For Their Own Ends (Southern Pigfish title cut)
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MP3 4.6 MB • 128 kbps • 5:03
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[4/4, w/prominent rock bass]
[VOICE-OVER FOR THE RECORD: Ladies and gentlemen, it’s our pleasure to treat you again to the sounds of Southern Pigfish, the band that made politically charged Arkansas bluegrass hip-hop sea chanties a household word here in Meyers Corners. They got a girl singer that sounds like Bob Dylan before the operation, and a bunch of cool musicians who could really benefit from some lessons if y’all could see your way clear to buy some CDs so they could afford it, so without further ado, here’s the title cut from their album of the same name, “For Their Own Ends,” by Southern Pigfish!]
FOR THEIR OWN ENDS (for the Southern Pigfish album)
--J. Wrabek
1.
They’re sleeping on the sidewalk, their grocery carts all in a row;
Some of them hiked half the night to get here, ‘cause ev’rything else is closed;
Can’t afford the gas, don’t got the cash, and if they got a car, it don’t run
But they’re gonna shop when the bars roll up at the Thrift Emporium.
2.
Saint Peter sleeps with the cash box, and a different woman ev’ry night;
He’s missing a couple fingers, so the change never comes out right;
He got a shotgun under the counter he don’t use ‘cause he ain’t dumb—
Ev’ry bullet’s got a price at the Thrift Emporium.
3.
They cut the legs off all the lobsters, so they din’t have to buy a cage;
It really sucks to be a giant bug with salt water far away;
They look so sad floppin’ ‘round like that it makes you want to take one home—
You c’n have your pick, but they don’t take checks at the Thrift Emporium.
4.
The crockery’s all from China, and the Barbie dolls are from Zaire,
And the clothes that don’t fit anyone are from anywhere but here;
You can even buy imported fries for your imported burger and bun—
The world’s on display—half off today—at the Thrift Emporium.
[GRATUITOUS INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]
5.
The election’s set for Tuesday, and the best clone’s gonna win;
You can sort of tell ‘em apart this year by the color of their skin;
They’ll end the war, but they’ll have one more—don’t dare bring the boys back home—
They’ll just foin the crowd—and it’s getting loud—at the Thrift Emporium.
6.
Let’s hear it once more for the lobsters, they can’t run, they can only stare,
And it really sucks to be a giant bug with no salt water anywhere;
Saint Peter and his girlfield are gonna have one over for lunch—
There’s plenty more scattered ‘round the floor at the Thrift Emporium.
7.
They’re sleeping on the sidewalk, their grocery carts all in a row;
Some of them hiked half the night to get here, and some are like to die of cold;
Can’t afford the gas, don’t got the cash, and if they got a car, it don’t run
But they’re gonna shop when the bars roll up at the Thrift Emporium.
Yeah, they’re gonna shop when the bars roll up at the Thrift Emporium.
© 2008 J. Wrabek dba Outside Services Ltd. All the usual rights reserved just in case. No lobsters were harmed in the writing of this song (and no pigfish, either).
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