(Hot Voice I & II)
Your hot voice rings close, close to my ear: Bad stuff, truck drivers, Gene Kelly – Babylon – losers with Napkin-Blues-Kings on phones, dial symbols of factory – hysterical meat-minds, I could be a renowned millionaire’s son just abandoning the tank.
Hot voice trying back-door – Texas – rubbers: light in the piazza and pets for boogers, poor boys in public and Dutch kids laughing on the H-bombtrack, learning from good examples, phone booths for gods and markets full of shadows, dollars, coats.
Hot voice puts the butter on the side: “Skimpy portions on the highway lead to torture, I ain’t, you ain’t, he ain’t dumb, and friends need not to be
defended.” Shitfaced pig’s secretary said: “They ain’t rollin’ in dough, pick
up the tab.”
Hot voice on the wireless comin’ next: soft drinks, Mainland desert bar,
toasted, thrashed and wasted, low fat girls on sloppy Joe, diet coke for sexy homes, shrinks and porks are all alone: “How do ya want them eggs?” Sidewalk Mary said: “Hi you all, thunder of the earphone-alley!”
Hot Voice now is burnin’ proud: “Ran outta gas, damn, just conked it.” “Can I help you?” “Well, I see ya!” American dreams and downtown projects keep in touch with chocolate-cookies. Hang out in the food court, don’t fart too loud.
Hot voice freakin’ religious nuts: Surfers, encounters, sexual secrets,
backpocket condoms and Linda’s Levi’s, Kleenex is pure and idiots play
with dirt in their nose and Linda goes: “Well, the school nurse gave it just for a doze.”
Linda’s hot voice still close to my ear: emergency exit, sexual advances,
Johnny Walker, no screwing around before you get hitched, salute the
woodman, leave moral persons, I want you to be a goody-goody friend.
“Sure, right, you are grounded”, then said Eve.
Radio hot voice and the star spangled banner: Stormtrooper hit the guitar compound, President’s woman crashed thru the ground, me in the kitchen with boots on command, the other guy discovered Jack’s a real hunk. “Thanks a bunch”, I said to funk.
Your hot voice rings close, close to my ear: Bad stuff, truck drivers, Gene Kelly – Babylon – losers with napkin-blues – kings on phones, dial
symbols of factory – hysterical meat-minds, I could be a renowned
millionaire’s son just abandoning the tank.
Lyrics & Music: Michel Montecrossa, © Mira Sound Germany