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Spin Doctors




Music World  →  Lyrics  →  S  →  Spin Doctors  →  Albums  →  Turn It Upside Down

Spin Doctors Album


Turn It Upside Down (1994)
1994
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My baby nice, she's so polite
She say "please," when she ask me,
Stay the night.
She's around the house, she loves me so
She's baking up a little bit of my
Rising, rising dough
Good lordy God, my gosh almighty
Her booty fine, and it's trimmed so tidy
Horseradish, mama, just a smidge
Spend a whole lot of time peekin' into
Her big old kitchen fridge
Gotta love it, it's my duty
She got a big fat funky booty
Not above it, makes me moody
Whole mess of big fat funky booty
Waaaagh, sweet sugar plum
I'm crippled blind, a little deaf and dumb
It's wonderful, could I get a little more
'Cause it's about as wide as my garage door
When we're in bed and it's late at night, she put her
Ams around me and she hold me tight
But I say, "No baby, no, baby, no,
But I sure could use a bit of your funky booty, though."

. . .


Having been by that old bank tower,
I'm inclined to wonder why you feel so strong.
You can't have really seen the hour
If you think she's trying to do you wrong.
I see you got that lump in your throat
I hear you mumbling, "That's all she wrote."
Love was in the next room drinking antidote.

You ought to know that girl by now.
She'll never settle down anyhow.
You let your heart go too fast.
You let your heart go too fast.

Broken glass turns back to flint and sand.
I only cease to love as love demands.
As you know it takes a while to clap those
fragments from your idle hands.
Couple months could dry a sea of tears,
leave only salt beneath our dried up piers.
We won't believe we cared, I swear, in a couple years.

You ought to know that girl by now.
She'll never settle down anyhow.
You let your heart go too fast.
You let your heart go too fast.

If time heals all wounds, don't you know that
Time also deals them.
The days go by, and everybody feels them.
We stuggle with our fates,
But our action only seals them.

They say that murder ain't the fault of the weapon.
I'm smoking sad to be the gun.
I want to blow you all away, but I don't want to put no
Bullets into anyone.
I see the feathers that enfringe your heart.
I see the blood ooze from around the dart.
Cupid spites the sense that keeps two
Mismatched souls apart.

. . .


Cleopatra's favorite cat
Got his hands on Caesar's spats
The heat was on as you could see
So he front 'em to Mark Antony.
Said, "My girlfriend's cat is smarter than me."

Caesar had an eye for clothes
He saw them spats and said, "I like those."
Caesar had no thing to say, except,
"Jesu Christi Domine,
Et tu, Brute,
Jesu Christi Domine,
Et tu, Brute."

The senate tried to sympathize
It was the cat they should despise
Informant told his whereabouts
Centurions to seek him out

Centurions! There go the centurions.

Brutus had to turn his head
When THIS cat done went and said,
"If he's got this thing for shoes,
He just might be ambitious, too.
They got holidays all in his name,
And all a tyrant needs is fame.
Those fascists don't play pretty games
Egypt is the place to be...
But Rome is a democracy.
Rome!"

Caesar never got them back
'Cause they killed his ass in the second act.
Brutus spoke, then Antony:
Said, "My girlfriend's cat is smarter than me.
Friends, Romans, can't you see
My girlfriend's cat is smarter than me
Egypt's biggest rivalry:
Cleopatra's cat and me."

. . .


Graphite skies of Brooklyn calmly drape Fourth Avenue
Fifteen-year-old gangsters have a honey-dipped or two
In Arabic, some patrons shoot the breeze
Jeez, Louise

Hungry Hamed's, baby, count your change
Said the food's a little funky and the atmosphere is mange
Sam's upset at Hamed and Hamed's on his feet
Hungry Hamed's, baby, just three blocks from Bergen Street

Well, you can have a little cry, baby, you can even beg
Only reason I go back is that you can't screw up an egg
Sometimes they treat you worse when you say please
They forget the ham or cheese

Hungry Hamed's, baby, count your change
Said the food's a little funky and the atmosphere is mange
Sam's upset at Hamed and Hamed's on his feet
Hungry Hamed's, baby, just three blocks from Bergen Street

I'm beige and funky, like a rubber band
I'm a lapis-eyed devil with my pen in hand
It takes flour and chocolate for an angel cake
Say now, Hamed, whatcha do with all them donuts that you bake.

