the jeffrey lewis & peter stampfel band - the new old georgia stomp lyrics
it’s a natural fact like grapes in a sack
we’re all human individual types
like a grape on a vine, i’m a one of a kind
every fancy pants and low guttersnipe
starting out small but from summer to fall
you can grow until you show that you’re ripe
some are blue, some are green
some are more in between
some are normal of shape
some are weird for a grape
some are out of the hem
some are close to the stem
some are just barеly worth it
some are practically perfеct
some sweet as a flower
some bitter and sour
some plump and amazing
some jump to be raisins
it’s an endless array and there’s more everyday
all individual in minuscule ways
some look d+nky and dank
but with more juice than you think
some appear good and meaty
but are awfully seedy
some are sharp as a pin
but their skins are just thin
some are grapes and yet paid for
with unsavoury flavour
some are dusty and dry
and fall prey to a fly
some are far too unstable
to take home to your table
we take unique shapes and psyches
as we bump down the pike
but the stompers gonna stomp, its alright
though we each have a difference
we look the same from a distance
like grapes, our shapes eventually match
from each marquee to each punk
the tapestry makes you drunk
though in time we turn to wine, there’s a catch
cos in the casket we’re put
and then here comes the foot
of the grim reaper stomping the batch
he stomps on the round
on the red, on the brown
he stomps on the lumpy
on the chipper and grumpy
he stomps on the fresh
and the weary of flesh
he stomps on the hail
on the dark, on the pale
he stomps on the pr+ckly
and the robust and sickly
he stomps on the dirty
and the shiny and squirty
yep, that’s the rub, though we’re proud on the shrub
we’re gonna all end up in the tub
and he’ll batter and throttle you
so the planet can bottle you
he’ll squash you and shrink you
so the planet can drink you
sticking ladies and fellas
in the clammy old cellars
we’ll be all bash+in+brained
and entirely drained
it’s a hundred percentage
from the vine to the vintage
[?] to compton
till he’s fairly stomped ‘em
and they’ll all join you at last in the rich and the vast
intoxicating river way of the past
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