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Dustpan Ballads Of The Total Stoned Model Citizen

by Jak Locke

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01:37
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02:14
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01:18
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credits

released October 22, 2001

produced by nobody. recorded autumn 2001
mixed by nobody. 2nd engineers: for people Spin writes about. mastered by nobody.

management: nobody
project manager: nobody
artwork: jak
art direction: nobody
art layout: jak
jak photo: louis gardner

all songs written by jak

"suckin down dust" contains elements of vacuum cleaners.
"maggot" embodies a portion of random noise programmed into a 1997 palmpilot

eat your radio

it's good to be a parrot
i can fly so high and free
i speak everyone else's mind
and none argue with me

IN THE TRASH CAN YOU FOUND
CLEAR CHANNEL

www.google.com/search?q=jak+locke

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about

Jak Locke New Orleans, Louisiana

Jak Locke is a multi-genre songwriter and performer based in and native to New Orleans, LA.

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Track Name: Lemon Soda
Well there ain't no cushions in the booths
And there ain't no watch tellin the day
Hittin repeat on the CD player for the six six six six six sixth time
Screamin just to hear something
Gone cross-eyed staring at the walls
Track Name: Trailer Reject
I don't have time to do anything
I don't even have time to say this
Message 4
It was Halloween night, a couple years back
And I got really fucked up off of some beer
And a lot of liquor and some other shit
And I smoked pot with this weird girl
Named Misty, I think
And so then I needed a ride back to the dorm
So I went with this girl Megan
Cuz she was going back at about that time
I was lucky
And I got in the car
And I don't remember a damn thing
Cuz I was fucked up out my mind
I was totally wasted
I got back to the dorm and I think I got on the internet
Yeah, online
And I went in some chat rooms
And, yeah, that's all
4am Saturday
(Hotel ice tray in a vinyl bucket, fuck it
Dropping dimes for wind-up chokings
Reject salad, trailer hitch soda pop
Nuclear family meltdown
Sound all empty
Thrift store reject, trailer reject
Tied up in apathy
Probed to the core in a red light zone
Rusting paper towel
Emoting to eyes that hardly give a damn)
Track Name: Nothing Sacred
Is nothing sacred? There's nothing sacred
Is nothing sacred? Is nothing sacred?
Think I can make it if nothing's sacred
Think I can make it with nothing sacred
Nothing sacred
There is nothing to be won by looking upon someone else as the one
Ohh
Is nothing sacred? If nothing's sacred think I can make it
If nothing's sacred then I got no worries
Nothing's sacred
Pouring water on my head
Oh lord
Track Name: Hardcore Inebriated (Let's Rock!)
Got a mind that's got me blind
Blowing time getting mine
Fistward bound ultrasound
Fuckin around putting down
Sendin out bad vibes
Stuck in the nasty
Bullet shaped tongue, rapid fire
Like a pawn you put me right where you want me
Once again
Puttin up with it
Puttin up with it
Migraine incarnate
Dry heave alive
Say it do it
Vapid idiot
Got a head full of hate moving down my veins
Two steps from fist city
Fuckin around with me
Let’s rock!
Track Name: Malignanimosity (Eat Alive)
Delicate, incomprehensibly aromatic
Escaping, tearing her own skin
Soaring through the veinscape
Mysterious, fortunate erosion
Metastasizing, she feeds on me
I am her delicacy
Track Name: Spirit! (Killing Time!)
Spirit!
Track Name: Strawberry Blond Ravenhair (Total Sleep Deprivation 2001)
One night, one night, one night, one night
One night, one night, one night
Beaten down my door
Something's going to happen tonight
Big machine, big group of people I know
We didn't have enough time
We didn't have enough time
There's no excitement
Unless something's changed in the past 48 hours
There's no excitement
Mutilated bodies hanging from trees
There's no excitement
All distorted faces
I'd like to come back
I lose track of time...
I lose
Made friends and talked for a while
We went our separate ways
We went our separate ways
Did I? You tell me
Walking to the garden and back through the...through the yard
Past the bodies
Sort of a true story
And then this
One night one night one night one night...
Track Name: I'm The Guy Your Mother Hates
Like it
Shedding sweat bullets like a sawed off gun
Flying off walls in a room of one
Peeling off plaster from my ceiling fan
Toothpick wound in the middle of my hand
Limp wet dollar laying down in a glass
With a filter smoking killer jumping on my ass
Broken record rocking from five to nine
With a burnt out jimmy working for the wine
Giving us directions
Seven plain selections
Liquid mind corrections I'm like damn
I'm like damn
I'm like damn
Fishermen's net caught up in a draft
Suicidal monkey hanging on the raft
Detrimental can in the back of a truck
Where you ask for directions and you're out of luck
Silver tongued artist with the tarnish blues
Road hockey hitcher with nothing to lose
Cremated man in a brown ashtray
You can't hit a note when you try to play
Giving us directions
Seven plain selections
Liquid mind corrections
I'm like damn, I'm like damn, I'm like damn, I'm like damn...
DAMN!
Whoa rock it
Look at me, I'm the guy your mother hates, and that's okay
Track Name: Meaning Is Overrated
I looked at the globe, Afghanistan leaped out
It looked at me, grew a mouth and started to shout
It said "Hey you, quit looking at me!
And while you're at it, go drown in the sea!"
Uh huh...
I went to the Wal-Mart, I went to the aisle
I went to the clerk and I gave her a smile
She talked to me nicely, she took all my cash
And then she kicked me out of the store on my ass!
Yeah yeah...
Well I pick up this box and I pull on the strings
It makes all sorts of sounds, makes me do weird things
I jump around, I kick everything
You want to know why? I don't know!
I asked for your name, I asked for your card
You told me to "go away just like God"
I said "what do you mean just like God?" You said "it's true,
He cares about the flowers more than he cares about you!"
No no...
Track Name: Beautiful Day To Be Dead
Yeah it's just me, as you can see
I'm high again with no place I'm going
Tell her I'm not there, I am nowhere
And nothing's just what I want to be knowing
Nothing less I could've said
It's a beautiful day to be dead
Lock the door, kill the feeling
Now we stare at the ceiling
Something I could not decide
Where I've been, the devils could sell you
On cold concrete we spoke our piece
Now the dust speaks all I could tell you
Nothing less I could've said
It's a beautiful day to be dead
Lock the door, kill the feeling
Now we stare at the ceiling
Somehow I see this goodbye
Without an end, hardly a parting
A different face, another place
Behind the rust, the cycle's restarting
Track Name: Suckin Down Dust (Model Citizen!)
FISHIN FOR CHANGE IN A FILTHY PUBLIC PHONE...
its a name with no draw and nothing to prove, filing down the clock's hands and wrapping up the dollar bills in brown paper bags / stuffing it deep down in his pockets with no expectations in the least / tell it to the careless who fly low and run into every telephone pole on the same street back and forth for years and years until their battered wings turn gray / and they sing the crows caw like its the most beautiful song fit to hack, up and down and never noticing futility as it stares em in the face full on cackling out as loud and as happy as can be / its a waste of age and a waste of youth cracked out on the breadline and praising every minute and second and hour and year and month and decade of wasted time, just living to work to exist

