The Official Website of singer songwriter Mat d. and the Profane Saints - Mat d. and the Profane Saints - Lyrics

The King is Dead

Mon, 19 Jul 2010 00:00:00 -0700

copyright 2010 Mathew deRiso / Mary Moe Music

rubbed against the rivets of a diesel drinking jezebel
stranded in clutches of the hottest thing this side of hell
watched them women slither like two rattlesnakes around my bed
with curves straight out of babylon and sex appeal to raise to the dead

they said the king drove up from Memphis prophesying in a southern drahl
in clothes that reeked of bourbon street and hair that stood six inches tall
was he victim of El Muerto or an ancient rosacrucian curse
when he fell off his earthly throne and rolled into a hot pink hearse
the king drove up from Memphis Lord, they say it was the end of days
now they're calling for revival in the hopes they'll raise him from the grave

the true believers gathered in a circle and they spoke in tounges
they laid down on the dusty floor shook like it was kingdom come
a pilgrimage to vegas quoting scripture while they shook their hips
wrote his name on diamond studded jumpsuits and they curled their lips
they called for tattooed seraphim in blue suede shoes on bended knee
to ride down on that mystery train to raise that boy from tennessee

rubbed against the rivets of a diesel drinking jezebel
stranded in clutches of the hottest thing this side of hell
they wrapped themsleves around me and I felt my spine begin to crack
I asked them both if they had power enough to bring the old boy back
watched their bodies slither like two rattlesnakes around my bed
they glanced at me before they kissed and spoke the words "The King is Dead"

Born Again...

Mon, 19 Jul 2010 00:00:00 -0700

copyright 2010 Mathew deRiso/Mary Moe Music

all that sweet molten rubber
seeping into the road
filled the cracks like river
til the black top went cold
in a steel driving rhythm
with her breath keeping pace
displaced hips start to sway
in that old fashioned way
born again setting fire
to that place

with a shot glass of poison
left to bead on her skin
clothed in seersucker sugar
from an old cotton gin
sinking into the vinyl
naked flesh on the glass
where the bachlorettes drown
in their judgement day gowns
born again by the light
of the dash

all the dust off that engine
filled our lungs up with smoke
where the air smelled like liquor
and the reservoir broke
in steel driving rhythm
and a dying man's groan
Lord she held on to you
til her heart split in two
born again til you
left her alone
where the bachlorettes drown
in their judgement day gowns

Culture Shock at 30 amps

Fri, 28 May 2010 00:00:00 -0700

billy rocket built for speed
wheels that turn and roads that bleed
finger tips that tap the dash
elastic bands and crumpled cash
telecasters scratched to hell
dialing in some voodoo spell
where cowboy hipsters rule the night
like zombies in the red moonlight

culture shock at 30 amps
old cadillacs and lava lamps
the billboards read like calling cards
on resurrection boulevard
lay her down and watch her twitch
light it up and kill the switch
and once that copper's glowing red
you'll scream so loud you'll raise the dead

telecasters scratched to hell
dialing in some voodoo spell
the cowboy hipsters rule the night
like zombies in the red moonlight
lay her down and watch her twitch
light it up and kill the switch
and once that copper's glowing red
you'll scream so loud you'll raise the dead

raise the dead....raise the dead
raise the dead...

Rednecked Preacher's Daughter

Fri, 28 May 2010 00:00:00 -0700

bouncing down the mountain like a flat bed chevy
with her white walls spinning and her engine running steady
she's a lit match burning through the gasoline
up a ragged ass road if you know what I mean
a little further through the sticks on a dead half acre
she's fusebox glowing in a combination trailer
with her spot lights bright white 30 amps of static
and a live wire running from her crawl space to the attic
put your finger on her pulse til you feel her getting hotter
it's your last first date with the rednecked preacher's daughter

devil flew a comet down a dirt town alley
she's a scuffed up shelled out bimbo from the valley
rocking skintight fashions dipped in motor oil
twisted up in rollers and aluminum foil
a little further through the sticks on a dead half acre
she's fusebox glowing in a combination trailer
with her spot lights bright white 30 amps of static
and a live wire running from her crawl space to the attic
put your finger on the switch once you flip it then you got her
it's your last first date with the rednecked preacher's daughter

flat bed shaking up a gravel road
white walls popping from the weight of the load
like a lit match burning through the gasoline
up a ragged ass road if you know what I mean...

