Category: Lyrics

Lyrics of the Month: September 2012 – Hadron Collision

Ride fucking free, forty below, it’s the car that kills the punk. Pedal for momentum, feel the fucking vibe, blaze through traffic, burn the red, push my luck. There’s not much I need, I ride a single speed, my toque and mitts protect me from the freeze. Hadron Collision. I’m ripping through a cloud of exhaust. A fucking conniption, in their cages on wheels they fucking rot. I might be trapped in a world going backwards but nothing’s in vain – right now I’m happy just to clog up your lane. There’s not much I need, I’ll leave you with your greed to wallow in your shit ’til you can’t breathe. A head-on collision, a species that’s lost all control. We’ll learn by extinction: we don’t need all that shit we’ve been sold. We might be headed for the brink of disaster but nothing’s in vain – right now I’m happy just to clog up your lane. If all that I can do is just stay on the move, keep a few cents from your grasp – that’s all I need to prove. I’ll see you on the bus. It’s the car that kills the punk.

Propagandhi, Failed States, Hadron Collision

Lyrics of the Month: August 2012 – Lucinda Williams

Some think a fancy funeral
Would be worth every cent
For every dime and nickel
There’s money better spent

Better spent on groceries
And covering the bills
Instead of little luxuries
And unnecessary frills

Lovely yellow daffodils
And lacy filigree
Pretty little angels
For everyone to see

Lilly of the valley
Long black limousines
It’s three or four months’ salary
Just to pay for all those things

So don’t buy a fancy funeral
It’s not worth it in the end
Goodbyes can still be beautiful
With all the money that you’ll spend

‘Cause no amount of riches
Can bring back what you’ve lost
To satisfy your wishes
You’ll never justify the cost

-Lucinda Williams, Fancy Funeral, West

Lyrics of the Month: July 2012 – Descendents


I wanna be stereotyped
I wanna be classified
I wanna be a clone
I want a suburban home
Suburban home
Suburban home
Suburban home
I wanna be masochistic
I wanna be a statistic
I wanna be a clone
I want a suburban home
Suburban home
Suburban home
Suburban home
I don’t want no hippie pad
I want a house just
Like mom and dad
I wanna be stereotyped
I wanna be classified
I wanna be masochistic
I wanna be a statistic
I wanna be a clone
I want a suburban home
Suburban home
Suburban home
Suburban home

Descendents, Milo Goes to College, Suburban Home

Lyric of the Month: June 2012 – Fugazi

These are our demands:
We want control of our bodies.
Decisions will now be ours.
You can carry out your noble actions,
We will carry our noble scars.
Reclamation.
No one here is asking,
No one here is asking,
But there is a question of trust.
You will do what looks good to you on paper,
We will do what we must.
Return, return, return.
Carry my body

-Fugazi, Steady Diet of Nothing, Reclamation

Three Years of Life (Lyric of the Month: April 2012)

It is my three-year near-death birthday. Three years since enlightenment. My enlightenment included little more than an awareness that haircuts are unnecessary, and therefore this three years has only yielded two haircuts.
The first signified the start of my second life, done hours after my near-death, done with vegetable scissors. We buried the hair in the garden.
The second was done inside of Primetime Bar directly after a Habs third-round loss. The hair was buried in post-lost beers.
Maybe I will wait until another significant life moment to rid myself of this ponytail mess. Maybe my graduation from a prestigious university, the birth of my first child, or legitimately publishing something deemed acceptable. But more likely, it will be here to stay until I get run over by a train riding my bicycle and paramedics cut it off in order to sew my face back on.


I sleep best with the rain upon this shed
Still counting miles but I’m not sure how many good ones I’ve got left
In some ways I know that I should settle down
But it ain’t in me right now
So I’ll keep it slow
And keep looking all around.

A mind don’t turn
With feet nailed to the floor
Keep a pounding heart full of love for all
Turn no one away but keep close what’s yours.
Man, life ain’t half bad here, but it sure as hell ain’t ideal.
Can’t sort what’s been gained, to what’s been stole
And how hours can add up to all these years.

Morning’s best when health’s leaning on my side,
Have some coffee, get on a walk for some air
Just to clear my mind
Come afternoon, although I’m tired and drained,
I get my work done without a sound and wonder if it’s even worth the pain
By nightfall when I’m alone and can’t hardly move,
I can’t call it common sense, but I fight to not drink, I fight to play my next move
I shouldn’t be this tired yet, I shouldn’t put so much into not knowing
If I should’ve stayed or gone
Or who I could’ve let down
Or what I did right
Or what I did wrong

Carry me on, let me get some rest
I know I said that I’d be alright when you left.
But carry me on, let me get some help.
It’s hard to admit now, but I can’t do this by myself.

Tim Barry, Shed Song, 40 Miler

Lyric of the Month: March 2012 – Bane

All swelled with pride, your chest blown out. Face the flag as you declare “We are the greatest country in the world. Richest, smartest, most advanced. Who can keep up with us?” And where has it gotten us? Take a look around. As miserable as we have ever been; Violent, mean, pulling our hair out. As fourteen year olds march through metal detectors; Bitter, unhealthy, empty. Most dissatisfied of societies. My granddad weeps for the simple days. Everything that you could ever dream of five minutes from our fingertips. Prettied, processed, packaged, shipped right to your door. We need everything in every colour to feel that we’re alive. We’ve got to brag to all the world about all our toys just like when we were five. I hear you chant “Everything is alright, it’s gonna be alright” As you rush to your night job, everything is gonna be alright. Knuckles white as you grip your purse. You scream that things could not be better as the flames lick at your face. And I’m as fucked as anybody. The bright lights catch my eyes I’m as scared as anyone. The blood rains from the sky. We can’t tell what we want from what we need, or which one matters more. It’s all a spinning mobile, it’s all a catchy lullaby. Everything is gonna be alright. So suck your fucking thumb.

