AN ASSORTMENT OF LYRICS, arranged alphabetically by song title. It would have been nice to have a chronological arrangement, but the beginnings of many of the songs have been lost in time and since many Tom returned to and reworked later in life, any end date is just as vague.
Somewhere else, but not, I think, on this site, I have suggested that Tom did have a great facility for songwriting. It came natural to him. And at times it came so easy that he did not take the additional time to struggle and work at the time to make the song more nearly perfect. He would return to the song many years later, usually to the betterment of the song, but of course by then the musical world would have moved on. But ultimately, I think, Tom did not care. The pleasure for him was in the work itself. And perhaps reworking an old song was a way of going back to the time of the original composition. One of his songs is called "You Take Me Back to My Childhood" and it is sung by a dancer (think Fred Astaire) to his partner on a dance floor, but just perhaps it reflects the experience of Tom working again with the songs from his past.
Somewhere else, but not, I think, on this site, I have suggested that Tom did have a great facility for songwriting. It came natural to him. And at times it came so easy that he did not take the additional time to struggle and work at the time to make the song more nearly perfect. He would return to the song many years later, usually to the betterment of the song, but of course by then the musical world would have moved on. But ultimately, I think, Tom did not care. The pleasure for him was in the work itself. And perhaps reworking an old song was a way of going back to the time of the original composition. One of his songs is called "You Take Me Back to My Childhood" and it is sung by a dancer (think Fred Astaire) to his partner on a dance floor, but just perhaps it reflects the experience of Tom working again with the songs from his past.
AILEEN FROM ABILENE
Long tall lean mean Aileen from Abilene -
Meanest gal I think I’ve ever seen.
Looks like warm molasses
But her heart is cold and brittle,
Makes a boy from Big Spring, Texas
Feel like so much spittle.
Stringbean lean mean Aileen from Abilene.
Took the desert of my heart
And made it green.
I thought she’d be the basis
For love’s life-long oasis.
But, oh, this devil’s daughter
Turned the rain off, stopped the water,
Broke my heart and gave me back my ring.
Long lean ding-a-ling wing-ding mean,
I mean Aileen from Abilene.
Long tall lean mean Aileen from Abilene -
Meanest gal I think I’ve ever seen.
Looks like warm molasses
But her heart is cold and brittle,
Makes a boy from Big Spring, Texas
Feel like so much spittle.
Stringbean lean mean Aileen from Abilene.
Took the desert of my heart
And made it green.
I thought she’d be the basis
For love’s life-long oasis.
But, oh, this devil’s daughter
Turned the rain off, stopped the water,
Broke my heart and gave me back my ring.
Long lean ding-a-ling wing-ding mean,
I mean Aileen from Abilene.
ASSASSINATION/POETS
This fantasia in the mind of Jack was one of my favorite bits in the original novel A string of Banjos, the one much departed from in the later-published more “normal” version, Ghost Guitars. For me it perfectly captures the confusions, the dualities, in the minds of our song-writing duo. I present it here as it appears in that earlier work, with a little bit of context.
At a Vietnam War protest rally, Jack tears down an American flag.
He tore himself from the cross of his conscience as he and Sandy crawled up a flagpole to drag into the waters of their ferment an American flag and replace it with the one symbolizing insurrection, a red rag of rebel bunting. An act that muddied the waters of his heart. He tried not to think about it . . . As Sandy attached the rebel flag, Pecos was supposed to get rid of the displaced one. Instead he began folding it like a dutiful YAM [in the novel, Youth for American Morality] . . .
* * *
Jack remembered—where was it, Nebraska? Omaha, he thought. They’d seen this movie. The late show. Late there means it had begun at 9:30. The picture ends. They start waking out. At least Jack does. And so does everybody else. He thinks Jeeter [Jack’s stepfather and songwriter mentor and sometime lover] is behind him. He’s talking to him, for Christ sake. He looks around, Jeeter’s not there. He’s still standing down front at his seat. At attention. "The Star Spangled Banner" is playing. The American flag is on the screen. Jeeter is giving each the acknowledgment no one else is. Everyone else is walking out, but not Jeet. There he is down there standing at attention. Until the flag fades to white and "The Star Spangled Banner" runs out of breath.
At the time it had amused him. Now he thought it was something Pecos might have done. Would do, he guessed, if movies still did that sort of thing. If there were any podunk theaters left to do it in. Jeeter and Pake: the patriotic connection.
The film would have to remember Pecos and the flags.
* * *
Soundtrack: silent.
Guns.
They occupy the screen. In composition and montage. Rifles, pistols, machine guns.
A roof deck.
Camera pans, picking up:
Three rifles, two pistol, three knives, a machete, six hundred rounds of ammo, canned foods, five gallon water bottle,
sunglasses, compass, alarm clock, spray deodorant, pink toilet paper.
Series of still shots
Sniper firing from University Tower in Austin.
Subtitle: CHARLES WHITMAN, Austin, 1966.
Close up: CHARLES WHITMAN.
Dissolve into:
Close up: WALT WHITMAN.
So identified.
On sound track music begins:
“We are the Poets.”
Pecos and Jack singing it.
On screen, Walt Whitman commences firing.
We are the furtive
We are the feared,
We are the celebrated,
We are the revered,
We are the poets,
We are the snipers,
The music when soft voices die . . .
On screen, P & J seen singing on an Austin street near University. About them, victims falling.
At the sniper's perch, Walt Whitman joined by Percy Shelley, Emily Dickinson, William Blake, all firing.
We are the passion
Beyond the norm.
We are the unformulated
In fugitive form.
We are the poets,
We are the snipers,
The music when soft voices die . . .
From the book depository window, Lee Harvey Oswald. Firing.
From the hotel room, his rifle turned on a group of black men on a motel balcony, James Earl Ray.
Firing.
In the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel, Sirhan Sirhan.
Firing.
Where you danced in Chancellorsville
We've made a shrine.
We picked you off with an M 16
In the arms of your valentine . . .
