1) A … Read Full Bio ↴There are two unreleased Nirvana songs known as "Bambi Slaughter":
1) A Melvins-influenced hardcore/grunge song appeared on "Illiteracy Will Prevail" demo cassette, recorded by Kurt Cobain's pre-Nirvana band Fecal Matter about 1985.
2) An untitled acoustic song recorded about 1988, mislabeled as "Bambi Slaughter" on several bootlegs, including "Outcesticide IV".
Bambi Slaughter
Nirvana Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
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!
Interpreting Nirvana's song "Bambi Slaughter" can be quite challenging due to the abstract and enigmatic nature of its lyrics. The song seems to be describing a complex relationship between two people or perhaps even within oneself. The opening lines, "Hey, the love of two, a desire, is what's for you, is it real? A lullaby?" suggest a deep longing for someone or something that may or may not be attainable. The reference to a lullaby could be a metaphor for a soothing but ultimately unobtainable dream or fantasy.
The song then shifts to a more intense and primal tone, with the repeated chants of "Hey!" and the description of "his lion's were raging high, hunts himself & fears his ripe." This could suggest a struggle with inner demons or conflicting emotions, and the fear of giving in to one's baser instincts. The last line, "Feel the spirit form," could be interpreted as a release from these inner demons or a surrender to one's desires.
Overall, "Bambi Slaughter" is a cryptic and abstract song that invites multiple interpretations. It could be seen as a reflection on the complexities of human desire and the struggle to reconcile our fragile, vulnerable emotions with our more primal and destructive urges.
Line by Line Meaning
Hey, the love of two
This song is about the love between two individuals.
A desire, is whats for you
The singer considers this love to be desirable.
is it real? A lulliby?
The singer wonders if this love is genuine or just a pleasant dream.
Face to face, with an unamed mouth
The singer is in close proximity to someone whose face they cannot identify.
Hey! Hey! Heyyyy! Hey! hey! Heyyyy!
These repeated vocalizations serve as a kind of chorus or emphasis on the song's themes.
Feel the spirit form, in his eyes was loving for
The singer feels a powerful emotional connection with the person whose face they cannot see, based on the love they sense in their eyes.
And his lion's were raging high, hunts himself & fears his ripe
The person the singer feels connected to seems to be struggling with inner turmoil, represented by the image of a lion raging within them.
Hey! Hey! Heyyyy! Hey! Hey! Heyyyy!
The repetition of the chorus again underscores the song's themes.
Heyyyyyyyyyyy!
The final vocalization of the song could be interpreted as a wistful or resigned expression of the singer's feelings.
Contributed by Carson J. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
Versionsfromtheclypse
this music puts me on a good mood, thanks a lot
James T Donley III
Do the funky Cobain, the funky funky Cobain! It's a brand new dance craze and it's sweeping across Aberdeen all the way clear to Hoquiam and they're even doin it in Olympia (it's the water!)
Yeah, if he'd just chopped off the proggy parts with vocals and looped that funky white boy boogie of an instrumental intro a little longer, this here "Bambi Slaughter" woulda been a bonafide fantastical fanatical frenzy of a dance craze epidemic all across Cascadia (especially up in Canada, eh?)
Too bad for the Byzantine butchery of twists and shouts and winding turns and zigs, zags, proto-grunge goofiness and faux-virtuoso pretentiousness on the geeee-tar after the funk flees in fear after the first fleet-feet tippity-yap-tap bony-butt boogiein bars of anorexercise and Afrogernomic danceability dissipate, the improbable and amazing musical dance craze bulimically bismuth'd up from the bubbleguts and Kraft-stuft bowels of a poor boy dissipates... he needed empathy, liked Eazy-E, hated the blow but heroin-a-go-go, doesn't like his kinfolk, the self-confessed alleged retard-reeming future spokesman of Gen X with a capital"X" Why, Zed? "Zed's dead, baby...Zed's dead..." And sadly so is Superkurt (not to be confused with sauerkraut) the sad suicidal Chihuahua who took his own charmed life with his BFF's borrowed buckshot bullets in red plastic shells shoved teen-pussy tight into each double barrel, loaded with hot lead, shards of sharpness and brainshred et ceteras, rusty used staples, diced tetanus two-by-four nails claw hammered free and recycled as stuffing for turkey skeet shot, trigger itchy index finger flinched, fucked him up, fucked us all up, fucked the world, fucked GenX, fucking ended all our everything, all our teenage angst and teenage kicks, no more MTV, radio, reluctant rock stars, faux-homo SNL man-on-band tongue action, would've liked to blew it you wouldn't mind but we all minded, ashes to dust back to all fall down downer, down down the drain you, and my own intact cracked brain is hanging upsidedown - all at the loss of an only son, the winning swimming supersperm that cracked the egg, yes the salty Bunyan dick-dribble that grew its due to sit as throned, King of Punk like some poison idear like Poison Idea from Portland, Oregon not Poison with CC DeVille that the cat dragged in, not from Portland, Maine, but from the bullseye busted nut in his momma's cunt, wild pollywogs dancing their own indigenous dance of the fertility variety, in celebration of a cumshot/moneyshot on the spot skeetshot sperm splat that got to growing us an apple, a poison apple, an awesome-ass pop heirloom apple, the appleseed tossed made heir apparent, apparently and as aforementioned, the prodigal impossible friendly lil PC fuhrer feminist, an anorexorcist and quite çontrary, a conflicted conflagration, an Iggy Icarus a-flappin, yappin, howlin hairless sasquatch wolf whose every single rendezvous rib's accountable and accounted for on first shirtless sight- the trailer park's proudest doublewide blew-eyed Pisces Iscariot and Rabbi Rabid Lord Grunge Christ meets the cold custard ghost of soft-serve Mr. Softee loggerloin offspring of the evergreen giants that populate Grays Harbor County's Bunyan backwoods, continuous carpets of conifers clear to the coast on clearcut rolling rolling rolling hills green hell green hills of Africa and all that other this that and then some that sure was something, our sweet fleeting teenage riot, a romper stomper sundae school, then bovine boo-hoo-hoo to the grave, till we all shuffle off to Buffalo-oh, but thanks for the memories and Shangri-La-la-las and lotsa lotta love peace and empathy and Andy Griffith's hairdresser's on fire (but he bleached it cut short like leopard spotted Lou Reed in the seventies) - we're not in Max's Kansas City any more, Toto, oh no, so go, oh well whatever nevermind let's all just Scooby Dooby doo it and just Rin-Tin-Tin-Tin-Tango to that funky funky funkeeeee Cobain yes you're welcome please and thank you all and thank you KC goodnite.
MediaHead
what did i just read
James T Donley III
@MediaHead What did I just write?
Anus
Yeah man
matt cheek
Dude might be just as good as kurtd
noahDnewport
Those are certainly all words
Soulfire Clash
If only Crover was down to be their full time drummer. Dave wouldn’t exist in the space he is now. How ironic.
Tasteful
melvins wouldnt be where they were today, sooooo.... idk kinda glad he didnt want to be there full time
SUSANOO
That’s honestly crazy