Rare Songs Lyrics
Come On Death
Down In The Dark
Help Me, I'm Hungry
I Hate Myself And Want To Die
In His Room / In His Hands / Verse Chorus Verse
Spank Thru
Talk To Me
The 'Priest' They Called Him
You've Got No Right / On The Mountain / You Know You're Right

Note: For some of these songs, several titles are listed. The title in bold is the correct one while the others are titles the songs have been given on bootlegs and other sources. Please refer to them by the correct title. This section only includes original Nirvana and Kurt Cobain compositions (except for Down In The Dark).


Bambi Slaughter / Bambi Kill

Hey, the love of two
A desire, is whats for you
is it real? A lulliby?
Face to face, with an unamed mouth
Hey! Hey! Heyyyy!  Hey! hey! Heyyyy!
Feel the spirit form, in his eyes was loving for
And his lion's were raging high, hunts himself & fears his ripe
Hey! Hey! Heyyyy!  Hey! Hey! Heyyyy!
Heyyyyyyyyyyy!

Come On Death

Surly 
I am so surly, and I am so surly
And come on life in, and come on deaaaath 
ohaaaaaahhhh, ohaaaaaaaahahah, ohaaaaaaoooohoh 

Surly, and I am so surly, and I am so surly
And come on life in, and come on ...
Noooooooooooo, noooooooooo, nooooooooooo, nooooooooooo

Surly, and I am so surly, and I am so surly
And I am so surly, oooooaaaaaahhhh

Deaaaaaaaath, deaaaaaath, deaaaaaaaaath, deaaaaaaaaaaath
Come on death, come on death, come on death, come on death
Surly, surly, surly, surly

I'm does finishing to hell
And I'm does, and I'm does hell, hell, heeelllllllll

Come on death (x4) -- ohaaaaaaaahh
Come on death (x4) -- deaaaaaaaaaaath

Performed in New York, NY on 09/28/91.

Down In The Dark

Baby you're going Down In The Dark
Show my lonely night is fallen and I don't have very long
Think [I] might of broke my boil
Within my face might burn
You're gonna make it better for a little while

Baby you're gonna die someday
See you in your crowded wasted , then you start to fade
That when we start singing faster
I wouldn't wait so long
Won't get any easier in the Dark

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeahh
You Will, You Will, You Will....

Originally by Mark Lanegan

Help Me, I'm Hungry

Hold me, there's too much tension
Grade me, I'm fucking hungry
Help me, I'm fucking cornered
Grade me, you might be right

Lightning fucking around in my head
Fierce, dangerous, pathetic, fucked up
People freaking every day
White lights inside
What do you want

Cold naked man, picked off his scabs and
Fed them to the pigeons
Help him, he's fucking cornered
Grade him it might be fun

Lightning fucking around in my head, etc...

Hold me, something's happening
Help me, somebody help me
Hold me, I'm fucking hungry
Help me, I'm right here, who are you?

Naked man you say you saw
Fed them, to the pigeons
Help him, he's fucking cornered
Grade him, it might be fun

Lightning fucking around in my head, etc...

Help me, I'm fucking hungry
Help me, I'm fucking up
Hold me, some fucking help

Live version.

I Hate Myself And Want to Die

Runny nose and runny yolk
Even if you have a cold still
You can cough on me again
I still havent had my fulfill

In the someday what's that sound?

Broken heart and broken bones
Think of how a castrated horse feels 
(Alt: Think about some capsules of horse pills)
One more quirky cliche'd phrase
You're the one I wanna refill

In the someday what's that sound?

- Spoken interlude in middle -

Most people don't realize
That two large pieces of coral,
Painted brown, and attached to his skull
With common wood screws can make a child look like a deer

From the "Beavis & Butthead Experience" compilation.

In His Room / In His Hands / Verse Chorus Verse

Driven conversations, even I can read
Wouldn't want to fake it, and I'm tired of this dream
Taking medications, in the back of the room
Driven conversations, he died in June.

See the stab wounds in his hands
See him dying in his room
He's dying in his room
He's dying in his room
Heading for me, heading this way
He is coming, I don't care

Wouldn't want to fake it, well I don't mind
Giving conversations to a friend of mine
Giving medications, in a lighted room
Wouldn't want to fake it, I know I should

See the stab wounds in his hands
You killed him, I don't care
Keep a promise, you would too
Keep a promise, even you
See the silence in his head
He is coming, I don't care

We're not gonna make it, well I don't mind
Wouldn't want to fake it, but I have this time
Giving conversations, to whom they don't know
Taking medications till my stomach's full.

