RODRIGUEZ, Sixto
I wonder
I wonder how many times you've been had
And I wonder how many plans have gone bad
I wonder how many times you had sex
I wonder do you know who'll be next
I wonder l wonder wonder I do
I wonder about the love you can't find
And I wonder about the loneliness that's mine
I wonder how much going have you got
And I wonder about your friends that are not
I wonder I wonder I wonder I do
I wonder about the tears in children's eyes
And I wonder about the soldier that dies
I wonder will this hatred ever end
I wonder and worry my friend
I wonder I wonder wonder don't you?
I wonder how many times you been had
And I wonder how many dreams have gone bad
I wonder how many times you've had sex
And I wonder do you care who'll be next
I wonder I wonder wonder I do
Sugar Man
Sugar man, won't you hurry
Cause I'm tired of these scenes
For a blue coin won't you bring back
All those colors to my dreams
Silver magic ships you carry
Jumpers, coke, sweet Mary Jane
Sugar man met a false friend
On a lonely dusty road
Lost my heart when I found it
It had turned to dead black coal
Silver magic ships you carry
Jumpers, coke, sweet Mary Jane
Sugar man you're the answer
That makes my questions disappear
Sugar man cause I'm weary
Of those double games l hear
.....
Crucify your mind
Was it a huntsman or a player
That made you pay the cost
That now assumes relaxed positions
And prostitutes your loss?
Were you tortured by your own thirst
In those pleasures that you seek
That made you Tom the curious
That makes you James the weak?
And you claim you got something going
Something you call unique
But I've seen your self-pity showing
As the tears rolled down your cheeks
Soon you know I'll leave you
And I'll never look behind
'Cause I was born for the purpose
That crucifies your mind
So con-convince your mirror
As you've always done before
Giving substance to shadows
Giving substance ever more
And you assume you got something to offer
Secrets shiny and new
But how much of you is repetition
That you didn't whisper to him too?
Jane S. Piddy
Now you sit there thinking feeling insecure
The mocking court gesture claims there is no proven cure
Go back to your chamber, your eyes upon the wall
'Cos you got no one to listen, you got no one to call
And you think I'm curious
Drifting, drowning in a purple sea of doubt
You wanna hear she loves you
but the words don't fit the mouth
You're a loser, a rebel, a cause without
But don't think me callous
Dancing Rosemary, disappearing sister Ruth
It's just your yellow appetite
that has you choking on the truth
You gave in, you gave out, outlived your dreams of youth
And I can't get jealous
So go on, you'll continue with your nose so open wide
Knocking on that door that says "Hurry come inside"
But don't bother to buy insurance 'cos you've already died
And you can't be serious
I saw my reflection in my father's final tears
The wind was slowly melting, San Francisco disappears
Acid heads, unmade beds, and you Woodward world queers
I know you're lonely
I know you're lonely
I know you're lonely...
A Most Disgusting Song
I've played every kind of gig there is to play now
I've played faggot bars, hooker bars, motorcycle funerals
In opera houses, concert halls, halfway houses
Well I found that in all these places that I've played
All the people that I've played for are the same people
So if you'll listen, maybe you'll see someone you know in this song
A most disgusting song
The local diddy bop pimp comes in
Acting limp he sits down with a grin
Next to a girl that has never been chased
The bartender wipes a smile off his face
The delegates cross the floor
Curtsy and promenade through the doors
And slowly the evening begins
And there's Jimmy "Bad Luck" Butts
Who's just crazy about them East Lafayette weekend sluts
Talking is the lawyer in crumpled up shirt
And everyone's drinking the detergents
That cannot remove their hurts
While the Mafia provides your drugs
Your government will provide the shrugs
And your national guard will supply the slugs
So they sit all satisfied
And there's old playboy Ralph
Who's always been shorter than himself
And there's a man with his chin in his hand
Who knows more than he'll ever understand
Yeah, every night it's the same old thing
Getting high, getting drunk, getting horny
At the Inn-Between, again
And there's the bearded schoolboy with the wooden eyes
Who at every scented skirt whispers up and sighs
And there's a teacher that will kiss you in French
Who could never give love, could only fearfully clench
Yeah, people every night it's the same old thing
Getting pacified, ossified, affectionate at Mr. Flood's party, again
And there's the militant with his store-bought soul
There's someone here who's almost a virgin I've been told
And there's Linda glass-made who speaks of the past
Who genuflects, salutes, signs the cross and stands at half-mast
Yeah, They're all here, the Tiny Tims and the Uncle Toms
Redheads, brunettes, brunettes, and the dyed haired blondes
Who talk to dogs, chase broads and have hopes of being mobbed
Who mislay their dreams and later claim that they were robbed
And every night it's going to be the same old thing
Getting high, getting drunk, getting horny
Lost, even, at Martha's Vineyard, again