http://www.uni-giessen.de/~g51092/Beefheart-Lyrics/BeefLyrics15.html

Captain Beefheart Lyrics



Ice Cream For Crow







Rec. May/June 1982. Rel. Sep 1982 Epic (US), Virgin (UK).

(text sheet, revised)



Captain Beefheart Don Van Vliet vocals, harmonica, bass clarinet, soprano saxophone, chinese gongs, prop horn; Gary Lucas guitar, steel-appendage guitar, glass finger guitar, national steel dualion; Cliff Martinez drums, percussion, shake bouquet, glass washboard, metal drums; Richard Midnight Hatsize Snyder bass guitar, marimba, viola; Jeff Tapir / White Jew Jeff Moris Tepper guitar, slide-guitar, steel-appendage guitar, acoustic guitar; Studio Guest: Black Jew Kitabo Eric Drew Feldman rhodes piano, synthesized bass.







1 Ice Cream For Crow (4'33)


It's so hot
Looks like you have three beaks crow
The moon's so full
White hat on a pumpkin
You know there's something
The moon was a stone's throw
Stop the show
I need to say hello
To the crow
Light the fire piano
The moon showed up
And it started to show
Tonight there'd be ice cream
Ice cream for crow
Ice cream by night
Sun cream by day



Ice cream for crow
Ice cream by night
Ice cream by day



The sun ain't stable
Ice cream for crow
Crow pants the scarecrow
Crow dance ah ho ho
Crow dance ah panther
Scarecrow you answer
You can hee and haw
Laugh and scratch
Ha ha ha
Ha ha ha



Boss and toss
Don't shake my hand
Give me your claw
Two tears in a haystack
Scarecrow get back
Tonight there's gonna be
A feather treatment
Beneath the symbol
We'll all assemble
Oh how we'll fly
Oh how we'll tremble
Cut the cake
We'll all get well
Turn up the speakers
Hop flop squawk
It's a keeper
Ice cream for show
Oh, ice cream for crow
Now now that's it
Now you can go





2 The Host The Ghost The Most Holy-O (2'25)


Why, not even a rustler'd have anything to do
With this branded bum steer world
This pirate flag headlong disaster course vessel
Misguided charted this nautical numbskull hull
Sink in silence smoke – blow your chest out in hope
Sits spread-eagle on poor men
Piled high on truth mountain – last link in clarity's chain
You'll not be thrown but dive and sink
Your pockets filled with earthly burdens
When they could be filled with light and back with wings
The sky is dark in daytime
And still the blackbird's beauty lyrics clean
Sing you brothers and end this miserable thing
And brush the dark sky in light
And let the moon bell crack and ring
Upon the mast of mercy
For she is a beautiful thing
I watched her cut with clarity
The sea of Satan's red rolling hatred waters
That stung my eyes with vile vile brine
And clung to the vine that choked Mary's only Son
God in vain to slaughter
I can't darken your dark cross door no more
The light lovely one with the nothing door
And oh that pours life water



(chorus) This is a toast to the ghost, the host
This is a toast to the most holy-ous ghost
This is a toast to the ghost, the most holy-o
This is a toast to the ghost, the host





3 Semi-Multicoloured Caucasian (instr.) (4'20)





4 Hey Garland, I Dig Your Tweed Coat (3'11)

(Rolling Stone (USA), No.58, 14.5.1970)



"Hey Garland, I dig yer tweed coat . . . I'll trade you a domino this size – moth balls scented" . . . the woman silk nude tie painting his chest . . . one celluloid stay exposed thru his nibbled collar . . . feet speckled the sidewalk – faces gurgled thru windows . . . passing cars gum rubber streaks . . . neon plants swim like green seaweed to a deep rhythm of blues . . . red thyroid sunsets – flame in speckled chemistry . . . pipes run off dark tubes . . . erase into marks that pour the dye of darkness . . . crystal comes together as silent as ink . . .
"I don't think I could let it go, I got it at the religious scene" . . . teeth let go – tobacco juice – an oiled balloon . . . brown eye in an egg whit – black tar bubbles in stripes . . . a straw hat squeaked on the brim of a feather . . . newsprint thumbed thru nicotine fingers . . . a dark olive was turned on . . . its small pulp speaker burst into a scream . . . one large tomato was immediately peeled skin red . . . it bled into a red "O" and smacked behind accepted fangs
. . . quick eyebrows danced cutely above a mole . . . the bridge held a large gold pair of spectacles . . . the front was smooth . . . it gradually gathered and wrinkled at the holes . . . a dark wooden moustache deposited below above Chinese red varnished lips that dented slightly into the evening . . . "It's gotten quite cold, I've decided I can't sell you my coat" . . . honking the wind puffed into the clumps above the lattice rows . . . and out looked Panatella – naked and not ashamed – without no clothes . . . Wiggle Pig went snout first into a tree . . . the rubber turkey was gobbled up by the night's dark rubber mouth . . . and a white phosphorous raindrop dropped in the sky . . . hot silhouettes in a convertible gave this applause . . . and several white porcelain trays were rolled in by bumble-bees . . . their wings arranged with pictures out of the past . . . and the rainbow baboon gobbled fifteen fisheyes with each spoon . . . Pockets was caught at window level . .. approaching the fractured glass dripping in light he spoke: "I just looked at myself, and from here to there it ain't far enough, but from here to here, it's too short." . . . "And circles don't fly, they float", Pena exclaimed and went on to say, "sun shore did shine this year, who'd you look like underneath?"





