In every city, in every town.. There’s a man that you call when you need to get down.
He’s a force on every corner, he runs the local scene. Everybody knows his name, he goes by Mr. Green.
He’s a force on every corner, he’s a force on every block. He’s at the top of every wanted list, he’s impossible to stop. Cos he supplies the people, he supplies demand and the people want what the people want, and this they’ve got to have.
He’s handy with the hustle and he drives a mean machine – everybody knows that you don’t fuck with Mr. Green. He’s heavy with his hands but generous with his intent. He never contradicts himself, not even in a pinch. He’s got a lawyer on retainer, he’s a complicated man. He’d like to give you a free pass but we both know he can’t. He only stocks the high grade, so bills you’ll need to spend but he’ll meet your needs, however you lean – just contact Mr. Green.
He’s the kind of fella who never skips a beat. He doesn’t do half-measures, he can always take the heat. He’s put in a lot of sweat and blood to get to where he stands. He’s put in all the overtime, he’s moved a lot of sand. He’s a force on every corner, he’s a force on every block. He’s at the top of every wanted list, he’s impossible to stop. Cos he supplies the people, he supplies demand and the people want what the people want, and this they’ve got to have.
I know a man. He’s a preacher’s son. He’s got his Momma’s good looks and his Daddy’s silver tongue. He works a crowd, he makes a killing cos everybody is buying what he’s selling.
I know a man. He’s a preacher’s son.. and he can make you believe that he’s the chosen one. He don’t praise the Lord, he ain’t no man of God. But he can sling that hook and he can pop and drop so listen up.
The man of whom I speak makes no claim as a redeemer, but he tends a flock and he leads an earthly host of true believers. The concept of a God has made a slave of you and I. Power is power after all, regardless of the guise. It’s become a zeitgeist for all ages exposing mankind’s fear of death and our own desperation in the face of our own fearful final breath. A prophet makes a mockery of us and turns us into sheep he needs to herd and all men have agendas – selfish needs they need to serve. How can a man with all his flaws transmit a holy truth? A contradiction in its own terms becomes a vehicle for abuse. Religions cite the purity of sharing broken bread but every priest who lays a feast comes cloaked in gowns of red. And vessels that they claim are going to save us from this flood of fear and death and dark despair just arrive on tides of blood. But the man of whom I speak doesn’t threaten condemnation – behind his eyes you’ll never find an empty promise of salvation.
Do you ever feel like you’ve got an X on your head like a midnight tail-light? Do you ever feel like there’s something moving on the fringes of your vision, somewhere just beyond your eye-line? Do you ever feel like everybody’s hustling trying to make their way with a bloody knife? Do you ever feel like you take a piece of the pie to take a bite but it just don’t taste right?
I don’t know if it’s just paranoia but I feel safest in open spaces.
Do you ever wonder why a whisper in a crowd has the power of a seismic rumble? Do you ever wonder why the blood rushing in your ears roars loud like thunder? Do you ever wonder why you wake up in the cold dawn feeling like you’re six feet under? Do you ever wonder why every step you take just takes you deeper and deeper into the jungle?
When I was just a grasshopper my Poppa put me on his knee. He said, ‘If you wanna play funk with the best of the bunch, you better listen carefully.’ With a twinkle in his eye and a scotch on the side, he instructed me to have no fear. Then he leaned in close, as close as butter plays toast and he whispered these words so clear. He said that you can feel it, you can feel it, you can feel it,you can feel it, you can feel it when the funk gets hot.
It’s a shakedown!
Time just came and went. I had more time than I could spend. Chances I spurned, bridges I burned.. I spent every single penny that I earned. I got a bit older, I got a bit taller. I met a lot of girls but never did call them.. and through my first world torment – in my ear I always hear Poppa’s words ringing clear – you can feel it, you can feel it, you can feel it, you can feel it, you can feel it when the funk gets hot.
Whats a girl like you.. doing in this nice place?
I really like your hair.. shame about your face.
You’re kinda beautiful yet rotten, the kind of beauty easily forgotten.
I’m not usually this cruel but you seem like my kind of intelligent fool
..and i need a kiss to stay alive. Needs must when the Devil drives
Cos Oh My! Is this the devil’s work?
Cos this fire feels like the devils work
and now I know the lesson I ain’t learned
I’ve been playing with fire but I ain’t never been burned
Few sips of gin and I’ll be seeing things
like smoke rising from the guitar strings
A demon needs a dance or so he says
Manipulate me in so many ways
To old habits we return – some people just never learn.
I need a kiss to stay alive and needs must when the devil drives
Good intentions make good paving stones
Scorched flesh on blackened bones
Its nothing personal, just purely business
Empty promises with empty kisses
Is that a soul I see behind those eyes?
A flash of red light hides a cheap disguise
I need a soul to stay alive and needs must when the devils drives.
But now the big boss wants what the big boss wants and.. oh my!
You got me feeling low, yeah I’ve been feeling blue. You got me so I don’t know what to do.
You’ve got me feeling low, you got me feeling blue. Yeah its a real fucking drag hanging round with you.
Everyday sad face head down looking like you’ve got a bad taste in your mouth
You’re prone to throw fits, spit your bit, sourpuss in leather boots you’ve always got your claws out…
And if the devil had a daughter well we both know what he’d call her, woman of mine, woman of mine.. and if the devil had a daughter, we both know what he’d call her.
Snow queen, you’ve got me hooked on codeine, novocaine and cocaine just to numb the pain.
You’re like a bad dream, when I wake up screaming and you are still sleeping next to me.
