Flex-Able Leftovers (1998)
Flex-Able Leftovers
Released:
November 10, 1998
Label:
Epic Records/Sony Music EK69703

This is a re-release of the limited edition 10″ vinyl Flex-Able Leftovers. With bonus tracks.*



1.Fuck Yourself *8:27
2.So Happy2:44
3.Bledsoe Bluvd4:21
4.Natural Born Boy *3:34
5.Details At 105:57
6.Massacre *3:26
7.Burnin’ Down The Mountain4:20
8.Little Pieces Of Seaweed5:11
9.San Sebastian *1:08
10.The Beast Of Love3:29
11.You Didn’t Break It4:18
12.The X-Equalibrium Dance *5:11
13.Chronic Insomnia2:03

coming soon

Fuck Yourself
Lyrics by Steve Vai 

Warning: these lyrics are pretty coarse and are not intended to be read by children or anyone easily offended by written words. You’ve been warned.

Fuck yourself with a rubber hose
Stick it in your mouth and down your throat
Up your nose and in your heinie hole
I don’t care where it goes
And it don’t matter if you’re straight or gay
You should fuck yourself anyway
Now, you don’t have to listen to a word I say
But I know you, you’ll be humpin’ away
Fuck yourself with your neighbor’s nose
If you can’t use that, use a 10-foot pole
Stick it up your ass and go for a stroll
Everyone will know you’ve been to this show
If you can’t take, eat my stool
Masturbate with some crazy glue
I don’t care what you do
Fock yourself with a garden tool
Fuck yourself with politics
Ahh they’re full of fuckin’ fuckin’ shit
I mean you know we’ve been lied to ever since we were born
It’s amazing that we’ve been getting fucked that long
Fuck yourself with the world wide web
Man you could ride that sucker right from your bed
You may even meet a Tom, Dick, Jane or Billy
Then grab onto your modem and fuck yourself silly
Fuck yourself with your heart and soul
Give it everything you got, hey I’m talkin’ to you
If you can’t even fuck yourself,
How ya gonna fuck somebody else?
Fuck yourself with my microphone
I’ll give it to you later when we’re all alone
We can turn it up loud
And see if you come, but
Don’t get your jizz on my microphone
Fuck yourself with organized religion
Now that is some seriously sinnin’ business
If the Lord sees their pathetic crimes
He’ll be fuckin’ them ’til the end of time
And can someone explain to me this racist crap
I know it isn’t white, but it isn’t black
And to all you people who only see things your way
Well, you can suck my dick and take all day
Fuck your nose with a pound of blow
Watch your money get up and go
but when you burnt your brain and you say
I don’t know!
I hate to tell you but I told you so
Fuck yourself with this grunge rock noise
I mean, stuff those albums in your groin
They come down on me because I know how to play -
Hey… fuck you!
Fuck yourself with a copy of Rolling Stone
Or are they too holy for your holiest of holes
Now those people think they’re holier than Moses
But aren’t they just a bunch of fuckin’ posers
Fuck yourself with your mother’s jewelry
I won’t tell, I ain’t a stooly
If you pounce hard enough you’ll cough up a ruby
Your blood will be rich and so will your doodie
Fuck yourself with the latest fashion
With your spikes and your hair and those cute little buttons
And if you happen to have some leather and lace
Fuck yourself ’til you’re blue in the face
Fuck yourself with your income tax
They’re fucking you and that’s a fact
Before you know it your money’s all spent
And you’ve just been fucked by the government
Fuck yourself with your lawyer friend
You’re the only one that’s getting fucked in the end
I have been so fucked by legal bills
that my asshole is the size of Beverly Hills
Fuck yourself with your full-length sweater
With your minks and your diamonds and your Irish Setter
With your cash and your trash and your sinks and your drinks
Just fuck yourself ’til you can’t even think
Those of you who enjoy this song
thank you thank you, I love you
Let’s get it on
But for those of you who are totally outraged
Fuck yourself with your face

 

So Happy
Lyrics by Laurel Fishman and Steve Vai

Oh gee, haven’t you waited a long time to hear something like this? Laurel Fishman just improvised her feelings on tape and I edited them together with some old 4-track stuff I had from Sy Vy Studios. Then I transcribed the pitches of Laurel’s voice and doubled it on guitar. Sing along, now.

