New York City Fuck Off - Matson Jones

Matson Jones - Rough Trade Shops: Counter Culture 05 - New York City Fuck Off

Disc 1
01.	Constants Are Changing
02.	Nancy Sings
03.	Words for Two
04.	Meadow
05.	Paper Cuts
06.	Direct to Helmet
07.	Details of the War
08.	New York City Fuck Off
09.	Valvoline
10.	California
11.	Drive Me Home the Lonely Nights
12.	Slaughtered by the Sun
13.	Klutz
14.	It Hurts to See You Dance So Well
15.	Disco Ball
16.	Contre Temps
17.	God's Money V
18.	Celebrity
19.	My Machine
20.	Rad
21.	Gang Fight
22.	Lufuala Ndonga (edit)
23.	My Mood Swings
24.	The Beatles
25.	Cars
26.	Don'ts
Disc 2
01.	June 15 (edit)
02.	The Wild Mountain Thyme
03.	I Feel Space (M.A.N.D.Y. remix edit)
04.	No Sex
05.	Munchausen
06.	Do You Want To (Erol Alkan's Glam Racket)
07.	Cubis (I Love You)
08.	Small Town Girl
09.	Circle.Square.Triangle
10.	Showroom
11.	Speak to Me
12.	Clasp Hands
13.	Heard About Your Band
14.	Lust in the Movies
15.	Counter Stroke
16.	A+ Cannibal
17.	Have Love Will Travel
18.	The March of the White Barbarians (edit)
19.	Station ID/Pearl Snaps
20.	Attack Form
21.	Riff Wraiths
22.	Clara Bow
23.	Modern Girl
24.	[untitled]

I'm sick of electronic fingers
And voices through receivers
Give me hands

I'm sick of neurotic picture-makers
And heady confrontation
Give me heart

Oh

I'm through with electronic letters
And too many vices
Give me help

I'm through with love with picture-makers
and New York City
Fuck off

Oh

Run, run, run, run, run that town
We run, run, run, run, run that town
Run, run, run, run, run me down
You run, run, run, run, run me down
Run me down

I'm over cigarettes burned to the filters
And cold that hurts my fingers
Give me gloves

I'm over lonely picture-makers
Who scatter their hearts
Give me guts

Oh

I'm through with lonely conversations
And heartfelt contradictions
Give me grace

I'm through with tragic picture-makers
And optimistic suckers
Fuck off

Oh

Run, run, run, run, run that town
We run, run, run, run, run that town
Run, run, run, run, run me down
You run, run, run, run, run me down

Run, run, run, run, run that town
We run, run, run, run, run that town
Run, run, run, run, run me down
You run, run, run, run, run me down
Run me down

I'm sick of electronic fingers
And voices through receivers
Give me hands

I'm sick of neurotic picture-makers
And heady confrontation
Give me heart

I'm over cigarettes burned to the filters
And cold that hurts my fingers
Give me gloves

I'm over lonely picture-makers
Who scatter their hearts
Give me some fucking guts

Oh