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lyrics

When I was 8 you brought some women and you got me outta bed
I said I'll take the blonde one, then you told her what I said
You could make me feel so small, you could make me feel unique
When my pop called me Picasso, said "At least he ain't no geek"

Hey dorkmeyer, can’t you see?
I got a hole in my glass
Just like that night you hated me
When I was stuck in the past
Singin' help me, help me, help me, help me, Rhonda

Thought your family was uptight, man, I thought they looked down on us
We gave you a place where you could drink and laugh and smoke and cuss
But they understood the meaning of the bottle on the shelf
With the freedom that we gave you, you slowly killed yourself

Tell the one about Texas, or the time you played New York
Tell the one about that bitch who dragged your sorry ass up north
Thought your wife couldn't take it, thought she didn't understand
She got stuck with a drunk when she mistook you for man

I think about your last days, living down South
No place left to run your filthy, quick, and brilliant mouth
You were tryin' to make nice with the good ol' boys
The kind who don't hear music, they say it’s all just noise
But they didn't wanna know about somethin' dumb as culture
They swarmed your drunken Yankee carcass like vultures
When my mother called and told me that you died alone
It broke my heart to hear it but I’d already known

credits

from In the Trough of the Wave, released June 11, 2021
Anthony Schiappa: lead and back-up vocals; acoustic and electric guitars; bass
Jeff Ryan: drums; percussion
Kevin Vespaziani: piano; solina; CS80; tenor and baritone saxophone; electric guitar; Farfisa

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The Stars of Disaster Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Classic indie rock-inspired non-stop get-down lovingly hand made in Pittsburgh, PA

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