The music is plaintive, anguished, melodic.
We are the pattern
To art's disorder,
We are the music black
About its border.
We are the poets,
We are the snipers,
The music when soft voices die.
Music recedes, stays under as
Montage continues:
Lincoln funeral cortege. Superimposed upon it:
An American flag unfurled, rippling the entire width and breadth of screen; the first few measures of Star Spangled Banner
are heard.
“We Are the Poets” gives way to strains of “After the Recent Assassination.”
Pecos and Jack singing.
A succession of costumes and 'looks ' to indicate passage of time and the team's (Pake's in particular) development as artists
and/or popular entertainers-cum-politically-influential personalities. Pecos's appearance becomes subtly modified to intensify the suggestion of the Indian. Jack's costume remains essentially the same.
Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun,
Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun . . .
After the recent assassination
We had lemonade
And looked at each other, stunned.
How could such a thing happen in America?
‘Better get the car off the street,’
she said.
‘Just in case they come around.
‘Better put some bullets in the pistol
in the bureau,' she said,
‘Just in case, when the sun goes down—’
Just in case when the sun goes down,
Just in case when the sun goes down.
Johnny, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun,
Johnny, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun.
We watched the funeral trains,
Saw the televised memorials,
Heard the speeches in Congress,
Read the paper's editorials.
Everyone's goal—control!
'Johnny, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun--
and give it up!’
(Johnny, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun
—and keep it loaded.
—and keep it handy.)
The gun’s an American
Rod of Christianity!
Constitutional right.
We want our civil liberties
Cocked and ready, beside us
in the night.
Johnny, get a gun.
After the recent assassination
We had a highball
And put the chains on the door.
How could such a thing happen to the Kennedys
And the Kings?
'Honey, teach me--
How you load these things?’
‘Better get the car off the street,’ she said.
‘Just in case they come around.
‘Better put some bullets in the pistol
in the bureau,’ she said,
'Just in case when the sun goes down—’
Well, the first thing they register’s
Your guns—o.k.?
The next thing they register is you.
Then they reach their goal,
They get control,
Then they come, they take your guns away,
Then they come, they take your sons away,
Then the next time they come what they take away
is you—o.k.?
Is that o.k.?
The next time they come what they take away is you.
Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun,
Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun,
get a gun, get a gun . . .
Just in case, when the sun goes down,
Just in case, when the sun goes down.
This fantasia in the mind of Jack was one of my favorite bits in the original novel A string of Banjos, the one much departed from in the later-published more “normal” version, Ghost Guitars. For me it perfectly captures the confusions, the dualities, in the minds of our song-writing duo. I present it here as it appears in that earlier work, with a little bit of context.
At a Vietnam War protest rally, Jack tears down an American flag.
He tore himself from the cross of his conscience as he and Sandy crawled up a flagpole to drag into the waters of their ferment an American flag and replace it with the one symbolizing insurrection, a red rag of rebel bunting. An act that muddied the waters of his heart. He tried not to think about it . . . As Sandy attached the rebel flag, Pecos was supposed to get rid of the displaced one. Instead he began folding it like a dutiful YAM [in the novel, Youth for American Morality] . . .
* * *
Jack remembered—where was it, Nebraska? Omaha, he thought. They’d seen this movie. The late show. Late there means it had begun at 9:30. The picture ends. They start waking out. At least Jack does. And so does everybody else. He thinks Jeeter [Jack’s stepfather and songwriter mentor and sometime lover] is behind him. He’s talking to him, for Christ sake. He looks around, Jeeter’s not there. He’s still standing down front at his seat. At attention. "The Star Spangled Banner" is playing. The American flag is on the screen. Jeeter is giving each the acknowledgment no one else is. Everyone else is walking out, but not Jeet. There he is down there standing at attention. Until the flag fades to white and "The Star Spangled Banner" runs out of breath.
At the time it had amused him. Now he thought it was something Pecos might have done. Would do, he guessed, if movies still did that sort of thing. If there were any podunk theaters left to do it in. Jeeter and Pake: the patriotic connection.
The film would have to remember Pecos and the flags.
* * *
Soundtrack: silent.
Guns.
They occupy the screen. In composition and montage. Rifles, pistols, machine guns.
A roof deck.
Camera pans, picking up:
Three rifles, two pistol, three knives, a machete, six hundred rounds of ammo, canned foods, five gallon water bottle,
sunglasses, compass, alarm clock, spray deodorant, pink toilet paper.
Series of still shots
Sniper firing from University Tower in Austin.
Subtitle: CHARLES WHITMAN, Austin, 1966.
Close up: CHARLES WHITMAN.
Dissolve into:
Close up: WALT WHITMAN.
So identified.
On sound track music begins:
“We are the Poets.”
Pecos and Jack singing it.
On screen, Walt Whitman commences firing.
We are the furtive
We are the feared,
We are the celebrated,
We are the revered,
We are the poets,
We are the snipers,
The music when soft voices die . . .
On screen, P & J seen singing on an Austin street near University. About them, victims falling.
At the sniper's perch, Walt Whitman joined by Percy Shelley, Emily Dickinson, William Blake, all firing.
We are the passion
Beyond the norm.
We are the unformulated
In fugitive form.
We are the poets,
We are the snipers,
The music when soft voices die . . .
From the book depository window, Lee Harvey Oswald. Firing.
From the hotel room, his rifle turned on a group of black men on a motel balcony, James Earl Ray.
Firing.
In the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel, Sirhan Sirhan.
Firing.
Where you danced in Chancellorsville
We've made a shrine.
We picked you off with an M 16
In the arms of your valentine . . .
The music is plaintive, anguished, melodic.
We are the pattern
To art's disorder,
We are the music black
About its border.
We are the poets,
We are the snipers,
The music when soft voices die.
Music recedes, stays under as
Montage continues:
Lincoln funeral cortege. Superimposed upon it:
An American flag unfurled, rippling the entire width and breadth of screen; the first few measures of Star Spangled Banner
are heard.
