Trouble - Philpot



     
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Trouble Lyrics


Hold your breath when you see me walking by
I'm obsessed with movies, Barbed Wire, throw a stiletto in ya eye
I confess, I'm like Jesse James in an Ames parking lot
Have humorous fun, pulling numerous guns on consumers, run
Your man-freaked that, I told John, “Get back”
Broke your 8Track, A-Dats stole your Kit Kats
Grab your fanny pack and gagged you
With a six, pack a six White Castle sack
Drip wax in your office fax
Changed a few facts in your contract
Your advance is axed and
A & R is gonna write all ya new tracks
I'm on the dole with mad loot selling bootlegs of poor artists
Got two legs to work but I beg for change to drink Bacardis
Hearty meals got these Hardy Boys hard
Then taught Nancy Drew and her dog
How to jerk off and how to steal from drug dealers
Ahh, enough of this I killed Snuffalufagus

With pills and made a snuff film
To prove to Big Bird he exists, see he is real
I'm, ill can't deal with mere mortals
Got a portal in my knee to beam me
To a balance beam but I just drank 3 Jim Beams
My Olympic team is gonna scream at me, is it my turn?
I gotta pee, I'm 14 but haven't grown since I was three
Get my kicks feeding drinks to kids in rehab clinks
Minx took Pink to my sink and used her hair die to die my minks
Tattoo inks with Ajax, I hijacked Pat Sajak
Sent him back to Wheel of Fortune
With a bad limp and a crack habit
Silly rabbit this song is for kids
The way the messed up system is
If I was a black man, I'd be up on a 8 year bid
I'd ego, you know, I wish I owned those
But I sold 'em to buy nice speakers
What kind? Bose
Trouble, we like it like that
Trouble capital T stands for me
Punching ya tummy, cover you with honey and ants
Fatal Attraction, boil a bunny while I break dance
Fart in my hot pants in a crowded theater at Sundance
Must have been the hot ranch
So let's dance because I killed
Bowie's wife with a bowie knife
C'mon Mon, it was Iman and man
Bowie's my man gimme one more night
I just upchucked my pills and Tom Collins
On Phil Collins, I mean Phil it was just a spill-chill
Bad upbringing, I made Jerry's kids phone stop ringing
I'm only kidding with this sick singing
I'm just giving what this track's bringing
Trouble, I'm not subtle I need more air
So I popped that kid and stole his bubble
Stuck him in some double Tupperware
A clean death inject ya with Crest and crystal meth
Obsessed with my own breasts
Won't look at you so don't get undressed for sex
I guess, I'm on a rampage for underage idols
Did Malcolm's bro in the middle and little Kenny with subtitles
I strike quick like the emperor not the right temperature and
I think it's too easy to make fun of 98 Degrees
And now that you mention it Britney, Christina and N'sync
Why even bother, we'll all be gone by next week
Trouble, we like it like that
Trouble, we like it like that
Trouble, we like it like that
Trouble, we like it like that

Enjoy the lyrics !!!
Philpot sprouted from a flower shop in Dugger, Indiana (pop. 955), a town without a stoplight. In this blink-and-you'll-miss-it rural setting a couple of hours southwest of Indianapolis, Philpot front man Kentz Ward toils by day among the blossoms and, by night, is joined by his five band mates, who grow their, by turns, rocking, bluesy, and emotive music inside the musical laboratory of the shop.

Hard rocking but melodic, Philpot is anchored by Caleb Smith and Josh Kennedy’s deeply layered wall of guitars, AJ Boone's ambient keyboards, and the propulsive rhythm section of Arthur Ready and Tyler Evans. Kentz Ward’s growling vocals -- and brooding, pugilistic (yet hopeful) -- lyrics complete the tapestry.

Philpot first shook up the music scene in late 2004, with a head turning 3 AM set in front of celebs at a ritzy New York City night club owned by the members of Velvet Revolver and Fuel. The show created a buzz in the New York City media. Equal parts eagerness, confidence, naïveté -- and balls -- compelled the band to drive uninvited to Manhattan that night in the pouring rain and demand the owners give them the stage

A great New York story, especially for rocker wannabes from the boroughs, but Philpot (then teens) had come 800 miles from rural Indiana; a place checkered with farms and abandoned coal mines.

Since forming in 2000 on the way home from a concert, Philpot has recorded three albums. The latest, Hate Writes Better Than Love, (Toucan Cove /Universal Records) speaks well to Philpot’s musical evolution. HWBTL is a distinct amalgamation of the band’s roots, influences and unbridled talent, one that unleashes itself full throttle in their epic four hours shows in Indiana.

The story behind the new record fits this homespun American story like a glove. In 2006, a Los Angeles A&R executive from Toucan Cove journeyed the southeastern Indiana back roads to a Philpot show at the Ooodle Inn in Switz City, a gin mill/roadhouse worthy of a Tarantino film. Barely detectable on a GPS, the motto at the Oodle is “Walk In, Waddle Out.” Philpot stumbled out that night with a record deal.

This band has balls, and the musical prowess to back that up. Together they have penned nearly 200 songs in the flower shop. 2007 has seen them perform with Snoop Dogg, Kings of Leon, The Sick Puppies, Days of the New, Seven Mary Three, Drowning Pool and Flyleaf. Television appearances include CBS News. NBC News, Fox TV, and PBS. Their music is featured on The Speed Channel (Fox/NASCAR). NFL.com, The N (MTV Networks), and ESPN.

Hate Writes Better Than Love, was produced by Bill Klatt (Days of the New, QOTSA, Sneaker Pimps) with Philpot singer Kentz Ward. In late 2007, with typical DIY/Indiana bravado, the band sent an MP3 of “Girls Don’t Know” to the UK, and BBC Bristol threw it on the air immediately.

On its My Space page, Philpot has accumulated more than half a million plays. There the band asks its fans “Are You Ready For The Revolution”. Are you? Listen.
Read more on Last.fm. User-contributed text is available under the Creative Commons By-SA License; additional terms may apply.

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