In regards to the meaning of this song:
Before a live performance on the EP Five Stories Falling, Geoff states “It’s about the last time I went to visit my grandmother in Columbus, and I saw that she was dying and it was the last time I was going to see her. It is about realizing how young you are, but how quickly you can go.”
That’s the thing about Geoff and his sublime poetry, you think it’s about one thing, but really it’s about something entirely different. But the lyrics are still universal and omnipresent, ubiquitous, even. So relatable. That’s one thing I love about this band. I also love their live performances, raw energy and Geoff’s beautiful, imperfectly perfect vocals. His voice soothes my aching soul.
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (1-2-3-4)
Blood money mercenaries, think you can muscle Wu?
It's a foot race, who can out-hustle who?
Hip hop junkie flunky, monkey see, monkey do
Great minds connect like mobster rings
Sit back, let me do my, Sinatra thing
I'm in the Hip Hop Hall of Fame, on the wall is the plaques
Old ball and chain, I named her Madam X
She love big cannons, sex unprotected
You better respect it, kid, we 'bout to set trip
You get ya neck ripped, eyeballs are scoping
I don't sell crack, I sell dopium
Catch him at the podium, nah, he moving too fast
Professor X, behind the bulletproof glass
You need a Wu pass, a bag of that high
Easy with the flicks, baby, I'm camera shy
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (1-2-3-4)
We might have to 8 Diagram one of y'all MC's
We grind everyday and we hustle for cheese
Got our face on the front of CD's, we off the hook
W.T.C. y'all soft and shook
Y'all not built like the Cuban Linx Clan that get CREAM
And back heads down every time we sing
Give us a hundred grand for a show, let us rock
For more money, more chicks, more private stock
They call me Streetlife, slap the taste
Out ya mug, know ya place, you ain't thug, fix ya face
Throw a slug, catch a case
Meanwhile, beat trial, back on that cash cow
Getting CREAM, however, a street brother know how
Point blank, I'm pulling rank, calling shot, I got bank
Pass the rock, my hand's hot, hit 'em with the showshotter
Peace to my ala mater, Wu-Tang block scholars
Never settle for less, promoters pay us top dollar
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (1-2-3-4)
Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
Barney here is down to a feeding dreadlock
Armpit like two Buckwheat's in a headlock
Macy Gray's hair between your leg lock
Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
so cross-eyed, when she cry tears roll down her back
Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
This shit is strong, god damn, what you got in there?
Over-crowded bamboo bimbo
Chickenhead skeezer crackhead hoodrat
Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
Ya mother's so cross-eyed, when she cry tears roll down her back
Calabama niggaz all'll quit
Talking that short dick shit
Speak up, no loud speaker but I'm speaking loud
Venacular ass kicking, truth out to a crowd
Shit, they call me the lethal lip
The linguistic, full metal jacket of venacular ballistic
Shooting out at the mouth without Chap or Blistec
Here's a mothafucka, I didn't flunk diaper rash
I'm verbally toxic, metal-piercing, forked, hollow point tongue
Dumb dumb, pow, shot from gattling gums
Hooked on phonics, packing a vicious vocabulary
Malicious, with malice and mayhem
Fuck a dictionary, give me the mic and I'll slay
Them lame and literally poetic symptoms
Pissing me the fuck off, missing me with that shit
I stick a venacular foot so far up in ya ass
You won't be able to pass verbal gas
So far up in ya ass that one of my knees will rise so far above ya head
And you drown of a poetic ass kicking
Leaving lyrical lacerations on your lungs, from a verbal hangnail
That hung on my big toe, as I flow upward
Kicking yo on ya eardrum, you wanna hear some?
Tap dance on ya tonsils, leaving kiwi shoe polish on ya breath
Cavity in ya best rhyme, and the absess on the rest
Call me the proverbial verbal menacing dentist
With the drill, I got lyrical skills
I could perform oral root canals
It's unwise to fuck with me
Kick ya wisdom teeth down ya throat
Leaving you to choke
On where it hurts, unspoken vocals
Tying down ya vocal cord plug your windpipe tight
With toe jamming and ya mothafucking hemmoroids
Fuck the dumb shit
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (1-2-3-4)
Blood money mercenaries, think you can muscle Wu?
It's a foot race, who can out-hustle who?
Hip hop junkie flunky, monkey see, monkey do
Great minds connect like mobster rings
Sit back, let me do my, Sinatra thing
I'm in the Hip Hop Hall of Fame, on the wall is the plaques
Old ball and chain, I named her Madam X
She love big cannons, sex unprotected
You better respect it, kid, we 'bout to set trip
You get ya neck ripped, eyeballs are scoping
I don't sell crack, I sell dopium
Catch him at the podium, nah, he moving too fast
Professor X, behind the bulletproof glass
You need a Wu pass, a bag of that high
Easy with the flicks, baby, I'm camera shy
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (1-2-3-4)
We might have to 8 Diagram one of y'all MC's
We grind everyday and we hustle for cheese
Got our face on the front of CD's, we off the hook
W.T.C. y'all soft and shook
Y'all not built like the Cuban Linx Clan that get CREAM
And back heads down every time we sing
Give us a hundred grand for a show, let us rock
For more money, more chicks, more private stock
They call me Streetlife, slap the taste
Out ya mug, know ya place, you ain't thug, fix ya face
Throw a slug, catch a case
Meanwhile, beat trial, back on that cash cow
Getting CREAM, however, a street brother know how
Point blank, I'm pulling rank, calling shot, I got bank
Pass the rock, my hand's hot, hit 'em with the showshotter
Peace to my ala mater, Wu-Tang block scholars
Never settle for less, promoters pay us top dollar
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (1-2-3-4)
Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
Barney here is down to a feeding dreadlock
Armpit like two Buckwheat's in a headlock
Macy Gray's hair between your leg lock
Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
so cross-eyed, when she cry tears roll down her back
Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
This shit is strong, god damn, what you got in there?