“We Are the Poets” gives way to strains of “After the Recent Assassination.”
Pecos and Jack singing.
A succession of costumes and 'looks ' to indicate passage of time and the team's (Pake's in particular) development as artists
and/or popular entertainers-cum-politically-influential personalities. Pecos's appearance becomes subtly modified to intensify the suggestion of the Indian. Jack's costume remains essentially the same.
Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun,
Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun . . .
After the recent assassination
We had lemonade
And looked at each other, stunned.
How could such a thing happen in America?
‘Better get the car off the street,’
she said.
‘Just in case they come around.
‘Better put some bullets in the pistol
in the bureau,' she said,
‘Just in case, when the sun goes down—’
Just in case when the sun goes down,
Just in case when the sun goes down.
Johnny, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun,
Johnny, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun.
We watched the funeral trains,
Saw the televised memorials,
Heard the speeches in Congress,
Read the paper's editorials.
Everyone's goal—control!
'Johnny, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun--
and give it up!’
(Johnny, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun
—and keep it loaded.
—and keep it handy.)
The gun’s an American
Rod of Christianity!
Constitutional right.
We want our civil liberties
Cocked and ready, beside us
in the night.
Johnny, get a gun.
After the recent assassination
We had a highball
And put the chains on the door.
How could such a thing happen to the Kennedys
And the Kings?
'Honey, teach me--
How you load these things?’
‘Better get the car off the street,’ she said.
‘Just in case they come around.
‘Better put some bullets in the pistol
in the bureau,’ she said,
'Just in case when the sun goes down—’
Well, the first thing they register’s
Your guns—o.k.?
The next thing they register is you.
Then they reach their goal,
They get control,
Then they come, they take your guns away,
Then they come, they take your sons away,
Then the next time they come what they take away
is you—o.k.?
Is that o.k.?
The next time they come what they take away is you.
Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun,
Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun,
get a gun, get a gun . . .
Just in case, when the sun goes down,
Just in case, when the sun goes down.
AT HOME WITH RAIN
Sun in the sky,
Why make me cry?
I feel more at home with rain.
Skies bright and blue,
Bluer than you,
I feel more at home with rain.
The one I care for
Has ceased to care for me.
The prediction is “Fair.”
I echo, “No fair.”
He’s (She’s) no longer there for me.
No no no no -
The sun mustn’t glow.
Fair skies gotta go-
I feel more at home with rain.
Sun in the sky,
Why make me cry?
I feel more at home with rain.
Skies bright and blue,
Bluer than you,
I feel more at home with rain.
The one I care for
Has ceased to care for me.
The prediction is “Fair.”
I echo, “No fair.”
He’s (She’s) no longer there for me.
No no no no -
The sun mustn’t glow.
Fair skies gotta go-
I feel more at home with rain.
BAREFOOT AND PREGNANT
She could be America's sweetheart -
Look at that figure, what design.
But I think I'll keep her
Barefoot and pregnant
And mine.
She's a dream. I gotta disguise her,
Make her a comic valentine.
So I think I'll keep her
Barefoot and pregnant
And mine.
Queen of the Silver Screen
She could be.
She could even be on TV.
Mean, I must be mean as can be -
I want to keep her for me.
She's a star and I'll keep her shining,
Hanging the diapers on the line.
Yes, I'm gonna keep her
Barefoot and pregnant
And mine.
FINISH:
She could be America's sweetheart -
Look at that figure, what design.
But I think I'll keep on
Humpin' her, pumpin' her,
Keepin' her
Barefoot and pregnant
And mine.
[Note: Tom had written this one in the early 1960s, and when he started work on A String of Banjos he hauled it out of the trunk and stuck it in for a while. It seemed like a useful way station on Jack's progress from standard C&W through a more raunchy brand and ultimately to an X-rated late night brand before moving on from "party records" to more mainstream rock and roll.]
She could be America's sweetheart -
Look at that figure, what design.
But I think I'll keep her
Barefoot and pregnant
And mine.
She's a dream. I gotta disguise her,
Make her a comic valentine.
So I think I'll keep her
Barefoot and pregnant
And mine.
Queen of the Silver Screen
She could be.
She could even be on TV.
Mean, I must be mean as can be -
I want to keep her for me.
She's a star and I'll keep her shining,
Hanging the diapers on the line.
Yes, I'm gonna keep her
Barefoot and pregnant
And mine.
FINISH:
She could be America's sweetheart -
Look at that figure, what design.
But I think I'll keep on
Humpin' her, pumpin' her,
Keepin' her
Barefoot and pregnant
And mine.
[Note: Tom had written this one in the early 1960s, and when he started work on A String of Banjos he hauled it out of the trunk and stuck it in for a while. It seemed like a useful way station on Jack's progress from standard C&W through a more raunchy brand and ultimately to an X-rated late night brand before moving on from "party records" to more mainstream rock and roll.]
BETTER THAN EVER
Oh, how wonderful the world is,
Like it never was before.
And how wonderful the wonder
That it’s me that you adore.
The birds are singing their songs
Better than ever before.
The clouds are moving along
Better than ever before.
The sun that shines in the sky
Is brighter than I’ve ever seen.
I mean, the grass is so green.
Look at me, oh,
I’m, oh, so aglow!
I’m dancing!
What you have done,
Whisp’ring those things in my ear?
You tell me I am the one,
What I have wanted to hear.
Now that you’ve finally informed me,
You’ve transformed the entire universe,
And now it’s better than ever,
It’s better than ever before.
Oh, how wonderful the world is,
Like it never was before.
And how wonderful the wonder
That it’s me that you adore.
The birds are singing their songs
Better than ever before.
The clouds are moving along
Better than ever before.
The sun that shines in the sky
Is brighter than I’ve ever seen.
I mean, the grass is so green.
Look at me, oh,
I’m, oh, so aglow!
I’m dancing!
What you have done,
Whisp’ring those things in my ear?
You tell me I am the one,
What I have wanted to hear.
