Bob Ludwig - Leaving LA* lyrics

These lyrics are incomplete and subject to change when the song is released. Stay tuned! I was living on the hill By the water tower and hiking trails When the big one hit I'd have a seat To watch masters abandon their dogs and dogs run free O baby it's time to leave Take the van and the hearse down to New Orleans Leave under the gaze of the billboard queens 5 foot chicks with parted lips selling sweatshop jeans These L.A. phonies and their Pitchfork bands Sound like dollar signs and Amy Grant So reads the pulled quote from my last cover piece Entitled "The Oldest Man in Folk Rock Speaks” You can hear it all over the airwaves The manufactured gasp of the final days Someone should tell them ‘bout the time that they don't have To praise the glorious future and the hopeless past A few things the songwriter needs Arrows of Love, a mask of Tragedy But if you want ecstasy or birth control Just run the tap until the water's cold Anything else you can get online A creation myth or a .45 You're going to need one or the other to survive Where only the armed or the funny make it out alive Mara taunts me 'neath the tree She's like, "Oh great, that's just what we all need Another white guy in 2017 Who takes himself terribly seriously" She's not far off, the strange thing is That's pretty much what I thought when I started this It took me all my life to learn to the play the G But the role of Oedipus was a total breeze But still I dreamed of garnering on rave reviews Just believably little north of God's own truth He's a national treasure now, and here's the proof In the form of his major label debut A little less human with each release Closing the gap between the mask and me I swear I'd never do this, but is it okay Don't want to be that guy but it's my birthday If everything ends with the photo then I'm on my way Ohhh-ho-o-oh oh-ho-ho-ho-oh I watched my old guards all collapse Blow away more violence than my cartoon past It's like my father said before he croaked "Son, you're k**ing me, that's all folks." So why is it I'm so distraught That what I'm selling is getting bought At some point you just can't control What people use your fake name for So I never learned to play the lead guitar (clearly) I always more preferred the speaking parts Besides there's always someone willing to Fill up the spaces that I couldn't use Nonetheless, I've been practicing my whole life Washing dishes, playing drums, and getting by Until I figured, if I'm here then I just might Conceal my lack of sk** here in the spotlights Maya, the mother of illusions, a beard, and I 2000 or so years since Ovid taught Night-blooming, teenage rosebuds, dirty talk And I'm merely a minor fascination to Manic virginal lust and college dudes Well, I'm beginning to begin to see the end Of how it all goes down between me and them Some 10 verse chorus-less diatribe Plays as they all jump ship, "I used to like this guy His new songs really kind of make me want to die" Ohhh-ho-oh-oh oh-ho-ho-ho-oh Ohhh-ho-oh-oh oh-ho-ho-ho-oh My first memory of music's from The time at JCPenney with my mom The watermelon candy I was choking on Barbara screaming, "someone help my son" I relive it most times the radio's on That "tell me the lies, sweet little white lies" song That when I first saw the comedy won't stop for Even little boys dying in the department store So we leave town in total silence New Year's Day, it's 6 o'clock AM I've never seen a sunset this abandoned Reminds me predictably of the world's end It'll be good to get more space God knows what all these s**ers paid I can stop drinking and you can write your script But what we both think now is...