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Y Los Lonely Hipsters

by GARRETT T. CAPPS

/
1.
BITCHIN' 04:29
Well my mind’s all clouded, cuz the job’s really gettin’ to my head And they’re cutting some loose, Least that’s what the manager said And my coworker frank told me he’d be better off dead I told him bitchin and moanin won’t get you anywhere my friend This 5 o clock traffic on ih 35 is unreal there’s a cop’ writin off an old woman in an oldsmobile And news on the radio dial makes me not want to feel All it’s bitchin’ and a moanin’ won’t get me anywhere on these wheels Got a call from somebody that told me I owe them some dough And if I don’t pay it all by next month I’m gonna owe them some mo And I ain’t seen more wealthy people at the grocery store Yeah all their bitchin and a moanin’s gonna drive me out the door Said a prayer last night right before I went to sleep I do it every one a while but this time I really skipped a beat It’s never happened before but the lord spoke right back to me he told me bitchin’ and a moanin’s gonna get you anywhere but free
2.
had a dollar in her wallet, a dime in her hand black diamonds in her sockets and a clean demand I ain't rich, but I can try to stay tan I take risks), and I'm a genuine mayne SHE LIKES DOOM METAL x3 it's pretty plain to see SHE LIKES DOOM METAL x3 and she kinda likes me we blew smoke in to mirrors, drank our souls outta cans bent our spines a bit weirder, in her japanese sedan she's too cool, but she’s gotta plan she’ll give you time for a minute, til the shit hits the fan SHE LIKES DOOM METAL x3 it's pretty plain to see SHE LIKES DOOM METAL x3 and she kinda likes me she likes doom metal and she sorta likes me
3.
NO REASON 03:19
I been searchin, don’t know what for Called every number, Knocked every door Prayed in evening, Tried to be good Don’t got no reason, probably should I Been cussin, makin a mess And when I’m drinkin, feelin my best Makin decisions, that ain’t no good Don’t got no reasons, probably should I been diggin, diggin a hole The devil’s callin, he wants my soul So much for lovin, I never understood Don’t got no reason, probably should and you can call me crazy, call me bad Say I’m lazy, say I’m sad Take my honor. I knew you would Don’t got no reason, probably should
4.
shit haircut and I need to shave been up that road for days slippin’ slidin’ break that cage Feed me lighting while I go insane heavy load on a hellbound train Pocket fulla rubbers on the very first date Weird intentions bless some soul Mexican flag on a mexican pole Drinkin drivin highway toll Bingo bango birth control Bury my brains with I don’t know screw the houston rodeo Lost on speed then time to go Wish I took some different road take me home i’m seein god grocery storin’ hippie broads pakistani money fraud politicians feelin’ odd morman beauties gettin’ off christian chicken frozen cod Hopin’, doubtin’ dreamin far Worn out lovers cheap cigars killin grass and closin’ bars No regrets with tattoo scars Up too late to see the stars Armageddon on the VCR Wish I played some different cards Michael J, Abdul jabar different bible, roundabout age Back in the saddle but my boots are beige lucked up, mucked up grunge rock rage Cornell, Cantrell, Kurt Cobain Orange flicker on the gasoline gauge I been up that road for days I been up that road for days x 4
5.
SOME TIMES 04:13
well I heard about that pretty ring you're wearin' and last time we talked you couldn't see my face I meant to say "I'm sorry" - but I guess it's way too late some times it feels like nothin' seems to change the television's tellin' the same old stories and the newspaper ain't on the porch no more kinda makes me angry, but I do not know what for some times it feels like you've opened every door engine's hummin' as I get on up the highway and the red and blue squeal by right with the law next time they pull me over, I'll try not to even talk some times it feels like they only see you fall the river’s flowin' and it’s fightin' through the valley and my mind it soars way past it's risin' steam I'd like to kill off that nostalgia cuz that ache can get real mean some times it feels like nothin's as it seems it might feel like the end'll never get here 'till the plug gets pulled on the ones you love the most and the truth it's has no shelter, and it's wanderin' like a ghost some times it seems like no one ever knows
6.
Well I collect my paycheck when the time is done and before I know it, it’s been spent and gone and I can barely find time to mow my own damn lawn yeah the kid is growin, the wife is bored tryin to plan a trip to the nearest shore sometimes it feels like all they get is ignored and I just got canned today pulled me into their office and I heard them say go off and do what you’re gonna do (don’t come around here) yeah we don’t got room for people like you (don’t come around here) and I don’t care if you’re wife gets pissed don’t care if you can’t pay the rent yeah, you’re never gonna come back here again don’t come around here I spent all my summers on my daddy’s farm out in the fields scratchin up my arms guess I thought I learned about workin’ hard all the guys he hired could barely speak but they worked their ass off 6 days a week just like they found where they needed to be and one July they were gone the border man showed up and blew his alarm go off and do what you’re gonna do (don’t come around here) yeah we don’t got room for people like you (don’t come around here) and I don’t care if your country’s shit don’t care if you can’t feed the kids yeah, you’re never gonna come back here again don’t come around here Right before it hit me in the dead of night I was climbin’ the stairs up to heaven’s lights and that goddamn driver drunk outta his mind stood in line for days up at heaven’s gates with the rich, the wise, the fed up, depraved all just prayin’ that we’d all be saved and when I finally saw God’s face he looked me in the eye and said you’ve made some mistakes go off and do what you’re gonna do (don’t come around here) yeah we don’t got room for people like you (don’t come around here) and I don’t care if the devil's sick don’t care if you can’t make a mends yeah, you’re never gonna come back here again don’t come around here
