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Terry Allen
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Truckload of Art
Lyricist:Terry Allen
Once upon a time, sometime ago Back on the East coast in New York City, to be exact A bunch of artists and painters and sculptors and musicians And poets and writers and dancers and architects
All started feeling real superior to their ego counterparts Out on the West Coast So they all got together and decided They would show those snotty surfer upstarts A thing or two about the Big Apple
And they hired themselves a truck It was a big, spanking new white-shiny chrome-plated cab-over Peterbilt with mud flaps, stereo, TV, AM and FM radio Leather seats and a Naugahyde sleeper
All fresh with new American Flag decals and 'ART ARK' Printed on the side of the door with solid twenty-four karat gold leaf type And they filled up this truck with the most significant piles And influential heaps of art work to ever be assembled in modern times
And it sent it West To chide, cajole, humble and humiliate the Golden Bear And this is the true story of that truck
Hail, a truckload of art from New York City Came rollin' down the road Oh, the driver was singing and the sunset was pretty But the truck turned over and she rolled off the road
Yeah, the truckload of art, it's burning near the highway Precious objects are scattered all over the ground Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com And it's a terrible sight if a person were to see it But there weren't nobody around
Yeah, the driver went sailing high in the sky Landing in the gold lap of the Lord Who smiled and then said, 'Son, you're better off dead Than haulin' a truckload full of hot avant-garde'
Yeah, the truckload of art, it's burning near the highway Precious objects are scattered all over the ground And it's a terrible sight if a person were to see it But there weren't nobody around
Yes, an important artwork was thrown burning to the ground Tragically landing in the weeds And the smoke could be seen, ah, for miles all around Yeah, but nobody knows what it means
Yeah, the truckload of art, it's burning near the highway And a tough job for the highway patrol Ah, they'll soon see the smoke an' come runnin' to poke Then dig a deep ditch and throw the arts in a hole
Yeah, the truckload of art, it's burning near the highway And it's raging far out of control And what the critics have cheered is now shattered and queered And their noble reviews have been stewed on the road
Yeah, the truckload of art, it's burning near the highway Precious objects are scattered all over the ground A terrible sight if a person were to see it But there weren't nobody around
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