Lyrics

4. Real Music

Father, Father, I must confess
I been runnin’ with a crowd that thinks they know best
I seen ‘em beat a song till it could not stand
It finally gave in and put some money in their hands

chorus
He said, real music got a mind of its own
Real music is blood and bone
Real music make a strong man weak
And burn the fingers of the infidel

Father, Father, I must confess
I been runnin’ with a crowd that thinks they know best
I seen ‘em shoot a song up and leave it to bleed
It was lyin’ in the street, another victim of greed

chorus

Father, Father, I must confess
I been runnin’ with a crowd that thinks they know best
I seen ‘em dress a song up in the latest style
It set the dogs a-howlin’ for a quarter of a mile

chorus

It burns the fingers of the infidel
It burns the fingers

Ernest Troost: vocals, guitars, bass
Nicole Gordon: vocals
James Cruce: drum kit, shaker