81 Poop Hatch Songtext
von Captain Beefheart

My eyes are burnt and bleedin′ and all
That looks like a monkey on a silver bar
Big poop hatch with a cotton hatch

Hatch holes that the light shows in and the light shows out
And a little red fence
And the wire and the wood
And the barbs and the berries
The tires and the bottles and the car up on rims
And the heat swims on its fenders
And the dust collects
And the rust of autumn surrenders into gold


Trumpet poop on the ground with peanuts
Its bell was blocking an ant's vision
And the mice played in its air holes and valves
A ladybug crawled off its mouthpiece standing out red
And blacked its wings and blew off to a flower
Its hum heard just above the ground
Black dots were hung in what turned out to be an olive tree
That originally held a treehouse full
Of a building with one small window

Birds and broken glass and tiny bits of newspaper
"My sun is free from my window!"
Said the god to green dabbers
Rice wires, mouse tins and milk muffins
Cereal in stone, matches, and mass and mace and clubs
And splintered shaft light intrigues
A cricket on a dust jewelled pen lid
Cobwebs collect down plaster
Run into a hole and find collected glass that
Drinks the reflection of midday afternoon


Midway between telegraph lines
A silver wing, a cloud, a rumbling of a cloud
A crowd of various violins strum from
Next door through my wall into my ear
Obviously artificial
Neighbours laugh through sandwiches
Harlem babies, their stomachs explode into roars
Their eyes shiny with starvation
Spreckled hula dance on my phonograph
My door rattles windy

Sand wears my rug shoe and taps on the
Unheard finish of an hourglass I cannot hear
A typical musician′s nest of thoughts filter through dust speakers
"Why don't you go home? Oh Blobby, are you great!"
Exclaims two lips in some jumbled rock 'n′ roll tune
And wears a spot I cannot scratch
The surface of a friend
This high book a friend laid on me
On the couch relaxing in the corner behind a still life pond
With plenty of bugs and lily pads

Slurred in mud banks and boulders
Tin cans and raisins warped by thought
Strain on the spoon like a wheat check
Check biff cotton poppin′ out of his sleeve

Poop hatch open
Big poop hatch with a cotton hatch
Hatch holes
Gotta pick up the horns
But the head won't move until it walks