Five Song CD

by Gregory Ego

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1.
2.
04:15
3.
4.
05:35
5.

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released January 8, 2015

Produced by Gregory Ego and Kirk Gill.
Recorded and Engineered by Kirk Gill.
Mixed by Gregory Ego.
CD layout by Tom Lundin.
Gregory Ego photo by Mario Pasquale.
Remastered at wavemod.com.

Musician credits appear on individual tracks.

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Gregory Ego Denver, Colorado

Gregory Ego: a 21st Century singer-songwriter and theatrical shaman of angst. A purveyor of satire and psychedelia. Part social critic, part mystic. Fulfilling the old "intelligence is sexy" adage.

Gregory Daurer: author of the novel A Western Capitol Hill and a freelance scribe. His work has appeared in Juxtapoz, 5280, Headpress, The Huffington Post, Salon, Draft, Culture, and High Times.
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Track Name: Denver Radio Talk Show
DENVER RADIO TALK SHOW



Hey-Ho, ain’t it so,
You heard me say it on the Denver Radio Talk Show.

No liberal Running Dog will have his say,
Denver talk show host earn his pay.
He ain’t a quota human, he’s on his own:
Shot down cold on his front lawn.

Hot air rising like a balloon.
Feeding his dreck from a silver spoon.
The scent of his Jaguar is up his nose.
He calls “knickers” his favorite clothes.

Hey-Ho, ain’t it so,
You heard me say it on the Denver Radio Talk Show.

He’s a golly-gee guy from a 1950s town,
Talking like a hood, comin’ off like a clown.
He used to be Left, now he’s Right.
He may change again by tomorrow night.

Hey-Ho, ain’t it so,
You heard me say it on the Denver Radio Talk Show.

Now do you wanna talk? Talk!
But you don’t have to defame my intentions.
Do you want to gawk? Listeners gawk!
In your tract homes on the Plains.

We’ve got 50,000 watts of power.
News on every hour.
You’ll get a font of information.
A literal golden shower.

He exorcises demons,
She has advice to assert.
If nobody listens, someone will get hurt.
He banishes demons,
She asserts advice.
If nobody listens, who will pay the price?

Hey-Ho, ain’t it so,
You heard me say it on the Denver Radio Talk Show.

I’m a shock-troop, parachute-dropped 5th column geek,
Callin’ on in like a door that squeeks.
Until the host slams the receiver down.
I’ll call back in for another round.

Hey-Ho, ain’t it so,
You heard me say it on the Denver Radio Talk Show.

Now do you wanna talk? Talk!
But you don’t have to defame my intentions.
Do you want to gawk? Listeners gawk!
In your tract homes on the Plains.

We’ve got 50,000 watts of power.
News on every hour.
You’ll get a font of information.
A literal golden shower.

Hey-Ho, ain’t it so,
You heard me say it on the Denver Radio Talk Show.
Track Name: Budapest
BUDAPEST

Buda.
Pest.
Budapest.

On the one side is Buda.
On the other is Pest.
On both sides of the river lies Budapest.
Both sides of the Danube, its bridges parade rest,
Both sides of the city of Budapest.

I climbed Gellert Hill to the Citadella
And bought communist trinkets.
And took in the city’s Freedom Monument, Socialist-Realist.
I got there before Madonna, NATO, or Michael Jackson.
But not before the Colonel’s arrival: Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Bishop Gellert
Converted the masses to Christianity.
But there’s no statues for the bishops today
who play chess with the peasantry.

I stalked that blessed city
The whole damn day
No one gave me shit.
But at night, streetwalking pickpockets
Bust your balls in Budapest.
Like flies over meat left out in a pantry to age to grey.
Like stumbling cats who’ve been cooped-up
For too long inside a cage.

Oh, Budapest girl
With your Budapest breasts
I want to suckle in your city of artists.
And come away nourished by
The State Gallery’s paintings inside.

The greatest artists Europe agrees
To dismiss so casually.
Da-Da, Zsa Zsa
Coupola churches
Secret Police.
An old lady gave me
A kiss on both cheeks goodbye.
To liberating heroes from a grateful Hungarian people.
Budapest-style.

