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about

So I called Ben who lives in Merry Olde England, and asked him if he wanted to sing on one of my songs. Ben being an incredible human being agreed to, So he recorded some really pleasant backing vocals, and I liked them and ummed and ached, and called him, and asked if he would kindly redo them, but with some gravity defying gusto. I was kicking around Muizemberg in Capetown due to Lockdown and being locked out of Botswana. So Ben went back to the studio, but this time armed with a shit tonne of beer. And we conducted the recording session over the phone. Me in a pub in Cape Town and Ben in a Studio Somewhere in England, Stadford upon chimney sweep or some such named town. The session basically got louder and more boisterousAnd we achieved exactly the vibe I dreamed of. Ben made the microphone's diaphragm sweat. Shuddering the bowels of middle earth. Anyway, I'm very happy with his performance. Thanks Ben.
We used to belong to a band called Brown Back Jackson and the Buzzkills In Melbourne, we once shaved our backs and donated the hair to men with upper lip alopecia ( poor dudes who can't grow moustaches),and I can't really remember the next couple years, those were some fun times. If that anecdote doesn't qualify me to sing this song, then I don't know what will.

lyrics

Strange mother fucker that can play the guitar

G-C- ( I throw an F into the bass )
I left down my lonesome road road
Pretending I knew more than I really knowed
D-C
To stir the pot ,to stake my claim
To learn to spell gods secret name.

I came across the moon’s missing daughter
She had a look thatd make you, come hell or high water
Left turn wrong and wrong turned right
night turned day then day turned night
just as it ought to


G-D-C
She ask me who the hell do you think you are
I strummed the strings and sang for my supper
I said darling
I’m just a strange mother fucker
Who can play the guitar

Under neon lights in the blinding rain
Her hair was a mess,she smelt like cocaine
she only ride on that gravy train
But its a a fine line
Between her pleasure and her pain

I sat down with her sycophants
With their powdered wigs and their fancy pants
Did they have the number for me to dial
Athey kicked my ass with a sideways smile
And said dance monkey dance

I was in for a penny, I was in for a pound
They said son, get the hell out of town.

I wonder who
The hell do they think that they am
Sleight of hand, and an eyelash flutter
They stared and at me and said with a stutter

Damn!

I was seeking shade beneathe the shadow of a doubt
Lost within I was left without
under the dappled light of an old fig tree
I rest my head and slept to the sound to the stream

I met up a scary dream
it said my broken heart was the openest thing it’d ever seen
every single word I felt
And god’s secret name is spelt

who the hell do you think you are
when you look for truth
When you searching for secrets
with nail and tooth
you gotta get beneath it
And just play the guitar

now you in for a penny now you in for a pound
you far from home
but you homewards bound

credits

from Treasure From Below My Couch's Cushion, released March 26, 2021
Written by Matthew Sheldon
Guitar, Vocals, Bass and drums, strange one stringed thing that makes the funky noises: Matthew Sheldon
Lead guitar : Tim Smith
Loud Vocals: Ben Holden
Mixed by Mikael Rosen at light house studios 2021

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Bomb Bom Mafayette image

Bomb Bom Mafayette Bellingen, Australia

Written and recorded by Maf Sheldon and a group of beautiful humans between Botswana and Australia. Quirky, folky, a bit jazz, a bit reggae.
a sincere act of serious playfulness.

Feel free to contact me on Mafsheldon@gmail.com

You can find me on social media platform Tinder

or Facebook Bombbommafayete

or email me at Mafsheldon@gmail.com ... more

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