Now that you’ve finally informed me,
You’ve transformed the entire universe,
And now it’s better than ever,
It’s better than ever before.
BILLY’S NOT THERE
When I glance
At his easy chair,
It isn’t easy -
Billy’s not there.
Here’s his razor.
This was his spare.
Bathroom seems empty-
Billy’s not there.
His cigarettes -
He smoked how many?
He said he’d quit,
He quit just me.
It’s my bedtime.
Don’t seem to care.
Pull down the covers-
Billy’s not there.
Two:
Washer/dryer
Needs some repair.
No one to fix it -
Billy’s not there.
Here’s his toothbrush.
It’s had some wear.
No teeth to brush now -
Billy’s not there.
His magazines -
Baseball, golf, football.
I don’t know beans.
I don’t know ball.
Well, he’s gone now.
Mustn’t despair.
Here’s his dog, Smiley -
Billy’s not there.
When I glance
At his easy chair,
It isn’t easy -
Billy’s not there.
Here’s his razor.
This was his spare.
Bathroom seems empty-
Billy’s not there.
His cigarettes -
He smoked how many?
He said he’d quit,
He quit just me.
It’s my bedtime.
Don’t seem to care.
Pull down the covers-
Billy’s not there.
Two:
Washer/dryer
Needs some repair.
No one to fix it -
Billy’s not there.
Here’s his toothbrush.
It’s had some wear.
No teeth to brush now -
Billy’s not there.
His magazines -
Baseball, golf, football.
I don’t know beans.
I don’t know ball.
Well, he’s gone now.
Mustn’t despair.
Here’s his dog, Smiley -
Billy’s not there.
BOARDWALK
Tom considered the movie Boardwalk to be one-half an excellent movie about growing old and the rest an indifferent
tale of a budding rock singer with a crappy ending. He believed that the film should grow in importance over time because of the intersection of talents Lee Strasberg, Ruth Gordon, Janet Leigh, and Lillian Roth (returning to the screen after an absence of many years), all of whom gave excellent performances.
Tom wrote the lyrics for a possible title song (music by our late friend William Dyer) which Lillian Roth recorded on tape for Tom. He offered it to the director, but the song was rejected because only rock music would be featured. Noted songwriter Sammy Cahn also expressed interest (through Tom) in supplying a title song. Also rejected. The style of Bill Dyer’s music is that of a valse triste and it is quite lovely, as is Miss Roth’s recording. The point of view of the song is that of the Ruth Gordon character in the movie, who becomes ill and dies, leaving her husband, Lee Strasberg, bereft.
BOARDWALK
Music by William Dyer
Lyrics by Tom Miller
We’ve eaten the hot dogs,
We’ve taken the rides,
Done the fun-house mirrors
Front and sides.
Am I burned,
Am I tanned?
Want to walk in the sand,
Or like this, hand in hand
On the boardwalk?
The salt water taffy
Has loosened a tooth.
Do you think the gypsy
Tells the truth?
Pass her by,
Let her be.
My good fortune she’d see
You here standing with me
On the boardwalk.
We’ve come a long way.
What didn’t we do!
It’s been a lark,
An amusement park
Any day with you.
But a chill in the wind now.
I ought to go home.
Is this Brighton Beach
Or is it Nome?
Oh, this day’s
Been a friend,
But I now recommend
You walk me to the end
Of the boardwalk.
Tom considered the movie Boardwalk to be one-half an excellent movie about growing old and the rest an indifferent
tale of a budding rock singer with a crappy ending. He believed that the film should grow in importance over time because of the intersection of talents Lee Strasberg, Ruth Gordon, Janet Leigh, and Lillian Roth (returning to the screen after an absence of many years), all of whom gave excellent performances.
Tom wrote the lyrics for a possible title song (music by our late friend William Dyer) which Lillian Roth recorded on tape for Tom. He offered it to the director, but the song was rejected because only rock music would be featured. Noted songwriter Sammy Cahn also expressed interest (through Tom) in supplying a title song. Also rejected. The style of Bill Dyer’s music is that of a valse triste and it is quite lovely, as is Miss Roth’s recording. The point of view of the song is that of the Ruth Gordon character in the movie, who becomes ill and dies, leaving her husband, Lee Strasberg, bereft.
BOARDWALK
Music by William Dyer
Lyrics by Tom Miller
We’ve eaten the hot dogs,
We’ve taken the rides,
Done the fun-house mirrors
Front and sides.
Am I burned,
Am I tanned?
Want to walk in the sand,
Or like this, hand in hand
On the boardwalk?
The salt water taffy
Has loosened a tooth.
Do you think the gypsy
Tells the truth?
Pass her by,
Let her be.
My good fortune she’d see
You here standing with me
On the boardwalk.
We’ve come a long way.
What didn’t we do!
It’s been a lark,
An amusement park
Any day with you.
But a chill in the wind now.
I ought to go home.
Is this Brighton Beach
Or is it Nome?
Oh, this day’s
Been a friend,
But I now recommend
You walk me to the end
Of the boardwalk.
BOOGER IN MY SUGAR
(My Ole Lady, She Can’t Keep House)
There’s a booger in my sugar.
My ole lady, she can’t keep house.
A sink of dirty dishes,
Underneath the sink,
I bet there’s a mouse.
Roaches lookin’ for somethin’ sweet,
Weevils in my Cream of Wheat.
When it comes to kissin’ though, she can’t be beat.
Not me to grouse
If my baby just can’t keep house.
There’s a booger in my sugar.
My ole lady ain’t got a clue.
A pile of dirty diapers,
Lordy me, the stink -
Well, I’m tellin’ you.
All them highchairs that line the walls.
Mama says she’ll bust my balls.
Won’t let me use no rubbers and the pill appalls.
My lovin’ spouse
Is a lady who can’t keep house.
Unlike the plates, I get laid a lot.
Unlike the bed, I get made a lot.
So, there’s a booger in my sugar
And my ole lady’s just fit for bed.
A tub of dirty undies,
Watching television, though,
There’s beautiful head.
