They’re calling for shots of the strongest alcohol in the joint.
Careening through the night on liquids made for purifying.
They’re making every type of effort just to score a hit of pleasure.
And the night reels on as the jukebox turns another track.

Two young lovers taste the trees
And give way to lust fantasies
Give us spinal atrophy
And we’ll tear this motherfuckin’ disco down
Tame these uppers, give ‘em hell boys
Head for cover, head for cover
Give heed to the stimulation
And we’ll take it to this shipwrecked discotheque

Call it what it is, call it what it is: Murder!
Good for what it is, good for what it is

Keep your hands clean and give it just a little more potency

I never heard the widow die but I would like to take the credit for the bullet placed between her eyes
I never saw the pastor drink but I would like to take the credit for the serpent laced between his teeth
And the piano player spills his heart spraying blood across the chrome of the microphone
Making love to the porcelain teeth to the crooning of a soft guitar

Lyrics submitted by a scar in the sky

The Biased Jukebox song meanings
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