Over-crowded bamboo bimbo
Chickenhead skeezer crackhead hoodrat
Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
Ya mother's so cross-eyed, when she cry tears roll down her back
Calabama niggaz all'll quit
Talking that short dick shit
Speak up, no loud speaker but I'm speaking loud
Venacular ass kicking, truth out to a crowd
Shit, they call me the lethal lip
The linguistic, full metal jacket of venacular ballistic
Shooting out at the mouth without Chap or Blistec
Here's a mothafucka, I didn't flunk diaper rash
I'm verbally toxic, metal-piercing, forked, hollow point tongue
Dumb dumb, pow, shot from gattling gums
Hooked on phonics, packing a vicious vocabulary
Malicious, with malice and mayhem
Fuck a dictionary, give me the mic and I'll slay
Them lame and literally poetic symptoms
Pissing me the fuck off, missing me with that shit
I stick a venacular foot so far up in ya ass
You won't be able to pass verbal gas
So far up in ya ass that one of my knees will rise so far above ya head
And you drown of a poetic ass kicking
Leaving lyrical lacerations on your lungs, from a verbal hangnail
That hung on my big toe, as I flow upward
Kicking yo on ya eardrum, you wanna hear some?
Tap dance on ya tonsils, leaving kiwi shoe polish on ya breath
Cavity in ya best rhyme, and the absess on the rest
Call me the proverbial verbal menacing dentist
With the drill, I got lyrical skills
I could perform oral root canals
It's unwise to fuck with me
Kick ya wisdom teeth down ya throat
Leaving you to choke
On where it hurts, unspoken vocals
Tying down ya vocal cord plug your windpipe tight
With toe jamming and ya mothafucking hemmoroids
Fuck the dumb shit
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Standing On The Edge Of Summer
Thursday
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No Surprises
Radiohead
Radiohead
Same ideas expressed in Fitter, Happier are expressed in this song. We're told to strive for some sort of ideal life, which includes getting a good job, being kind to everyone, finding a partner, getting married, having a couple kids, living in a quiet neighborhood in a nice big house, etc. But in Fitter, Happier the narrator(?) realizes that it's incredibly robotic to live this life. People are being used by those in power "like a pig in a cage on antibiotics"--being pacified with things like new phones and cool gadgets and houses while being sucked dry. On No Surprises, the narrator is realizing how this life is killing him slowly. In the video, his helmet is slowly filling up with water, drowning him. But he's so complacent with it. This is a good summary of the song. This boring, "perfect" life foisted upon us by some higher powers (not spiritual, but political, economic, etc. politicians and businessmen, perhaps) is not the way to live. But there is seemingly no way out but death. He'd rather die peacefully right now than live in this cage. While our lives are often shielded, we're in our own protective bubbles, or protective helmets like the one Thom wears, if we look a little harder we can see all the corruption, lies, manipulation, etc. that is going on in the world, often run by huge yet nearly invisible organizations, corporations, and 'leaders'. It's a very hopeless song because it reflects real life.
Just A Little Lovin'
Dusty Springfield
Dusty Springfield
I don't think it's necessarily about sex. It's about wanting to start the day with some love and affection. Maybe a warm cuddle. I'm not alone in interpreting it that way! For example:
"'Just a Little Lovin’ is a timeless country song originally recorded by Eddy Arnold in 1954. The song, written by Eddie Miller and Jimmy Campbell, explores the delicate nuances of love and showcases Arnold’s emotive vocals. It delves into the universal theme of love and how even the smallest gesture of affection can have a profound impact on our lives." https://oldtimemusic.com/the-meaning-behind-the-song-just-a-little-lovin-by-eddy-arnold/
Magical
Ed Sheeran
Ed Sheeran
How would you describe the feeling of being in love? For Ed Sheeran, the word is “Magical.” in HIS three-minute album opener, he makes an attempt to capture the beauty and delicacy of true love with words. He describes the magic of it all over a bright Pop song produced by Aaron Dessner.
Page
Ed Sheeran
Ed Sheeran
There aren’t many things that’ll hurt more than giving love a chance against your better judgement only to have your heart crushed yet again. Ed Sheeran tells such a story on “Page.” On this track, he is devastated to have lost his lover and even more saddened by the feeling that he may never move on from this.
Worst song Wu Tang ever did