Ya know, Steve, I wish we could just always have fun, and never, never, ever have to be sad. And just always smile and laugh, and sing, and play. And just always be having so, so, so, so, so much fun. And, never cry, never be sad, never have to frown, never have anybody mad at us. Just always having fun; always laughing, and laughing loud, and getting other people to laugh, too. And have so much fun and never, never, never be sad for any reason. And if anyone would ever try to make us sad (or mad), we wouldn’t be. Because we would just be too glad. And then we would make everyone else glad because our “Gladdys” would be so big, everyone else would have to be glad, too. And, Steve, I never, ever wanna cry, and I know you don’t either. And I hope that we will never, never have to cry. And if we just laugh a real lot, and laugh loud ‘n’ hard and long, we will never, ever have to cry. And if anyone tries to make us cry, we will make them laugh instead; we will make them glad and we will keep them from feeling bad, and we will never be sad, ’cause it’s so fun to be happy, and I always wanna be happy with you Steve, and I never want it to be a cloudy day. I always want the sun to shine. And even if one day the sun doesn’t shine, we’ll pretend the sun is shining. And we’ll be so happy, and we’ll just laugh and laugh anyway. And pretty soon, all the dark clouds will go away. Because we can’t have those dark clouds, no! We will always be happy, and having fun instead. And if it should ever start to rain little drops of rain, we will pretend it isn’t raining. We will go inside and pretend there’s no rain, and sure enough, our gladness will make all the rain go away.

(“They told me I was gonna get a balloon.”)

And, Steve, you and I are so happy; and, and, Steve, we will just take our happiness with us everywhere. We could go into bad neighborhoods where very sad and very bad people live. But we’d make them happy, and they would be sad or bad anymore. And we would walk the streets of the worst places in the world, and make everyone so happy. Why, why, we could go to New York, and make all the people in New York so happy. Why, we could even go to Tokyo. Why, Steve, we could go to all the big cities, all over the world, making people happy wherever we go. And make ‘em laugh and make ‘em sing.

Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-. Make them sing. So many little, come on everybody sing along with me now; just everybody go, do-do do dodo do do, do-do-do; whatever you feel like singing; just go do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do do do do do, etc…

 

 

 

Details At 10
Lyrics by Steve Vai

Inspired by a real event. I was sitting there watching a great movie, eating pasgetti, and boom! Your friendly newscaster comes on and spews out the most horrible news I’ve ever heard in my life (but her name was not Wilma Wasko; in fact, Wilma is a friend of ours). It seems to me that television could be used in such a manner as to benefit the world and each individual person on an emotional, physical, moral and spiritual level. But, no! Like most things that enable some individuals to have tremendous financial and material success, it gets totally corrupted. Television is full of violence and lies and you don’t need it. Or do you? Don’t you feel embarrassed watching TV sometimes? If the answer is yes, that’s good.

Do you think you can fool me?
Do you think you can lie to my face?
Do you think I believe you?
Well, what you tell me is a total waste

Do you think you can use me?
I bet you think that you are great
Do you think you can get away with murder?
I think you can use a kick in the face

Eh – you can fool some of the people some of the time
And you can fool most of the people all of the time
Ah – you can fool a few of the people none of the time
But you can’t fool me any of the time

So I sit and I eat a TV dinner
I watch an old funny Marx Brothers movie
And a flash comes across my TV screen
And it’s you in all of your glory

You like to tell me about brutal murders
You make me choke on my pasgetti
Korean airlines that was shot down by the Russians
You even show the dead peoples’ families crying

Well, you can gross out some of the people some of the time
Eh – you can gross out most of the people none of the time
Most of the people like to get grossed out all of the time
Ain’t that right
But you make me sick every time, every time

I see your face is laced with a new kind of taste
It’s great the way you waste all that space
You’re right, it’s night and I shouldn’t go outside
But if a stiletto stabs me
It’ll make your job so exciting
If a razor cut me
You can give them something worth watching

We interrupt this song to bring you a special news bulletin. Hello, this is Wilma Wasko, anchorwoman at the Eyewitness News Center in New York. Hey – do I have your attention? Look at me, me, me (etc.) I’m on TV. Check this out, ladies and gents. This is good stuff, real good stuff, real good-good-good-good-good-good great stuff.

