by John Wayne's Teeth

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released February 2, 2014

Alex, Andy, Ben, Bridget, Jesse, Reid, and art work by Bridget.



all rights reserved


John Wayne's Teeth Lancaster, New Hampshire

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Track Name: A Night Out
She looks like anybody's sister
waiting on a man to call.
Her last kiss was her father's lips
tasted like alcohol.

Her favorite dress is of a madras print,
looks pretty plain to most.
A bottle of wine and a bottle of gin,
alone with no one to toast.

He made up his simple mind.
He's gonna be rich someday.
He sold off the family farm,
and moved far away.

He pulled on his new boots,
shiny lacquered black,
shaved his scrub and scrubbed his teeth,
and put on his favorite hat.

They met at the townie bar.
He bought her a snort.
They drank all night and went to bed together,
and had breakfast in the devil's court.
Track Name: On the Town
When the sirens sound in the street
You want to see, oh you want to see.
How it hurts someone with violence or disease,
and you want to see. You want to take a peek.

That house we go to inside to make sure it burns
is only too far off from any return

to the darkness to the deep,
we are fishing now some place waist deep
in colors of red and cream;
we all dream sometimes without a sound.

That house we go to inside to make sure it burns
is only too far off from any return.

No, no, no, no, don't turn around.
Grown, grown is us in our hometown.

When you cut yourself and you bleed
you want to show someone how your colors seep.

That house we go to inside to make sure it burns
is only too far off from any return.

No, no, no, no, don't turn around.
Grown, grown is us in our hometown.
Track Name: After All That
The room closes in and you speak too soon
of the things you keep in your pocket
and the stuff stuck in your head:
dirt, lint, butts of cigarettes, and lumps of grass
sediment settling seams
falling down fumes of gasoline.
But you feel no need to wash them,
let the dirt collect like bills
stuck in your mailbox two weeks overdue.

The room expands its gloom,
the people stuck behind you.
Vision fixed, tongue gummed up
cashier tapping nails.

You ever wanted to,
you ever need.
You ever wanted to,
you ever need, indeed.

And all that says
cancer is real,
so real.
Track Name: Noise.
The space between the chords spreads like disease,
a cough, a spasm, sweating out the night and its
familiar odd images. The dance, the game, the competition
with its rhythms and frustrations bend an ear toward
the crack of a revolver, an echo deep in a canyon, a voice
caked in rasp and unconcerned with time. The flags
wave ribbons in hair done pretty, paisley printed wild
on the folds of kerchiefs spun. There is much worry and excitement
at the start, later dulled like the brain of the man who sits
all day peeling labels from dripping bottles from his foxhole
at the end of the bar, close to the door, hungry for talk of love
and its failures and the luster of its lower selves finally worn
and ragged, tired. Cock two more back, tomorrow's rent
to live in a tent by a cave of myth and lore, going out naked
and crazed after meat and its fur till finally falling dumb
at the tape, the end, the line, the podium where others
like you have sat buzzing promises, potential and a plan
written blind one night on a takeout menu of prosperity.
The trigger is pulled. There is a rush. And in the falling
of afternoon dust, there is you, bidding them farewell,
waiting for their return, beginning yours with sleep as you
turn over and over the covers, the blankets of deep
troubles you have of the great race and all its boredoms.
Good luck.
Track Name: He Has Some
He don't know me.
He don't know a goddamned thing.
That day on the boardwalk
was just for play.
It happened just the other day.
But what he says to you now
ain't what he means.

He says to you, says to you
that he saw me with another
holding hands and all those things
that he wants you to believe.

He means what he wants
and steals what he needs.
Means what he wants.
Steals what he needs.
Too much penny,
way too much greed.
There's too much penny
and way too much greed.

But he don't know me.
He don't know a goddamned thing.
That day on the boardwalk
wasn't really happening.

Too much penny,
too much greed.
Too much penny,
and far too much greed.

What he needs.
Track Name: About Your Dad
Walking down the sidewalk
I tripped and fell and scraped my knee
Walking in a rush the people
trampled me, human stampede.
Suppose they're not to blame,
as I was in their way.

The concrete was caked
in chewed gum and cigarettes
spit from their mouths.
An orange hand had stopped them
in their tracks just over me.

Then I saw your dad.
But he did not see me.
In his new blue suit.
And then I saw him wink

At a lady not your mom.
She was in a skirt,
looked like dessert.
She smiled back
then was on her way.
The signals changed.
She crossed the street.

My knee still hurts.
Could you spare some ice?
Sorry about your dad,
but she seemed real nice.

Walking down the sidewalk
I tripped and fell and scraped my knee.
Track Name: While Brett Web
Those kids all forgot you name, boy.
The ones bounced up and down on the see-saw.
You bucked too hard and his teeth cracked like dreams, boy.
The teacher saps it up as he starts to bleed more.
He starts to bleed more.
He starts to scream out
that you hurt his mouth,
oh that you hurt his mouth.

He says his pa taught him well,
just like yours but oh well.

But you don't care if it's all your fault.
He deserved it somehow by where he's from.
Down the street just back a ways,
in the trailer park for all his days.

On the bus he rides in the back seat.
Drinking early was a family disease.
He's drunk at five.
His brother's drunk at ten.
He's drunk at five.
They're both drunk again.

He says his pa taught him well.
Be buzzed boy before you get to hell.
The devil can tell
that it's just as well.

Where have you gone Brett Web?
Where have you gone Brett Web?
Do you remember that day in the park
when I bucked and you hurt your face
and you bled and you bled and I'm sorry.
I didn't apologize.
The teacher didn't even car.
Track Name: Eats Lunch
They had decided.
They had decided.
They'd known
before you even stepped off the bus
they were gonna steal your lunch.

You try to make a deal.
You say please don't beat me up.
It's just a meal
and it's not that much.
Bologna on white bread
with mustard and chips
and these cookies that I brought from home.

They had decided though.
They decided they were gonna beat you up
and take your stuff.

Does California care
of a small grievance aired?
Because of the sweater you wear
they decided your life was shit
and you were to pay for it.

They take the meat
and they take the bread
and they make a new sandwich of your face,
snot for mayonnaise.
And spin you around and around
a planet lost in space.
Now you know your place.

Be careful boy, take a look
before you get off the bus.