Song Rebecca Calls, "That Birdcage Song," Which Never Was Though Now Kind Of Is Because Of Her Influence… - Munly & The Lee Lewis Harlots

Them jays done bombed the mices

Those mices squeak like the entrance gates

You know what those jays did?

They made a home in my ribcage.

There was forty-one horseflies tip-toein' across the horse’s flank.

That horse, he ain’t got no feathers,

But with his shank he just ruffles.

'N then, the furnace, it combusted,

And it burned away the jays' cage.

That’s when underneath, they saw Herod’s face.

Then there was all this confusion from the hot air,

And those jays, they got me aggressive

By takin' my eggs from me.

But my knife is gone,

An' them jays, they got aggressive,

An' they nested in my empty sheath.

I rub my hand over your hair.

I rub my hand over your hair on your throat.

I rub my hand over your hair on your throat,

Pull it out, and set it in my pocket.

I talk a bird off my tree, shove him deep down,

He 'lites in your nesty hair.

Now we roam between the cities

And folk in their country speech and manner

Say the sing-song you’s do’s speaks of true new prophesies.

But there is a whistle ebbing from a growing crack in his beak.

The crack is mappin' out the country,

Educatin' all of where we’ve been.

And me and my bird have a growin' influence

Over people of country persuasion,

Over people of country persuasion.

You see it’s Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John--

They’re comin' after me,

Re-re-educatin' all them my birdie has seen,

Sayin' country people, unlearn what you seen,

that bird’s got a crack in its beak.

Go back to ginseng and senna pods and fennel seeds,

Learnin' spells in your old Gullah speech.

But they tell the flock to go back to the city

And let this bird sing!

And my bird does sing to the country.

And my bird decrees to the people of country persuasion.

I rub my hand over your hair.

I rub my hand over your hair below your stomach.

I rub my hand over your hair below your stomach,

Pull it out and set it in my pocket.

And my bird he mends his broken beak with your hair.

Now the message is mumbled and mistranslated,

But the country people believe it even harder.

They leave the country, 'lite upon the city,

Swellin' the IQ in both locations.

Re-education is all they need.

The city nods, bein' told to agree.

And me and my bird have a growing influence

Over people of country persuasion.

Oh my soul, soul, soul

People of country…

You see it’s Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John,

Still chasin' after me,

They got so close, finally heard my bird sing.

They heard through your healthful hair,

Blushed a deep dark red,

Said «oh, I see!»

They rubbed on ginseng and senna pods and fennel seeds;

Their speech they changed to the local speak.

Creatin' new maps with an educator’s need.

They’re now quiet in the country as my bird he does sing!

And my bird does sing to the country;

My bird decrees to the people of country persuasion.