Buda.
Pest.
Budapest.
Track Name: Kill For A Cigarette
KILL FOR A CIGARETTE


If they make nicotine illegal
It would follow like the alphabet
That crime would grip this city
And I would kill for a cigarette.
Yes, I would kill, kill, kill, kill for a cigarette.

Tet-tet-tet.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

BATF knows what they’d get:
I would kill for a cigarette.
I would batter and brutalize
Just to feel that smoke get in my eyes.
Yes, I would kill, kill, kill, kill for a cigarette.

Tet-tet-tet.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

Killing for a cigarette.
And I’m not even half-lit yet.
Killing for a cigarette
To protect my mob interests.

I would kill, kill, kill, kill for a cigarette.

Tet-tet-tet.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

They honored Robert Johnson a stamp
But airbrushed out his cigarette.
He sold his soul at the Crossroads for a cigarette.
They wouldn’t take, take, take, take my cigarette.

If I get caught with a smoking gun
You know I wouldn’t be the only one.
When I crack a pack, I’m a dancer.
My astrological sign is Cancer.
I would die, die, die, die, die for a cigarette.

Rub me out!
Track Name: Cassady
CASSADY

Oh, he died right there on the railroad tracks
As he counted the ties away.
And he barely wrote a book or penned any essays
And his name was Neal Cassady.

He became a literary figure
In the works of others.
He was the Johnny Appleseed of marijuana
And his name was Neal Cassady.

Cassady, Cassady
His first third, what a pity.
Cassady, Cassady
His second third he just had to be free.
Cassady, Cassady
His final third he lived excessively.
Cassady, Cassady
Today your name is legendary.

He was a Sleeping Prophet-rapping brakeman
When the Beat Movement began
To take steam like a locomotive history
And his name was Neal Cassady.

Oh, he talked and talked and intercoursed
Entire nights away.
But you could tell he was thinking
Even when he was quietly Neal Cassady.

Cassady, Cassady
His first third, what a pity.
Cassady, Cassady
His second third he just had to be free.
Cassady, Cassady
His final third he lived excessively.
Cassady, Cassady
Today your name is legendary.

C-A-S-S-A-D-Y
LSD
And why-oh-why
Were XY chromosomes personified
In that over-deified wise guy?
Born in Salt Lake, In Mexico died.
Half the circle to the other side.
He hung on and enjoyed the ride.
And then he let his soul fly.
Tried-and-true if it tweren’t all lies
About C-A-S-S-A-D-Y.

You’re either On the Bus or Off the Bus
But sometimes there’s a Maybe.
I swear a ghost sped past me out of Denver
And it looked like Neal Cassady’s.

Cassady, Cassady
His first third, what a pity.
Cassady, Cassady
His second third he just had to be free.
Cassady, Cassady
His final third he lived excessively.
Cassady, Cassady
Today your name is legendary.
Track Name: Señor Mysterioso
Señor Mysterioso

Unrequited love.
Dreams that don’t come true.
Still I believe in Mystery.
Why don’t you?
Still I believe in Mystery.
Why don’t you.
Why don’t you?

You say you don’t believe in the Occult.
That it’s all right here to see.
Still I believe in Mystery.
Faithfully.
Still I believe in Mystery.
Faithfully.
Faithfully.

You say you’re all alone.
But I predict it won’t be long,
Until you find someone else,
Who isn’t me.
I’m a mystified mystic,
Another lovelorn statistic,
Who’s been injured by
Causality.
Still I believe in Mystery.
Naturally.
Still I believe in Mystery.
Naturally.
Supernaturally.

Maybe I should have tried
To put a spell on you.
Or taken a polygraph
To prove to you I’m true.
Maybe it was all in the cards,
Though you’d rather not trust in fate.
It’s not too late to finally see
Free will equals destiny.

Unrequited love.
Dreams that don’t come true.
Still I believe in Mystery.
Why don’t you?
Still I believe in Mystery.
Why don’t you.
Why don’t you?

Looking in my crystal ball.
Wearing my turban.
Still I believe in Mystery.
Alone again.
Still I believe in Mystery.
Alone again.
Alone again.