Lyrics Shoe Suede Blues - Matt McAndrew

Shoe Suede Blues

Fitzgerald and eyeliner makes a vengeful promise\n«I walk the train tracks», he says, «and leave town on Thomas»\nHe’s a hybrid pedestrian, sent to brighten things\nWith a saltwater bucket and swimmin' diamond rings\nWhen the automobile smith comes, he’s got no horse sense\nHe finds cursin' himself a cohesive defense\nOgling, scheming, paring Jodhpurs people\nYou must marry her, don’t parry the old stone steeple\nCharcoal weds fire in warm weather attire\nUnofficial symbols, thumbnails and thimbles\nToday is muting yesterday, there’s nothin' to learn\nFrom their mindless information with our privileges burned\nSo roll over John Lennon, tell McCartney the news\nI’m a bad macaroni with the shoe suede blues, alright\nEdison’s Infirmary, concrete and cynic\nCripples the seventy-three candle Clinic\nBut this week’s lollipops are under the bed\nSo let’s put some more Laurel’s on that pretty little head\nI see you got your civil scouts and your diving beaks\nAs darling daisies bloom and far off Castro speaks\nThis is not an equinox, it’s a time to wear short socks\nWhile the red fox on detox orders a seagull on the rocks\nOld paint smock October is keen to take over\nAnd remind us that the leaves are all deciduous clovers\nYou know the cops they dip their pens in our sad revenue ink\nAnd you can go play with the pigs but man you might turn pink\nSo roll over John Lennon, tell McCartney the news\nI’m a bad macaroni with the shoe suede blues, alright\nHer pilot’s TV is misbehaving while I’m shaving\nAnd the golden lover’s locket’s learnin' self-engraving\nSo I went to see the doctor and he cuddled with me\nAnd he out-balds any man in receding history\nHe says, «Tonight, my boy we’re hoarding with the tusking twenty»\nAnd though it’s funny that his nose is runny, he’s got free dental\nHe makes more money\nWe got an obeyed thesis, and an isthmus opinion\nBut the casino queen she gambles in her own dominion\nIt’s a shrill overture to stay in love with her\nShe’s got costumer shanks to break your piggy banks\nAnd she’ll make your pockets purr\nNow the king, he’s always hanging around the tabloid scene\n'Cause he sabotaged the yellow-green voting machine\nSo roll over John Lennon, tell McCartney the news\nI’m a bad macaroni with the shoe suede blues, alright\nThis bozo’s blunt interest in a Museum warhead\nGot him a ride in a hearse and a hell-bound flowerbed\nIt’s an alarming parade, when you’re finally cold\nIs that musty unselfishness or smell of the old?\nThe Faulkner of our floral dawn has just moved on\nBut if time flies by in Rimbaud skies, what’s takin' so long?\nI’m at the big, pillowed burial of Pulsing Picasso\nAnd I’ve given ear to crows and screaming Vincent Van Gogh\nAs the sun sets on the summer and my gazebo mother\nI watch her stare out at the sea like all the others\nShe fillin' her bone marrow with aspirin arrows\nBut she let me sing like Elvis when he looked a pharaoh\nSo roll over John Lennon, tell McCartney the news\nI’m a bad macaroni with the shoe suede blues, alright