The Hurdy Gurdy Man by the Butthole Surfers
A song that is better than the original, a song that permanently put my cute little man-pussy on the pill now and forever, like a regular horse whisperer abortion, daddy has come to play. Paul Leary’s guitar leads on this bit of brain cheddar are absolutely delicious, and there is some real love going on. I can’t tell if percussionist King Coffey programmed the living fart out of a drum machine beat or if the beat of life itself programmed the very essence of his noodle. With this song, one realizes the extent of Mozart’s influence, and you simply do not stop.
Gibby Haynes has got his electronic voice box machine working overtime, and this is how it should be. Let your hair down and join the unconformity circus before your buttocks become clinched so tight that you will be farting out of your mouth forever more, you filthy little sass box, baby. Daddy was born to boogie and the Gibbytronix is quite impressive, as just briefly discussed a short moment ago. I am swirling in this song; it is instant ecstasy and ultra awesome. Any vaguely weird or creative-based Rock band that came to fruition after the eighties, no doubt owes a debt to these fabulous Surfers, everybody from Ween to the Condi Rice Experience (Featuring my rock hard clit-hood on drums, you douche rag).
Very odd to understand that Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band were not an influence on these bizarre group of college educated intellectuals, well accept, for Mr. Coffey. It was almost like the next generation of the Magic Band when the Surfers saw the light of day in the early eighties. Now, I’m perhaps not talking Boredoms weird, but pretty damn weird regardless. Some say that Gibby and his pals fell to bits slowly but surely beginning around this time frame, but I say that this is by no means entirely true. We all know some interesting musical ideas found their way on “Independent Worm Saloon” and various others, but it is understandable that those fans of their fabled eighties heyday of the fairly user-friendly freak show heroics were largely let down. Anyhow, I love this song in general, but especially with that tasty Butthole Surfers twist.
Gazing with tranquility, new babysitters on the rise…
Gibby Haynes has got his electronic voice box machine working overtime, and this is how it should be. Let your hair down and join the unconformity circus before your buttocks become clinched so tight that you will be farting out of your mouth forever more, you filthy little sass box, baby. Daddy was born to boogie and the Gibbytronix is quite impressive, as just briefly discussed a short moment ago. I am swirling in this song; it is instant ecstasy and ultra awesome. Any vaguely weird or creative-based Rock band that came to fruition after the eighties, no doubt owes a debt to these fabulous Surfers, everybody from Ween to the Condi Rice Experience (Featuring my rock hard clit-hood on drums, you douche rag).
Very odd to understand that Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band were not an influence on these bizarre group of college educated intellectuals, well accept, for Mr. Coffey. It was almost like the next generation of the Magic Band when the Surfers saw the light of day in the early eighties. Now, I’m perhaps not talking Boredoms weird, but pretty damn weird regardless. Some say that Gibby and his pals fell to bits slowly but surely beginning around this time frame, but I say that this is by no means entirely true. We all know some interesting musical ideas found their way on “Independent Worm Saloon” and various others, but it is understandable that those fans of their fabled eighties heyday of the fairly user-friendly freak show heroics were largely let down. Anyhow, I love this song in general, but especially with that tasty Butthole Surfers twist.
Gazing with tranquility, new babysitters on the rise…
Labels: Butthole Surfers, Gibby Haynes
