The Mothers of Invention - Trouble Every Day

SIDE THREE (Track 01) - written by Frank Zappa

"Freak Out!" is the mainstream debut of studio musician Frank Zappa and his band The Mothers of Invention. It is considered as one of the first concept albums in rock music, as well as being the second double-album (Bob Dylan's "Blonde on Blonde" being the first).

The album is notable for its satirical and experimental content that would be the bedrock of many Mothers albums (and future Zappa solo releases) to come.

Originally issued on Verve Records in June 1966.


LYRICS:

Well I'm about to get upset
From watchin' my TV.
Been checkin' out the news
Until my eyeballs fail to see.
I mean, they say that every day
Is just another rotten mess;
And when it's gonna change, my friends,
Is anybody's guess.

So I'm watchin' and I'm waitin',
Hopin' for the best.
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day.
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day.

Wednesday I watched the riot.
I seen the cops out on the street.
Watched 'em throwin' rocks and stuff
And chokin' in the heat.
Listened to reports
About the whisky passin' 'round.
Seen the smoke and fire
And the market burnin' down.
Watched while everybody
On his street would take a turn
To stomp and smash and bash and crash
And slash and bust and burn.

And I'm watchin' and I'm waitin',
Hopin' for the best.
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day.
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day.

Well, you can cool it,
You can heat it.
'Cause, baby, I don't need it.
Take your TV tube and eat it
An' all that phony stuff on sports
An' all those unconfirmed reports.
You know I watched that rotten box
Until my head began to hurt
From checkin' out the way
The newsmen say they get the dirt
Before the guys on channel so-and-so,
And further they assert
That any show they'll interrupt
To bring you news if it comes up.
They say that if the place blows up,
They'll be the first to tell;
Because the boys they got downtown
Are workin' hard and doin' swell.
And if anybody gets the news
Before it hits the street,
They say that no one blabs it faster
Their coverage can't be beat.

And if another woman driver
Gets machine-gunned from her seat,
They'll send some joker with a brownie
And you'll see it all complete.

So I'm watchin' and I'm waitin',
Hopin' for the best.
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day.
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day.

Hey, you know something people?
I'm not black,
But there's a whole lots a times
I wish I could say I'm not white!

Well, I seen the fires burnin'
And the local people turnin'
On the merchants and the shops
Who used to sell their brooms and mops
And every other household item.
Watched the mob just turn and bite 'em
And they say it served 'em right
Because a few of them are white,
And it's the same across the nation
Black-and-white discrimination.
They're yellin', "You can't understand me!"
And all the other crap they hand me
In the papers and TV
An' all that mass stupidity
That seems to grow more every day
Each time you hear some nitwit say
He wants to go and do you in
Because the color of your skin
Just don't appeal to him
No matter if it's black or white,
Because he's out for blood tonight.
You know we gotta sit around at home
And watch this thing begin.
But I bet there won't be many left
To see it really end,
'Cause the fire in the street
Ain't like the fire in my heart;
And in the eyes of all these people,
Don't you know that this could start
On any street in any town,
In any state if any clown
Decides that now's the time to fight
For some ideal he thinks is right.
And if a million more agree,
There ain't no great society
As it applies to you and me.
Our country isn't free,
And the law refuses to see
If all that you can ever be
Is just a lousy janitor.
Unless your uncle owns a store,
You know that five in every four
Won't amount to nothin' more
Than watch the rats go across the floor
And make up songs about being poor.

Blow your harmonica, son!

Download Duration: 05:51 FileType: mp3 - Bitrate: 320 Kbps 234 Likes 19070 Views