Stomach’s been fuckin with me a lot here lately.
So I guess I’ll share a song off my first record.
*produced, arranged, composed and performed by Little Girl Lol
Another Daniel Johnston cover (I only find it fitting of all places), that I re-worked and made my own.
He truly continues to inspire me ^.^
*produced, arranged, composed and performed by Little Girl Lola.
The song pretty much sums it all up.
*Produced, Arranged, Composed, and Performed by Lola.
This is the first song I’m posting on Sp where I’m going to take the advice of others on the site and NOT apologize for my horrible singing!!!
I have nothing but Love in my heart for the SP community.
I would be Hollow without the love from complete strangers ^.^
*produced, arranged, composed and performed by Little Girl Lola
Something about this wave of cool air that has surrounded my city has made me anxious to share some music.
This is a Daniel Johnston cover song, And if your frequenting this site and you DON’T KNOW who Daniel Johnston is…….. you better get on over to Google and do some research!!!!
(here we go again) As usual, I know I can’t sing so don’t bother telling me. Constructive comments and criticism are always welcomed ^.^
This is an early song that was recorded while my In-home studio was still being built, so I ask you to forgive the poor audio quality. But to be quite honest I kinda like the rough and gritty sound. Constructive Comments and Criticisms are always welcome (as usual, I know I can’t sing so don’t bother telling me)
*Produced, Arranged, Composed and Performed by Lola.
I’ve been a long time member on Sp. and I’ve mentioned a few times that I’m a solo artist but I’ve never posted any material here. That’s usually left for soundcloud.
As usual, constructive comments & criticisms are welcomed (btw. I know I can’t sing well. I only do it from the lack of serious musicians in my town)
*Produced, Arranged, Composed And Performed by Lola.
Suicide is pretty & Suicide is Funny.
So when you add it all together, I guess Suicide is Pretty Funny!!
The powder burns inside my mouth begin to scream and shout.
My mom is a Fag & my Dad is to.
All the kids make-fun of me at school.
So…. I put my .38 caliber inside my mouth and make a mess all on the bed, skull fragments on the sheets & on the spread.
SUICIDE IS PRETTY FUNNY.
I don’t want to fight with the Thunder in my head anymore.
All the other kids say I’m a whore, with the cellphone pictures of my panties on the floor.
I GUESS A HOLE IN MY HEAD WILL EVEN THE SCORE.
suicide is pretty funny?
Hey, Dead Girl!! Don’t cry for me.
It was a tragic existence,
this life you leave.
No ones to blame , but this for sure,
They hated your beauty, something you misunderstood.
You lived in a Bird cage on your own accord.
A cage of ugliness,
With an unlocked door.
They called you “fat”
They called you “whore”
But it was false, you never felt the touch of a lovers hand before.
So….. To your tormentors,
You sow the seeds of that mornings ghastly, ghoulish deed.
It was at the bus stop,
For your prosecutors to see.
You hang by your neck,
From the limb of a tree.
Please Dead Girl, Don’t Cry For Me.
Friends. Something I do have an abundance of, especially “friends” that I do not wish to be friends with. I was asked by one of these hanger-oner’s the other day why I never have parties and I never gave him an answer.
I have grown to hate him for asking that question.
I’ve put a lot of thought into this and I finally have an answer, an answer I’m not proud of.
I attended a party once hosted by my brother, it was a “out of school” party. The last day of school a bunch of my brothers mates were supposed to come over and have a Bar-B-Que and celebrate. Well, long story short our former neighbor, who he “thought” was a friend, stole my brothers idea and had his own Bar-B-Que inviting everybody that was supposed to attend my brothers.
So there my brother was with the proverbial cake on his face realizing just how many REAL friends he had. Needless to say most of the people he invited attended the neighbor’s party.
It honestly hurt me to see my brother, my friend and someone I love hurt by realizing how fucking mean others can be.
Now that I’m grown I’ve had my share of lessons and experiences with the same realizations and I simply have no want nor need to set myself up to see just how fucking mean and hurtful the “friends” I wish weren’t my friends really are by them showing up to my house, drinking my drinks, eating my food and talking shit about me in a corner of my own house.
