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Graeme Edge lyrics - Kick Off Your Muddy Boots


Original and similar lyrics
Far off in a distant land A man lying dead in the sand Lying by his side was a song Written down on a parchment fair Overgrown with ageing hair You could see this man died alone From riding shotgun on the 4.42 Repeat Riding shotgun was his dream But he's fallen dead it seems Riding shotgun on the 4.42 When the sun it got too hot I was glad of what I'd got Living on the food that I found Twenty minutes left to go Another town's in sight you know Think I'll rest my boots while I can Riding shotgun on the 4.42 Here comes Lucy Springer You know that she's a ringer She'll take you for a ride for awhile You know that she looks fancy Much more slick than Nancy You know you'll have to pay for a smile Riding shotgun on the 4.42 I know that I ain't been mean And I always kept my sixguns clean And I feel I'm at the end of my road I'll make way for someone new Do you think it could be you As I lie face down dead in the road Riding shotgun on the 4.42

Here We Go

Bouncing Souls
We were riding north to chicago on route 65 we'd played the first show on a tour of 45 limey Shawn and Bryan rode in the truck 16 miles away me Shal Pete and Lamar thumbed down the ramp of exit 158 the smell of farm and diesel fuel it burned in the 3:00 sun 16 miles to the garage with a bottle of water and our thumbs. Dead bottle caps buds and birds we passed on the way who's gonna pick up 4 punks in indiana on sunday here we go! the diagnosis wasn't good is what Don the ford guy said. Stuck in indiana for a week cuz the bus was dead. 24 hour white castle 25cent refills for a while we know what to do with no money riding down the jewel of the denial. Loaded with our sleeping bags we hitched a ride to town we ran into some punky kids bought some beers they showed us around under a bridge by the river we got drunk and sang clash songs we were saved just in time by the sonic iquana here we go!.

Dear Mrs. Touma

Dag Nasty "Field Day"
dear Mrs. touma I walked upstairs into the kitchen saw a piece of birthday cake and I heard my mother crying dressed in his black raincoat , black hat lying on the yellow line...he was run down... your son was taken and he spoke so often with belief with conviction never with righteousness of the day he'd go to heaven and I will believe if only for his sake in father , son , and holy ghost in whom he was so certain that he'd turned the other cheek to those who teased and hurt him Leo is dead it's not the end of the world sometimes I wish it was I wouldn't wish it on anyone Leo is dead it's not the end of my world sometimes I wish it was sometimes I wish it was and as for the man across the street as he expresses sympathy (the fat, aging hypocrite ) spit into his face with me when you heard he was gone , you couldn't wait to be the first to seem concerned. did you think we'd never learn ? you were lying to us you laughed at him you threw upon him your own vices you lied to us about everything you lied about your barfly conquests dying your hair to hide the gray you're masturbating bitterly on your front porch while the wife's away Leo is dead it's not the end of the world but sometimes I wish it was

Deadest Of The Dead

In the deadest of nights I perform a graveside disservice, Disinhuming the remains of those who I deem to deserve this, A corpse dead to rights will undergo this rigorous trashing, Selecting the tomb of the poor stiff that tonight I will be thrashing... Exhumed from the shelter of earth's dusty embrace for a morbid curiosity, Then abruptly dismembered without compunction, just pure feriocity... Consumed and left to welter, In shredded entrails and long dessciated pus, Wiping the firt from my hands, As I walk from the grave that I've trampled to dust... Caskets uprooted, mausoleums stained red, Riding high six feet deep amongst the deadest of the dead, A tombstone is the sole mute witness, To necro-attrocities as I endeavor to split this... Corpse in half, stricken by my wrath, The carcass is maimed, Cleft by pick-axe, halved, quartered and smashed, The gravesite's in flames, Culled from the reams of obituaries deep in the cemetary, I torment the entombed, The dead should be wary of the grudges I carry, Deep into the gloom... Riding high six feet under, Inhale the stench of my nocturnal plunderm I'll never find piece in a cold, hard death bed, Until I have found the deadest of the dead... Your insipid epitaph rots, In the dead-letter file, A necrophile's smile beguiles, Your remains thus defiled, The decrepit laughter echoes, In the now vacant burial plot, Decayed, dead and decomposed, But in peace you'll never rot... Piss on the unholy grave, torso carved and depraved, Now gone the way of all flesh to give me this day my daily death, The next to fall prey to my sepulchural slaughter, Another dead festering corpse whose demise has at last brought her... Under the blade, she's carved up and flayed, Body dismembered, No respects paid, I hack up the slayed, Who no one remembers, Chainsaw fucked to the hilt, her guts have all spilled, I destroy the interred, One foot in the grave, by the casket enslaved, I'm an unholy terror... Riding high six feet down, Finding my niche in a hole in the ground, One step over the dead-line I tread, In this graveyard of stiffs, I am the deadest of the dead...

Dance Of Death

IRON MAIDEN "Dance Of Death"
(Gers/Harris) Let me tell you a story to chill the bones About a thing that I saw One night wandering in the everglades I'd one drink but no more I was rambling, enjoying the bright moonlight Gazing up at the stars Not aware of a presence so near to me Watching my every move Feeling scared and I fell to my knees As something rushed me from the trees Took me to an unholy place And that is where I fell from grace Then they summoned me over to join in with them To the dance of the dead Into the circle of fire I followed them Into the middle I was led As if time had stopped still I was numb with fear But still I wanted to go And the blaze of the fire did no hurt upon me As I walked onto the coals And I felt I was in a trance And my spirit was lifted from me And if only someone had the chance To witness what happened to me And I danced and I pranced and I sang with them All had death in their eyes Lifeless figures they were undead all of them They had ascended from hell As I danced with the dead My free spirit was laughing and howling down at me Below my undead body Just danced the circle of dead Until the time came to reunite us both My spirit came back down to me I didn't know if I was alive or dead As the others all joined in with me By luck then a skirmish started And took the attention away from me When they took their gaze from me Was the moment that I fled I ran like hell faster than the wind But behind I did not glance One thing that I did not dare Was to look just straight ahead When you know that your time has come around You know you'll be prepared for it Say your last goodbyes to everyone Drink and say a prayer for it When you're lying in your sleep, when you're lying in your bed And you wake from your dreams to go dancing with the dead When you're lying in your sleep, when you're lying in your bed And you wake from your dreams to go dancing with the dead To this day I guess I'll never know Just why they let me go But I'll never go dancing no more 'Til I dance with the dead

The Highwayman

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor And the highwayman came riding, Riding, riding, The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door. He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin; They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to the thigh! And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky. Over the cobbles he clattered nd clashed in the dark innyard, And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred; He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by the moonlight, Watch for me by the moonlight, I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way. He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west. He did not come at the dawning; he did not come at noon, And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching, Marching, marching King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at the casement, with muskets at their side! there was death at every window and hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through the casement, The road that he would ride. They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! now keep good watch! And they kissed her. She heard the dead man say Look for me by the moonlight Watch for me by the moonlight I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way! She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled by like years! Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! Tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs were ringing clear Tlot-tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still! Tlot in the frosty silence! Tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment! She drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death. He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know she stood bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it; his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were the spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, when they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat. Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding, Riding, riding, A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

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