wonderign about the condition of this and that singin offkey and screamin at the top of my voice / pullin on bands of various tension and making some kind of beautiful racket / in the afternoon i found my calling and slept through it in the evening i found nothing and loved it / constant bangin on the wall at intervals of nine and seven / constant mess on the floor from three layabout thrift store rejects converging periodically and leaving a mess for me to clean up / no i dont mind i really dont / i say i'm an artist and i'm a performer and i'm a musician and they ask me what those terms mean, what gives you the right to say you're all those things? / i realize it aint worth even thinkin about if you think about it / if you think youre something then whats the difference to you if you aint and if you are

music lives / art lives / america lives / for now i lives trashin my brain for a days wages / getting lost on my own street / butane and alcohol fumes all around / put a plastic bag on my head / total dimestore fashion i know how much i smoke / scissorfaced man sittin three chairs down askin for directions / even his smile looks like a sneer / wastes of time abound in the afternoon morning here / meantime i look for the entrance outside

you see the world continuing as is while i see vagabonds and hoboes and all manner of folk that dont know where, just that theyre goin

outside downtown / goin to rox's meat market / steppin in old broken glass on the old broken curb lovin every minute of blankness / and then the dreaming of the old days / music will die / art will die / america will die / i will die / but not today

styrofoam living waits down at the dock with my name and headstone, whistling "brother can you spare a dime" / i'm whistling a tune i half-wrote with Count Basie a few years back / and the song just disappears in the breeze like every other time / and that's okay

...ABOUT THIS TIME A MAN ASKS ME IF HE COULD PLEASE USE THE PHONE