Sleeping Off the Handshakes

by Doolittle and the Raiders

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03:25
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03:19

about

Recorded in fall 2012 at Cypress Playpen

credits

released November 17, 2012

MH-vocals, keyboards, synthesizers, organ, drum machine, guitar
M. Billington-guitar


all songs written and produced by MH

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

Doolittle and the Raiders Brooklyn, New York

LOUNGE / SOUL / FOLK / POP / ROCKEE ROLLEE

Mickey Doolittle is the alias of Michael A. Hesslein.

Other music to listen to:
mailthehorse.com
doolittlefamily.bandcamp.com

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Track Name: Cadillac Lips
Cadillac lips on ice
next to the julep prince
and all the wives smoke cheap cigars,
all their tongues bloodied with pearls
they twitch
they cheer
like little lapdogs fuckin underneath the table

The Little Lap Dog Lush Club of Princess Meat
They get off on gin
we get off on meat
the honor's all ours, my ladies

Touch me like a dog
If I go blind, don't let me talk
Oh yea, its just the poorest girls who get that wet
and yea its just the richest boys who spit like that
and the lines of blue cars and the lines in your bed
and the bloodiest of panties in the whole southwest

Touch me like a child
throw me down the stairs
like a pregnant slut
Oh yea, its just the poorest girls who get that wet
and yea its just the richest boys who spit like that
The dream of pure death in the shape of your ass
And the horniest of mouths in the city of Dallas

If a man puts away his wife
and she go forth from him
and become another man's
shall he return unto her again?*
Lift up thine eyes, the cleanest act is dying
Lift up thine eyes, the cleanest act is dying

Quit givin' head and let's talk
Ride your boogie board like the rest of us
Oh yea, its just the poorest girls who get that wet
and yea its just the richest boys who spit like that
And the clean white sand sticks to your skin in the bath--
to the Holiest of breasts in the metroplex.
Track Name: Hats Off to the Queen
Every part
Your ghost is a gas
You're standing alone
Sixteen or seventeen
cups of tea
I refuse
to calm down
my love

oh
oh
Sandy
Get the toast
We look so happy.

Farber St.
and Lanning Ln.
The Church Road Comes
harder and harder
comes everyday
comes real loud.
In April bloom,
hat's off to you.

oh, little bird,

anywhere tonight.
Track Name: Lifeguards
Ruby Lynn, surrounded by her good friends
in a white tee, bleeding for the camera man
Ruby Lynn, surrounded by the lifeguards
Danny boy sleeping off the cocaine
sleeping off the handshakes

And I wish you weren't the kind of girl who showed up late to funerals
with the cops and the cheap cigars ashing on the floor
but she prays for the kids enough

You'll follow 'em out
I'll follow em out
Or let's talk about it

Ezra Brooks laying on a chaise lounge
with the Jewish prince of Morris County

Cut me down Lord, cos I really gotta piss
Can't you trust me just to be a piece of shit?
I'll start with the line cook
I'll pray for the line cook

You'll follow 'em out
I'll follow em out
Or let's talk about it
Track Name: Roll Over, Mrs. Corolla
Once your mother's gone, it's the vodka that counts
and you always hear her nails on the mirrors
chokin lonely cigarettes down
those seeds of down cling to her lungs more every year

She saw the tall pines in her dirtiest dreams
and she wanted to write it all down
but she always needs to rest some more
it's hard shaving even every door
oh, she shaves even every door

On Sundays, babe, you're dry as a bone
and you get stoned and put some curlers in your hair
do you like me better when i'm Godless in love?
Cos it could cost me everything
nothing.

Your landlord came in your dirtiest dream
and you wanted to write it all down
but you never could get the meat off the bone
no matter the kind of bone you were holding
Oh, just get the meat off every bone.

On Monday morning I don't work and I'm a jerk-off
I sit at home and watch some Cary Grant films
and I just wait for the dirtiest dreams
to cost me everything
nothing

I know you still cry when your daddy gets drunk
and you always hear him cracking his knuckles
when he's rolling over Mrs. Corolla
and your mother's gone to bed on the sofa
she swims through mirrors everything night on the streets
and she eats as she crashes the new Benz
and she shouts all her apologies
and you cry cos they sound so damn cheesy
and it makes you feel dirty.
Track Name: Funeral Parade
Your breasts against the screen door say
you ain't coming back without that cash
I hit it in your dad's old Chevrolet
and I ash on the floor singing "Dude Looks Like a Lady"

All the sunsets all look the same
I can get some help along the way, and

Your father's thinking "Oh, God, Baby this is your funeral"
Drinking Brandy through a straw, baby, this is your funeral

I draw water from all the old wells
From the belly button rings across Fresh Kills
And the South Shore bars to Kingdom Come
From the lapdogs eyes to the Holy Cups, and

Your mother's thinking "oh God, why is this your funeral?"
Drinking white wine out of a jar, girl, this is your funeral

All the townies have all gone to sleep
They'll still see ya in all their wet dreams, but

Your sister's thinking "You dumb Bitch, this ain't your funeral"
Drinking vodka down at the bar, girl this is your funeral
Track Name: Holy Cup
If it's all the same to ya,
I want you singing on that chorus line.
Droppin FUCKWORDS when ya
scream "Old Dad? Yea, he can go get fucked"
I don't need your kiss to say "I know"
But I still watch your mouth fall open, say
"Don't skin your knees up on the pavement when you go."
"Don't skin your knees up on the pavement when you go."

If it's all the same to ya
I'll sell the house the morning of the wake.
Don't show your bad teeth when ya
swear to God "Yes, God, my heart's okay."
To the holy cup
to the holy mountain
we chant down the doors
hope kingtom's comin
why'd you get so stoned?
why'd you watch me shower?
where's the cheap love?