Babies Shouldn't Smoke

by CHEER-ACCIDENT

supported by
Eric Kearns
Eric Kearns thumbnail
Eric Kearns Arpeggios! Probably still my favorite Cheer. Top to bottom full of disgustingly good riffs vamps and beats. Complex enough to frustrate all dancers at some point. Sick. Favorite track: People Are Props.
/
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

      $10 USD

     

1.
2.
3.
03:34
4.
5.
6.
7.
05:53
8.
9.
10.

about

Mental Illness Rock!

credits

released June 21, 1993

chris block- bass, vocals, electric/acoustic guitars; phil bonnet- guitars and vocals; thymme jones- drums, vocals, piano, trumpet; jeff libersher- guitars

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

CHEER-ACCIDENT Chicago, Illinois

Born during the first few seconds of 1981; many decades later: still here.

shows

contact / help

Contact CHEER-ACCIDENT

Streaming and
Download help

Redeem code

Track Name: So Sorry About China
outside my window
it rains and snows
and shits upon the only world i've ever known

analysis is an envious rage
and only leads to reactionary haste
innocence, such a dangerous ploy...

light the fire, stoke the flame
ash to ash, the tension burns
a cancelled czech, a last refrain
i tell myself never, never, never, never again

experience is a limited feast
and poisonous in society released
atrophy, and ambition gone sour
a prophecy of regret tomorrow
Track Name: I Feel Sick
everything is happening all of the time
and it's always happening all around me
like bees buzzing in my head, pollinating my brain
this busyness is killing me

nothing could be simpler
nothing would be fine
but nothing's always nowhere to be found
when you need it
Track Name: When Clowns Go Bad
you sure got livin' down
so why don't you come on with me
why don't you come on down
where all the good breeds' breedin's done
we're all gettin' down below the ground (hey)



(yo!)
Track Name: People Are Props
turn up the anesthetic, the microdot beat
can't stand the heat, nor the rhythm of the real world
as close to catatonic one dares to become
one dares to be numb and oblivious to the real world

people are props, they don't do anything
they just sit there and look like that
(look like what?) don't look like much

people are props, they don't do anything
they just sit there and look like that
(look like what?) looks not like much

turn up the filter, the prescribed the feed
the want or a need to be apart from the real world
this close to a question, one dares to be dumb
never dares to become a part of the real world

continued antiseptic, there's no need to fear
there's no need to hear the sounds of the real world
don't mind the smell from the left of the screen
and your spouse's scream, it's only the real world

people are props, they don't do anything
they just sit there and look like that
(look like what?) don't look like much

people are props, they don't do anything
they just sit there and look like that
(look like what?) looks not like much
Track Name: Head Of Gumby
don't get me wrong, i'm not waiting for an answer
i'm simply holding on, looking for reaction
i need a ground in which to span my narrow bridges
built of hearsay, prejudice, deception
i need a target and you're looking quite concentric
i need a pick-me-up, i find it in resentment
it really doesn't matter if it seems a bit unjust

it's just a part of me, a policy of categories
in which i place myself, control of my surroundings
don't tell me what i do isn't what is best for you
i'm only doing what society would want me to
it's not that simple, just look at your reflection
tell me what you saw, was it free from imperfection?
you must be dead if you think we are polar opposites
Track Name: Playschool
we'll make up a story and we'll be in it
we'll play at being and thus become
we'll say we're titles and wave them around
we'll wear costumes and makeup
and make strange sounds

you'll diagnose her weakness, play doctor
she'll needle your neuroses and play mom
we'll show and tell and then we'll kiss and tell
we'll play school then work for playskool® and mattel®

we will learn to fill decades with this
then our long dead mothers will call us home
if this is fun, why's it so endless?
if we're so happy, why do we feel alone?

we will play house with appliances
and we will play board games with bank accounts
you be the banker collecting pay stubs
i'll read the funny pages, tell you your ideals

they drew the lines, gave us the marker
color by number, life by formula
stay in the lines, away from the edges
don't imagine, just take dictation
Track Name: Big Secret Airshow
look at all the little secrets
all wrapped up like imported chocolate
encased in wax and broken glass
shattered on the floor

if one gets out, the others follow
beneath your skin, infected thorough
though fatal not the little fascists
surely tip the score
Track Name: Ignorance Moving Sideways
it hurts then it dies
then it grows a new face
it fears then it hates
then it closes its eyes

it points then it kills
then it washes its hands
it deceives then it takes control
then it buys a new soul

it conforms then it snaps
then it clings to the past
it cracks then it crumbles
Track Name: Flies In The Amber
i know you look at me and say i ain't changed
but it's all really relative, isn't it?

this little gathering is a symptom of your success
but to me it looks like failure regardless of the circumstance

you bagged your trophies
and you nailed them to the wall

still you place so innocent, reticent

i look around me and you know what i see?
you're all just flies in the amber
waiting for the specialist to catalog
and chloroform the ambience

i know you take me out to show to your friends
isn't it exotic, all the places we've been?
but the viewing's so much better from where I am sitting
although a bit monotonous, cliches disguised as nothing less

the air is stagnant with the odor of the past
wouldn't it be wonderful if we had...

i wonder if you can perceive my disgust
at the flies in the amber

they're just waiting to be cataloged
analyzed and shut away
fossilized reconnaissance