My roommates won't go with me, though it's only blocks away.
Chandler holds a grudge from about five years ago today.
Some sign about free soda was a scam.
Well, that's Chan.

Hungry Hamed's, baby, count your change
Said the food's a little funky and the atmosphere is mange
Sam's upset at Hamed and Hamed's on his feet
Hungry Hamed's, baby, just three blocks from Bergen Street.

. . .


Hey now, Eddie, all covered in confetti
C'mon over here and gimme some of your spaghetti
Hey now, Ed, you big biscuit head
Stop cracking your toes and get your pig out my bed
Hey now, Mack, with your head in a crack
Your body in a bag and your flamingo in a sack
Hey now, Chester, you big baby bester
Who cut's your clothes, the butcher or the jester?
Biscuit Head, why you have a biscuit head
Biscuit Head, a double-decker biscuit head
Biscuit Head, why you have a biscuit head
Biscuit Head, a noteworthy biscuit head
Hey now, Mabel, why you looking for a label?
I hope that you don't get eaten in the fable
Hey now, Nellie, with an anchor on your belly
Shall I compare peanut butter to your jelly?
Hey now, fellow Rocker, you're such a good talker
Can't chew gum and Rockerfeller from your locker
Hey now, Bill, did you get your fill?
C'mon up the stairs, come up and sign your will
Biscuit Head, why you have a biscuit head
Biscuit Head, a double-decker biscuit head
Biscuit Head, why you have a biscuit head
Biscuit Head, a noteworthy biscuit head
It's got you all laid up in bed

. . .


Indifferent minds seek nothing
They wait to be told
They never stop talking
The way you talk to me
You give me the blues
I feel like walking
Expression's at the story's gate
Share your thoughts, do they walk away?
Revealing tales of kids and pawns,
Tall grass, dragons, and moutain songs
Break the thread of indifference
They'll suck the wind right from your soul
To never listen to the voice of memory
Is to die waiting for nothing
I'd rather kiss the empty blue
Than to stay here waiting forever on you
On a trip in theis place called time
Where no one lives, no one can find
Quiet streams of life gone by
Roll down the face of lovers
And in the early morning tears
We cry
Into each other
Sew the thread of indifference
It rolls on and on and on
To never listen to the voice of memory
Is to die waiting for nothing

. . .


The more things change, the more they stay the same.
And the more it rains, the less I know.
Why do these foreign skies change the way home?
Why do these hotel walls hang their strangeness on my own?

Oh mama, I'm gonna roll, with a truckload of hurt.
These wheels have rolled across I don't know how many bags of dirt

Barefoot in the back of the van, tossing an arcing empty soda can.
Long ways, long days, waitresses frayed and underpaid we were harried and waylaid.
We arrived that evening and not a moment too soon.
Finding a place it was, you may say, cool.

These sketches of an infinite architecture are ink and unconfirmed conjecture
A dream glimpse of the puppeteer's knuckle a fragment of a fraction of a gesture
And when the ghost whispers, I'll set down all I hear
A garbled, shorthand outline by a marionette in fear

Oh mama, I'm gonna roll, with a truckload of hurt.
These wheels have rolled across I don't know how many bags of dirt

. . .


Mary Jane, Mary Jane
Please don't leave me baby
I'll just find you again
I asked my uncle
If I could go
Yes, yes, go out and take
Mary Jane to the picture show
But Uncle Bob sighed
He could not answer
He died one second before
in the arms of a go-go dancer
Mary Jane, Mary Jane
Please don't leave me baby
I'll just find you again
I wanna roll you
Way down in the fields
Where you where born
I wanna roll you
When I'm ragged and forlorn
You have no friend
You have no pet
If there's anything better than you
You know they haven't found it yet
Mary Jane, Mary Jane
Please don't leave me baby
I'll just find you again

. . .