5 Evening Bell (instr.) (2'00)





6 Cardboard Cutout Sundown (2'37)



You hardly know a day goes by . . . in the cardboard cutout sundown . . . the moon popped up like a gallery duck . . . sipped up gold from the sunny cup . . . and longhorns sawed the buggy grass . . . and a cowboy blew a harp sitting on his chapped ass . . . and the prarie flowers didn't look a bit queer . . . and the stars struck the sand cartwheeled . . . and poked in the prarie . . . a cactus juice stand the only place . . . the crows couldn't land . . . the bluebottle flies were as big . . . as a cowboy's eyes . . . and their buzz was as loud as rattlers . . . a fire engine red whistle blows raspberries . . . in a cloud of whipped steam . . . a tungle weed ran out black patent yarn stinkbug hoops . . . from above a living mail thriving dot . . . in perfect sympathy . . . with the cardboard cutout sundown . . . you hardly know a day goes by . . . in the cardboard cutout sundown



7 The Past Sure Is Tense (3'20)


The past sure is tense
They're heading up for the main event
All those people seem to be hell-bent
See those people up on top of the fence
And the man down there
Selling knotholes through the fence
The little shoe generation man
I found your print on a dollar bill
I found your print on an Indian mound
I found your print on the statue at the sound
I found your print on the elephant ground
I found your print in the beautiful mountains
The grass no longer grew around
I found your print in my mind –
The past sure is tense
The past sure is tense
No you got the wrong idea
No you got the wrong intent
The carpenter carpenterized my vent
The only peephole
Where is my dent
The past sure is tense
The past sure is tense
Whoaaaah, ooh-ooh, whoaaaah
The past sure is now
I don't see how
See those people that used to
Throw those tents
You can't see them now
They're in past tense
Whoaah, the past sure is tense
The past sure is tense
The past sure is tense
The past sure is tense
Whoaaaaaaah, ooooh-oooooooh
The past sure is tense . . .





8 Ink Mathematics (2'40)


Ink mathematics
Grey mass ecstatics
Noggin elastics
Cerebral tactics
Cranium classics
Brainium domics
Denizen omics
Grey mass statistics
Quantum purée
It's plain to feel
Hard to see
Fission antics
Abombastics
Death antiques
Wrong deductions
Poor instructions
Mass destructions
Peace antiques
Singin' ink mathematics
Hop along with me
Ink mathematics
Moon to a flea
Ink mathematics
I breathe black and white
Day and night
Grey gymnastics
Ink matheratics
Mathfantastics
Ink mathematics
Moon to a flea
Ink mathematics
Hop along with me
Ink mathematics
Moon to a flea





9 The Witch Doctor Life (2'38)


When the Witch Doctor Life throws his silent bones
Some are crowned kings while others lose their thrones
When the Witch Doctor Life throws his silent bones
Small "O" mouths scream and run to Mama Kangaroo
Insecure pouches wherein hide beggars and drones
And babies and bums and buzzards
Mama crouches and smiles her old useful smile
And old ego roars, laughs yesterday's gasses
While children and angels gasp
And follow a shepherd on crutches



When the Witch Doctor Life throws his silent bones
Some flew the dream, some turned to stone
And the children sing
And the heavens ring
Worn by the shepherd with the folded wings
And the bones that sing of silence



When the Witch Doctor Life throws his silent bones
Some are crowned kings while others lose their thrones
When the Witch Doctor Life throws his silent bones
Small "O" mouths scream and run to Mama Kangaroo
Insecure pouches wherein hide beggars and drones
And babies and bums and buzzards
When the Witch Doctor Life throws his silent bones
Some flew the dream, some turned to stone
And the children sing
And the heaven ring
The bones that sing of silence





10 "81" Poop Hatch (2'37)


transcription see Bat Chain Puller → Poop Hatch (same take)





11 The Thousandth And Tenth Day Of The Human Totem Pole (5'43)


The thousandth and tenth day of the human totem pole . . . the morning was distemper grey . . . of the thousandth and tenth day of the human totem pole
. . . the man at the bottom was smiling . . . he had just finished his breakfast smiling . . . it hadn't rained or manured for over two hours . . . the man at the top was starving . . . the pole was a horrible looking thing . . . with all of those eyes and ears . . . and waving hands for balance . . . there was no way to get a copter in close . . . so everybody was starving together . . . the man at the top had long ago given up . . . but didn't have nerve enough to climb down . . . at night the pole would talk to itself and the chatter wasn't too good . . . obviously the pole didn't like itself, it wanted to walk . . . it was the summer and it was hot . . . and balance wouldn't permit skinning to undergarments . . . it was an integrated pole, it was taking on an reddish brown cast . . . exercise on the pole was isometric . . . kind of a flex and then balance . . . then the highest would roll together . . . the ears wiggle, hands balance . . . there was a gurgling and googling heard . . . a tenth of the way up the pole . . . approaching was a small child . . . with Statue of Liberty doll





12 Skeleton Makes Good (2'18)



There's so many things
To feel and see while you're awake
They're just out of reach
Out of grasp
Yeah out of reach
And just as many; maybe more
The minute that you sleep
So I got to throw my preach
Skeleton breath
Scorpion blush
I have a crush on your skeleton
Watch out unsuspecting stranger
You'll fall off the log
Headfirst into dreams
End up screaming
This will comb the wolf
And that will comb the fog
What will peen the rain
What will preen the hog
Oh you mean earth
And hell over you
And laugh at your tire tracks
If you get up
Skeleton makes good