Mama says that the girl’s insane.
Got the bod but not the brain.
Back off a little, Mama, or I might explain
And be a louse.
So what, my baby can’t keep house.
(My Ole Lady, She Can’t Keep House)
There’s a booger in my sugar.
My ole lady, she can’t keep house.
A sink of dirty dishes,
Underneath the sink,
I bet there’s a mouse.
Roaches lookin’ for somethin’ sweet,
Weevils in my Cream of Wheat.
When it comes to kissin’ though, she can’t be beat.
Not me to grouse
If my baby just can’t keep house.
There’s a booger in my sugar.
My ole lady ain’t got a clue.
A pile of dirty diapers,
Lordy me, the stink -
Well, I’m tellin’ you.
All them highchairs that line the walls.
Mama says she’ll bust my balls.
Won’t let me use no rubbers and the pill appalls.
My lovin’ spouse
Is a lady who can’t keep house.
Unlike the plates, I get laid a lot.
Unlike the bed, I get made a lot.
So, there’s a booger in my sugar
And my ole lady’s just fit for bed.
A tub of dirty undies,
Watching television, though,
There’s beautiful head.
Mama says that the girl’s insane.
Got the bod but not the brain.
Back off a little, Mama, or I might explain
And be a louse.
So what, my baby can’t keep house.
COTTONPICKIN’ HANDS
Take your hands off of me,
Take your hands off of me,
Take your hot ‘n’ stickin’
Cottonpickin’ hands off of me.
Take your hands off of me,
Take your hands off of me.
Take your hot ‘n’ smelly,
Muscatelly hands off of me.
I don’t know where you were last night
And I don’t care.
I only know,
We got a little place here
We’re supposed to share.
You told me that you’d love me
Until your dyin’ day.
You lied, you turd,
With ev’ry word
And this is all I got to say –
Take your hands off of me,
Take your hands off of me,
Take your ole nose-pickin’
Cottonpickin’ hands off of me.
I don’t know where you were last night . . .
How dare you smirk!
I only know
We got us somethin’ here
That’s supposed to work.
You told me that you’d love me
Until you breathe your last.
What was just swell
Has gone to hell -
Your last is comin’ fast.
Take your hands off of me,
Take your hands off of me,
Take your Muscatelly,
Woman-smelly,
Hot ‘n’ stickin’,
Ole nose-pickin’,
Cottonpickin’ hands off of me.
Take your hands off of me,
Take your hands off of me,
Take your hot ‘n’ stickin’
Cottonpickin’ hands off of me.
Take your hands off of me,
Take your hands off of me.
Take your hot ‘n’ smelly,
Muscatelly hands off of me.
I don’t know where you were last night
And I don’t care.
I only know,
We got a little place here
We’re supposed to share.
You told me that you’d love me
Until your dyin’ day.
You lied, you turd,
With ev’ry word
And this is all I got to say –
Take your hands off of me,
Take your hands off of me,
Take your ole nose-pickin’
Cottonpickin’ hands off of me.
I don’t know where you were last night . . .
How dare you smirk!
I only know
We got us somethin’ here
That’s supposed to work.
You told me that you’d love me
Until you breathe your last.
What was just swell
Has gone to hell -
Your last is comin’ fast.
Take your hands off of me,
Take your hands off of me,
Take your Muscatelly,
Woman-smelly,
Hot ‘n’ stickin’,
Ole nose-pickin’,
Cottonpickin’ hands off of me.
DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS
Two little girls in blue are we,
Blue are we, blue are we,
Watching our true loves go to sea -
Down to the sea in ships.
Two sailor boys in blue are they,
Blue are they, blue are they
Watching us watch them go to sea -
Down to the sea in ships.
They’re on the ships, we’re on the shore
Trying our best not to cry.
Oh, how our lips long to once more
Kiss them goodbye.
Two little girls in blue are we,
Blue are we, blue are we,
Watching our true loves go to sea -
Down to the sea in ships.
Two little girls in blue are we,
Blue are we, blue are we,
Watching our true loves go to sea -
Down to the sea in ships.
Two sailor boys in blue are they,
Blue are they, blue are they
Watching us watch them go to sea -
Down to the sea in ships.
They’re on the ships, we’re on the shore
Trying our best not to cry.
Oh, how our lips long to once more
Kiss them goodbye.
Two little girls in blue are we,
Blue are we, blue are we,
Watching our true loves go to sea -
Down to the sea in ships.
GYPSIES KNOW
Along with “I’ll Be Singing a Love Song” and “It Was Too Good To Be True,” this was written to a melody by a Mexican composer, Jose
Melis, its original title “Lago Azul.” As with the others, this is not a translation. Three lead sheets were handed to me by the head of Southwestern Music in Los Angles. He asked me to write English lyrics to the music. He liked my lyrics, but nothing ever came of them. They remain unpublished.
Gypsies know
There’s no hurry when lights are low.
There’s no worry the night will go.
By a campfire the night stands still.
Gypsies know
It’s not wanton to want a kiss,
Nor to want on a night like this
A surrender to nature’s will.
So, until passion goes with the morning light,
Let us thrill like two gypsies tonight.
No, no, no,
Do not hurry, and do not go.
Gypsies know that when lights are low
Love is tender and love is slow.
Along with “I’ll Be Singing a Love Song” and “It Was Too Good To Be True,” this was written to a melody by a Mexican composer, Jose
Melis, its original title “Lago Azul.” As with the others, this is not a translation. Three lead sheets were handed to me by the head of Southwestern Music in Los Angles. He asked me to write English lyrics to the music. He liked my lyrics, but nothing ever came of them. They remain unpublished.
Gypsies know
There’s no hurry when lights are low.
There’s no worry the night will go.
By a campfire the night stands still.
Gypsies know
It’s not wanton to want a kiss,
Nor to want on a night like this
A surrender to nature’s will.
So, until passion goes with the morning light,
Let us thrill like two gypsies tonight.
No, no, no,
Do not hurry, and do not go.
