Hotwax

It takes a backwashed man to sing a backwashed song Like a frying pan when the fire's gone Driving my pig while the band's taking pictures in the grass And my radio's smashed And I like pianos in the evening sun Dragging my heels 'til my day is done Saturday night in the captain's clothes Tin horns blowing with my jewelry froze Yo soy un disco quebrado Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro I can't believe my way-back-when My Cadillac pants going much too fast Karaoke weekend at the suicide shack Community service, and I'm still 'The Mack' Shocked my finger, spots on my hand I been spreading disease all across the land Beautiful, air-conditioned Sitting in the kitchen wishing I was livin' like a hitman Face down in the guarantees Jaundiced honchos gettin' busy with ease Because I get down, I get down, I get down all the way Yo soy un disco quebrado Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro (I'm a nasty, nasty man) (I'm... I'm... I'm a... I'm a nasty, nasty man) Sawdust songs of the plaid bartenders Western unions of the country westerns Silver foxes looking for romance In their chainsmoke Kansas flashdance ass-pants And you've got the hotwax residues You never lose in your razorblade shoes Stealing pesos out of my brain Hazard signs down the Alamo lanes Radar systems piercing their souls You never get caught with the wax so rotten All my days I got the grizzly words Hijacked flavors that are flipping like birds Yo soy un disco quebrado Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro Who are you? I'm the enchanting wizard of rhythm Why did you come here? I came here to tell you about the rhythms of the universe