Oliver Tree Unreleased Music

Good Luck, Have Fun!

Theme Song

Cowboy Tears: Drown the World in a Puddle of Blood

Oliver Tree - That's Not Me

A MIllion Lies

One Day

A Million Lies

Off Guard

Call Me

Take Notes

Schoolyard / idea 2

This Time

Idiots

Easy

Little Ricky ZR3 - Zoom Zoom

Still Not Anything

Better Days - Lyrics 

[Verse 1]
Things that I said happened way to often
But I ment the time went on when I left
I saw the years were lost
And I guess we may of took to long
Make up your mind then
Now a good things gone
But it's one less thing that could go wrong 

[Chorus]
Better days ahead are coming quickly
What's so wrong with me?
Better days ahead are coming quickly
One day you'll miss me
But maybe not I cannot say for sure

[Verse 2]
(Woo!)
I can't do it all myself 
I'm already here, can someone send help?
I can't do this on my own
Nobody came, they left me alone
I can't do it all myself 
Somebody help, I'm going to hell
I can't so this on my own
But that won't stop me though 

[Chorus]
Better days ahead are coming quickly
What's so wrong with me?
Better days ahead are coming quickly
One day you'll miss me
But maybe not I cannot say for sure

[Outro]
Things that I said happened way to often
But I ment the time went on when I left
I saw the years were lost
And I guess we may of took to long
Make up your mind then
Now a good things gone
But it's one less thing that could go wrong

Oliver Tree - Better Days

Faceplant (Imad x Roget)

Composed and produced by Ivar Agøy
Lyrics adapted from the poem "A Golfer's Rubaiyat" by Henry Walcott Boynton (1869 - 1947) (Public Domain)

Lyrics:
Wake! for the sun has driven in equal flight
The stars before him from the Tee of Night,
And holed them every one without a miss,
Swinging at ease his gold-shod Shaft of Light.

Now the fresh Year, reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Pores on this Club and That with anxious eye,
And dreams of Rounds beyond the Rounds of Liars.

Come, choose your ball, and in the Fire of Spring
Your Red Coat, and your wooden Putter fling;
The Club of Time has but a little while
To waggle, and the Club is on the swing.

Whether at Musselburgh or Shinnecock,
In motley Hose or humbler motley Sock,
The Cup of Life is ebbing Drop by Drop,
Whether the Cup be filled with Scotch or Bock.

A Bag of Clubs, a Silver-Town or two,
A Flask of Scotch, a Pipe of Shag--and Thou
Beside me caddying in the Wilderness--
Ah, Wilderness were Paradise enow.

They say the Female and the Duffer strut
On sacred Greens where Morris used to put;
Himself a natural Hazard now, alas!
That nice hand quiet now, that great Eye shut.

I sometimes think that never springs so green
The Turf as where some Good Fellow has been,
And every emerald Stretch the Fair Green shows
His kindly Tread has known, his sure Play seen.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Jamie and His, and heard great argument
Of Grip and Stance and Swing; but evermore
Found at the Exit but a Dollar spent.

With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with mine own hand sought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reaped:
"You hold it This Way, and you swing it So."

The swinging Brassie strikes; and, having struck,
Moves on: nor all your Wit or future Luck
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Stroke,
Nor from the Card a single Seven pluck.

And that inverted Ball they call the High--
By which the Duffer thinks to live or die,
Lift not your hands to IT for help, for it
As impotently froths as you or I.

Yon rising Moon that leads us Home again,
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
How oft hereafter rising wait for us
At this same Turning--and for One in vain.

And when, like her, my Golfer, I have been
And am no more above the pleasant Green,
And you in your mild Journey pass the Hole
I made in One--ah! pay my Forfeit then!

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