Rheostatics Feed Yourself
Dave Bidini
(Put down the megaphone.)
A cage of turtles, a cone of hemp
Was how he reeked, what he was smoking
An "A" that's circled on knees that bent
Behind the trees, behind the woods
"I shouldn't have taken that pretty black hit
It wouldn't have mattered 'cause the band was shit
I spent the night retching in a rolling stream
Am I drunk or did I hear a scream?"
Meanwhile, the triple sport chip off the block
He had an urge: a weird feeling
It was a pretty good night for a walk in the woods
By the ravine, along the trail
They probably beat him up when he was young
Or locked him outdoors for sucking his thumb
They dressed him well, educated him clean
Must have taken his heart when they removed his spleen
I was scared, but I was so far from it
They called in the cops and they screamed "Red Level!"
The killer boy's like a wannabe punk
One dead girl in a submarined trunk
Ah, what's the use in crying? I'm armed
I know temp work sucks, and a life it is not
But it's a job. Hell, it's a living
"For a sweet tomato, for such a party girl
Is what I am. (So party on!)
Like a box a chocolates and a Beatles song
These are the things you can always count on:
Like the moon, it's face, a wide-open space
I swear I it's where I go when he gets on my case."
But one minute you're here, and the next you're not
Then you're a dot on a blotter
The cops caught wind, they cashed her in
They found the boy. He said he tried to save her
But they questioned him up and down with a stick
They traced his blood and found his sweat in her spit
So they locked him in a cell with four grey walls
"We got one dead girl, but the kid won't crow!"
When I was young I thought that things were good and fair they pulled my hair they pushed me in they forced me down city of sleep city of sheep
The best boy triple sport killer is calm
Carving the bird. He loads the plates
Outside in the street a vigil of girls
Sing songs and hold candles
He loves his mom and he loves his own bed
He loves the things that Jesus said
"If you can't be pure, she might as well be dead."
He hears a voice through a hole in his head
But suburban sharks, they love their blood in the parks
They want their peace. They want their druthers
We've gotta be safe from all the junkies who rape
And all the blacks and single mothers
Those welfare-types and those punks will run
They'll find a rank place with the immigrant scum
A girl was murdered, a boy was hung
That was our first summer that we owned a gun
In a black or white neighborhood, don't walk!
Feed yourself. Feed your children
