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NOTHING - (by Autonomadic)  Year: 2007
Autonomadic Angry, political, punk rock song about homelessness. Male Vocals, Indie Rock, Punk  Caution: Explicit Lyrics
Type Play Track Info Catalog ID Min:Sec Tempo & BPM Price Control
Full Track - Indie Rock, Punk
263228 2:45 Med Fast 147   


Track Summary
Music Track Title: Nothing
Catalog ID: 263228  ISRC: US5UL0712258
Description: Angry, political, punk rock song about homelessness.

Social Media Link: http://www.audiosparx.com/sa/archive/Indie-Rock/Punk/Nothing/263228

Artist or Group: Autonomadic

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Keywords: Angry, Political, Punk, Rock

Music Genre > Sub-genre
    Indie Rock Music
       Punk
Extended Properties
  Duration: 2:45   Tempo: Med Fast   BPM: 147
   Arrangement: Trio
   Instruments: Drum Kit, Bass, Electric Guitar, Vocals
   Vocal Mix: Male Vocals
   Language: English
Album: The Missionary
Moods: Aggressive, Angry, Bitter, Disillusioned, Heavy, Intense

Styles: Garage / Grunge, Indie, Punk

Lyrical Topics: Loneliness, Poverty

Lyrics
Hey brother, can you spare a dime? I'm too hungry to swallow my pride; plus pride can't get you that drunk -- but it sure can eff you up. It's cold and lonely out here, with my empty cans of lite beer (in a plastic bag, with my Shakespeare) -- they're worth ten cents (in Michigan). My slacks are caked with feces from hiding in soggy allies, dreaming of girls and toddies (that we used to drink). And when I roll my sleeve up I've found my one and true love. It hurts like hell to come down -- that's why I just go round and round. It's cold and lonely out here, with my empty cans of lite beer (in a plastic bag, with my Shakespeare) -- they're worth ten cents (in Michigan). My slacks are caked with feces from hiding in soggy allies, dreaming of girls and toddies (that we used to drink). This bottle that I'm holding is gone now, and I'm rolling down a steep, wet embankment; I wonder where my life went? It's cold and lonely out here, with my empty cans of lite beer (in a plastic bag, with my Shakespeare) -- they're worth ten cents (in Michigan). My slacks are caked with feces from hiding in soggy allies, dreaming of girls and toddies (that we used to drink). We'd drink them just like the man in the big house, listening to Wagner, Brahms, and Strauss (his wife, she never puts out). They've done nothing -- nothing!
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