buckshot sermon and wedding dress
with straight six motor in a state of arrest
like a burnt match drowning in the gasoline
up a ragged ass road if you know what I mean
a little further through the sticks on a dead half acre
she's fusebox glowing in a combination trailer
with her spot lights bright white 30 amps of static
and a live wire running from her crawl space to the attic
put your finger on the pulse til you feel her getting hotter
on your last first date with the rednecked preacher's daughter

copyright 2010 Mathew deRiso / Mary Moe Music

Junk in the trunk

Thu, 01 Apr 2010 00:00:00 -0700

straight six she ain't running
honey baby she turned mean
gonna trade that mother in for a cheap used car
before I head on back to Abeline

just the other side of Louie
burning up and down the track
hope I see my girl at that Gate Motel
sweet senorita keeps me coming back

I'm on the edge of the heartland
Oh, I feel the power coming up from the ground
in a junkyard machine spitting gasoline
with some junk in the trunk
like a bitch hell bent for getting down

straight six she ain't running
honey baby she turned mean
gonna trade that mother in for a cheap used car
before I head on back to Abeline

just the other side of Louie
burning up and down the line
gonna pop your clutch if you talk to much
(and that's a promise baby)

I'm on the edge of the heartland
Oh, I feel the power coming up from the ground
in a junkyard machine spitting gasoline
with some junk in the trunk
like a bitch hell bent for getting down

she's a junkyard machine spitting gasoline
with some junk in the trunk
like a bitch hell bent for getting down

she's a junkyard machine spitting gasoline
with some junk in the trunk buh-buh-buh-baby...

Three Legged Mule

Thu, 01 Apr 2010 00:00:00 -0700

creeping towards the main line sticking to the back roads
little bit of swagger to boot
hunched above the dashboard revolution city
light the edges of an alternate route
she's not the killer you need
she's just the girl at the wheel
that little six gun Sally gonna rumble through the valley
she'll be riding on a rocket of steel
rolling up the blacktop lazy eyed and restless
milk and honey on the radio dial
big ol' tube of lipstick pressed between her fingers
gonna glide across the miracle mile
she's not the killer you need
she's just the girl with the fuel
little six gun Sally gonna rumble through the valley
looking meaner than a three legged mule

let's shake it...

creeping towards the main line sticking to the back roads
little bit of swagger to boot
hunched above the dashboard revolution city
lights the edges of an alternate route
she's not the killer you need
she's just the girl at the wheel
that little six gun Sally gonna rumble through the valley
she'll be riding on a rocket of steel
she's not the killer you need
she's just the girl with the fuel
that little six gun Sally gonna rumble through the valley
looking meaner than a three legged mule

Rat Rod Royale

Thu, 01 Apr 2010 00:00:00 -0700

dirt track diva bent the mac truck bumper
ulcerated baby in a kill switch number
big bones snapping in a back beat rhythm
toothpicks scattered in a chalk line prison
tripped out baby she's a purty little zombie
Fishnet brain and a super sonic body
Big bones shaking like a rattle in the caddy
keep the Beehive humming for your all night rocking daddy

getcha gone girl twitching in a pothole
knocked dead tethered a flag pole
rolled up like a complicated riddle
leave the barstool spinning when they brand you on the middle of your
big thighs jiggle in the backseat
Kick back searching for a heartbeat
Red hot dancing in the kettle
when the rat rod royal puts the pedal to the metal

dirt track diva left the black flag checkered
half nude devil on a rockabilly record
cheap angora in a sock hop get-up
twisting down to Vegas in a flat bed pick-up
tripped out baby she's a chick flick reject
fifty pounds of leather and a tattooed edict
Big bones shaking like a rattle in the caddy
keep the Beehive humming for your all night rocking daddy

getcha gone girl twitching in a pothole
knocked dead tethered to a flag pole
rolled up like a complicated riddle
leave the barstool spinning when they brand you on the middle of your
big thighs going jiggle in the backseat
Kick back searching for a heartbeat
Red hot dancing in the kettle
when the rat rod royal puts the pedal to the metal