See a famine in his head
See him coming at their heels
He loves you, give him a chance
I don't love him, I don't care
See him starving, give her hell
It is over, we don't care In His Room

Live version. Check the NFC FAQ for more info on this song.

Spank Thru

And as the soft pretentious mountains
Glisten in the light of the trees
And the flowers sing in D minor
And the birds fly happily

We'll be together once again my love
I need you back, oh baby baby

I can't explain just why we lost it from the start
Living without you girl, you'll only break my heart ...

I can feel it
I can hold it 
I can bend it - I can shape it - I can mold it
I can cut it, I can taste it - I can spank it, I can beat it, mastur-bate it ... Aah! 

I've been lookin for Day Glo
Always hearing the same ole' 
Sticky boredom with a book 
I can make it do things you wouldn't think it ever could

I can feel it
I can hold it 
I can bend it - I can shape it - I can mold it
I can cut it, I can taste it - I can spank it, I can beat it, ejacu-late it ... Aah! 

(x2)
I've been lookin for Day Glo
Always hearing the same ole' 
Sticky boredom with a book 
I can make it do things you wouldn't think it ever could

Sub-Pop-200 version

Talk To Me

Shake it down easy, shake it down sleazy, come on
Shake it down easy, shake yourself, Suzy, come on

Don't let me detain you
Try to ride along
Don't you lie, knowing
I am not sad
I am not silly
I am not chippin'
I am not chippin' away

Talk to me
In your own language, please
In your own
Talk to me
In your own language please

Shake it down easy, make it sound seamy, doll man
Make it sound now, make it full house, sad man

Leader of the band
Makes a mental hell
I won't weather it well
Well I never
Saw it with my arm
Paint it with my heart
Paint it with my eyes and make it right

Lay down easy, lay it down seamy, sad man
Lay down easy, lay it down seamy, sad man

You don't want to hear this
Nothin' but a whore
I will play the leader
With pain
Now you know I'm needy
Lay them down easy
Lay them down easy

Talk to me
In your own language please

The 'Priest' They Called Him

"Fight tuberculosis, folks." Christmas Eve, an old
junkie selling Christmas seals on North Park Street.
The "Priest," they called him. "Fight tuberculosis, folks."

People hurried by, gray shadows on a distant wall. 
It was getting late and no money to score.
He turned into a side street and the lake wind hit him like a knife.
Cab stop just ahead under a streetlight.
Boy got out with a suitcase. Thin kid in prep school clothes,
familiar face, the Priest told himself, watching from the doorway. 

"Remindsme of something a long time ago." The boy, there, with his overcoat
unbuttoned, reaching into his pants pocket for the cab fare.

The cab drove away and turned the corner. The boy went inside
a building. "Hmm, yes, maybe" - the suitcase was there in the doorway.
The boy nowhere in sight. Gone to get the keys, most likely,
have to move fast. He picked up the suitcase and started for the corner.
Made it. Glanced down at the case. It didn't look like the case the boy had,
or any boy would have. The Priest couldn't put his finger on what was so
old about the case. Old and dirty, poor quality leather, and heavy. 

Better see what's inside. He turned into Lincoln Park, found an
empty place and opened the case. Two severed human legs that belonged to
a young man with dark skin. Shiny black leg hairs glittered in the
dim streetlight. The legs had been forced into the case and he had to use 
his knee on the back of the case to shove them out. "Legs, yet," 
he said, and walked quickly away with the case. 

Might bring a few dollars to score. The buyer sniffed suspiciously.
"Kind of a funny smell about it." "It's just Mexican leather." 
"Well, some joker didn't cure it." 

The buyer looked at the case with cold disfavor.

"Not even right sure he killed it, whatever it is.
Three is the best I can do and it hurts. But since this is Christmas 
and you're the Priest..." he slipped three bills under the table into the 
Priest's dirty hand. The Priest faded into the street shadows, seedy
and furtive. Three cents didn't buy a bag, nothing less than a nickel. 