7.
RUNNIN'BACK 03:39
I'm a fool now that it's over Can you guess my name? I make my money singing songs about you It's my claim to fame When they say it's over It's not all over, there's still the pain I'd come running I'd come running back to you again Oh I'd come running I'd come running back to you again If I said I was sorry Would you still leave me? I never thought you'd go 'till you did Believe me When they say it's over It's not all over completely 'Cause I'd come running I'd come running back to you again Yes I'd come running I'd come running back to you again I miss that girl The show is over and we must all go home Just leave me by myself I'll be alright here on my own If it's all over, it's all over And I'm all alone And I'd come running I'd come running back to you again Don't you know I'd come running I'd come running back to you again
8.
I was born in San Antone X2 even though I’m a pinche gringo, I was born in San Antone When I was younger and feelin so bold everyone told me to never leave home I said I’m sorry but I gotta go but I was born in San Antone Went to boys town, caught the donkey show san marcos, midland, and arlington things got real weird out in Houston guess it's cuz I was born in San Antone out in denver, man, they get too stoned women in portland are just skin and bone l.a., nashville, new york -- NO when you were born in San Antone jumped up to europe by way of a boat stranded in dublin without no coat someone asked me where’d you come from, bloak? I’ve come from San Antone sped right through paris, prague, and rome drank wine till my blood boiled my bones lost my direction, ten times alone too far from San Antone I found myself down a deep, dark road empty pockets and a westbound soul then I heard somethin on the radio sounded like San Antone it had deep blues roots, and a vox organ a groovy shaker, and a tex mex tone it sang she’s about a mover and I was gone gone home to San Antone we got sir Doug, Flaco, and the sunglos butthole surfers and bongo Joe Ozzy Osbourne pissin on the alamo the Sex Pistols at Randy’s rodeo Joe "the Godfather Anthony" DJ'in on the radio Ram opened Taco Land You might live in Leon Valley, China Grove South Side, West side, or Olmos Alamo Heights or Stone Oak You might know know about Avery Johnson, George Gervin Tim Duncan, Matt Bonner, or the Admiral Maybe you were in the Alamo Dome for the Memorial Day Miracle You might work at USAA and Valero HEB, Bill Miller, Clear Channel Frost Bank, Rackspace, Santikos You might have danced with the devil at El Camaroncito or maybe you personally know El Rey Feo or maybe you've been to Hogwild and bought a Morrissey record You might eat: lengua, nopalitos, menudo bacon egg cheese with some PICO el pastor onions cilantro over easy on huevos rancheros carne guisada, queso fresco Barbacoa y chicharron cheese enchiladas w/ barracho flauta, chalupa, special nachos guacamole salad with my puffy tacos I WAS BORN IN SAN ANTONE
9.
MR. PIKE 04:29
It was ten am when the foam hit the brim of the glass of his first beer He meant to call into work that day but he didn’t get quite near the phone he’d dropped on the side of a road the very night before In a haze of pills, and bud light thrills that left him passed out on a stranger's floor Now it’s hard to say how he got here, hard to say’s quite true Told me he was born durin’ some world war to a mom he never knew Said he grew up kinda mean, and that he ever gave two shits As he continued his drinkin, and smokin’ a cigarette Hey mister Pike, get out of my bar You can stay until the lawyers come to smoke up their cigars I laugh cuz your rediculous and borderline bizarre Hey mister Pike, get outta my bar he swore he once used a switchblade to sever rabid bear when he got ditched on a campin trip by some bastards that didnt care he was not quite yet a teen, but pretty much a man and if there is such thing as a guy upstairs it was all part of the plan He started yellin bout the president and how the whole damn thing's a mess kids these days are a bunch a punks that ain’t got no common sense Computers have fried our minds, and there’s no hope anymore but the only thing that he still likes are the big fat-tittied whores Hey mister Pike, get out of my bar You can stay for a little longer, if you got cash or a credit card I'm amused at all your stories, but your heads up in the stars Hey mister Pike, get outta my bar I cut him off at number 3, and his brow grew kinda wide and he got all riled and wicked and spit in both my eyes I grabbed his pint and with haste and might bashed it over his head then he fell off of his bar stool, while his face grew kinda dead then I tried to help him up and he slapped me in the face called me a lunatic, a coward a disgrace said he always knew I was a piece, and stumbled outta the door and as I tried to justify myself, i yelled at him once more HEY MISTER PIKE - GET OUT OF MY BAR

