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Les Savy Fav
Les Savy Fav




Music World  →  Lyrics  →  L  →  Les Savy Fav  →  Albums  →  Let's Stay Friends

Les Savy Fav Album



09/18/2007
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There was a band called the Pots and Pans.
They mad this noise that people couldn't stand
and when they toured all across the land,
the people said, "No, no, no!"
But the drummer said, "Yes, yes, yes, this tour is a test."

Has your skin grown thick from bands that make you sick?
Has your skin grown thick from a thousand stinging pricks?
Have you been made dense standing upon the fence?
Have you been made dense from polish and pretense?

Well, this is where it stops.
This is where it ends.
Let's tear this whole place down and build it up again.
This band's a beating heart and it's nowhere near its end


. . .



Smells like leather, tastes like sweat,
tie up the horses for a tet-a-tet.
Tight braids, thighs ache,
you whisper to me, "This is no mistake."
You made me shake, you made me shiver,
you made me gasp when you grasped my withers.

How many times did you think you could cantor past my house,
before I called you to my stable for a little mouth to mouth?
Now I'm peeling off your jodhpurs,
and you're peeling off my common senses,
and you're using all your dirty words,
dragging me into your sweet consensus.

Jet black boots, whip stiff crop,
once we started we just couldn't stop.
Foreplay, forelocks,
four legs stripped but for their socks.

Now you've got me in the saddle
and you've got me chomping bit.
Now you're tugging on my bridal
and I'm eager to submit.
And you whisper in my ear
that, "You've got an idea and it starts down here..."

Easy now, Ease in, out.
Ease in, out -- Right Now!


. . .



If you fear, my dear, the end is near,
please do check your frontal hemisphere.
Bitty chicky thinks the sky will fall.
You should sense I've guessed, it just won't end at all.

It's hard to keep from hoarding when you wake up Monday morning.
In your life with no end in sight; You thought you'd die on Friday night.
Everybody, please keep trying--trying to party like it's 1999.
Even thought we've got so much time, we need to spend it like it's 1999.

If you want to close the bar tonight,
brace yourself 'cause there's no end in sight.
You can't pace yourself and you can't take it slow.
We have to drink it dry before this place is going to close.

It's hard to keep on spending
every night like your life is ending
when every night there's another there,
wearing you down in the moonlight's stare.
Everybody, please keep trying--trying to party like it's 1999.
Even thought we've got so much time, we need to spend it like it's 1999


. . .



"Patty Lee, turn the lights on, please.
There's something I don't understand.
Patty Lee, turn the lights on please.
This party's gotten out of hand."

Those were the last words her suitor spoke before he croaked.
In seven seconds he'd be dead, tied to the headboard of Pattie Lee's bed.

Pattie Lee sloughed her skin and showed what was within.
It's hard to describe. She moved like smoke and sounded like ice.

We used to be Gods, now we're so plain.
It took ten million years just to say my real name.
Back before Babylon, shit was cool.
Now we've all got our saddles on, and trot to school.

If I may wax poetic, I think the facts are plain,
I am the moon ascendant and I'm not soon to wane.
See my shadow, twice the mountain or stretched across the desert plain.
Shouting sun flares up like fountains. Shouting planets down like rain


. . .



We huffed the sky into our mouths.
We saw the ocean and drank it down
because we were giants or maybe birds,
we slept with lions, tucked into their fur.

The world may seem cruel.
The worldly may hate us.
In time we will show the world why the world made us.

(The good we must savor.
The bad we must slough.
Sooner or later the focus gets soft.)

Slip into epiphany.
Oversee oversight.
A good stumble's a symphony.
A good drift takes drive.

Quartz doesn't burn.
Rust doesn't hum.
Maybe we should blame it on the structures of the sun.

Every machine
we've made must bow
to what the wolf and cub have found


. . .



Before I was a war I was a sword.
Before I was a tree I was a seed.
Before I was a cliff I was a canyon.
Before I was a feast I was a famine.
Before I was a day I was a dawn.
Before I was a prince I was a swan.

Before I was a corpse I was a kid.
Before I was a cloud I was a grid.
Before I was a crush I was a kiss.
Before I was a got I was a wish.

Brace Yourself!

Before I was a word I was a sound.
Before I was a sky I was a ground.
Before I was a stone I was a hill.
Before I was a wheel I was a will.
Before I was a birth I was a kill.
Before I was a wash I was a filth...


. . .