-Bane, Release the Hounds, Give Blood

Lyric of the Month: February 2012

Why do I daydream?
Oh why do I get my hopes up at all?
I’ve been living this Walter Mitty life for too long
Somebody save me
I’m a prisoner of my own fears

Sometimes fantasy is the only problem I bear
My mind is a dream filled balloon
Dripping dreams into my shoes
And I’m too afraid to move
To face the real world
And when I fall, I fall down hard
When will I ever learn?
Don’t take your dreams to heart
You’ll only wind up getting burned

Well maybe I’m lazy
But circumstances always knock me down
So I’ll just lie here
Never get up, off the ground
Well maybe it’s crazy
To sit and think of all the things I want to do
What’s the use of dreaming
When dreams never come true?

And when I fall I fall down hard
When will I ever learn?
Don’t take your dreams to heart
You’ll only wind up getting burned

Why do I daydream?
Why do I daydream?
Why do I bother?
WHY?

Why do I daydream? (Time to get up off your ass)
Why do I daydream? (Pull your head up take a chance)
Why do I bother? (Grab whatever you can grab)
WHY? (There’s no such thing)

It’s time to get up off your ass
Pull your head up take a chance
Grab whatever you can grab
There’s no such thing

It’s time to get up off your ass
Pull your head up take a chance
Grab whatever you can grab
There’s no such thing

It’s time to get up off your ass
Pull your head up take a chance
Grab whatever you can grab
There’s no such thing
No such thing

-Descendents, Dreams

Lyric of the Month: January 2012 – If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough.

The day before I broke my ankle at the Heritage Building at Regina’s Exhibition Grounds, I wrote a testimonial as to why I believed the indoor park should receive extra funding.

Six days before I broke my ankle at the Heritage Building at Regina’s Exhibition Grounds, I broke my skateboard deck. Because I still can’t ollie properly, with my feet on both trucks as I land, the centre of the deck broke like so many of Jeremy’s growing up. Liam went in the back room and pulled out an old skateboard. He didn’t know from where it came. I was fairly confident I had seen the board before: Enjoi deck, orange Tensor trucks with blue wheels. I believed it to be my brother’s. Kris later confirmed. He also confirmed that it was the same board on which he broke his ankle when he was about 23 years old.

If coincidence existed, this would be a rather wild instance of it. But I prefer to see things as signs. That either I am not supposed to skateboard ever again, or that I was living life a bit too fast, or that I am not supposed to drink for another month, or that this particular deck was cursed by the skateboard gods, or that I need to finish writing a book that is actually good. I have yet to decide which of these I feel is correct.

They hailed me for taking it well, as if I had broken my leg before, or as if they expected me to be crying and screaming as if I was giving birth to the artificially inseminated child of Dr. Danny Devito (I plan to watch Junior in the next few days). Maybe it was nothing more than a sign of my absolute manliness. We’ll take it as that.

If your gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough

When you get knocked down you gotta get back up,
I ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer but I know enough, to know,
If your gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough

I lit my brain with Rot-Gut whiskey
‘Till all my pain was chicken fried
And I had dudes with badges frisk me
Teach me how to swallow pride

I took advice no fool would take
I got some habits I can’t shake
I ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I know enough to know
If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough

If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough
When you get knocked down, you gotta get back up
That’s the way it is in life and love
If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough

I’ve been up and down and down and out
I’ve been left and right and wrong
Well I’ve walked the walk and I’ve run my mouth
I’ve been on the short end for too long

But if they gave medals for honky tonk wars
Hell, I’d keep mine in my chest of drawers
With my IRS bills and divorce papers and all that stuff
If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough

If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough
When you get knocked down, you gotta get back up
I ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I know enough to know
If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough

If you’re gonna be dumb you gotta be tough

-Roger Alan Wade, If You’re Gonna Be Dumb

Lyric of the Month: November 2011 – Good Clean Fun

This is a new revolution we’re building a
brand-new society. It’s about time we find a
solution and not let it slip away. It’s time that
we all work together, this little thing we call
unity has the power to make it all better, and that
is why today, we’ll all be on the streets saving
the scene from the forces of evil. Side by side,
living our dreams, all the positive people .We’ll
fight our way through the frustration overcome
negativity, to us it is not a temptation, because
that is not our way. All that is needed to start
this is a healthy dose of positivity. We’ve found
our way through all the darkness, and on this brand
new day, we’ll all be on the streets saving the
scene from the forces off evil. Side by side,
living our dreams, all the positive people.

Good Clean Fun, On the streets…

Lyric of the Month: October 2011 – Creedence

Lodi, CCR

Just about a year ago
I set out on the road
Seeking my fame and fortune
Looking for a pot of gold
Things got bad things got worse
I guess you will know the tune
Oh Lord, stuck in Lodi again

Rode in on the Greyhound
I’ll be walking out if I go
I was just passing through
Must be seven seven months or more
Ran out of time and money
Looks like they took my friends
Oh Lord, I’m stuck in Lodi again

The man from the magazine
Said I was on my way
Somewhere I lost connections
Ran out of songs to play
I came into town, a one night stand
Looks like my plans fell through
Oh Lord, stuck in Lodi again

If I only had a dollar
For every song I’ve sung
And every time I had to play
While people sat there drunk
You know, I’d catch the next train
Back to where I live
Oh Lord, I’m stuck in a Lodi again
Oh Lord, I’m stuck in a Lodi again