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lyrics

1. Hounds lounge on the porch, scrounge in the garbage.
Long tongues lolling, slouching through carnage.
Every dog gets his day, but a hound doesn’t.
Bitterly begrudging his fortunate cousin.
He’s not rabid, just a little excited.
Well, he might be rabid, opinion’s divided.
Fur bur-covered, breath hot and rank.
Got the teeth of a lesser hound lodged in his flank.
Do not explore what the howling’s for.
Never let an unknown hound indoors.
Never play around or try to get physical
With hollow-eyed hounds whose ribs are visible.
Turn a hound loose on a thief or a prowler,
He returns to the house with a mouth full of trouser.
Call him a good boy, but know that he’s not.
He just knows who gave him the last meal he got.

Chorus: Chosen or found, broken and bound,
Nose to the ground, so goes the hound.
It’s gonna take more to make him faithful
Than occasional scraps from the master’s table.
A few wounds to lick, no new tricks,
Used to kicks, chewed through by ticks.
Hackles rising, feels a storm coming.
He can’t forget that he was born running.

2. He’s a shade-tree-and-soup-bone ascetic while the sun shines.
Amorous at night, he ends purebred bloodlines.
Knows no boundaries, roaming the county.
From the subdivisions to the abandoned foundry.
Rolls in the road kill, eats the meat raw.
Never met a hound who could follow a leash law.
He knows he’ll never get his fair share of the glory,
But that isn’t why he’s marking his territory.
He’s flea-bitten, itching to hear, “Sic ’em!”
Lock him in the kennel, the hound begins digging.
Bays at the moon like it still may listen.
Crossing coyotes and killing all the neighbors’ chickens.
Ducking the cops, buckshot, and flung rocks.
Why chase the cat when you can hunt fox?
Driven wild by the scent of the bleeding black wound
Of a terrified, near-death, treed raccoon.

Chorus: Chosen or found, broken and bound,
Nose to the ground, so goes the hound.
It’s gonna take more to make him faithful
Than occasional scraps from the master’s table.
A few wounds to lick, no new tricks,
Used to kicks, chewed through by ticks.
Hackles rising, feels a storm coming.
He can’t forget that he was born running.

3. Stuffed in a sack with the rest of his litter.
Tossed in the lake with a splash and a whimper.
He clawed his way out of the bag as it sank.
As the other puppies drowned he paddled to the bank.
Scrambled through the underbrush, brambles and thorns.
He followed his nose to the place he was born.
Scratched at the door, you opened and looked around.
He took a chunk out of your leg. Well, welcome home, Hound.
The hound’s short life is fraught with dark turns.
Choke chains, fences, hearts full of worms.
Forgotten outside, unmanageable cold.
Old bones bolting from Animal Control.
And no true hound lasts long in a pound.
He dies in his cage or he gets put down.
Or he snarls and he bites and fights his way free.
And as the other hounds howl their approval, he flees.

Chorus: Chosen or found, broken and bound,
Nose to the ground, so goes the hound.
It’s gonna take more to make him faithful
Than occasional scraps from the master’s table.
A few wounds to lick, no new tricks,
Used to kicks, chewed through by ticks.
Hackles rising, feels a storm coming.
He can’t forget that he was born running.

credits

from The Misnomer, released July 27, 2012
Marena Atkins introduced the song and sang the chorus.
The Mispronouncer made the beat, wrote the lyrics, and performed the vocals on the verses.

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The Mispronouncer Redlands, California

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