The two bodies of Trisha and Connie… (uh, what was their last name?) (That doesn’t matter, anyway). The bodies of two young school children were discovered today buried in the Carle Place Rushmore Grade School playground at ten o’clock this morning. Despite the semi-decayed carcasses of the young school girls (who were found to be 10 and 11 years old), the autopsy report shows that the girls were brutally raped, strangled, beaten and stabbed excessively. Young Trisha was reported to have at least 27 stab wounds in the chest and stomach area, with severe stabbings in the neck, head and eyes. Young Connie was found to have a severed left leg and heart displacement. And it is this doctor’s opinion that anal sex was performed on the dead bodies after the brutal, slaughterous act was done. Details at 10.

The junk that you feed to my children
Is junk that you believe in
I don’t care about crooked politicians
I don’t wanna see someone bleeding while I’m eating

And when you review a motion picture
You like to kill the actors and writers
You do this to feed your own ego
So your own life won’t seem so damn miserable

Well, you could screw some of the people some of the time
And you do screw most of the people all-a-da’ time
Ah – you could screw a few-a-da’ people a couple of times
But you can’t screw me any of the time, any of the time…

 

Little Pieces of Seaweed
Lyrics by Steve Vai and Larry Kutcher

Wait!!! Let me explain. First off, I want it to be known that I do not mean to be promoting violence with this song. It is an experimentation with a certain form of poetry and orchestration. It started out with Larry Kutcher, a young man with an unusua l talent for spontaneous poetry (on many different planes of understanding). Well, Larry recorded about 1 1/2 hours of totally improvised “uncongressed ambiguities” which I spliced up and put on a drum machine track and built an arrangement around. Warning…if you take drugs and listen to this piece with headphones on, I can’t be held responsible for your mental health. Hey, just get a kick out of it, OK?

You’re lookin’ for trouble
You’ve come to the right place
Come on baby, smack the smegma
All across the place because…

I took little pieces of seaweed and I caused stretch marks to appear all over your little body. Yes I did. I really did. It was all over your body. Eh, your body looked like a road map, and my best friend got so confused, he thought you were doubting Thomas and put his fingers in your holes that I left there after I beat you up with an axe.

I looked at you and I suppose that you’d like to stick a pair of speakers in my throat because you don’t like the way I speak. Of course you don’t. Why don’t you put me in overdrive and we’ll get in treble. We’ll have triplets together. We’ll have to talk to the staff about it. Oh, I’m so flat; I’m so flat; I’m so flat; I’m so flat.

Ah, you’re under arrest. You’re under arrest. You’re under arrest for smiling in Sector V, now; don’t step across the line. Take off your clothes. Put your buttocks in your pocket and spread your hands. Now bend over. Now bend over. Bend over, bend over and spread those cheeks. Bend over and spread those cheeks. Bend over and spread those cheeks. Bend over and spread those cheeks. I’m going to insert my notes from an isotope that I scored off Einstein while he peeled off his pimples with plutonium. Why can’t he perform the way he did earlier? (Well, I’ll tell you). What’s wrong with him? He’s lost his style; he’s lost his spunk; he’s no good; he’s funk. He smells like a cowbell. He has the personality of a road accident. He has the IQ of salamander sweat. And he smells like stale cat piss shoved intravenously through the IV of an aging welfare patient. Welfare, all fare, we’re all fair on this universe, and I’ve got a ticket to ride you any time I want because I’m abusive. Don’t cry at me with your wah-wah pedal. Don’t plug in your amplifier and tell me you paid your dues. Don’t tell me you went for this guy’s act and you went for your own fame. Don’t tell me that I’m to blame.

And I took little pieces of seaweed. I took little pieces of seaweed. I took little pieces of seaweed. I took little, I took little pieces of seaweed. Pieces of seaweed. I took little pieces of seaweed. Pieces of. I took little pieces of seaweed and I caused stretch marks to appear all over your little body. Yes I did. I really did. It was all over your body. Eh, eh, your body looked like a road map, and my best friend got so confused, he thought you were a doubting Thomas and he put his fingers in your holes that I left there after I beat you up with an axe. And he put you in the car, and he drove you down to Sylmar to meet this guy who used to play for the big guy. You know, the big guy. I’ll be Frank with ya, ya know. (Snork) But, no. It wasn’t good enough for her. She wanted a sensitive guy. So I fuckin’ tok her out to the beach and I put some sandpaper in the KY Jelly — because you always hurt the ones you love. (Oh, that’s why you beat her up with an axe). I let the pelicans, I let the pelicans, have their way with her. (I’m over here, Shorts. Here Shorts…). And I threatened her with a pelican. I threatened her with a pelican. Don’t tell me that I’m to blame. Ya tell me, tell me, tell me, ya tell me you’re so good; you tell me you’re so fine; you tell me you’re so wonderful; you tell me you’re sublime. You tell me you’re so good; you tell me you’re so fine; you tell me you’re so wonderful; you tell me you’re sublime, sublime, sublime, sublime, sublime. Eh ha, eh ha, ha, ha, eh, ha ha…

