Keep Yr Pants On

from by Kat Bula

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You were born in a manger to nine or ten strangers and now you live in a china shop. Sometimes you stand on freeway ramps hitchhiking in your headlamp, and you're the cars that don't stop. If it rains and your cigar gets wet, you might as well chew it all up, I guess, 'cuz you're the type to treat the whole thing as if it is the end.

You smell like DDT. You smell like pyramid schemes. You don't like anything fun. You're on a fire escape held on with masking tape; did you bring your grappling gun? If you fall and your ass gets wet, you'll just keep marching alone, I guess, 'cuz you're not the kind who can inspire a conga line, even if you first remove your pants.

So: tell me what I must do, 'cuz at my age you already knew how to swing on a star. Oh, I'm through the worst of it. You don't know the half of--KEEP YR PANTS ON; there's no time to compare scars.

If we fall and our asses get wet, we'll each keep marching alone, I guess, 'cuz we're not the kind who can inspire a conga line, even if we first remove our pants.

So spread your toast with Crisco, and growl SCREW DISCO, as though there's anything else left to save. Oh, you are my least favorite. But: you are permanent. I'll take you right to my grave.

If your victory cigar gets wet, you'll just boil it down and shoot it up, I guess, 'cuz you're the type to treat the world as if it's going to end.


from Thimble vs. Needle, released May 18, 2009
written by Kat Bula
Kat Bula: vocals, accordion
Chris Stainback: bass, percussion
recorded by Ryan Richardson, and mixed by Ryan & Kat, at Golden Coin Studios in Bellingham, WA




Kat Bula Seattle, Washington

“Smart, sassy, sensitive… a rare depth and range in an otherwise endless sea of singer/songwriters.” — Cascadia Weekly

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