about

April 12, 2016

SAN ANTONIO -- A local independent musician released his first full-length album this morning after eating huevos rancheros with corn tortillas at the Route 281 and 1604 Las Palapas.

Garrett T. Capps, a 28-year-old San Antonio native, had spent the previous three months consuming menudo exclusively, while he and his band, The Only Hipsters, recorded the nine-track L.P. entitled “Y Los Lonely Hipsters.”

“It’s good to change up the diet here and there, but I felt strongly that sticking to menudo in the studio would help us achieve the acoustic terroir we were after,” said Capps. “The Only Hipsters and I are all San Antonio guys, and I wanted the music to reflect that. Tex-Mex in the left ear and T-bone steaks in the right ear.”

With Songs like “Born in San Antone,” Capps and The Only Hipsters hope to serve up a solid portion of South Texas timbre, complete with heavy steel guitar, accordion, violin, acoustic and electric guitars, organ, bass and drums in various arrangements.

All songs on the album were written by Capps, aside from “Runnin’ Back,” a cover of Thin Lizzy’s “Running Back.” The record’s lyrics carry a working-class aesthetic, bemoaning the nine-to-five lifestyle, arguing with borrachos and reveling in road trips via Dylanesque stream of consciousness. Capps’ vocals reinforce the theme of apathetic middle-class drudgery with their rusty, yodeling sincerity, howling into the void in chorus with steel guitar.

“She Likes Doom Metal” serves as the album’s single, encapsulating the off-kilter earnestness of the record.

Though “Y Los Lonely Hipsters” marks his first full-length effort, Capps has recorded and self-released a number of E.P.s covering a wide array of genres from sludge metal to garage rock to alternative country.

As for follow-up releases, Capps assures listeners: “I have more shit on the way.”

-30-

credits

released April 12, 2016

Produced & Recorded by Roland Delacruz
All Songs Written by Garrett T. Capps (Except for Runnin' Back, Originally Written by Phil Lynott & Performed by Thin Lizzy)
Mastered by Chris Cline
Photography by Dave Terry
Album Layout/Graphic Design by Matt Schad

Los Lonely Hipsters:
Phil Luna - Drums
odie. - Bass
Scott Lutz - Pedal Steel/Electric Guitar

Guest Musicians:
Julie Good - Vocals (Track 6)
Thomas David Dyer - Piano (Tracks 4 & 8)
Kim Mackenzie - Violin, Mandolin (Track 5)
Chris Borchers - Accordion (Track 9)

2016 SUBURBAN HASTE RECORDINGS, INC.

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GARRETT T. CAPPS San Antonio, Texas

Phone: 210-317-0006

Email: GTC@garretttcapps.com

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