The Birch Beer Cover Sessions

by Ghost Leaks

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1.
Though I seem cool, calm and collected Making my way to Hipster with Glasses Was a little more than just nerve wrackin' Kinda’ just counted on her to turn me into goo Praise Whatever it ended with a smile Cause for a bit, a tad, a little while I expected you two, to save the day with sly remarks Like "he's so cute" and "whatever you want"s Though the white jacket didn't fit The friends I came with did, perfectly Snugged right to my body Like sad movies and late night drinks Could’ve guessed by the end of the hour There was more than just a little smile on my face Covered in custard and cookies and cream, pissed off I had to leave But all has to end. You got a smile that could light this town and we might need it Cause it gets dark around here, real dark around here Most of my old friends I can only stand for the weekend But that doesn't apply here, doesn't apply here The day started with a bloody drip And a taste on my lips that was a lot less than desired Awkward moments to the side Not all expiring fast A tank top that didn't cover a thing And a zipped down hoodie, zipped to the bottom Had us laughing every time No matter how many chest hairs there were in sight You got a smile that could light this town and we might need it Cause it gets dark around here, real dark around here Most of my old friends I can only stand for the weekend But that doesn't apply here, doesn't apply here
2.
When you were young You were the king of carrot flowers And how you built a tower tumbling through the trees In holy rattlesnakes that fell all around your feet And your mom would stick a fork right into daddy's shoulder And dad would throw the garbage all across the floor As we would lay and learn what each other's bodies were for And this is the room One afternoon I knew I could love you And from above you how I sank into your soul Into that secret place where no one dares to go And your mom would drink until she was no longer speaking And dad would dream of all the different ways to die Each one a little more than he could dare to try
3.
I could go off the deep end, I could kill all my best friends, I could follow those stylish trends, And God knows I could make amends. But I've got an angry heart, Filled with cancers and poppy tarts. If this is how you folks make art, It's fucking depressing. And it's sad to know that we are not alone. And it's sad to know there's no honest way out. I'm afraid to leave the house. I'm as timid as a mouse. I'm afraid if I go out, I'll outwear my welcome. I'm not a courageous man. I don't have any big, lasting plans. I'm too cowardly to take a stand. I want to keep my nose clean. And it's sad to know that we're not alone in this. And it's sad to know there's no honest way out. In this life we lead, we could conquer everything, If we could just get the braves to get out of bed in the morning.
4.
I saw your eyes, they were brown. And all the stars went out. And the moon got lost, and it fell in Lake Michigan. And a tidal wave tore through this town I saw your hair, it was brown And the roof flew right off my house And then my doors broke off their hindges And all my walls came falling down. You sipped your path, it was brown you gave me a little cocacola kisses And my heart broke on the night that you left And there are a few pieces that I still haven't found.
5.
Dalia never showed me nothing but kindness. She would say: “I know how sad you get." And some days, I still get that way, But it gets better. It gets better. It gets better. Sweetie, it gets better, I promise you. And she'd tell me Your heart is a muscle the size of your fist, Keep on loving. Keep on fighting. And hold on, hold on, Hold on for your life. Ian built a cabin in the woods to live in. For years, terrifying noises kept him up at night With a twelve gauge under his pillow. He’s living in Boston now, going to art school. I forgive him. I forgive him. Hell, I’ll admit it: I’m proud of him. Serena’s an architect and a carpenter. She’s such a feminist she says she isn’t one, Because 'Goddamn, my gender shouldn’t matter!' And her motorcycle glides through the streets of Providence, Down to the warehouse district. The paint job is as stunning as Her knowledge of medieval building techniques. Your heart is a muscle the size of your fist. Keep on loving. Keep on fighting. And hold on, and hold on, Hold on for your life. This one goes out to Georgios, he knows how to dance. Abby Banks, your book is beautiful, And fuck anyone who says otherwise. Scott, I love you and you make me glad to be alive. I promise that I’m gonna pay you back. You always know how funny everything is, Even when I’m so serious that it’s gonna be the death of me. Like the time that our friend Chuck came over to our house. He said he needed somebody to take care of his pets, 'Cause he was going out of town. I asked him “Where?” and he said “New Mexico.” I asked if I could get a ride. He said: “No, you don’t want to follow me Where it is I’m going.” He pulled out of the drive way. That was the last time we saw him, 'Cause he drove straight to his parent’s cabin And put a bullet in his head. Your heart is a muscle the size of your fist. Keep on loving. Keep on fighting. And hold on, and hold on, Hold on for your life. Your heart is a muscle the size of your fist. Keep on loving. Keep on fighting. And hold on, and hold on, Hold on for your life.
6.
HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!
7.
First they take the land Then they take the soil And with their bloody hands They dig for oil So fuck white people! (fuck white people!) Fuck white people! (fuck white people!) Fuck white people! (fuck white people!) Fuck white people! (fuck white people!) Way down in the South They burn down your house If your skin is black Goddamn that shit is whack! So fuck white people! (fuck white people!) Fuck white people! (fuck white people!) Fuck white people! (fuck white people!) Fuck white people! (fuck white people!) They call you dirty names They fill your head with shame They call the police police police police police police police police police police police police police police police police Fuck those cracker bastards Fuck ‘em right in the ass Kill the white devil Kill the white devil Kill the white devil Kill the white devil Yeah fuck white people (fuck white people!) Fuck white people! (fuck white people!) Fuck white people! (fuck white people!) And kill white people (kill white people) And fuck white people Kill white people Fuck white people Kill white people Fuck white people! Kill white people! Fuck ‘em!
8.
You idiots are all corporate fucking drones, I scream this from my iPhone. As if capitalism didn't build your home. As if children didn't die making that bandana. Santa isn't real and a cop shot another black man. Wipe your tears with this kleenex brand tissue. But the rich work hard that's why they're rich, I know some pretty hardworking toddlers. All those toddlers have hardworking fathers, Or fathers who'll step on the backs of anyone for a dollar... Fucking monsters... The pencil I write with with is no better than the rest, made dangerously in a factory in Bangladesh. Corporations are everywhere I look. I'm drowning. We're drowning.
9.
youve got high rise eyes i guess its hard to see the stars through all those city lights listen you got one hell of a drive i guess this is goodbye with dry eyes your tanktops and bra straps your catnaps on the hammok your heart was set like a mouse trap you've got high rise eyes i hope its not too hard to see the stars through all those city lights

about

This is a really awful collection of acoustic covers that we recorded all in one night. Enjoy.

credits

released September 6, 2014

All songs except for "Sweatshop Music" were written by other people. Thanks Charlie for writing "Sweatshop Music".

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Ghost Leaks Washington, D.C.

music is fake

charlie jack nick connor

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