Gypsies know that when lights are low
Love is tender and love is slow.
HAD TO STAY UP WITH MY HEART
I know I don’t look right,
But I’ve been up all night -
I had to stay up with my heart.
If I seem tired and blue
It’s all because of you -
I had to stay up with my heart.
I love you, darlin’, oh,
Why must I suffer so?
If you don’t come back, why,
This ole boy here’s gonna die.
I’ll soon be old and gray
Spendin’my nights this way,
Havin’ to stay up with my heart.
I know I don’t look right,
But I’ve been up all night -
I had to stay up with my heart.
If I seem tired and blue
It’s all because of you -
I had to stay up with my heart.
I love you, darlin’, oh,
Why must I suffer so?
If you don’t come back, why,
This ole boy here’s gonna die.
I’ll soon be old and gray
Spendin’my nights this way,
Havin’ to stay up with my heart.
HIGH HEEL SHOES
High heel shoes,
High heel shoes.
Don’t ever fall for a woman who swears
And wears
High heel shoes.
She’ll take your heart,
Take your last dime
Maybe kiss you
One last time,
And then walk all over you
With them high heel shoes.
Buddy, yeah, I’ll have a beer.
I can’t refuse.
I loved a low class woman
In high heel shoes.
Buddy, sure, another brew.
What’s to lose?
I loved a low class woman
In high heel shoes.
High heel shoes,
High heel shoes.
Don’t ever fall for a woman who swears
And wears
High heel shoes.
She’ll take your heart,
Take your last dime
Maybe kiss you
One last time,
And then walk all over you
With them high heel shoes.
Buddy, yeah, I’ll have a beer.
I can’t refuse.
I loved a low class woman
In high heel shoes.
Buddy, sure, another brew.
What’s to lose?
I loved a low class woman
In high heel shoes.
HOT SOUP
It would have been better
Had you fallen from a tractor -
Grinding blades,
And you’d been dead in spades.
And farmers would have brought me hot soup.
Or you could have drowned.
I could have issued a statement:
“Tears will lead me to the same watery grave.”
I could have worn a handsome mourning band
And forevermore (for at least a week)
Hung a wreath outside my door -
Something chic they’d all adore.
Or you could have had an accident,
Like breaking your neck in a four-car collision
Friends would have sent sympathy cards,
Emails, phone calls.
Somebody would have paid me compensation.
Or you could have gone to a shooting gallery -
Just imagine -
And been shot in the head.
So many things you could have done and didn’t, my sweet.
And therein lies the tragedy -
Love boringly, soaringly dead,
And you still here.
It would have been better
Had you fallen from a tractor -
Grinding blades,
And you’d been dead in spades.
And farmers would have brought me hot soup.
Or you could have drowned.
I could have issued a statement:
“Tears will lead me to the same watery grave.”
I could have worn a handsome mourning band
And forevermore (for at least a week)
Hung a wreath outside my door -
Something chic they’d all adore.
Or you could have had an accident,
Like breaking your neck in a four-car collision
Friends would have sent sympathy cards,
Emails, phone calls.
Somebody would have paid me compensation.
Or you could have gone to a shooting gallery -
Just imagine -
And been shot in the head.
So many things you could have done and didn’t, my sweet.
And therein lies the tragedy -
Love boringly, soaringly dead,
And you still here.
HURRICANE
Hurricane,
Levees break
Blowin’ rain,
Risin’ lake
House is gone
I’ll go on-
Still got you
Hurricane
Wreck the place
Feel no pain
Got an ace
Gotta leave.
I won’t grieve -
Still got you.
“Vacate,” they say
“Don’t wait,” they say.
“Evacuate.” OK,
Take my hand and let’s go.
Hurricane.
Winds that blow.
It’s insane,
Even though
All is gone,
I’ll go on -
Still got you.
Hurricane,
Levees break
Blowin’ rain,
Risin’ lake
House is gone
I’ll go on-
Still got you
Hurricane
Wreck the place
Feel no pain
Got an ace
Gotta leave.
I won’t grieve -
Still got you.
“Vacate,” they say
“Don’t wait,” they say.
“Evacuate.” OK,
Take my hand and let’s go.
Hurricane.
Winds that blow.
It’s insane,
Even though
All is gone,
I’ll go on -
Still got you.
I BEEN REBORN IN NEW ORLEANS
I misbehaved
And Mama raved.
I went to church a lot.
It never got
Me saved.
But now I’ve heard
Not just The Word
But ole Gabriel’s horn.
I been reborn
In New Orleans.
Gabriel’s horn
Has set me right.
Why, I’m reborn
Most ev’ry night.
I’ve seen the light
In each glass of champagne.
My burden lifted,
I feel no pain.
The bread I break
May be humble,
But I partake
Of T-bone steak
Not beans.
I love this bill of fare,
So let the trumpets blare.
I hear salvation there
in that horn.
I been reborn
In New Orleans.
[Note: I assume Tom mean for it to be pronouced "Orleens."]
I misbehaved
And Mama raved.
I went to church a lot.
It never got
Me saved.
But now I’ve heard
Not just The Word
But ole Gabriel’s horn.
I been reborn
In New Orleans.
Gabriel’s horn
Has set me right.
Why, I’m reborn
Most ev’ry night.
I’ve seen the light
In each glass of champagne.
My burden lifted,
I feel no pain.
The bread I break
May be humble,
But I partake
Of T-bone steak
Not beans.
I love this bill of fare,
So let the trumpets blare.
I hear salvation there
in that horn.
I been reborn
In New Orleans.
[Note: I assume Tom mean for it to be pronouced "Orleens."]
I CAN'T WAIT TO GET BACK TO THE DANCE FLOOR
In the wind there's a banjo flying -
I can't wait to get back to the dance floor.
Round the bend there's a trombone crying -
I can't wait to get back to the dance floor.
Younger the evening, I danced myself to death
Older the evening, I stopped to catch my breath.
But, my friend, if you feel like trying -
I can't wait to get back to the dance floor.
