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Samuel and Rosella

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Dinosaurchestra
Samuel and Rosella
Artist: Lemon Demon
Album: Dinosaurchestra
Length: 4:49
Download: MP3

LyricsEdit

Samuel and Rosella,
Both were eighty-two years old.
Sharing an umbrella,
Slowly down the street they strolled.
And all around the world was changing
In a manner of ways ranging.
From dialect to fashion,
The state of affairs,
Absolutely clashin’ with
The world that was theirs.

“I don’t understand
These kids today,” said Rose.
“Yeah,” responded Sam,
“Take a look at this boy’s clothes.”
The young man exiting Hot Topic
Made them feel so misanthropic.
Samuel and Rosella
Didn’t like the way he dressed.
They closed their umbrella
And they rammed it through his chest.

Samuel and Rosella,
They hate your generation
With such determination.
Samuel and Rosella,
They are disgusted, knowing
How wrong this world is going,
A fact they don’t mind showing.
In fact right now they’re blowing up the local mall.
And off they hobble, drunk on Geritol.

Now after being
In love for sixty years,
They were both agreeing
That the end was drawing near.
So, why not cause a little trouble?
Who’d suspect a sweet old couple?
Rose was always saying,“That kid’s gotta go.”
Samuel was obeying, never saying no.

Sam was a disaster,
When she smiled his heart still flipped.
Who’d imagine after sixty years he’d still be whipped?
But nonetheless she loved him dearly.
They’d hold hands while cavalierly
Burning baggy jeans in the middle of a shop,
Or killing silly teens for listening to the hippedy hop.

Samuel and Rosella,
They hate your generation
And music video station.
Samuel and Rosella,
They are disgusted, knowing
How wrong this world is going,
A fact they don’t mind showing.
In fact right now they’re blowing up the local mall.
And off they hobble, drunk on Geritol.
Off they hobble, drunk on Geritol.

These kids today, with their sleepy expressions
And their Satanic tattoos
And their running around in the arcade parlors
And their shiny gold “blam blam” or whatever they call it
And their dangerous skateboards
And their Chef Boyardees
And their dang-fangled computer machines teaching them how to make bombs
And their iFrogs or whatever they call it
And their automobiles with the wheels that look like they’re still spinning when they stop
And their trenchcoats
And their colorful tee-shirts with the Marxist propaganda on them
And their thong sandals
And their Britney Spears’s husbands
And their powdered wigs
And their peg legs with decals on ‘em
And their low-carb diets
And their Rockin’ the Vote
And their collectible bottle caps
And their tiny little cameras inside the tiny little portable telephones
And their “For Shizzle McFizzley Ding Dong Dizzle” Snoopy Dog language
And their general disrespect towards their elders,
Well they can burn in hell, I say, every last one of them!

Samuel and Rosella,
They hate your generation
With such determination.
Samuel and Rosella,
They are disgusted, knowing
How wrong this world is going,
A fact they don’t mind showing.
In fact right now they’re blowing up the local mall.
And off they hobble, drunk on Geritol.
(Off they hobble, drunk on Geritol.)
Off they hobble, drunk on Geritol.

TriviaEdit

  • This is the first known “studio” track to feature Alora Lanzillotta’s bass work.
  • Neil does not remember all the lyrics to the bridge (the angry spoken rant), so he improvises when performing live, usually based on random everyday items he sees. For example, at Lemonic Demonade:

“These kids today with their sleepy expressions and their satanic tattoos and their running around in the arcade parlors and their shiny gold blam blam and their iFrogs or what ever you call it and their Aloras shaking her head ‘cause I got the lyrics wrong and their moon bouncy walkie thingies and their rainbow umbrellas and their jewelry and their crazy hair cuts and their older sisters going like this and their Pee Wee Hermans and their uh … tractors? No! And their, uhh … umm … and their colorful shiny doodads and … and their balloons. Oh my God, their balloons! And uh … umm … uh, their amplification boxes and their keyboards and their moments of awkward silence … … … well they can burn in hell, I say — every last one of them!”

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