Mother Fuckers, start a war and nobody will show up to fight.
For me, the 80’s had a scent. Kinda like the plastic flower section of an old Walmart, the Walmart’s that closed at night time (usually 10pm).
I’ve been watching the television program “The Golden Girls” a lot lately and I swear I can smell that plastic flower smell while I’m watching!!!
…..the yarn at the old Walmart’s had a smell to!!!!
Ohhh And “ALF”, man I loved ALF!!!
It’s a shame television can’t be good again!!!!
Erm, just one more thing. I have yet to figure out how Dark Horse Brewing (The new program on the History Channel that has nothing to do with history) is going to “take over the world” by brewing bacon flavored beer. It’s almost as pointless as talking about 80’s television programming on a suicide website.
Thank you for being a friend, traveled down a road and back again.
Your a pal and a confidant.
I’m not ashamed to say, I hope it will always stay this way!!
My hat is off, won’t you stand up and take a bow.
And if you threw a party and invited everyone you knew.
Well you would see the biggest gift would be from me.
And the card attached would say….
Thank you for being a friend ^.^
Open them pig jowl’s up for me so I can force feed you the dirtiest and the foulest of truth.
The sickness begins in dreams. They nail you into place and lie and say “You can be anything you want to” and I hate you and I hate myself for believing it.
Truth is, dreams don’t come true and the only time you get your name in the paper is when you die! Obituaries, Gossip Column’s and the Entertainment page is all the same and to see it you just half to read between the lines. It’s right there in black and white for a dollar fifty.
The prettiest of lies are wrote in stone, Headstone’s to be exact.
So please, flop your jowl’s open and swallow the disgusting truth whole and maybe, just maybe you’ll choke to death on it and get your name in the papers and a pretty little lie carved in stone a little sooner than the rest of us.
So where were the spiders?
While the fly tried to break our balls.
Just the beer lights to guide us.
So we bitched about his fans and should we crush his sweet hands?
Ziggy played for time,
Jiving us that we were voodoo
The kids were just crass,
He was the Naz
With god given ass.
He took it all to far,
But boy could he play guitar!!
Someone once told me “the grass is much greener on the other side”. So I paid a visit because its possible I missed it. It was different but exactly the same.
Until further notice, I’m in between.
From where I’m standing, my grass is green.
I am most sure that today in the music scene talent and practice will get you nowhere, nor will it get you noticed by record labels or the fans the labels control.
Music has turned into a fashion show that has nothing to do with music.
I have come to the conclusion that my 16 years of classical training and practicing many different instruments has all been for nothing since I refuse to cover my body in tattoos, play hot topic dress up and crop my hair off at a weird angle. I am most sure if I did those three things my art would be accepted no matter what style of music I chose to make.
I am not going to stop doing what I love, but I am going to stop trying to get my art out to the masses. I’m fucking done associating with any of the tattooed phony mindless drones. Its no longer worth the time or the effort.
So, from the pit of my burning nauseous stomach please, everyone of you, go fucking die.
I really appreciate the influence your constant hurting has on my blues music. It really adds a unique flavor, again much thanks.
A little word of wisdom though, we’ve seen this scene play out before in the 90’s with a Mr. Kurt Donald Cobain. It did not end well!!
History is doomed to repeat its self if you do not learn from the past.
That is all.
More and more I’m seeing despair, hopelessness and just flat out pain being portrayed in a more than romantic way. A modern day Bonnie & Clyde story of sorts that doesn’t end as romantically.
I’m beginning to believe that we hurt so much just so we can have something to hold on to. Even if the pain doesn’t love us back.
I Would Rather Have A Doctors Appointment Than To Be A Doctors Appointment (an American story of the waiting room)/ Call In Underdog
Soft whit magazine covers and a slightly shuffled rug that I have named Charles. The same glass in the windows that was there before, god they must be tired of my finger prints. I should really use the doorknob but sick people rub there noses and then touch them and that weirds me out. Anyhow it’s a sick condition game “are you ill enough to buy your way out of here with a prescription or 2? or do you need more time for the infection to set in a little deeper? It’s ok if you need more time, there’s still a few animals left out in the yard. CALL IN UNDERDOG!!!!!!!!