Music Hole, Austin
Recording by Climate
Finished 23 April 1999
Self-released to CD-R
Special Friends Records (SFR09)
56:22

Recorded to 8-track analog cassette on a Yamaha MT-8x using a Lexicon MPX-100 effects rack, some microphones, a Yamaha Cs1x keyboard, a kind of okay acoustic guitar, a cheap Squire bass guitar, and a green electric guitar of some sort by Ibanez. The recordings were done in the spring of 1999 in an apartment somewhere on Wickersham Lane in Austin where we lived and annoyed the crap out of our neighbors with the noise.

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  1. There Is A Price You Have To Pay To Rock And Roll And That Is A Price Which I Am Willing To Pay (4:25)
  2. Racket Man (5:13)
  3. Help The Elderly Compete (5:18)
  4. Jesus! (5:20)
  5. 3 Years After The Eruption (5:33)
  6. Things Are Tired (4:41)
  7. Julie’s Clothes (4:09)
  8. Fashion! (6:50)
  9. I Want To Dance (4:27)
  10. They Rolled Up The Rug (5:00)

Lyrics

There Is A Price You Have To Pay To Rock And Roll
And That Is A Price Which I Am Willing To Pay

(no specific lyrics)

RACKET MAN

porcelain vase on the captain’s case
shipping slaves to the southern states
while northern slaves in factories wait
in silent awe their breath they bate

underground roads for railway boats
and he really would like to take your coat
because he standing at the door in a red-tailed suit
with a frilly white shirt and a black-toed boot
now he’s ringing on the bell for dinner and juice
it’s pecan pie night with roasted goose
he strips himself down to a white loin-cloth
he warms up the crowd with a juggling act

slipping the racket out of its case
he holds it up to his jet-black face
over his head and down his sides
over his hips and past his thighs

northern masses waiting for the whistle
longing for a supper of rocks and gristle
sixteen straight hours until their dismissal
down their pale white skin sweat tends to drizzle
breathing in coal while chillin’ in the mines
coal black lungs while working on the lines
immigrants wishing they could go home
with backpacks filled with games and prizes

slipping the racket out of its case
he holds it up to his jet-black face
over his head and down his sides
over his hips and past his thighs

HELP THE ELDERLY COMPETE

she went to the city she bought a new hat
hot water and broken glass i’m gonna take it to the midway
write her a letter mrs. brown say
ten tons of molten tears gotta roll it to the downtown
where did you buy that fat house?
potato fun time doin’ it up they gonna do it down
where did you drive that fat new car?
parisian ghetto l-u-v funna spread it on tha burnt toast
where did you find such a fat cat?
cuddle bear migration north gonna see her in fort month
where did you take my phat friend, ernie?
cracked teef, dey nibble on the solomolo hot jing-jang
she’s seven times seven times eight
wiggle toes and crack yo feet build it up fo tha heat wave
i saw what you did
fake clowns and circus dogs tell the story of the big top
behind the store
wire hat ebony pants help the elderly compete
on november 3rd
telephone knockin on his brain betta tell em to call back
1984
seven five 0 8 zero gonna bring it on home now
he played ball while his brother took a walk
lemonade day dreams to-night never give and never live
with his cane in his hand he walked through the town
flashlight on winter beams fold the holy down tradition
much that we read in good dirty magazines
falling out of time, they switch the arrow back to seven
gots significant value and internal fucking rhyme
mismatched ignition, there’s no groove like the last one
and onomatopoeia and a twist a lime
call it premonition, i think he’s following nicole
he gave the horse something to eat
mousetrap biting back the hand that follows every move
the girl’s flowers are beautifully green
twister opens up the door that used to be wide open
the father’s watch is dancing on the floor
spiral senate soul that never forgets lies
the girls of the next generation
marquee match up the bottom half of time

JESUS!

Jesus has some friends
their names are matthew
mark luke and john
i met the lot of them
on wednesday night
they talked of blind men’s souls
and internal light
thursday night
the sky was luminous
i saw Him coming
through the clouds

He brought a megaphone
and things for lunch
we had a party
with cake and punch
He told us parables
we had some cake
He threw some sinners
in the fiery lake
the sea of galilee
was filled with pleasure boats
people were happy
and sacrificed goats
He healed some children
so they could walk
He made the tongueless ones
so they could talk

martin is gone for good
he is no more in the neighbourhood
he burns in fiery hell
he says it’s fun
but not like heaven
it’s not that fun

he took his bicycle
and mobile home
a plastic rake
and his cordless phone
i told him glands
are made of things
that make you swell
that make you great
appendices are just for fun
beware of clowns
don’t frighten nuns
hands are made for guns
don’t ride green bikes
don’t kiss satan’s mom
martin is gone for good, etc.

