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A Fistful of Crap
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The Beatless as the NOTORIOUS G.I.T. spits in a Morriconi-type flow. Spaghetti Hip-Hop
ambient garage can dub minimal pere ubu throbbing gristle cabaret voltaire
The Beatless bring you electronica novelty tunes for the masses
Born from the cassette culture + mail-art scenes of the 80's, The Beatless is a one-man producer of electronic novelty 'art' tunes for the masses. Includes slants on Drum n' Bass, Minimal Techno, Spaghetti Hip-Hop, Garage-Rock and Dub. May also contain traces of nuts. The name 'The Beatless' chose itself. It was just waiting to be plucked from the ether and I was fortunate enough to be there at the time. Unfortunately, I wasn't the last if my other namesakes all over the interwebs are anything to go by. For this reason I am also known as Paul Beatless in some places. When the day dawns that quirky "post-industrial ironic novelty meandering" is the new flava of the month.. show me the money. I'm not really holding my breath though.
Song Info
Genre
Hip-Hop • Alternative Hip Hop
Charts
#109,601 today Peak #140
#10,458 in subgenre Peak #11
Author
Beatless
Rights
The Beatless 2006
Uploaded
December 02, 2006
Track Files
MP3
MP3 4.2 MB • 128 kbps • 4:38
Story behind the song
Some people think it took 10 minutes sat in a cafe to write my lyrics .. ..It's not true. I was a good 20 minutes in that cafe.
Lyrics
Sun beating down I'm sick to the core 12 days in the saddle and my butt is sore I been riding through the desert on a horse with no name Thinkin about the money Playing the game I travelled this land and I've seen what's cookin' the good, the bad the not-too-pretty lookin' When I rode into town no stomach for a fight Good vittles, tin bath n' a bed for the night A cry goes up Hey, a thunder of hooves 2 pistol packing muthas with a point to prove From a lawless state on trail of devastation Wild west rejects from the birth of a nation I squint to the left n' I squint to the right It's me in the middle And they got me in their sights In a town called Crap the ass end of beyond I review the situation and I think I'm being conned ------------------- No rag-tag army's ever brought me down in the heat and the dust They must think I'm a clown A crazy-ass thug n' a man with no brain cackle like an idjit n' laugh like a drain Well, adios amigos I'm nobody's fool Shoot you in the heart for just laughing at my mule Two more coffins and the toll of the bell Five more minutes you'll be smoking in hell I'm the honcho with the poncho and i'm known as such I'm the gringo with the lingo though I don't say much I'm a man with the plan don't even know my name Pacino or Eastwood it's all the same Cos my back is broke my legs are bowed Just thinking of vengence and the money I'm owed Man on the harmonica, n' a wailing ho giving this ol' toon a Morricone-type flow. -------------------- In all this time though truth be told I never kept the money I never found the gold For all the men dying and the graves I've filled I remember what they said 'Get rich or be killed' Go fer the dough Yeah, I fell in their trap Traded everything for a fistfull of crap In this land of opportunity theres money to be made but the sting in the tail is the piper must be paid I'm tired of this shit though my aim is true and this man's gotta do what this man's gotta do The blood I've spilled the whiskey, the whores I'd give it all up for a fell minutes more The choir sings n' the crescendo grows Hell, even The Gorillaz got the Morriconi flow When the dust begins to settle and the day is done When the music stops pick up your gun ------------------------ Once upon a time It was Big John Wayne Now it's Gacy or Bobbit Its all the same Even Kenny Rodgers never knew the score The Gatlin boys were faggots Becky was a whore Don't let anybody tell you how the west was won It's dirty and it stinks and it aint wholesome fun From the great John Ford to Sergio Leone The stuff of the legends but it's all a bunch of pony I'm the honcho with the poncho and I'm known as such I'm the gringo with the lingo though I don't say much I'm a man with the plan don't even know my name Pacino or Eastwood it's all the same Cos my back is broke my legs are bowed Just thinking of vengence and the money I'm owed Man on the harmonica n' a wailing ho giving this ol toon a Morricone-type flow. (Lyrics Copyright Paul Beatless 2006)
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Comments 2
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unnereaster
Apr 18, 2011
Great, great, great!
Lou Quarmwater
Aug 01, 2008
Hey Paul, If this song has been up here since 2006,I apologize for not finding it sooner. This is "the good, the bad and the not-too-pretty lookin' " all wrapped up into one badass mofo of a track. Clint would piss hisself.