Hotwax

It takes a backwashed man to sing a backwashed song
Like a frying pan when the fire's gone
Driving my pig while the band's taking pictures in the grass
And my radio's smashed

And I like pianos in the evening sun
Dragging my heels 'til my day is done
Saturday night in the captain's clothes
Tin horns blowing with my jewelry froze

Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro

I can't believe my way-back-when
My Cadillac pants going much too fast
Karaoke weekend at the suicide shack
Community service, and I'm still 'The Mack'

Shocked my finger, spots on my hand
I been spreading disease all across the land
Beautiful, air-conditioned
Sitting in the kitchen wishing I was livin' like a hitman

Face down in the guarantees
Jaundiced honchos gettin' busy with ease
Because I get down, I get down, I get down all the way

Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro

(I'm a nasty, nasty man)
(I'm... I'm... I'm a... I'm a nasty, nasty man)

Sawdust songs of the plaid bartenders
Western unions of the country westerns
Silver foxes looking for romance
In their chainsmoke Kansas flashdance ass-pants

And you've got the hotwax residues
You never lose in your razorblade shoes
Stealing pesos out of my brain
Hazard signs down the Alamo lanes

Radar systems piercing their souls
You never get caught with the wax so rotten
All my days I got the grizzly words
Hijacked flavors that are flipping like birds

Yo soy un disco quebrado
Yo tengo chicle en el cerebro

Who are you?
I'm the enchanting wizard of rhythm
Why did you come here?
I came here to tell you about the rhythms of the universe