Prick tease, you get undressed and then you leave and throw a wink at me as you walk out the door.
I’m like a sex slave subject to your power plays, your body is currency and I ain’t got no change.
( Diabolica )
So what is this if not another quick fix? Another funky-junkie hit designed to make you hips twist, another slick pitch designed explicitly to get the spit dripping from your lips like blood gushing from a slit wrist.
We’ll get you hot steppin, we’re James Brown reppin, we’ll get you agitating, your body gyrating. We don’t do belly-flopping, just pull off show stoppin, crazy manouvre droppin and hook and sling p-p-p-poppin.
School’s in, class be seated. I’ll be your teacher for today and I’ve already stated. We’ll be learning how to shake it like we’re breakin into fits.. and no, your momma’s note won’t get you out of this. We’re going to learn to pop and drop if it takes all fucking day and for convulsions like that little Joey gets an A.
Step 1: Lean into your right arm, feel the spasm gather as the power starts to take form. Step 2: Take this trick and flip it. Then run with both and rip it, it won’t take long to catch on. Step 3: Feel the rhythm in your knees surging electricity – give in to elasticity.. and finally – Step 4: Know the meaning of a pause like – everybody stop – to pop and drop.
Self-Conscious man enters the room, deconstructs himself and with an air of gloom, he picks at the pieces like nuts at a bar. No-one really wants them but someones gotta have em.
Self-conscious man glances around, composes himself and with his dinner held down tries to mingle with the crowd but in a voice too loud, barks out ‘Nice to meet ya!’ to no-one in particular.
Self-conscious man prefers illusion as the truth won’t do anything except confuse him. He’s always thinking, never doing and when the sun shines on him you can see right through him.
All TalkThe arrogance is evident when people think they’re eloquent, with fantastic and bombastic types of language that they use. A spectacular vernacular is unleashed in an attack on you and unless you get a dictionary you might end up quite confused.And when they use hyperbole, it causes me anxiety. Especially as usually it comes at high velocity – they confound and confusticate, aim not to communicate. The words can be incredible verbs with twenty syllables but I prescribe the kind of vibe thats simply indescribable.
So keep your frantic, pedantic discussions on semantics. With all your talk and all your words you make yourself quite clear. Magniloquence is just arrogance, its a form of verbal violence and your meaning lacks feeling – I don’t want to hear.
You’re all talk and no action. You use herds of words to create a distraction and present to me a symphony – a veritable (verbal) cacophony. So don’t talk, don’t think, no words, don’t speak. Let sound without meaning wash right over me.
Well I told you… you’ve gotta watch that dirty mouth.. And you can bat your lids and pucker but I’m no-ones fucking sucker – you think I’m falling for you lover but I’ve got one hand on the muzzle for your mouth.
And I begged you. I begged and pleaded with you about that mouth. You think I’m putty in your hands but now its time you understand that apologies are great but its too little and too late.
Well I warned you.. A few times now about that mouth. But this will be the final time cos now you’ve overstepped the line. This ain’t no park and ride – a man’s got to have some pride.
So shut that dirty mouth.
I met her in a smokey room and she walks on six inch blades. She reeled me in with her cheap perfume and the way she danced kept me so entranced that I couldn’t look away… from the dirty girl with the milky skin, the fuck-me eyes and the filthy grin. When she locked me up inside my head, and then damn near broke my bed, she was blind with lust. She had issues with trust, she’s a carnivore. An insatiable appetite and a dress like a second skin.
Just one more kiss from those cherry lips – one more kiss and it won’t be long until we can reach oblivion. If it feels this right it can’t be wrong, when you’re living free and fast and young.
She goes out in nothing but her coat, heels and stocking and sips wnie at the bar. She gives in completely when he whispers so sweetly – commits her mind and body so freely. She likes it bent over with her dress over her shoulder and her lipstick smeared. Hands clasped tight she gives into the shudder and screams ‘oh my’ and God give his answer.
But I’m in love with her and in the morning she’s always gone. She just uses me.. But it feels so right it just can’t be wrong. Yes I’m in love with her but in the morning she’s always gone and when she uses me it feels so right it just can’t be wrong. Cause when a kiss feels like this, this kiss cannot be missed. Its a moment of bliss, it exists with a twist – its the point of this song… and if it feels this right it just can’t be wrong.
I remember the moment shit stopped being funny when I ran out of luck, love, pride and money and my shoe got a hole and my shirt lost a stitch and my mum said ‘now you ain’t nothing but a bum, son.’
So I did what a bum does best, grabbed a couple of can and a war-torn vest and I rolled down the dole just to sign away my soul but the rage still simmered and the moments not forgiven, no.
So, first things first. Time to get a real job. Swallow your pride and work a 9 to 5 and as Dolly P said its no way to make a living but it sure beats standing on a street corner singing.
But it comes to it, its more than just a test when you meet your boss and he’s a bona fide power pest. “So boy, you wanna climb the ladder? Well work hard and you could be a good manager but… Lets skip straight to the part where I unzip. You just sit back relax and get ready, you’re about to meet Little Eddy. If you play your cards right you might end up going steady.”
Thirty years on, Mr company man’s got a wife, three kids, to dogs and a minivan. And it don’t mean shit that he had to suck dick just to get all this cos everybody says it was worth it – you’ve just got to work it and, after all boss, nobody’s perfect.
Still there’s something troubling bubbling deep in the pit of his stomach when he realised that it doesn’t matter what suit you wear or what job you do when life stills fucks you.