81 Poop Hatch (2006 Digital Remaster) Lyrics
| Song | 81 Poop Hatch (2006 Digital Remaster) |
| Artist | Captain Beefheart |
| Album | Ice Cream For Crow |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| [00:00.093] | My eyes are burnt and bleeding and all that looks like a monkey on a silver bar |
| [00:04.134] | Big poop hatch with a cotton hatch – hatch-holes that the light shows in and the light shows out |
| [00:09.322] | And the little red fence |
| [00:11.260] | And the wire and the wood |
| [00:12.337] | And the barbs and the berries |
| [00:14.646] | And the tyres and the bottles and the car-upon-rims |
| [00:17.794] | And the heat swims on its fenders and the dust collects and the rust of autumn surrenders into gold |
| [00:24.002] | Trumpet poop on the ground with peanuts, its bell was blocking an ant's vision |
| [00:28.969] | And the mice played in its air-holes and valves |
| [00:33.030] | A ladybug crawled off its mouthpiece standing out red and blacked its wings and blew off to a flower |
| [00:39.142] | Its hum heard just above the ground |
| [00:41.993] | Black dots were hung in what turned out to be an olive tree that originally held a tree house full of a building with one small window |
| [00:50.354] | Birds and broken glass and tiny bits of newspaper |
| [00:53.762] | "My sun is free from the window," said the god to green dabbers |
| [00:58.002] | Rice wires, mouse tins and milk muffins |
| [01:00.740] | Cereal and stone |
| [01:02.955] | Matches and masks and mace and clubs |
| [01:06.120] | And splintered shaft light intrigues a cricket on a dust jeweled penlet |
| [01:11.009] | Cobwebs collect down plaster, run into a hole and find collected glass that drinks the reflection of midday afternoon midway between telegraph lines |
| [01:22.441] | A silver wing – a cloud – a rumbling of a cloud |
| [01:25.860] | A crowd of various violins strum from next door through my wall into my ear, obviously artificial |
| [01:32.453] | Neighbors laugh through sandwiches |
| [01:34.931] | Harlem babies, their stomachs explode into roars |
| [01:38.220] | Their eyes shiny with starvation |
| [01:40.527] | Speckled hula dance on my phonograph |
| [01:43.315] | My door rattles windy |
| [01:45.507] | Sand wears my rug shoe and taps on the unheard finish of an hourglass I cannot hear |
| [01:50.933] | A typical musician's nest of thoughts filtered through dust speakers |
| [01:55.121] | "Why don't you go home? Oh Blobby, are you great," exclaims two lips in some jumbled rock 'n roll tune and wears a spot I cannot scratch |
| [02:06.240] | The surface of a friend |
| [02:07.859] | This high book-a-friend laid on me |
| [02:10.687] | On the couch relaxing in the corner behind a still life pond with plenty of bugs and lily pads |
| [02:17.033] | Slurred in mud banks and boulders tin cans and raisins warped by thought |
| [02:22.520] | Strain on the spoon like a wheat check – check Bif – cotton popping out of his sleeve |
| [02:28.216] | Poop hatch open, big poop hatch with a cotton hatch – hatch holes – got to pick up the horns |
| [02:34.053] | But the head won't move until it walks |
| [00:00.093] | My eyes are burnt and bleeding and all that looks like a monkey on a silver bar |
| [00:04.134] | Big poop hatch with a cotton hatch hatchholes that the light shows in and the light shows out |
| [00:09.322] | And the little red fence |
| [00:11.260] | And the wire and the wood |
| [00:12.337] | And the barbs and the berries |
| [00:14.646] | And the tyres and the bottles and the caruponrims |
| [00:17.794] | And the heat swims on its fenders and the dust collects and the rust of autumn surrenders into gold |
| [00:24.002] | Trumpet poop on the ground with peanuts, its bell was blocking an ant' s vision |
| [00:28.969] | And the mice played in its airholes and valves |
| [00:33.030] | A ladybug crawled off its mouthpiece standing out red and blacked its wings and blew off to a flower |
| [00:39.142] | Its hum heard just above the ground |
| [00:41.993] | Black dots were hung in what turned out to be an olive tree that originally held a tree house full of a building with one small window |
| [00:50.354] | Birds and broken glass and tiny bits of newspaper |
| [00:53.762] | " My sun is free from the window," said the god to green dabbers |
| [00:58.002] | Rice wires, mouse tins and milk muffins |
| [01:00.740] | Cereal and stone |
| [01:02.955] | Matches and masks and mace and clubs |
| [01:06.120] | And splintered shaft light intrigues a cricket on a dust jeweled penlet |
