American musician (1942–2023)
Sixto Rodriguez (July 10, 1942 – August 9, 2023), known professionally as Rodriguez, was an American singer-songwriter from Detroit, Michigan.
From: Wikiquote (CC BY-SA 4.0)
Native Name:
Jesus Sixto Diaz-Rodriguez
Alternative Names:
Jesús Rodríguez
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Sixto Díaz Rodríguez
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Rodriguez
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Jesus Rodriguez
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Sixto Diaz Rodriguez
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Sixto Rodriquez
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Sugar Man
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Jesus Sixto Diaz Rodriguez
From Wikidata (CC0)
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I wonder how many times you've been had.
And I wonder how many plans have gone bad.
I wonder how many times you had sex?
And I wonder do you know who'll be next?
I wonder. I wonder. Wonder, I do.
I wonder about the love you can't find.
And I wonder about the loneliness that's mine.
I wonder how much going have you got?
And I wonder about your friends that are not.
I wonder. I wonder. Wonder I do.
The moon is hanging
in the purple sky.
The baby's sleeping
while its mother sighs.
Talking about the rich folks:
rich folks have the same jokes
and they park in basic places.
The priest is preaching
from a shallow grave.
He counts his money
then he paints you saved.
Talking to the young folks:
young folks share the same jokes
but they'd meet in older places.
And you measure for wealth by the things you can hold
and you measure for love by the sweet things you're told
and you live in the past of a dream that you're in
and your selfishness is your cardinal sin.
And you want to be held with highest regard.
It delights you so much
if he's trying so hard.
And you're trying to conceal your ordinary way
with a smile or a shrug
or some stolen cliché.
But don't you understand?
And don't you look about?
I'm trying to take nothing from you
so why should you act so put out, for me?
The Mayor hides the crime rate.
Council woman hesitates.
Public gets irate but forgets the vote date.
Weatherman complaining "Predicted sun. It's raining."
Everyone's protesting. Boyfriend keeps suggesting
you're not like all of the rest.
Garbage ain't collected. Women ain't protected.
Politicians using people they're abusing.
The mafia's getting bigger, like pollution in the river
and you tell me that this is where it's at.
And I'll forget about the girl that said no.
Then I'll tell who I want where to go.
And I'll forget about your lies and deceit
and your attempts to be so discreet.
Maybe today, yeah,
I'll slip away.
And you can keep your symbols of success.
Then I'll pursue my own happiness.
And you can keep your clocks and routines.
Then I'll go mend all my shattered dreams.
Maybe today, yeah,
I'll slip away.
Was it a huntsman or a player
that made you pay the cost
that now assumes relaxed positions
And prostitutes your loss?
Were you tortured by your own thirst
in those pleasures that you seek
that made you Tom the Curious;
that makes you James the Weak?
And you claim you've got something going,
something you call unique,
but I've seen your self-pity showing
as the tears rolled down your cheeks.
Going down a dirty inner city side road,
I plotted.
Madness passed me by, she smiled Hi.
I nodded.
Looked up as the sky began to cry;
she shot it.
Met a girl from Dearborn early six o'clock this morn:
a cold fact.
Asked about her bag. "Suburbia's such a drag,
won't go back,
'cause Papa don't allow no new ideas here,
and now he sees the news, but the picture's not too clear."
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Now you sit there thinking. Feeling insecure.
The mocking court gesture claims there is no proven cure.
Go back to your chamber, your eyes upon the wall.
'Cos you got no one to listen, you got no one to call.
And you think I'm curious.
Drifting, drowning in a purple sea of doubt
you wanna hear she loves you
but the words don't fit the mouth.
You're a loser, a rebel-a-cause-without.
But don't think me callous.
Woman, please be gone.
You've stayed here much too long.
Don't you wish that you could cry?
Don't you wish I would die?
Seamy seesaw kids.
Child-women on the skids.
The dust will choke you blind.
The lust will choke your mind.
I kiss the floor, one kick, no more.
The pig and hose have set me free.
I've tasted Hate Street's hanging tree.
I've tasted Hate Street's hanging tree.