Black Top Grind

Thu, 01 Apr 2010 00:00:00 -0700

wheel wells smoking way down underneath
God that smell of burning rubber like prophet's incense rising
resurrected from wreckage in a fiery wreath half conscious
off the diesel fumes go tumbling into you
white walls melting in the summer heat
sweet molten tar pits boiling over on the desert plains
I'll go down surfing on a pick-up bed while drowning in the asphalt
and the swirling pitch still reaching for the ditch

she's straddling my bones
pinned to her cellar door
working the black top grind
until she begs for more

grease fire burning in the dead of night
left my hand prints in the ashes of the fallen come before me
I can feel the sweat come trickling down her forehead in a river bed
of salt and tears Lord let her leave me here

snakes all around my feet
death letter signed in blood
no pillow for her head
here comes the raging flood

she's straddling my bones
pinned to her cellar door
working the black top grind
until she begs for more
snakes all around my feet
death letter signed in blood
no pillow for her head
here comes the raging flood
she's straddling my bones
pinned to her cellar door
working the black top grind

Hell's Highway / Miner's Holler

Tue, 29 Sep 2009 00:00:00 -0700

oh, the highway to hell ain't a mystery to me it's a half a mile down that old track through a passage so dark that the devil can't see and I don't know if I'll make it back to you love, oh I don't know if I'll make it back

my wearisome soul became one with the earth in a cov'nant of silver and pine I've seldom known grace nor the sweet savior's face in the gut of that hill country minewhen the steam whistle blows pray I rise from that pit and return to your bedside again drag the lye soap across every inch of my frame rub me raw as original sin oh, girl love rub me as raw as original sin

oh, the highway to hell ain't a mystery to me it's a half a mile down that old track through a passage so dark that the devil can't see and I don't know if I'll make it back to you love, oh I don't know if I'll make it back

should the tunnel give way and I'm trapped down below or wages of death become due come and lay yourself down at the base of that hill pray my soul finds it's way back to youmy body and blood reconciled to the earth in a cov'nant of silver and pine they'll be no tales to tell on the highway to hell if I die in that hill country mine

oh, the highway to hell ain't a mystery to me it's a half a mile down this old track through a tunnel so dark that the devil can't see and I don't know if I'll make it back to you love, oh I don't know if I'll make it back

Roadside Revival

Tue, 29 Sep 2009 00:00:00 -0700

They've got a neon cross flashing on the highway down a mule plow line rubbing you the wrong way got a brand new woman come to bring religion to me She's a bible belt testament of everything that I want to see.

I believe.

They've got a rebel congregation burning with desire it's a newborn devil dancing in the fire in a big black chevy rolling down the backroads of love hell it's a straight six miracle been sent to us from heaven above They've got a bar room girl serving holy water like a hilltop hooker led away to slaughter I'm your doomsday prophet telling you what you need to know and if you don't know how to shake it then you're headed for the fire below.

Let's go.

I, I believe I'll dust my bed and take my leave-before I die she's gonna be my disciple...

My Roadside Revival.

Just like a vagabond evenagelist that's calling for repentence got the pine-box blues living out your sentence and a hot rod woman serving up American pie...

I'm taking on more piece before I leave her on the highway to die.

It's just a small town tramp coming back for seconds it's a waitress in a pink dress swinging with avengeance got my blue plate special rolling down the highway tonight...

Just like a rocking holy roller on the Sunday morning I saw the light.

That's right.

I, I believe I'll dust my bed and take my leave-before I die she's gonna be my disciple...

My Roadside Revival.