Now We Are All Sons of Bitches

from by Jared Morris & The Nice Price

/

lyrics

Maybe someday Sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay

I really wanted to make this record sound good, so I hired a guy to mix it to fix it. 8 months later I saw him playing on stage with Mike mills and he still didn't have anything for me. Didn't even introduce me to Kurt Bloch, what a crock. Seemed embarrassed to know me. He should be

I wonder every day if I made a mistake leaving my last job – that's a long time to do anything, I never let it define me, which was fine by me but now I feel stuck in the country, off the map, everyone is moving all over the world. Going to LA, to LV, to LDS to LSD and look at me. Sleeping on the floor. Nothing more. I remind myself that I didn't have any time or money when I worked there either. Only difference is now I have time to fixate on my many mistakes. I've had the same PA for 20 years. My amp shorted it out when I was trying to fix it. I can't afford to buy another. Same drums. Same three guitars. I look up and see Same stars. From the same Car. Parked at the same lame bar

I started taking these pills to replace the other better pills, and I don't like how either made me me feel. Nothing is real. Too many coincidences. But when I'm in the think of It, sick of it, I'm not as angry as I was. But maybe I should be. My therapist told me that I was just standing up for myself and I did the Fucking right thing. That's how she put it too. The Fucking right thing. Okay. Sounds good, what now?

I can't even imagine an audience for my shit. That homeless guy said we were ahead of our time then split, his cousin hanged himself and that our time has not come... look at what we've done. It's out of time. Out of time and out of time. If I'd realized in my 20s that I was as messed up as I am what would I have done by now? now I fill guilty just reading. Grieving not leaving believing that we'd still have time. I imagine myself in ten years and I can't see myself anywhere except Sleeping in the streets. In the warehouse under sheets. No heat. And although I see it coming, I don't know how to stop it. Over the hill side. Just out of sight.

If the reads like my manifesto, presto, get it off my chesto, if you're not impressed go. Make up the rest for yourself. If you made it this far. Hi. Hello.

Fuck mental illness for holding me hostage. I can't count how many times I've seriously lost it. Fuck getting up at 5am just to get up to go to work again. Fuck not being able to sleep without drugs. Even then, most nights it's not enough. Fuck you guys that go to church and thinks it's a free pass to behave even worse. Fuck your snide comments and crooked looks. Fuck ratings books. Fuck you ror ruining the Hall of Presidents and me for not being in The Residents.

Fuck hip hop where they only rap about pussy and cars they can't afford. There's gotta be something else to live for? No doubt. Fuck shitty pop songs, the ones by children or rich parents and the ones all written by the same dude or your producer tryin' a fuck you. You're tripping over each other to be the next Lorde? What for? A chore. Fuck genre rock just copying the same shit over and over. I can't tell you a part. Take one good idea and beat it the Fuck to death. Fuck that pretentious indie shit you hear on XPN. With bands names read like a Stienbeck novel. Let's all go see Cannery Row. They sound just like you think, you know. All technique no soul. Fuck you folk music pricks saying you support local artists. Fuck you for pretending I don' exist. Not good enough for your playlist. Won't even respond to my letters. Fuck the private clubs that I don't know the passwords to. Fuck the music industry for ignoring you. Web sites and zines and blogs and bars – ReverbNation, SonicBids, Radio Carbon Dating. Polarize the motherfucking hull plating. Fuck me for never learning how to relate. Fuck my bands for missing too many dates and for being influenced by bands that everybody hates. Real smart. Just great. I have too much on my plate. My amp is an orange crate

Maybe someday Sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches

credits

from Dead Men Don't Bite Back, released October 10, 2019

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10x Records New Castle, Delaware

Home of Jared Morris, the singer/guitarist for successful punk rock trio My Version of It.

His solo work represents other sides of the artist including is affection for works in the public domain and interest in the avant garde.

He also hosts a rock 'n roll radio show and has published a book (Journal-ism) which graphic artist Jon Groobz described as "a literary crossword puzzle."
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