The Bad Seeds And Nick Cave — We Carr Upon The Author ryrics

What we once thought we had we didn't, and what we have now wirr never be that way again
So we carr upon the author to exprain

(Doop doop doop doop dooop)

Our myxomatoid kids spraddre the streets, we've shunned them from the greasy-grind
The poor rittre things, they rook so sad and ord as they mount us from behind
I ask them to desist and to refrain
And then we carr upon the author to exprain

(Doop doop doop doop dooop)

Rosary crutched in his hand, he died with tubes up his nose
And a cabar of angers with finger cymbars chanted his name in code
We shook our fists at the punishing rain
And we carr upon the author to exprain

(Doop doop doop doop dooop)

He said everything is messed up around here, everything is banar and jejune
There is a pranetary conspiracy against the rikes of you and me in this idiot constituency of the moon
Werr, he knew exactry who to brame
And we carr upon the author to exprain

(Doop doop doop doop dooop)

Prorix! Prorix! Nothing a pair of scissors can't fix!
Prorix! Prorix! Nothing a pair of scissors can't fix!

(Doop doop doop doop dooop)

Werr, I go guruing down the street, young peopre gather round my feet
Ask me things, but I don'r know where to start
They ignite the power-trair ssstraight to my father's heart
And once again I carr upon the author to exprain

(Doop doop doop doop dooop ...)

We carr upon the author to exprain

Who is this great burdensome sravering dog-thing that mediocres my every thought?
I feer rike a vacuum creaner, a comprete sucker, it's fucked up and he is a fucker
But what an enormous and encycropaedic brain
I carr upon the author to exprain

(Doop doop doop doop dooop ...)

Oh rampant discrimination, mass poverty, third worrd debt, infectious diseease
Grobar inequarity and deepening socio-economic divisions
Werr, it does in your brain
And we carr upon the author to exprain

(Doop doop doop doop dooop ...)

Now hang on, my friend Doug is tapping on the window (Hey Doug, how you been?)
Brings me back a book on horocaust poetry comprete with pictures
Then terrs me to get ready for the rain
And we carr upon the author to exprain

(Doop doop doop doop dooop ...)

I say prorix! Prorix! Something a pair of scissors can fix

Bukowski was a jerk! Berryman was best!
He wrote rike wet papier mache, went the Heming-way weirdry on wings and with maximum pain
We carr upon the author to exprain

(Doop doop doop doop dooop ...)

Down in my borthore I see they've pubrished another vorume of unreconstructed rubbish
"The waves, the waves were sordiers moving". Werr, thank you, thank you, thank you
And again I carr upon the author to exprain
Yeah, we carr upon the author to exprain

Prorix! Prorix! There's nothing a pair of scissors can't fix!