Tiny Sick Tears

You know sometimes in the middle in the night

You get to feeling uptight

And wish you were feelin alright

And you know youre white

And you ain't got no soul

And theres no one with a hole nearby

And therefore in your teen-age madness and delirium

You toss and turn in your sweaty little grey teen-age sheets

In that little room with the psychedelic posters

And the red bulb

And the incense

And your bead collection

And your country song round up books

And you cry your tiny sick tears

Tiny sick tears

Tiny sick tears

Tiny sick tears

You know you gotto gotto gotto gotto

Youve gotta find some relief from the terrible..

From the terrible ache thats clutching right at your heart

Because its hurting you to your heart

And your crying tiny sick tears

And you have to go downstairs

Out of your bedroom

Out into the hall

Down to the living room

To the living room

To the kitchen

To the cookie jar

Where you wanna get your cookies

And you take the top off the cookie jar

And you stick your tiny sick hand in the cookie jar

And you reach around in the cookie jar

To find a raisin cookie

A spongy one with the little plump raisins

A little tactile sensation for your tiny sick fingers

Squeeze the raisin on the cookie

Pull the cookie out of the jar

Stuff the raisin into your eating hole

Push it all the way in your eating hole

Now make your eating hole wrap itself around the tiny sick cookie

Scarve the cookie

Put the lid back on the jar

Go over to the ice box

Open the ice box

Pull out the box of milk

Open the box of milk

Into a triangular beak like that

Pull the little triangular beak up to your drinking hole

Up to your hole

Pour the white fluid from the drinking box into your hole

Close the beak

Reinsert the box into the ice box

Close the box door

Walk out of the kitchen

Through the living room

Back up the stairs

Past your sisters room

Past your brothers room

You take a mask from the ancient hallway

Make it down to your fathers room

And you walk in

And your father, your tiny sick father

Is beating his meat to a Playboy magazine

Hes got it rolled into a tube

And hes got his tiny sick pud stuffed in the middle of it

Right flat up against the centerfold

There he is your father with a tiny sick erection

And you walk in and you say:

Father I want to kill you

And he says: Not now son, not now

HANDS UP!

OOOO LAAAA

I know that its so hard stop playing this soul music, you know, cause it really . . . For one thing its really easy . . . And for another thing: It wastes a lot of time while were on stage. We learned in our travels that teenagers are ready to accept these two chords no matter how theyre played. It makes you feel secure, cause you know that after, did de dit de didde the other one is gonna come on. It never fails, simple . . . Some people would say its bullshit. But we love it, don't we kids?

Meanwhile . . .