10x10 print booklet with fully annotated lyrics, original prose, photos, and more.
ships out within 1 day
edition of 100
Purchasable with gift card
$5USDor more
lyrics
Rhoticity sounds
so much sweeter in the South;
but Rhodes will confound
and you grow grim about the mouth.
The time is never right,
and a broken watch just twice,
but Oxford’s working for a Third Boer War,
so fight back, baby, or you’ll halve
that old Dutch door.
Rhodesia dined
on rhodium to anglicize
loanwords to modify
in Jodhpur boots to colonize
in Mashonaland and try
where the Falklands met Brunei—
where the textbooks sounded as
one wretched word,
and the Beit Trust covered every case on
loss incurred.
You wait for me, I’ll show the way out.
Wait for me, I’ll know the way out.
Wait for me to let your hungry heart
combine with mine.
Interred, as sure forgot—
old ideas cannot rot.
Their covenant’s cleared,
so grab the pisco,
fuck De Beers.
The city is too dear.
Let go your good Bronx cheer.
When the West Coast’s rotted like a
junkyard car
and the East Coast’s flooded, baby,
can’t go too far.
Wait for me to loan the day out.
Wait for me to blow my brains out.
Wait for me to let your hungry heart
combine with mine.
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