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Music World  →  Lyrics  →  C  →  Clutch  →  Albums  →  Passive Restraints

Clutch Album


Passive Restraints (1992)
1992
1.
2.
3.
. . .


My father was Black, my mother was Decker
Believe me my friend, it doesn't get any better
Than rack and pinion reasoning, add a little seasoning
Cook at ninety eight point six degrees

Let me be the bull, and you be the pen
Such an easy way to glorify sin
If I am a horse, you're a Venus in spurs
Everything I have is yours, so take it

I come fully loaded with an option to buy
I've got a stick shift disposition and a four wheel mind
I'll give you endless mileage and unlimited speed
Total satisfaction absolutely guaranteed

Turbo boost libido and passive restraints
And as of yet I haven't heard even a single complaint
I've got the tools of the trade and a fuel injected heart
Efficiency is beautiful, efficiency is art

. . .


Justification, the means are the end
Doctrine and dogma, I will not relent
This world a garden in need of such weeding
This world a minefield in need of such sweeping

This ministration without full consent
Fire and brimstone, I will not relent
Just as all good things must come to an end
I will administer as I see fit

I will not relent
I will not relent
I will not relent
I am driven

Impetus

I am driven

. . .


We have been waiting and it has begun
So humble thyself, and hold thy tongue
We have been waiting and it has begun
Prostrate yourself, your time has come

We have been waiting and it has begun
Look boldly, look boldly, look boldly on
We have been waiting and it has begun
So humble thyself, and hold thy tongue


Knelt at the crossroads, knelt at the leather bound pew
Felt the pain of labor, and of sons overdue
In full submission we are reborn
We are the ploughshare, and yet we are the sword


We'll thresh the psyche and till the pride
Distill the blood, proclaim the gun divine
Damn the foul ego, praise the promised swarm
We are the ploughshare, and yet we are the sword


So we're lock, stock, and barrel
Hook, line, and sinker
Your freedom was your master
And your liberties the flint for
A double barrel sunrise, a double standard land
You gave birth to the baby, but put a gun into its hands


So the fruits of your labors have fermented into wine
And the sweat that was dripped is now the honey of the hive
The city is a burning sun and we are blooming flowers
The fire, the flame, the passion, the power


Too little, too late
High caliber consecrator

. . .


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