Where I'm livin' it's hard to say
Wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe
Where I'm livin' it's hard to say
But I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe

(Verse 1)
Woke up by the pool again.
Must have played the fool again.
Wonder what them hooligans put on the grill that stinks
kinda like burnt fur and regurg’ed drinks
with an undertone of the acorn
and leather that’s laid on
thick like Liz Claiborne.
Step over with big trepidation,
lift up the top off the meat cooking station
to discover my homie Todd!
I said “oh my God,
what grim façade
do you meet me with in my wakefulness?”
I had too many Stellas & they all was crisp;
must I rise up in the morning with my squirrel desisted
from the world, insisted as I did
this instant that
him up in heaven again is premature?
If only reality would concur!
Poke him with the tongs, dude won’t wake up.
Put him on the lawn, Ray’s about to cook a steak up
and this ain’t no kind of mausoleum.
Got to get the high degree on!
Todd’s onomatopoeia
got already all used up; I mean he sizzled.
Ain’t nothing left but char, bone, and gristle.
My heart is fissile: I mean it could break
like crystal; he never learned to whistle. Don’t rake
his cadaver up, wassamadda with your mind?
He ain’t a lawn clipping; we been knuckleheads since old times.
Dig out the batting helmet and the bat
‘cause we’re all about to have a funeral and that’s that.
We’ll do it after breakfast. We’ll do it up proper.
We’ll drop all his ashes out the airwolf copter,
all singing up dirges, all spreading out blossoms,
and it’s g-gonna b-b-b-be frikkin awesome.


(Verse 2)
six bong rips later, we ain’t going to the helipad,
standin’ ‘round hella sad,
wonder where them Stellas at...
All these dudes ain’t huge on sentiment,
still they want to say little something to the benefit
of layin’ Todd’s soul to rest.
I cold regressed,
contemplated old regrets,
and said “man why he even got to do a thing
like pass out on the Bar-B-King?”
I’m trying to bring from like recesses in my mind
a word or two that wouldn’t prove unkind.
Aligned as he was with the less-than-angelic,
trafficking black tar smack & psychedelics
in that little-ass van of his, and drunk doing it,
knowing what the right thing to do was but eschewing it,
it’d seem pretty probable [that]
flames are audible.
That’s the duty that Todd’ll pull,
not just in death, but in after-that,
like the bat
out the h-e-double-vertical-slat,
‘cept inbound in the case of this rodent,
like when he got peeled-out on and ‘sploded,
or in fact when he got shanked in the joint.
Hella causing me to wonder if there’s even a point
to our shephardly tending
of his life’s ending!
I bet he’s chilling at Friendly’s
and gonna be back in the neighborhood shortly,
discussing how awesome it is to be portly,
reporting the slant he just got on with Blister
(drank till his wrists hurt;
boned the ghost of your sister).
The dude’s a bucket kickster when he has to be
and this one wasn’t like a masterpiece
so yes we’re depressed but not drastically,
livin’ at the corner of dude and catastrophe.


I'll just wait, waving goodbye until the next time... (x2)

Lyrics submitted by oball

Livin' At The Corner Of Dude & Catastrophe song meanings
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    General CommentNever read Achewood, but the song seems to be about a guy who wakes up, finds his friend dead, buries him, and contemplates the fact that he was kind of a douche.
    Crane42on May 31, 2013   Link

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