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I Don't Understand How the World Works

by Buggy Jive

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1.
Five four Rule of five five Until five four Less alive Two more To five four Don't need to be here No more I got 5 on it. Heartbeat on the 5. Marking time to hit the rule of five. Start the clock at the five four on the two four if we still alive. Tickety tickety rickety rickety tickety tock. Got me out here marking time with a broke ass clock. If I start cryin might not be able to stop. Wasting my time, dropping extra beats. George say: "It sound like it got a 5 on it to me." Bad clock got me out here marking time with heart beats instead. Counting heartbeats and sheep to distract from the dread. Amateur panderer workin' the system from within the designated parameters. Not for lack of thinking about it, but I never could be no philanderer. Don't got no band cuz I never wanted to be no manager. Polishing turds, eyes and ears of this institution like a Breakfast Club janitor. High yellow Othello haply still too black to roll with them chamberers. Like Shakespeare this clock drops beats in iambic pentameter Hurry up please it's time.
2.
This guitar is my only friend. But of late she's just a means to an end. I could be a pacifist I could be a pragmatist I could be a pacifist Getting my ass kissed If I was a masochist I could be an activist Getting my ass kicked Ha! YO FOOT, MY ASS! I'se loves this guitar with all my might But of late I only pick her up to write Just a means to work out all my... stuff. But of late the songs she gives me ain't enough CHORUS I could be a pacifist I could be a pragmatist I could be a pacifist Getting my ass kissed If I was a masochist I could be an activist Gettin my ass kicked It’s all about YO FOOT MY ASS! She's saying: "Don't play me, boy." Listen to the guitar saying: "Don't play me, boy." "Quit fucking around with that mediocre bullshit and Do something to effect real change." I could right wrongs I could write songs. I do not belong.
3.
All black, all white she can't see grey. All black, all white she can't see shades. Halfroon. Quadroon. Octaroon.... spades. Hip hop don't stop for one drop rules. She be thinking all rap is gangsta rap. She be thinking all black is gangsta black. Halfroon. Quadroon. Octaroon.... coons. Hip hop don't stop for one drop rules. Can I drop some knowledge before I drop this mic? What's the difficulty setting in the role-playing game of your life? See, hip-hop don't stop for one drop of one percent. Code switching paper bag testing your way into hypodescent. High yellowin’ low melanin mad Benjamins but still no clout. We all fall down but who stays down for the count? It ain't about money, that ain't all what I'm talking 'bout: Privilege begins with the benefit of the doubt. Hip hop don't stop for one drop rules.
4.
Unresolved 03:57
I can’t do it like y’all do Vomiting information. So here's my situation: It ain’t none of your business. It ain’t nothing special. Everyone’s going thru something. Everyone’s going thru everything. I’ll be fine. I gots three or four chords. One of them's weird. I got a big beat. No clapping on the one and the three. And opaque lyrics. With opaque references. With Eliot references. ("Hurry up please, it's time.") And Ellison references. ("I have 1,369.") And Joni references. ("Help me, I think I'm falling.") It’s just another song. Unresolved.
5.
There’s a casino in New York City Built on a burial ground A casino in New York City Where special interests confound And if you make enough and rake it up and save enough And if you make enough and rake it up and save enough The special interest compounds The interest compounds And you will never ever run out of money If you don't take more than 4 percent The casino will keep on paying you That special interest I don't understand how the world works. I don't get it but I'm gonna get some I don't get it but I'm gonna get me some It shouldn't work, but I shouldn't either Give me some of that passive income I'm telling you: I've run the numbers And I got straight As in B-school It shouldn't work, but I shouldn't either And I don't need to be here Anymore I don't understand how the world works. I don't trust the inventions of men. I'm writing this song on a plane I'm singing it into a phone on a plane So I'll have it when we land I don't trust the inventions of man. I don't get why you so mad, bro The world works just the way you want it You got your casino in New York City It keeps on paying you them pretty pennies They charge a little interest and fees The land was bought for a handful of beads They needed a place to buy and sell humans They needed a place to buy and sell humans All just so one day you could live off the interest I know you're counting on that 4 percent All just so one day you could live off the interest I know you're counting on that 4 percent Some say they named it for the wall they built After the massacre, as a "defense" But it’s the massacre that was the offense And I, too, am counting on that 4 percent I don't understand how the world works. I'm afraid of Americans And I don't trust Lou to tell me what Sister Ray says I don't trust the inventions of men I don't trust the conventions of men I'm singing this into a phone on a plane The lady next to me thinks I'm insane But I got a window seat And she's in the middle

about

"I Don't Understand How the World Works" by Buggy Jive. Most of these songs were written and recorded in November 2021 because damn, y'all.

credits

released January 14, 2022

All songs copyright 2021 Bryan Paul Thomas except "One Drop Rules" (c 2014). Guitars and keys and vox and stuff performed by Buggy Jive. All beats courtesy TheLoopLoft.com and YurtRock.com. Mastered by Troy Pohl. The cover art by Hank Russo is adapted from a photograph courtesy the National Park Service, Manhattan Historic Sites Archive, photographer and origin unknown. Copyright 2022 WT3 Records and Radical Plastical Music. All Rights Reserved.

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Buggy Jive Albany, New York

PROFESSOR BUGGY JIVE is a soul rock singer-songwriter quietly uploading music from a basement somewhere in Upstate New York.

Equal parts Zeppelin and D’Angelo and Prince and Joni in sound and sensibility, his lyrics often mine the literature of the past to make sense of the present – from Ellison to Morrison to Eliot to Didion.

“Literary Kravitz,” as some say.
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