All the roots in the earth
Are speaking to a heart of stone.
The children can hear it in their bones,
And in this stone is
More than meets the mind.

The particles in the air
Each of each are holding hands.
The music sounding is their dance,
And in this dance is
More than meets the eye.

All our songs are somewhere else being played for us
By glowing hands celestial and not there.

The stars and planets in the sky
Each of each are singing tunes
And listening are all the moons,
And in their tunes are
More the meets the ear.

. . .


Stoop's so fine on a summer's eve
When you sit outside for a short reprieve
Talk to folks as they come and leave
Jono, Jay, and Crazy Steve
Night is down but it's bright as day
You haven't been around since you went away
Feels so good so that's what you say
Folks say "Hi," but you say "Hey."
Well, that old mad dog, he's barking for the blues bone
Orpheus got a black book and a telephone
Plays that lyre 'cause he doesn't want to be alone;
One look back...
Buy a beer, find a place to stand
Have a couple laughs and hear the band
Smoke a couple of your favorite brand
Wake up with a stamp on the back of your hand
Don't blame me, It's all been Laraby's gang, now, now.
Don't blame me, for the song that the Nightingale sang, now, now.
Don't blame me, 'bout the vanishing waif
Don't blame me if your safe ain't safe, now, now.
Sun comes up, you're still awake
There's the sky, still as a lake
Not even that can drown the ache
Looks so high, it must be fake

. . .


Here he come walking down the street
Got them funky ragged things on his feet
He got half a busted moon in his smile
Now I know he's walked that long and lonely mile

He's got the waistcoat made of sad, sad, sack
He see a red door and he want to paint it black
He's got a vote for you now if you dare
To not pretend that he's not there

Yeah, he coming down on you
Yeah, what'cha you gonna do?
Your the only one walking down the street
He's the only one that you're likely to meet
At this hour baby,

You're so used to living in luxury
Greed's made you blind and you just can't see
So many people in the world today
Who won't ever have things their own way

You live protected, respected, inside the law,
You're sunny-side-up, he's wearing his yolk raw
You say you never took nothing he'd refuse,
He's living off the crap, man, that you can't use

. . .


Lights on the bridges and a smokestack far away
Smoke turns to indigo in the ending business day
The taxicabs' assault on the potholed asphalt
They parry and lunge 'neath the thin winter sun who's
Painting the bedroom grey

Computer Mage, the plastic age
Someday all this will be a road
"Where will it take us?"
"It's got seventeen lanes."
"Where will it run?"
"It's an interstate parkway."
"Where will it go?"
"It's a boot print of progress."
"Where will it take us?"
"It's gonna be a road, be a road."

"Domesticated primates," the Leary Convict sez
Sewn up together in paper foil like a pack of Pez, of course,
School was a fine bunch of rehashed lines, there was
Nothing really said, I could have stayed home in bed and watched
Reruns of Desi Arnaz

"Time is just a concept," sez Einstein's kid, the dunce.
"People's way of keeping everything from happening at once
Overtake the light, and time is in your sight
And black holes bend the beams so nothing's where it seems and
Finding out the truth could take you months."

. . .


Let me illuminate my interpretation
Which I will try to serve with an illustration
All the beasts in the woods
Bare their fangs and peddle goods

Let us take the diagram, examine it in detail
Some channels they are wholesale, some are retail
You need only attach the tags
To make merchandise of your rags

Blessings and plagues descend upon the land
Where are the gods to protect us?
Think I see a shining hand

Let us take the masses and use them as our model
The rich and poor in their mansions and their hovels
Will we have the option to thrive?
Will there be a door to survive?

. . .


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