The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
Verse 1:
You know, it's been like...20 years I've been doing this shit. Came up with a lot of people. A few of which fell the fuck off. So I'd like to dedicate this to y'all...
pieces of shit who disappear when the campaign fades.
Got a nice little record but you can't play on stage.
I anti-promote you so I can't say your names.
you're crying about money with your brand name shades
to tint out the window to your bland brain waves.
You couldn't see us move past the champagne phase.
I done changed the game while your fans stayed the same
and say, "Shoot. I'm looking for a man named Sage."
Verse 2:
Don't sweat the petty things. Don't pet the sweaty things.
And don't forget to hit the deck when the machete swings.
It's a rage that engages when the celly rings.
You don't gotta interrupt my life just to tell me things.
I don't get along with self-help book worms.
Had a ring of 'em around me and they all took turns
with looks of concern while taking what they could get.
Some parasitic, bloated tick. opportunistic bullshit.
My little one-trick pony...
you had a good run while I was patting your ass but after that
all anyone could say is how you're so down to earth.
So is dog shit. Both are getting left in the dirt.
Verse 3:
It ain't about the lie, it's how you tell me it.
I'll slap this hatchet in your back before we bury it. Then spit out your cherry pit.
Your petty shit goes tits up. I'm like, "Man, whateva."
You're all like, "What's your damage, Heather?"
Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Just make sure
you lube up with salt solution, stupid, I'm a take it raw.
There's canker sores on the lip service you give me.
Your facial flaws are gettin' all nervous and shifty.
Sissy. That's an easy tell.
Consider the elbow grease that I put in when you get jealous of what you see me sell.
How'd you fit those big dollar signs inside your little beady eyes
without the use of photoshop or CGI?
I've got a special effect...it's called hard work.
I write my own checks...that's just one of my job's perks.
You got burnt but you keep playing with matchsticks.
You keep falling off like weak refrigerator magnets.
Lock and load. Cock and aim.
I've got a razor tongue but it's like a taser gun when I make shocking claims.
And I don't just talk some game...
Cuz I'm a commentator and a player and a coach who can fan the flames.
Fuck a stand off, I'll chop your hands off.
And shove 'em down your throat until you choke and you can't cough.
Dis me in your city if you need to...but when I come through...
"Am I glad to see you!"
You know, it's been like...20 years I've been doing this shit. Came up with a lot of people. A few of which fell the fuck off. So I'd like to dedicate this to y'all...
pieces of shit who disappear when the campaign fades.
Got a nice little record but you can't play on stage.
I anti-promote you so I can't say your names.
you're crying about money with your brand name shades
to tint out the window to your bland brain waves.
You couldn't see us move past the champagne phase.
I done changed the game while your fans stayed the same
and say, "Shoot. I'm looking for a man named Sage."
Verse 2:
Don't sweat the petty things. Don't pet the sweaty things.
And don't forget to hit the deck when the machete swings.
It's a rage that engages when the celly rings.
You don't gotta interrupt my life just to tell me things.
I don't get along with self-help book worms.
Had a ring of 'em around me and they all took turns
with looks of concern while taking what they could get.
Some parasitic, bloated tick. opportunistic bullshit.
My little one-trick pony...
you had a good run while I was patting your ass but after that
all anyone could say is how you're so down to earth.
So is dog shit. Both are getting left in the dirt.
Verse 3:
It ain't about the lie, it's how you tell me it.
I'll slap this hatchet in your back before we bury it. Then spit out your cherry pit.
Your petty shit goes tits up. I'm like, "Man, whateva."
You're all like, "What's your damage, Heather?"
Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Just make sure
you lube up with salt solution, stupid, I'm a take it raw.
There's canker sores on the lip service you give me.
Your facial flaws are gettin' all nervous and shifty.
Sissy. That's an easy tell.
Consider the elbow grease that I put in when you get jealous of what you see me sell.
How'd you fit those big dollar signs inside your little beady eyes
without the use of photoshop or CGI?
I've got a special effect...it's called hard work.
I write my own checks...that's just one of my job's perks.
You got burnt but you keep playing with matchsticks.
You keep falling off like weak refrigerator magnets.
Lock and load. Cock and aim.
I've got a razor tongue but it's like a taser gun when I make shocking claims.
And I don't just talk some game...
Cuz I'm a commentator and a player and a coach who can fan the flames.
Fuck a stand off, I'll chop your hands off.
And shove 'em down your throat until you choke and you can't cough.
Dis me in your city if you need to...but when I come through...
"Am I glad to see you!"
Lyrics submitted by EvaV
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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.
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There is still an amazing amount of hope and will in the lyrics; and the lyrics themselve rank and easy five. If only music was stronger it would be one of those great radio songs that you hear once a week 20 years after it was released. The imagery is almost tear-jerking ("City lights lay out before us", "Speeds so fast felt like I was drunk"), and the idea of starting from nothing and just driving and working and denigrating yourself for a chance at being just above poverty, then losing in the end is just painful and inspiring at the same time.
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This song was originally written by a guy called Peter Gutteridge. He was one of the founders of the "Dunedin Sound" a musical scene in the south of New Zealand in the early 80s. From there it was covered by "The Clean" one of the early bands of that scene (he had originally been a member of in it's early days, writing a couple of their best early songs). The Dunedin sound, and the Clean became popular on american college radio in the mid to late 80s. I guess Yo La Tengo heard that version.
Great version of a great song,
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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/