And he judges. He judges. He says what’s good and what’s right, and what’s good and what’s right, and what’s good and what’s right, and what’s good as what’s right. He says, “This product will sell many units in that demographical area”. And I took little pieces of seaweed and I caused stretch marks to appear all over your little body. Yes I did; yes I did; yes I did; yes I did….

 

The Beast Of Love
Lyrics by Joe Kearney

Joe Kearney is “The Beast Of Love”. It’s a quaint little song he wrote that I arranged. Haven’t you ever been a Beast Of Love?

I’ll hold you so tightly
That you’ll never suspect
That I may not always care
‘Cause I live to deceive womans
Who are so lonely

I’m the Beast of Love
And you just got in my way.

At the end of this night
You’ll not care to admit
That the time has come
To call it a day
Women won’t believe my kisses
Are just like Satan’s lies

I’m the Beast of Love
And your love is old and grey

Left by the lions
Torn by the hounds
Picked by the vultures
Scattered on the ground
You wouldn’t have fallen
But your eyes were above
The belly of the Beast of Love

We walked the sands at sunset
Oh, what a dickens of a time we had
A time to laugh, a time to talk
We had so much fun
For a moment I nearly forgot
That I’m the Beast of Love
And you are my helpless prey

Left by the lions
Torn by the hounds
Picked by the vultures
Scattered on the ground
You wouldn’t have fallen
But your eyes were above

The belly of the Beast of Love
The belly of the Beast of Love

 

You Didn’t Break It
Lyrics by Bob & Suzannah Harris

This song was written by Bob & Suzannah Harris, otherwise known as Rantin & Rayven. This dynamic duo were cutting some demos in my studio and we decided to put one of their songs out on this EP, so you the consumer could get a taste of what some of their music sounds like. Rantin & Rayven have worked together for many years and their beautiful blend of voices creates an identifiable sound that will be enjoyed by many people. Look for their solo efforts.

You didn’t break it
You didn’t break it
You didn’t break my heart when you split
You only cracked it just a bit

Somethin’s changed
Though I know my heart ain’t plastic
I guess through the years it’s grown
A little more elastic

‘Cause this time cryin’ time
Didn’t last as long
And my heart just needed minor repairs
And it feels pretty strong
(Feels pretty strong)
And it’s movin’ right along

You didn’t break it
You didn’t break it
You didn’t break my heart when you split
You only cracked it just a bit

You didn’t break it
You didn’t break it
You didn’t break it
You didn’t break my heart

Losin’ love, it used to crush me
Now it doesn’t
I just figured it was meant to be
Or it wasn’t

So if you wanna know
Now that you’re gone, the shape I’m in
You never clipped the wings of my heart
It’s gonna fly again.

You didn’t break it
You didn’t break it
You didn’t break my heart when you split
You only cracked it just a bit

You didn’t break it
You didn’t break it
You didn’t break it
You didn’t break my heart

I got somethin’ that keeps me goin’
I got a habit of comin’ around, honey
You didn’t run me off the highway

The creative concept for Flex-Able was to release it on Evatone Flexi-discs in a trilogy of a three disc package, hence the name Flex-Able. But then that idea was supplanted with the realization that it could actually be released as a full length, vinyl record. Heck, it could even end up in stores!

Flex-Able was recorded and there was so much stuff left over from those days, I put a little record out — a 10-inch EP called Flex-Able Leftovers. It’s a weird little offspring. I only issued 2000 copies. Some time later, 4 out of the 8 tracks that made up Leftovers were issued on the CD of the American release of Flex-Able, and the entire EP was finally rereleased by Epic/Sony in 1998 with all new artwork by Aaron Brown, and five bonus songs written during the same era but previously unrecorded for release. (The new CD release of Leftovers can be purchased in our online store!)