I used to hold the biggest balls
Deep inside my castle walls
Spend my nights with concubine
Wasted, unchaste, drunk on blood red wine
Being the king was pretty cool
I'd have to say that ruling ruled
And I'd be in throne still
Had I not one day fallen ill

I spit and I coughed
My vision went soft tooLyrics
And my chest got tight
My court, they surrounded me
They gagged and bounded me
And threw me out into the night

Out in the mud I sadly sighed
The waiting crowd layed and died
There came a noise boisterous
From down in the cloisters
And I heard them call the cry;

"Draw up the drawbridge, draw down the blinds
Everyone inside is getting high tonight
Waiting for the plague to move on
No one's getting sober 'til the liquors all gone"

The bra in the candleabra
The paintings on the paintings
They must have tapped the finest casket
And not stopped 'til they're fainting

I hold my breath, you hit my chest
I hold my breath, you hit my chest
I hold my breath, you hit my chest
I hold my breath, you hit my chest

You stumble from the arms of the one
What made you, didn't you?
Fumble to the palms of the one
What pays you, didn't you?
Stumble from the arms of the one
What made you, didn't you?
Fumble to the palms of the one
What pays you, didn't you?
Stumble from the arms of the one
What made you, didn't you?
Fumble to the palms of the one
What pays you, didn't you?


. . .



We're pulling off heists and putting on wigs.
We're gathering ice off of flipped over Brinks trucks
and everybody suspects us.

They rounded us up and rounded us down.
They ground our bones up and founded a town.
Where were the Prophets when I got my beat down?

CRACK! Goes the crescent wrench.
Back to the present tense.
Tony's talking to me 'bout, "Get my money out!"
Legs shattered, teeth chatter, Tony's crony's like,
"What's the matter?"

Rack, pull the focus in,
trapped in the basement digging like a rabbit for a couple of karats.
Squeezing out of dryer vents, on to my retirement,
hopping over hedges, and I'm back out on the street again.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Where's that coming at?
Slugs in the shrubs. Kid down the street
pissing from his pistol from about three hundred feet.
Didn't catch his cousin creeping up on me.

There's no better time to let the cannons fly
because there are no whites and there are no eyes


. . .



We were young and we were wicked.
We dove headfirst into the thicket.
When we came out we bled like sieves
and we told tales no one believed.

I want to know how did it get so cold?
Heavens to Betsy, won't Somebody get me out of this hole.

In the moonlight our nerves glowed.
We traced mazes with our eyes closed.
Corncobs like ricks of bones.
Shoes shed, our clothes outgrown,
you swore it would never get old.
I swear I just want to go home.

I want to know how did it get so cold?
Heavens to Betsy, won't Somebody get me out of this hole.

I want to go home.
I want to go home 'cause this is getting old.
Kiss this is getting old.
Kiss Kiss is getting old.


. . .



Judging by your pauses on the phone,
what's left unsaid is better left unknown.
Maybe we'd be better off alone.
The way we used to feel, it only comes and goes.

It comes and goes.

In the middle of the night I'm pleading.
And I know that you're not really sleeping.
By the half-light of the dawn I'm seething,
counting every minute until you're leaving.

You come and go.

At least we used to care enough to shout.
Now we'd rather have our peace than have it out.
Uncertainty's been swallowed up by doubt.
I guess this is what my folks were always sighing about


. . .



Don't tell me about the preciousness of seconds,
I've seen the pointlessness of plans.
If I've got to go, then I've got to go.
I don't expect you'd understand.

You got your mommy's menopause.
You got your daddy's saber saws.
Scotchgard the credit card--
The payments never pause.

"You're goddamn right I resent the rent.
Not just the leases or the money spent.
It's the way that it keeps me from the present tense.
Won't somebody meet me in the present tense?"

There's just a little stump where my tongue once was,
but the place that tastes the bitter still remains.
It gets inflamed
each time it rains.


. . .



Are you looking for magic on the back of a pack of matches?
Does it seem like they're trying to prove
that everything we pursue, we lose?

All you scorned lovers: are you burnt so bad
your lips are covered in black blood and scabs?
We seem to need some way to vanish all these stains.
Take the trigger from the lowest bidder.
Take the bargain back again.

Are you covered in scratches from them hacking you with their hatchets?
Are you chasing a trail of crumbs
and you can't recall where they came from?

Take the bargain back again.

They've come to steal your old self and rent back what they stole.
They fatten you up and swallow you whole.
And then they charge you for the pleasure of making you plain.
When you're finally getting something, it's only the blame.

LyricsIf you let bitterness
get into your home,
get into your chest,
it gets into your bones.

We've been bought and we've been sold,
they try but they can't keep hold.
We burn, but we don't turn to coal.
We're hills all filled with gas and gold.

Take the trigger from the lowest bidder.
Take the bargain back again.
Take it back!


. . .


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