Younger the evening, I said, "This is the end."
Older the evening, I've got my second wind.
And, my friend, if it's me you're eyeing -
I can't wait to get back to the dance floor.
In the wind there's a banjo flying -
I can't wait to get back to the dance floor.
Round the bend there's a trombone crying -
I can't wait to get back to the dance floor.
Younger the evening, I danced myself to death
Older the evening, I stopped to catch my breath.
But, my friend, if you feel like trying -
I can't wait to get back to the dance floor.
Younger the evening, I said, "This is the end."
Older the evening, I've got my second wind.
And, my friend, if it's me you're eyeing -
I can't wait to get back to the dance floor.
JESUS SAYS
Jesus says
The thought is the sin.
You think it, you’ve done it.
What are you thinkin’, Joe,
As you watch that jailbait go
Sashayin’ down the street.
You think that would be sweet?
When you make love to me tonight -
If you do -
Will you think about her?
Will I think about you?
Jesus says
We sin in our heads.
We think it, we’ve done it.
What are you thinkin’, Joe,
As you watch that cute kid show
Her assets one by one?
You think that she’d be fun?
When you make love to be tonight -
If you do -
Will you be holding her?
Will I be holding you?
Who am I?
Am I she?
What’s to be
My identity?
Jesus says
Our thoughts must be pure.
We think it, we’ve done it.
What are you thinkin’, Joe,
As you watch that baseball go
And the player make his run?
Oh, sure he could be done.
When you make love to me tonight -
If you do -
Will you think about him?
Will I think about you?
Jesus says
The thought is the sin.
You think it, you’ve done it.
What are you thinkin’, Joe,
As you watch that jailbait go
Sashayin’ down the street.
You think that would be sweet?
When you make love to me tonight -
If you do -
Will you think about her?
Will I think about you?
Jesus says
We sin in our heads.
We think it, we’ve done it.
What are you thinkin’, Joe,
As you watch that cute kid show
Her assets one by one?
You think that she’d be fun?
When you make love to be tonight -
If you do -
Will you be holding her?
Will I be holding you?
Who am I?
Am I she?
What’s to be
My identity?
Jesus says
Our thoughts must be pure.
We think it, we’ve done it.
What are you thinkin’, Joe,
As you watch that baseball go
And the player make his run?
Oh, sure he could be done.
When you make love to me tonight -
If you do -
Will you think about him?
Will I think about you?
LITTLE BOY
Go catch a rainbow trout
And you will have no doubt
God thought this whole thing out
When He was a little boy.
Go take a midnight swim,
Climb out upon a limb.
We owe it all to Him
When He was a little boy.
It would be nice, He thought,
Shooting marbles,
But He had naught of them.
Until He thought of them
He was contented shooting stars.
Moon shining oh so bright,
That used to be his kite.
It got away one night
When He was a little boy.
God made the world, all right,
When He was a little boy.
Go catch a rainbow trout
And you will have no doubt
God thought this whole thing out
When He was a little boy.
Go take a midnight swim,
Climb out upon a limb.
We owe it all to Him
When He was a little boy.
It would be nice, He thought,
Shooting marbles,
But He had naught of them.
Until He thought of them
He was contented shooting stars.
Moon shining oh so bright,
That used to be his kite.
It got away one night
When He was a little boy.
God made the world, all right,
When He was a little boy.
THE NEANDERTHAL MAN LIKED FLOWERS
Intended for but dropped from A String of Banjos.
Jack gets the idea from a newspaper clipping and gets Pecos interested.
Joan and I down buffaloes
With bows
And arrows,
And we read in the news
The Neanderthal man liked flowers.
The Neanderthal man liked flowers,
And when he’d die
They’d lay him on a bed of wildflowers
That bloomed between May and July.
That bloomed, that bloomed
That bloomed between May and July.
I’m slipping by the minute.
I may not last the hour.
Dig a hole and put me in it.
Lay me on a flower
That blooms, that blooms,
That blooms between May and July.
If no flowers, find some clover
And lay me down to rest.
I’ve loved you, now it’s over.
There’ll be flowers, we’ve been blessed
For it’s June, it’s June,
It’s June between May and July.
Intended for but dropped from A String of Banjos.
Jack gets the idea from a newspaper clipping and gets Pecos interested.
Joan and I down buffaloes
With bows
And arrows,
And we read in the news
The Neanderthal man liked flowers.
The Neanderthal man liked flowers,
And when he’d die
They’d lay him on a bed of wildflowers
That bloomed between May and July.
That bloomed, that bloomed
That bloomed between May and July.
I’m slipping by the minute.
I may not last the hour.
Dig a hole and put me in it.
Lay me on a flower
That blooms, that blooms,
That blooms between May and July.
If no flowers, find some clover
And lay me down to rest.
I’ve loved you, now it’s over.
There’ll be flowers, we’ve been blessed
For it’s June, it’s June,
It’s June between May and July.
ONE MORE TIME
Before we pay the man the money,
Before we take the key back, honey,
Let's go back and make love just one more time.
A honey moon should never go down,
Feel my heartbeat, it just won't slow down -
Let's go back and make love just one more time.
Show the man your finger, show him your ring,
Tell him just two more hours.
If the maids wanna get in and do their thing,
Well, tell 'em we wanna do ours!
We've got a tight itenerary.
We'll simply cut out Tucumcari -
Let's go back and make love just one more time.
Written by Jack Linden and sung by Carrie Sue Suppers ("Black Lung" Suppers' daughter) at the wedding of Pecos and Ruth. Carrie Sue's greatest hit was, of course, "Waggin' My Tale at the End of Daddy's Leash." "One More Time" is, as you no doubt have now noticed, one of the many that didn't make the final cut of Ghost Guitars (a.k.a. A String of Banjos).
Before we pay the man the money,
Before we take the key back, honey,
Let's go back and make love just one more time.
A honey moon should never go down,
Feel my heartbeat, it just won't slow down -
Let's go back and make love just one more time.
