Then the moon sprayed white on the lake
At the edge of night when the bugs were getting bad
And the boys all stood in a silent semicircle
Dodging smoke and tossing driftwood into the fire
And the girls were picking burrs off of their cords
When I heard the slow crack of wood
I was sifting through, through the pile of sandals
When the police lights finally oscillated through the canopy
That marked the access over the beach path
The Kubler-Ross soup course was already served
Can we share these years with regret
There was going to be a September wedding
He was waiting for
For the last book in the series that he loved,
To see the loose ends finally tied up
But all his own broke off and floated away
There was going to be a September wedding
There was going to be a September wedding
There was going to be a September wedding
Greg Kutcher - lead guitar
Lauren London - vocals
Copyright 2013 Zach London
If I wanted
Your opinion
If I wanted your opinion
I would beat it out of you
If I wanted
Your opinion
If I wanted your opinion
I would beat it out of you
Ive got ways to make you talk
When I want you to
But who says that I do
Ooooh!
I would beat it out of you
If I wanted your viewpoint
Id make my black and blue point
Id extract at gunpoint
Your point of view
Ive got ways to make you talk
When I want you to
But who says that I do
Ooooh!
I would beat it out of you
If I wanted your opinion I would beat it out of you
Lauren London - additional vocals
Copyright 2012 Zach London
Pale Mama Jones,
I'm curious
How'd you bloat those coffers
Odds are the gods are furious
Pale Mama Jones,
My Mama Jones always do the right thing
At the school bake sale, with her Dixie Cups
Of white lightning, lightning
Slip into your cleats
When you feel hoofbeats
You're a two-shoes goody
With your footy pajamas on
Devil's in the deets,
In the nosebleed seats
From the Mariana trench
To the Amazon
Pale Mama Jones,
I'm serious
How'd you bloat those coffers
Odds are the gods are furious
Got a few grays and a few stowaways in the sideburns
Little mean hairs messing round round
Guessing what your hide earns
Slip into your cleats
When you feel hoofbeats
You're a two-shoes goody
With your footy pajamas on
Devil's in the deets,
In the nosebleed seats
From the Mariana trench
To the Amazon
Hey, hey little thuggies,
Little little thuggies, hey hey
Victoria Gilbert - vocals
Lauren London - vocals
Laura Sagolla - vocals
Russell Schwartz - vocals
Geoffroy Sisk - lead vocals
Roy Sexton - vocals
Copyright 2012 Zach London
There's justice in his lasso and his bullwhip
Justice in his bullwhip and his lasso
He serves the pie of justice with no Cool Whip
The only pie of justice in El Paso
Because he's cut from steel
Because he's cut from steel
They call him
Oatmeal
Oatmeal
Help us, Oatmeal!
Well, Pilgrim, you better call Oatmeal.
Thank you, stranger!
Fire rolls down the line, Maam.
Oatmeal, it's time to find your spirit flower.
We have to call him Oatmeal!
Oatmeal, you 're gonna save us
Fire rolls down the line
Oatmeal, you 're gonna save us
Fire rolls down the line
Fire rolls down the line
Fire rolls down the line
The line, the line
Fire rolls down the line
Fire rolls down the line
Fire rolls down the line
The line, the line
Lauren London - vocals
Scarlett London - voice of troubled girl
Rob Pace - harmonica
Russell Schwartz - voice of Oatmeal
Copyright 2012 Zach London