| [01:11.009] | Cobwebs collect down plaster, run into a hole and find collected glass that drinks the reflection of midday afternoon midway between telegraph lines |
| [01:22.441] | A silver wing a cloud a rumbling of a cloud |
| [01:25.860] | A crowd of various violins strum from next door through my wall into my ear, obviously artificial |
| [01:32.453] | Neighbors laugh through sandwiches |
| [01:34.931] | Harlem babies, their stomachs explode into roars |
| [01:38.220] | Their eyes shiny with starvation |
| [01:40.527] | Speckled hula dance on my phonograph |
| [01:43.315] | My door rattles windy |
| [01:45.507] | Sand wears my rug shoe and taps on the unheard finish of an hourglass I cannot hear |
| [01:50.933] | A typical musician' s nest of thoughts filtered through dust speakers |
| [01:55.121] | " Why don' t you go home? Oh Blobby, are you great," exclaims two lips in some jumbled rock ' n roll tune and wears a spot I cannot scratch |
| [02:06.240] | The surface of a friend |
| [02:07.859] | This high bookafriend laid on me |
| [02:10.687] | On the couch relaxing in the corner behind a still life pond with plenty of bugs and lily pads |
| [02:17.033] | Slurred in mud banks and boulders tin cans and raisins warped by thought |
| [02:22.520] | Strain on the spoon like a wheat check check Bif cotton popping out of his sleeve |
| [02:28.216] | Poop hatch open, big poop hatch with a cotton hatch hatch holes got to pick up the horns |
| [02:34.053] | But the head won' t move until it walks |
| [00:00.093] | My eyes are burnt and bleeding and all that looks like a monkey on a silver bar |
| [00:04.134] | Big poop hatch with a cotton hatch hatchholes that the light shows in and the light shows out |
| [00:09.322] | And the little red fence |
| [00:11.260] | And the wire and the wood |
| [00:12.337] | And the barbs and the berries |
| [00:14.646] | And the tyres and the bottles and the caruponrims |
| [00:17.794] | And the heat swims on its fenders and the dust collects and the rust of autumn surrenders into gold |
| [00:24.002] | Trumpet poop on the ground with peanuts, its bell was blocking an ant' s vision |
| [00:28.969] | And the mice played in its airholes and valves |
| [00:33.030] | A ladybug crawled off its mouthpiece standing out red and blacked its wings and blew off to a flower |
| [00:39.142] | Its hum heard just above the ground |
| [00:41.993] | Black dots were hung in what turned out to be an olive tree that originally held a tree house full of a building with one small window |
| [00:50.354] | Birds and broken glass and tiny bits of newspaper |
| [00:53.762] | " My sun is free from the window," said the god to green dabbers |
| [00:58.002] | Rice wires, mouse tins and milk muffins |
| [01:00.740] | Cereal and stone |
| [01:02.955] | Matches and masks and mace and clubs |
| [01:06.120] | And splintered shaft light intrigues a cricket on a dust jeweled penlet |
| [01:11.009] | Cobwebs collect down plaster, run into a hole and find collected glass that drinks the reflection of midday afternoon midway between telegraph lines |
| [01:22.441] | A silver wing a cloud a rumbling of a cloud |
| [01:25.860] | A crowd of various violins strum from next door through my wall into my ear, obviously artificial |
| [01:32.453] | Neighbors laugh through sandwiches |
| [01:34.931] | Harlem babies, their stomachs explode into roars |
| [01:38.220] | Their eyes shiny with starvation |
| [01:40.527] | Speckled hula dance on my phonograph |
| [01:43.315] | My door rattles windy |
| [01:45.507] | Sand wears my rug shoe and taps on the unheard finish of an hourglass I cannot hear |
| [01:50.933] | A typical musician' s nest of thoughts filtered through dust speakers |
| [01:55.121] | " Why don' t you go home? Oh Blobby, are you great," exclaims two lips in some jumbled rock ' n roll tune and wears a spot I cannot scratch |
| [02:06.240] | The surface of a friend |
| [02:07.859] | This high bookafriend laid on me |
| [02:10.687] | On the couch relaxing in the corner behind a still life pond with plenty of bugs and lily pads |
| [02:17.033] | Slurred in mud banks and boulders tin cans and raisins warped by thought |
| [02:22.520] | Strain on the spoon like a wheat check check Bif cotton popping out of his sleeve |
| [02:28.216] | Poop hatch open, big poop hatch with a cotton hatch hatch holes got to pick up the horns |
| [02:34.053] | But the head won' t move until it walks |
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