Other Lyrics

Other Songs - Lyrics
All lyrics received directly from the band and are by M. Doughty unless otherwise noted. Publishedby Our Pal Dolores/WB unless otherwise noted
Unmarked Helicopters A source at Warner Brothers has told me that Soul Coughing wrote this song specifically for and about X-Files. They are, apparently, fans of the show. If you listen closely you can hear samples of the show's theme in this song.- Opus During an interview on 9/16/96 Doughty said, regarding this song:
[It was] written specifically as a comment made as a kinda fairy tale paradigm on the X-Files.
Whose song is that remembered? At random, surpenting Throught fatty coils, emerging some other thought it's thinking this light stands above the houses on the ground this illumination visited upon the whole land unmarked helicopters hovering the lord is coming soon here comes the super copter here comes the noise it makes the demon was an idea the demon is awake scratch mark traced across the surface of your mind this hour, now upon us the hour, now arrived unmarked helicopters hovering the lord is coming soon unmarked helicopters hovering they said it was a weather balloon but i know the truth i know the whole shebang i know the names of men they had to hang i let her out the trunk heard what she said at them they've come to drag us through the double M it goes black black black black and blacker it goes black black black black and blacker it goes black black black black and blacker it goes black black black black and blacker unmarked helicopters hovering the lord is coming soon unmarked helicopters hovering they said it was a weather balloon it was a weather balloon it was a weather balloon it was a weather balloon it was a weather balloon it was a weather balloon
MURDER OF LAWYERS (Note: These are not the lyrics of the recorded version, but of an ealier version the band once performed live. I do not have the lyrics to the recorded version) A murder of lawyers in overcoats. A murder of lawyers in overcoats. A murder of lawyers in overcoats, shoulders up, heads slung low, looking like a swarm of M's swarming the crosswalk. Looking up at a window on the forty-fourth floor. Blueeyed Jew Mystic from a rhythm section, his hands cupped around the dignified hijiki of human speech. Muslim baritones idle with their hands down. And the gat that fattens your jacket pocket Plugs slugs in vain Through the body of the immaterial witness. And that which is Ugly and feeds on The Law comes into the conference room singing federal jargon. Their necks are covered in chocolatey growths. Spat up an eyeful of steam in the lumber yard parking lot. Written in her own shit with a ground down fork. Written in her own shit with a ground down fork Written in her own shit with a ground down fork. Written in her own shit with a ground down fork.
The Bug WHY I DON'T WANT TO TELL YOU WHAT THE LYRICS TO "THE BUG" ARE - By M. Doughty We wrote this song in one day, at Fort Apache studios in Boston. Our pal Bil Emmons, who worked as an engineer on the Steve Fisk-produced tracks came up from New York to help out. Yuval got a beat up, Mark got an oscillating-filter-analog-synth thing going, I started fucking around with words. They're meaningless, really; except for some flirty in-joke references I made to a girl I was dating. I actually cannot remember the bulk of the words. I wrote them on a legal pad and threw them away when I was done. You will never ever know what the actual words are, and in any case, whatever you believe them to be is doubtless three times as interesting as what it actually is. Please, world, leave me the fuck alone about this song, I was big on Batman when I was four and I just wanted to be a part of it, and goddamnit, them Batman people paid us good money and I paid my rent and got the satisfaction of going to the Wal-Mart in Pensacola and seeing that the Batman soundtrack was number six on their chart, and all my Pensacola friends got drunk to celebrate. So the words are useless? Who gives a fuck? I'm just trying to have a good time all the time, mister. Fuck off. I'm quitting smoking right now. Please excuse me. Lyrics Unavailable
Bond M. Doughty w/808 State [This Song's Background] The trouble is a single atom shot at random random fire two particles fused and coupled once united multiply the waves run underground electric power copper wire some tiny evil bursts the surface lays quiet like insecticide Slanted, the eyes and this bonds mind to mind the risk is mine and this bonds mind to mind She says a word across the ocean I hear the spit I hear the sigh the wavelength undivided to drain the fruit and leave the rind the shot runs through her wiring through her curve through her spine to feel an impulse rising rising a mess of reason and kissing eyes.
BUDDHA RHUBARB BUTTER [This song's Background] As for my single self I had as lief not be as live to be in awe of such a thing as I myself. As for my own concern I had as think to think as keep on thinking not so hard as for the brain to burn. And at the salad bar a man he stares into the croutons hypnotized by powers of the Bac-O-Bits. And I expose myself to stimuli unfit for people outside the controls of an experiment.
The Brooklynites [This Song's Background] Lyrics Unavailable
Theme From Rachel's Sitcom [This Song's Background] Rachel's on the phone talking to her Mom Just to wish her a happy Mother's Day Rachel's on the couch Suckin' on the bong Just so she can call her Mom Rachel's on the phone talking to her Mom "Hi, Mom, it's me, Rachel."
Lemon Lime [This Song's Background] But I have not seen it now or ever Women descending on escalators Coupled with this but also the same thing Dolled up and spat out So many deminations I remember what you tasted like A gumdrop Lemon lime And the numbers on the rotary dial Rewinding Cinnamon driver Big sexy jerk Down in the murk Of your mystery That's me, swimming Down in the water at the corner of your eye That's me, swimming
I'm Livin' On Baby Food [This Song's Background] The young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun. The young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun. The young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun. The young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun. The young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun, the Long Island Lolitata, the young gun. Amy! Amy Fisher! Amy! Amy Fisher! Amy! Amy Fisher! Amy! Amy Fisher! Long Island Teen Shot the wife of her alleged former lover. Long Island Teen Shot the wife of her alleged former lover. Long Island Teen Shot the wife of her alleged former lover. Long Island Teen Shot the wife of her alleged former lover. Amy! Amy Fisher! Amy! Amy Fisher! Amy! Amy Fisher! Amy! Amy Fisher! She's a liar! Everything she says is a lie! I'm livin' on baby food! I'm livin' on baby food! Amy! Amy Fisher! Amy! Amy Fisher! Amy! Amy Fisher! Amy! Amy Fisher!
Blow My Only [This Song's Background] Send me your muzzle The one that you been biting on Go buy some scissors Cut your duct tape shakles off Much better now Much much better now Max caps and I could blow My only On a payphone call to you I'll pull the zippers down I will yank the reigns Long gone and lonesome In the airport lounge I must have more thoughts than this
A Plane Scraped Its Belly On A Sooty Yellow Moon. We dug the track Roni did, but it took numerous listens for me to really hear the pulse. It was a lot more 'out' than we expected it to be. Man, did it impress the boys around the Knitting Factory, though. I don't know, Roni's really trying to push his shit further these days--check his mix of U2's "Mofo"--after the Mercury Prize cometh the Big Bucks--it's really out, and he freaks those chiming Edge guitar bits really groovily. All in all, I was happy that we freaked the process for the Spawn soundtrack differently than everybody else did. Rather than getting into some big bucks studio and laying some guitar chords over a techno track, ending up with the lowest common denominator, we went up to Bristol, Yuval recorded some beats in the tiny Full Cycle studio, I wrote some quick poetry and laid it onto tape, Mark sent a DAT of Soul Coughing bits and pieces. Basically, we let Roni sample us, to play us the way he plays everything else he does. I was gladdened that we were put at the very back end of the CD; like we kind of scared 'em, they had to hide us in the kitchen of their little Yes-Techno-Can-Be-Played-On-Modern-Rock-Radio! world. Lyrics Unavailable

Leave a Reply