Say, remember that old Addie croaker told me not to come back unless 
I paid him the three cents I owe him. Yeah, isn't that a fruit for ya, 
blow your stack about three lousy cents. 

The doctor was not pleased to see him. 

"Now, what do you WANT? I TOLD you!" 

The Priest laid three bills on the table. The doctor put the
money in his pocket and started to scream. 

"I've had TROUBLES! PEOPLE have been around!
I may lose my LICENSE!" The Priest just sat there, eyes, old and heavy with
years of junk, on the doctor's face. 

"I can't write you a prescription." The doctor jerked open a drawer
and slid an ampule across the table. "That's all I have in the OFFICE!"
The doctor stood up. "Take it and GET OUT!" he screamed, hysterical.
The Priest's expression did not change. 

The doctor added in quieter tones, "After all, I'm a professional man,
and I shouldn't be bothered by people like you." 

"Is that all you have for me? One lousy quarter G? Couldn't you lend 
me a nickel...?" "Get out, get out, I'll call the police I tell you."

"All right, doctor, I'm going." Of course it was cold and far to walk, 
rooming house, a shabby street, room on the top floor.

"These stairs," coughed the Priest there, pulling himself up along the 
bannister. He went into the bathroom, yellow wall panels,
toilet dripping, and got his works from under the washbasin.

Wrapped in brown paper, back to his room, get every drop in the dropper. 

He rolled up his sleeve. Then he heard a groan from next door,
room eighteen. The Mexican kid lived there, the Priest had passed him on 
the stairs and saw the kid was hooked, but he never spoke, because he
didn't want any juvenile connections, bad news in any language.

The Priest had had enough bad news in his life.

He heard the groan again, a groan he could feel, no mistaking that groan 
and what it meant. "Maybe he had an accident or something. 

In any case, I can't enjoy my priestly medications with that sound coming
through the wall." Thin walls you understand. The Priest put down his 
dropper, cold hall, and knocked on the door of room eighteen.

"Quien es?" "It's the Preist, kid, I live next door."
He could hear someone hobbling across the floor.

A bolt slid. The boy stood there in his underwear shorts, eyes black with 
pain. He started to fall. The Priest helped him over to the bed. 

"What's wrong, son?" "It's my legs, senor, cramps, and now I am without
medicine." The Priest could see the cramps, like knots of wood there
in the young legs, dark shiny black leg hairs. 

"A few years ago I damaged myself in a bicycle race,
it was then that the cramps started." And now he has the leg cramps back 
with compound junk interest. The old Priest stood there, feeling the boy
groan. He inclined his head as if in prayer, went back and got his dropper.
"It's just a quarter G, kid." "I do not require much, senor."

The boy was sleeping when the Priest left room eighteen. 
He went back to his room and sat down on the bed.

Then it hit him like heavy silent snow. All the gray junk yesterdays. 
He sat there received the immaculate fix. And since he was himself a priest,
there was no need to call one. 

You've Got No Right / On The Mountain / You Know You're Right

I would never bother you 
I would never promise to
I will never follow you 
I will never bother you 

Never speak a word again 
I will crawl away for good

I will move away from here 
You won't be afraid of fear 
No thought was put into this
I always knew it would come to this 
Things have never been so swell 
And I have never failed to fail

Pain! (x3)
You know you're right (x3)

It's so warm and calm inside 
I no longer have to hide 
There's talk about someone else 
Steaming, soon begins to melt
Nothin' really bothers her 
She just wants to love herself 

I will move away from here 
You won't be afraid of fear 
No thought was put into this 
I always knew it'd come to this 
Things have never been so swell 
And I have never failed to fail 

Pain! (x5)

You know you're right (x12)

You know your rights (x4)

Pain ...

These are the lyrics for Nirvana's 1/94 studio version (released on 
the "NIRVANA" album). Note: The correct title of the song is "You Know You're Right" 
and NOT "On a Mountain". See the NFC FAQ for more details on this.
Most songs written by Kurt Cobain and published by The End of Music/EMI-Virgin Songs, Inc. (BMI). All rights controlled and administered by EMI-Virgin Songs, Inc. (BMI). Some songs published by M.J.-Twelve Music & Murky Slough Music (all EMI-Virgin Songs, Inc.; all BMI). BMI international copyright secured lyrics.