3 YEARS AFTER THE ERUPTION

three years after the eruption
things ash brown gray and black
tempermental mothers fathers smiling through
age lost in a free mind full of home/houses
expert witness and a lynch mob …triumphant!
stock footage strewn across the cutting room floor
tropical steam room lunches …free lunch!
tender moment a boy and his dog burying the bone
lost and found sensibilities trading post deadlines
square pegs in square holes don’t fit
batteries weak or dead picture too light (overexposed)
harvard doctors link liquor to sex …brilliant!
textbook deliveries now run on time
the little brown box full of prizes/toys
four light squares illuminate rooms/blinds drawn
two chairs set in stereo/left/right/a common bond
red felt white pages, a government listing
who’s been left out? friends? family? sex?
four legs in a bucket standing at the door
one upon three upon seven/plastic container
sun stained memories/fresh eyes …greet them!
turn it down! it’s 3 PM the dogs are sleeping
chorus variations up to speed fake wood
tin sheets blanket frozen mountains
while other children play fetch and darts
dinner plates thrown across thirty tables
napkins, spoons, forks …no knives!
pin-striped leopards in man-skin suits
open doors for ladies and their loves
it is never winter here it is never summer there
it is never winter here it is never summer there

house in the country
june 1940
chairs tipped on two toes
on the veranda
sun sunk past rag time
singing a half-rhyme
hair stuck to soft cheeks
bare skin on wheat shafts
your dress made of cotton
was lost in the corn field

THINGS ARE TIRED

(no specific lyrics)

JULIE’S CLOTHES

driving to the lake
a day for sailing boats
chase is in the back
ron is in the front
julie’s at the wheel
she’s wearing julie’s clothes

ron works at the garage
julie works at the bank
chase he has
a crippling disease
he’s only eight
and he tugs on julie’s clothes

ron left work at noon
julie packed her bags
they packed a lunch
of cake and punch
their swimming suits
and other parts of julie’s clothes

veering off the road
the car burst into flames
witnesses claim
they had no chance
they highway lanes
were strewn with julie’s clothes

drifting in the wind
ignited gasoline
and burning socks
and linen shorts
i’m looking for a skirt
while picking up julie’s clothes

i remember you
in starkest black and white
the way you held
that boy so tight
with ron’s head cracked
i thought you’d never go

FASHION!

let us stack some modals on the window sill
linger in the syntax for a month or two
have you time for hating the enlightenment?
mister fisk he’s dying after building these

fashion! fashion! fashion! fashion! [in the empty margin]
fashion! fashion! fashion! fashion! [in the empty margin]
fashion! fashion! fashion! fashion! [in the empty margin]
fashion! fashion! fashion! fashion! [in the empty margin]

long green alleyway full of tents and trees
howard and his cat have opportunities
living out the days after lobotomy
living large just like illegal aliens

fashion! fashion! fashion! fashion! [in the empty margin]
fashion! fashion! fashion! fashion! [in the empty margin]
fashion! fashion! fashion! fashion! [in the empty margin]
fashion! fashion! fashion! fashion! [in the empty margin]

memory my memo books a carnivore
Jesus Christ you’re living like a crown of thorns
on your lips you taste the smell of camping stores
put some faith in locks or robby’s chest of drawers

fashion! fashion! fashion! fashion! [in the empty margin]
fashion! fashion! fashion! fashion! [in the empty margin]
fashion! fashion! fashion! fashion! [in the empty margin]
fashion! fashion! fashion! fashion! [in the empty margin]

counting back to sixty finds the mystery
breaking legs on kings will find new misery
goldilocks my meat is being gridle-fried
pots and pans will joke about a fricasee

I WANT TO DANCE

my lack of rhythm
keeps me from romance
because i’m a white guy
who can’t dance

standing in the corner
with cake and the punch
and mrs. albert
the math teacher

smell the germans
in the disco in leather pants
they get so frisky
when they dance

i can’t forgive them
they touched you while they danced
and they break-danced
they can dance

i could not wait to see your face that night
i could not wait to smell your skin that night
your corsage fell while dancing in the light
i could not wait to see your face that night

i’d like to dance but i don’t know how
and i don’t have the money to buy
a new set of dance shoes whenever i want
i want to dance

can’t you see through the music any more?
can’t you see that a simple movement would do just fine?
why don’t you do that fancy dance anymore?

let your belly shake while it carries your legs
when you’re dancing with bradley or dancing with greg
or dancing with logan or dancing with ted
i want to dance

THEY ROLLED UP THE RUG

“i haven’t been to Dallas since Texas.”
andrew’s on the stage with his baton.
“each corner brings a new intersection
of lines in this building,” i say
brown-haired girl leans over the loge.

she says, “how do you like the show so far?”
“mr. hough cat hit the keys really well.”
i say, “afterwards we could drive up to Richardson.”
she rests her hand on her thigh.

“did you see they rolled up the rug?”
“yes, it used to be here and people would trip on it.”

making tracks on I-75
traffic slows on the highway
driving north to Richardson
with the daughter of mr. adler

“did you know they rolled up the rug?”

© 1999 Bryan’s Cabin Songs, ASCAP