Driving my daughter to school before dawn yesterday, after the daily slap fight to control the tuner, I found myself enjoying a song she had chosen on the radio. That alone was a miracle with the gravitas of a full galaxy convergence, but this song was good. It had a fresh infectious beat and some auto tune effects limning the vocals in a creative way.
The lyrics caught me too. Something about a “cowboy kid” rolling his own cigs.
Robert's got a quick hand.The lyrics caught me too. Something about a “cowboy kid” rolling his own cigs.
He'll look around the room; he won't tell you his plan.
He's got a rolled cigarette, hanging out his mouth, he's a cowboy kid.
We were cruising along to this tune, bobbing our heads and I lost track of the lyrics in favor of the cute pop beat and the actual riff of whistling threading through the melody.
“I really like this song. I guess that’s the kiss of death for it then? If I like it, it must be crap, right?"
She looked at me like I’d fatally fired a rogue synapse. “No, Mom. I like the song, but ‘like’ might not be the best word here…” I hardly heard her. I opted instead to lose myself in the tune again, bopping down the road with my surly daughter.
Yea, he found a six shooter gun.
In his dads closet hidden in a box of fun things, and I don't even know what.
But he's coming for you; yeah he's coming for you.
Yea, he found a six shooter gun.
In his dads closet hidden in a box of fun things, and I don't even know what.
But he's coming for you; yeah he's coming for you.
Cowboy kid. Six shooter. I remembered when we played cowboys with our cap guns in the back yard with my cousins. I chuckled to myself about sharing some genetics with Jesse James, many degrees removed from the immediate family tree…
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you'd better run, better run, outrun my gun.
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you'd better run, better run, faster than my bullet.
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you'd better run, better run, outrun my gun.
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you'd better run, better run, faster than my bullet.
Faster than my bullet? Must be some reference to Superman. Faster than a speeding bullet. I spent a few seconds talking myself into some fantasy and out of what I had just heard. But then the story of it broke through the contagious beat.
Daddy works a long day.
He be coming home late, yeah he's coming home late.
And he's bringing me a surprise.
'Cause dinner's in the kitchen and it's packed in ice.
Daddy works a long day.
He be coming home late, yeah he's coming home late.
And he's bringing me a surprise.
'Cause dinner's in the kitchen and it's packed in ice.
“Mom, you know what this song’s about don’t you?” She was familiar with my expression, a face clench when something hideous just dawns on me.
“Not until now.”“Well, it’s about an abused kid who shoots up his family and his school with his dad's gun. You know, like Columbine."
The song was ending as I swung into the circular drive in front of Boone High. A silent stream of crusty-eyed disheveled teenagers shuffled by. The sun was sending sprays of red above the horizon as my daughter jumped out of the car, adjusted her ass exposing low cut jeans, and threw her backpack over her shoulder. Red in the morning, sailors take warning...
She went to slam the car door…
“Bye , Mom. I love you.”
“Wait!” I blurted it out, a bee stinging my tongue.
I've waited for a long time.
Yeah the slight of my hand is now a quick pull trigger,
I reason with my cigarette,
And say your hair's on fire, you must have lost your wits, yeah.
I pictured myself jamming the car into park.
I've waited for a long time.
Yeah the slight of my hand is now a quick pull trigger,
I reason with my cigarette,
And say your hair's on fire, you must have lost your wits, yeah.
I pictured myself jamming the car into park.
I saw myself running, (better run), and dragging her back into the car. I saw myself burning tire rubber to leave that god forsaken place where every angry looking kid with a backpack now haunted my mind; where every bitter bullied kid plotted mayhem to make "them all" pay for slights, real or unreal, finally attaining the kind of cool only a killer can earn.
It wouldn’t matter if my daughter was a gentle unassuming shy person or the sharply witty, loud and sometimes confrontive personality that she is. She’d still be one of all the other kids.
It wouldn’t matter if my daughter was a gentle unassuming shy person or the sharply witty, loud and sometimes confrontive personality that she is. She’d still be one of all the other kids.
I saw myself there to rescue her from it. But I can't.
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you'd better run, better run, outrun my gun.
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you'd better run, better run, faster than my bullet.
[Whistling]
“I love you too. Be careful in there, ok?”All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you'd better run, better run, faster than my bullet.
[Whistling]
Thank you to Foster The People for their song Pumped Up Kicks.
TIP:
Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Ralph Tingey
Leysa Lowery
D. Zuch
joanpgage
Jacob Sugarman
Liam ODonoghue
Salon.com
Comments
I liked how you put this in the context of your relationship with your own daughter, and your own fears.
Good song scary lyrics..
This is one great song..
"Six shooter" I though you were at first listening to the 80's song by Appolonia 6??:)
HUGGGGGGGGGG
I often have that thought / feeling about my daughter. She is in her first year of college, living in the dorm 325 miles away. Happy for her as she is doing well. Afraid for her because I know what the world could do to her. I believe the schools she is attending lost 8 students last year for various reasons, and 1 already this year. Heck of a song. Thanks.
I used to be surprised that, at the beginning of every school year, there would be a section in the welcome package to remind us about security and lock-down procedures. It's sad that this is standard practice now.
That's how it's going to go around the water cooler.
rated
Lezlie
I guess this is another reason I can be somewhat relieved about not having children.
