Farmer Glickstein (Album Version)

From every job now I’ve been fired

From Judas to Joan of Arc inspired

Red clouds on the road required

Three new garbage men just hired

My blood-shot eyes from whiskey tired

The beehive, stovetop, tractor

moonstone, sleeping

Intrinsic sanity once bred

Candlelight soap in mineshaft bed

Coagulating pumpkin bread

Anointed vanishing street-cred

Santa’s purple mustache sled

Watch out man, your underpants are creeping

I’m out of Winston, I’m out of Kents

I’m out of knowing if any of this makes sense

Ride the rails Farmer Glickstein

in your baby-blue bus Ride the rails

Fundamental coat of arms

Easter egg hunts, factory farms

Home security alarms

Delaying fate is instant karma

Mother’s milk don’t do no harm

There’s something rotting

underneath your head gasket

Angelic pink tweak nipples, they

Can only clap in disarray

Like tuna nets in Monterrey

Like blue berets and old Caley

Aluminum foil, TV tray

New York strip steak or filet

Sad clowns climb in the Hudson Bay

Cosmetic corporations play Prosthetic clarion klaxons play

Crinkle cut potatoes lay Uncleaned, uncooked, uneaten

by the breadbasket

Deep space, primordial time

Don’t worry baby, it’s all gonna rhyme

Ride the rails Farmer Glickstein

in your baby-blue bus Ride the rails

Doritos, Cheetos, Fritos, Eatin

Honeymoon, already cheatin’

Myrna Loy and Buster Keaton

Roundly whipped and fully beaten

Mandatory meetin’, greetin’, smelly feet ‘n

who long seek the martyr

Compared to Einstein and Van Goth

I’m closer to my little toe

It’s hard to make a turnip grow

Might as well piss in the snow

Yellow windmills in my groin

Enjoin, conjoin and going to make me harder

Puss-filled blisters, scarlet fever

I don’t necessarily understand it either

But, ride the rails Farmer Glickstein

in your baby-blue bus Ride the rails

Spumoni incandescent monks

Spewing Technicolor chunks

The air replete with scarlet drunks

Camp Muskogee cluttered bunks

The postman genuflects and dunks

The whole Judeo-Christian oligarchy

I’m tryin’ to get to San Antone

The road is strewn with chicken bones

Fish entrails and scattered stones

Phantasmagoric ice cream cones

I’m sucked, I’m jacked, I’m corked,

I’m blown

But I won’t get too far from home

Unless my other trousers got my car keys

Corkscrewed brain waves

Twist and shout

I can’t say what this song is all about

But, ride the rails Farmer Glickstein

in your baby-blue bus Ride the rails