1. |
New Hott Riffs!
04:22
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It's not the same here. It's not the same as it was. There's an aggravating buzz. You're not the same, you all have changed here. You're not the people that you were. You've all turned lame. There's no nostalgia, no allure. Too many jagged cliffs, too many "buts" and "ifs." Too many frozen stiffs. I'll blast them with my New Hott Riffs. Too many tables turned, too many bridges burned, too many lovers spurned. You never left, so you never learned. Time changes everything.
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2. |
Tiny Hands
03:51
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I've been staring at these tiny hands for so long my retinas bleed. I guess in a sense I'm blinded by love. I can finally see. Do they ask for more or wave goodbye? How soon will they learn to tie? Now they pull and tug at old heartstrings, and a million other things. Tiny hands won't let me (read/feed). What cool things will they build, and what lives will they fill? When these tiny hands are free, will they push away or hold on to me? Will they hold on for life?
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3. |
Straight Shooters
04:14
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Let's take our shit luck to the moon and blow it up in one big boom. Watch the fallout fry these cake-walking fools in the kitchen with no shoes. Down we glower from ivory towers at tactless enemies of ours, madly mourning their paper cuts. Let's watch them fester in their ruts. With these anchored dreams we're such angry fucks. Let's blow off work and blow up some trucks. Since I'm boozing up for two, I'll leave the schmoozing up to you. This bourbon glass that chips my tooth is the sole left bastion of my youth. I know it's sad but you know it's true. We're callous now, we'll conquer this. With busted fronts and bloody fists. Two lonesome doves packing .38s. We're growing old, but still shooting straight. And even drunk, our aim is great. A brand new year under a brand new roof. Fall libations 80 proof. Winter ales for winter chill wash down Grand-Dad's stolen pills. April babies. Spring is hope, bringing life and grander scope. By Summertime we've had enough. Let's get fucked up!!!
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4. |
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5. |
Run Aground
02:45
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We're following blind in our cosmonaut plane constellations that ain't got a name. And we're still rationing blame since we've run aground. I can see my solar system from here. The Horsehead Nebula is lighting the pier. My navigating career has now run aground. So much love's bound to go supernova and burn us to flame, but we're all made of stars, anyway. Escape velocity is a lofty goal; we've been reduced to burning coal. Might as well take a stroll, since we've run aground. Tell my wife I love her very much. There's some protein pills near the clutch. We need Major Tom's touch 'cause we've run aground.
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6. |
Sugardrunk
03:11
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7. |
Expedition! (depunked)
03:31
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We trudged tirelessly and we braved certain death. We dredged the Red Sea and found nothing was left. Our pipe dreams were vain, our motives much the same. The whole thing was lame, but truth told, I'd do it all the same. So righteous and so rash, so doomed not to fail. Our maps were good as trash, but we hoisted our sails. An eerie dead calm, but we don't believe in signs. That leads us up to now: too late to change our minds. But we can dance in the sand, well-dressed and well-tanned, to a Calypso band. We'll pretend this was planned. Oh, Expedition!!! 100 to one!!! 10,000,000 to one!!! As snow turned to sea and as dreams died with age, we drank down our fate and we swallowed our rage. Seasons will turn, and allegiances too. At least I have you. At least you have Soju.
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8. |
Icebreaker
01:58
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9. |
Secret Teeth
03:12
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It's a bitter bite, the sting of secret teeth. It's a futile fight, our latest of defeats. It's a bitter bite, it's a tired night. Canned contraband and prisoners passing kites. It's a bitter bite, a surprise attack. It's barely breaking skin, but it's sinking in. Don't scratch too hard, it could leave a scar.
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10. |
All Tomorrow's Parodies
02:14
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The party is over. Did you drink your fill? Are you passing muster? Did you shoot from the hip and drop mad skillz? All the cool kids are going home, adding volumes to their tomes. Writing all tomorrow's parodies. Now the worst part is over. Did you take your pill? Yeah, I know it's a bitter one. If we're dying tonight, I'm glad we're dressed to kill.
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Navy of the Nice Berkeley, California
Navy of the Nice (aka Nick Jackson) used to play in Bad Daddies (punk rock), Santiago (indie rock), Ringo Guesthouse (power-pop) and The Plutones (surf rock). Now he drinks beer and records demos in his garage.
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