Hey Sweetpea

by boog

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  • Digital Album

    Immediate download of 4-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.

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1.
04:35
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2.
03:42
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3.
05:04
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4.
03:38
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credits

released 04 October 2011
All songs written, performed by boog
Recorded, mixed, mastered by Glenn Barratt at MorningStar Studios, Spring House, PA

Songs Published by Passionslut Songs (ASCAP)

tags

tags: alt-country alt-folk alternative country folk Philadelphia

license

all rights reserved

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Track Name: Planned Obsolescence
Woman’s got planned obsolescence
She’s made to break past adolescence,
but I’m the fool who keeps buying

They say she’ll leave you never,
and she’ll love you forever,
but I can never tell that they’re lying to me
I can never tell that they’re lying

They say she’s new and improved,
and I’ve got nothing to lose
All I’ve got to do is send in
eight easy installments
of my trust and my time,
and then she’ll be mine ‘til the end

When she arrives at my door,
she looks better than before,
when all I had was her picture in a book
She’s got a new coat of paint
and a smile like a saint’s
And I thought that was all that it took

But even with all of her parts,
she still lacked a heart,
and it turns out, that’s the one thing she needs

Now my wallet is crying
and my confidence is dying
and I’m stuck with a broken machine

I’m stuck with a broken machine
Track Name: Who Was I
You really were just
train wrecks & rough sex,
choking on dust,
sucking in your gut,
and fucking everything up
Character, character,
you are what you’ve made

So now I hear you’re going to
London—like you wanted—
where you can go get done in,
have a has-been,
scout the bar bands for a husband
I was all right, but I wasn’t
leave to remain

But who was I to try to change your ways,
when they weren’t even your own anyway?
Who was I to make you stay?
I was a good man.
I’m a good man.

I’d pay a fortune to see you finish that
marathon that you want to run,
or to act on a dream,
take one for the team,
grace the cover of a magazine
But I wouldn’t be surprised if you just
sleep where you’re laid

Just make sure that you have
all of your fun there in London
I won’t wait long,
once I know you’ve gone
to have a beer with Sean Lennon—
Oh, pride killed the peacock
preened for parade

But who was I to try to change your ways,
when they weren’t even your own anyway?
Who was I to make you stay?
I was a good man
I’m a good man
I was a good man
I’m still a good man

So, I’m still here, saving up
all I can to make Austin
I’m soaked to the socks,
I punch a broken clock,
check stock, and break down boxes
Character, character:
I have that in spades
Track Name: Little Music Box
Late to bed, early to rise
I’ve got snakes in my hair,
But I’m none the wiser

I let the nightmares get the best of me,
while the buzzards can have the rest of me

Something I said widened your eyes
Is it rude to stare? I’m still undecided

Well, go on! Go on and look now!
Feast your eyes on me
Because Lord knows
you already set your spies on me

You said I was your flower
under your nose
Well, I’m so, so sad to say
that I’ve found cleaner roses

On a train, I can cover so much ground
without ever touching the ground
I go rolling and rolling around

& if we keep on moving,
we won’t ever have to worry about sleep
But then, if we just rest our heads,
we won’t ever have to move again
Track Name: Princes-To-Be-Kings
Those unspeakable things please,
they are pleasing,
but they’ve been known never to have pleased
It’s a silly kind of sorrow when the thought of it tomorrow
turns out twice as thrilling as the deed

What makes a sir a sire pulls his will as thin as wire,
and, when he bends, he sends his eyes looking to the stars
Why do princes murder kings, when princes-to-be-kings
never know how truly fortunate they are?

Be mindful of binding distractions,
lest you be defeatedly timing a brainchild’s contractions
But who was going to be the one to tell us how much was enough?

We’re so good at trying to be good at
trying to be good at being ourselves
We dress our vagaries in absolutes
Well, hey, isn’t half of style looking cute?
And we’ve all fallen victim to that wicked vogue, as well

With all this playacting,
when whichever curtain’s drawn, we can safely say that
we were never short of practice
But who was going to be the one to tell us how much was enough?
And how much was enough?