methamphetamine

Modest Mouse – The Good Times are Killing Me

kirjoittaja

Biisin nimi kertonee oleellisimman sisällöstä. Aika päheet sanat itse asiassa. Tossa on paljon hienoja laineja… esmes toi ”Have one, have twenty more ”one mores” and oh it does not relent.”

”The good times are killing me.
Here we go!

Got dirt, got air, got water and I know you can carry on.
Shrug off shortsighted false excitement and oh what can I say?
Have one, have twenty more ”one mores” and oh it does not relent.

The good times are killing me.

Kick butt buzz-cut dickheads
who didn’t like what I said.
The good times are killing me.
Jaws clenched tight we talked all night,
oh but what the hell did we say?
The good times are killing me.

Fed up with all that LSD.
Need more sleep than coke or methamphetamines.
Late nights with warm, warm whiskey.
I guess the good times they were all just killing me.

Got dirt, got air, got water and I know you can carry on.
The good times are killing me.
Enough hair of the dog to make myself an entire rug.
The good times are killing me.
Have one, have twenty more ”one mores” and oh it does not relent.
The good times are killing me.
Shit-kicker city slickers who all wanted me dead.
The good times are killing me.

Get sucked in and stuck in late nights
with more folks that I don’t know.
The good times are killing me.”

Bruce Springsteen – Sinaloa Cowboys

kirjoittaja

Hieno tarina kahdesta kaveruksesta, jotka pestautuvat duuniin keittelemään metamfetamiinia. ”Tehdas” posahtaaja toinen kavereista kuolee.

”Word was out some men in from Sinaloa were looking for some hands
Well, deep in Fresno county there was a deserted chicken ranch
And there in a small tin shack on the edge of a ravine
Miguel and Louis stood cooking methamphetamine

You could spend a year in the orchards
Or make half as much in one ten hour shift
Working for the men from Sinaloa
But if you slipped the hydriodic acid
Could burn right through your skin
They’d leave you spittin’ up blood in the desert
If you breathed those fumes in

It was early one winter evening as Miguel stood watch outside
When the shack exploded, lighting up the valley night
Miguel carried Louis’ body over his shoulder down a swale
To the creekside and there in the tall grass, Louis Rosales died
Miguel lifted Louis’ body into his truck and then he drove
To where the morning sunlight fell on a eucalyptus grove
There in the dirt he dug up ten-thousand dollars. all that they’d saved
Kissed his brothers lips and placed him in his grave”