I am, however, much more concerned with the many Moms I've seen singing Katy Perry in the car with daughters, some as young as pre-school. Now, this is scary:
There's a stranger in my bed,
There's a pounding my head
Glitter all over the room
Pink flamingos in the pool
I smell like a minibar
DJ's passed out in the yard
Barbie's on the barbeque
There's a hickie or a bruise
Pictures of last night
Eended up online
I'm screwed
Oh well
It's a black top blur
But I'm pretty sure it ruled
Parenting ain't easy, it requires the extra effort to stay on top of what the kids are into- (this is, admittedly easier for me at the beach) but you have to do it anyway. And, while it easy to want to be the fun parent and sing in the car, what the time behind the wheel really is is time your teenager can talk to you, and they can't get away!
Never noticed much abou the lyrics, just " all ther other kids... run.. Better run, Better run faster than my bullet."
Great piece. I love the idea about writing about a radio experience.
Perfect ending.
Well done, I totally related all the way through.
hugs,me - Neither did mine.
jane smithie - It's catchy in an ear worm kind of way, isn't it?
Cranky - Although I think my daughter is capable of defending herself well, there are things beyond her ability. That's what scares me.
Linda - Jeremy? I'll look it up...
Leeds, jr. - Thank you for reading!
Catherine - Cops armed with tasers stroll the campus at Boone, and although it is ominous, I am gald they do.
Trudge - Yes it is a pop tune. I understnad Foster is a jingle writer so you are correct.
alsoknownas- You really kind of have to crank it up and listen closely to pick up on it...That's why water cooler talk is happening kind of by design.
Tom - As much as it makes me cringe, I love it when they have a good answer like that.
Dr. Spudman - From you, I am so flattered.
micalpeace - You are a poet. The lyrics are pretty adept poetry, no?
Candace - High school appears to be much harder socially than when I was a kid. My daughter tells me things...
Joan - Thank you my friend.
Chicken Maan - I get you, dude, I see you.
keri - It sure does hang on, that tune.
mypsyche - You nailed it. The word I never could pull out while writing this was "protect."
Lezlie - The direction is being dictated by kids who, in the absence of stability, seek attention in the worst of ways.
Razzle - Still, it could. Just not a goofy romance...
Owl - How hard it is to relinquish control as they take control of themselves...
Jeanette - Parenting is quite a journey. We'll keep you informed because for some of us (me) it tends to be all absorbing.
Jonathan - I'm sure you'll be interested having been and administrator at a school.
Rei Momo - Thank you for reading me.
Bellweather - You are so correct. It was one hell of a convergence. My fevered mind just took off...
fernsie - The radio seems to have been there at many junctures in my life...Thanks for reminding me of that.
sweetfeet - Enjoy the 11 year old. The changes are coming hard and fast. Soak up all the kid love you can now...
at the local high school...really well done.
I've been haunted by Columbine ever since that day...
I loved this, Linnnn, especially "Red in the morning, sailors take warning ..."
I worry about this more than I should probably but working at a school we need to be ever vigilant and it sucks.
It is a very catchy tune!!
Wanting to call her back after those dern lyrics punched you. I get that.
Know why you have a following.
Danke. Rated.
(Tell Me Why) I Don't Like Mondays
Horace Mann Junior High. Missed that shooting by two years (thankfully.) They asked her why she did it and her response was:
I don't like Mondays.
I can relate to the intense sense of insecurity that one can derive from hearing a song like that as you're dropping your kid off to school. [Shudders]
Never heard the song -- then again, I have basically stopped listening to radio on the whole. The more I attempt to "tune in" to what's going on, the less excited I am to be living in this time. I see changes, though, and I expect another revolution of the soul in this country, similar in theme, but stronger, than the mid to late Sixties.
Let's all hope that I am correct.
-r-
I'm not so sure it's just a harmless song...some kids are susceptible.
It's a scary world these days. When my daughters were going to school, thank the gods, the concept of one of the kids shooting up the place was totally out of the realm of the conceivable. For parents today, it's an ongoing possibility - remote, perhaps, but real.
The song? Well it has a catchy melody and some fairly profound lyrics but it is a symptom not the problem. The problem lies in the way that our world has changed. When we can celebrate our differences instead of requiring conformity we might get back on track to making a world where we welcome each other and stop seeing differences as a threat.
R
My most important parenting lesson: it just keeps getting harder once they start walking. (Except for 9-11, some part of which is universally great even with the hormones starting up.) And you will be amazed what they can get themselves through.
At the end of this performance the lead singer jumped into the audience. They held him up and moved him around the crowd. Then the official security guys, wearing bright t-shirts labeled "SAFETY", wrestled him down and spirited him away. The singer acted with faith and trust in the mob, they reacted with cooperation and care, and officialdom interfered. There's something there for a deeper thinker than I but it gives me some faith in the kids, maybe even in the mob though I wonder if they would act just as cooperatively if they wanted to tear someone to shreds.
OK, I learned the lyrics do not describe Unicorns dancing with Winged Lions, Pooh Bear curing cancer, etc....
What's also interesting is even the video for the song is also a bit off, although it's off in a meaningful way. The members of Foster the People would be among those Robert would shoot. They refer to this 'fact' by showing band members kicking their heels, jumping, etc. Those dancing to the song also would not fair well.
Lou Reed would approve, I'd imagine.
Remember Sunny Came Home? "It's time for a few small repairs she said." *humming*
what is it in our nature that we celebrate the intersection of cheerfulness and destruction?