Tag: music

Larry made his nest up in the autumn branches
Built from nothing but high hopes and thin air
He collected up some baby blasted mothers who took their chances
And for a while they lived quite happily up there

He came from New York city man, but he couldn’t take the pace
He thought it was like a dog eat dog world
Then he went to San Francisco, spent a year in outer space
With a sweet little San Franciscan girl

I can hear my mother wailing and a whole lot of scraping of chairs

I don’t know what it is but there’s definitely some’n going on upstairs
[Dig yourself]
[Laz’rus dig yourself]
[Laz’rus dig yourself]
[Laz’rus dig yourself]
(I want you to dig)[Back in that hole.]

(I want you to dig)
(I want you to dig)

Well yeah, New York City, he had to get outta there
And San Francisco, well I don’t know
And then to LA, where he spent about a day
He thought even the pale sky stars were smart enough to keep well away from LA

Meanwhile, Larry made up names for the ladies
Like Miss Boo and Miss Quick
He stockpiled weapons and took potshots in the air
He feasted on their lovely bodies like a lunatic
And wrapped himself up in their soft yellow hair

I can hear chants and incantations and some guy is mentioning me in his prayers
Well, I don’t know what it is but there’s definitely some’n going on upstairs

[Dig yourself]
[Laz’rus dig yourself]
[Laz’rus dig yourself]
[Laz’rus dig yourself]
(I want you to dig)[Back in that hole.]

(I want you to dig)
(I want you to dig)

Well L, New York City man, San Francisco, LA, I dunno
But Larry grew increasingly neurotic and obscene
I mean he, he never asked to be raised up from the tomb
I mean, no one ever actually asked him to forsake his dreams

Anyway, to cut a long story short, fame finally found him
Mirrors became his torturers, cameras snapped him at every chance
The women all went back to their homes and their husbands
With secret smiles in the corners of their mouths

He ended up like so many of them do, back on the streets of New York City
In a soup queue, a dope fiend, a slave, then prison, then the madhouse, then the grave
Aw, poor Larry

But what do we really know of the dead and who actually cares?

Well, I don’t know what it is but there’s definitely some’n going on upstairs.