Show the man your finger, show him your ring,
Tell him just two more hours.
If the maids wanna get in and do their thing,
Well, tell 'em we wanna do ours!
We've got a tight itenerary.
We'll simply cut out Tucumcari -
Let's go back and make love just one more time.
Written by Jack Linden and sung by Carrie Sue Suppers ("Black Lung" Suppers' daughter) at the wedding of Pecos and Ruth. Carrie Sue's greatest hit was, of course, "Waggin' My Tale at the End of Daddy's Leash." "One More Time" is, as you no doubt have now noticed, one of the many that didn't make the final cut of Ghost Guitars (a.k.a. A String of Banjos).
QUOTE, I LOVE YOU
This song was written by
Guess who? Me,
And dedicated to
Guess who? You!
This song is called Quote I Love You Unquote.
I hope you'll note I love you and wrote
This song to tell you I do.
(And repeat)
I may be simple,
I'm country in ev'ry joint.
I'm dang simple,
I come right to the point.
This song was written by
Truly yours
And dedicated to
Truly mine.
This song is called Quote I Love Your Unquote.
I hoope you'll note I love you and wrote
This song to tell you I do.
This song was written by
Guess who? Me,
And dedicated to
Guess who? You!
This song is called Quote I Love You Unquote.
I hope you'll note I love you and wrote
This song to tell you I do.
(And repeat)
I may be simple,
I'm country in ev'ry joint.
I'm dang simple,
I come right to the point.
This song was written by
Truly yours
And dedicated to
Truly mine.
This song is called Quote I Love Your Unquote.
I hoope you'll note I love you and wrote
This song to tell you I do.
SHITKICKIN' BLUES
(In an earlier draft of A String of Banjos, it was this song that got Jack Linden's Bar-X Boys the nickname Shitkickers.)
I'm kickin' at doors, kickin' at stairs,
Kickin' at stoves and frigidaires,
Hound walk by, if he dares,
I'lll kick him too!
But I'm tellin' you true,
What I really want to kick is you!
I got them shitkickin' blues,
Got them shitkickin' blues.
See them feet? Ain't they beauts?
Slide on down there and kiss them, Toots.
Pay your dues
Or I'm gonna kick you with them ole shoes.
Girl, I got them good ole shitkickin' blues.
2)
I'm kickin' at sticks, rocks in the road,
I even kicked our ole commode,
I'm tellin' you I got this heavy load,
Got a heavy heart too,
'Cause what I really wanna kick is you!
3)
I'm kickin' you because you're not about
But if you come back, Baby, I've no doubt
'Bout what I'd do, simply kick you out,
That's what I'd do,
Stomp you black and blue,
'Cause what I really wanna kick is you!
(In an earlier draft of A String of Banjos, it was this song that got Jack Linden's Bar-X Boys the nickname Shitkickers.)
I'm kickin' at doors, kickin' at stairs,
Kickin' at stoves and frigidaires,
Hound walk by, if he dares,
I'lll kick him too!
But I'm tellin' you true,
What I really want to kick is you!
I got them shitkickin' blues,
Got them shitkickin' blues.
See them feet? Ain't they beauts?
Slide on down there and kiss them, Toots.
Pay your dues
Or I'm gonna kick you with them ole shoes.
Girl, I got them good ole shitkickin' blues.
2)
I'm kickin' at sticks, rocks in the road,
I even kicked our ole commode,
I'm tellin' you I got this heavy load,
Got a heavy heart too,
'Cause what I really wanna kick is you!
3)
I'm kickin' you because you're not about
But if you come back, Baby, I've no doubt
'Bout what I'd do, simply kick you out,
That's what I'd do,
Stomp you black and blue,
'Cause what I really wanna kick is you!
TELEPHONE POLES
One of the most charming lyrics in A String of Banjos, used strikingly to evoke Jack Linden's stepfather and
collaborator Len Rudd.
Fly away, bird, said the ears of corn.
Scarecrow there, he after you.
So I flapped my wings on the day I was born
And watched the telephone poles go by.
Fly away, bird, said the cold March wind.
Ain’t no use you work today.
So I thumbed a ride, ev’ry stranger a friend,
And watched the telephone poles go by.
Always some little gal
Give me a place to sleep.
Always find me a pal
Give me my beer and my keep.
Fly away, bird, now the pickin’s slim.
Gettin’ old, I hear them say -
Still thumbin’ that thumb though the blinkers are dim,
Watchin’ the telephone poles go by.
One of the most charming lyrics in A String of Banjos, used strikingly to evoke Jack Linden's stepfather and
collaborator Len Rudd.
Fly away, bird, said the ears of corn.
Scarecrow there, he after you.
So I flapped my wings on the day I was born
And watched the telephone poles go by.
Fly away, bird, said the cold March wind.
Ain’t no use you work today.
So I thumbed a ride, ev’ry stranger a friend,
And watched the telephone poles go by.
Always some little gal
Give me a place to sleep.
Always find me a pal
Give me my beer and my keep.
Fly away, bird, now the pickin’s slim.
Gettin’ old, I hear them say -
Still thumbin’ that thumb though the blinkers are dim,
Watchin’ the telephone poles go by.
THREE
Three -
There's him and you and me
Why should one of us have to go?
We
All love each other so,
We three.
We'll put the trip in triplicate,
Let's begin.
No odd man out, always welcomed in.
Two -
That's just us, love, without you.
Well, ou know that could never be.
You
Know you belong to me -
Him, too.
Three names on the certificate!
Blow their minds!
We'll simply say, 'Well, it takes all kinds.'
One
Would be so lonely,
And two so blue at their fun.
None
Should think only
Of pairs
When there's the additional one.
Three -
This trio, can't you see,
Will leave none of us in the cold?
We
Will have and we will hold,
We three.
[Note: this one was written as an afterthought for A String of Banjos and pulled pretty quickly and stuck in the trunk. The idea of the song was to underscore Jack's desire for having three-way sex involving Pecos.]
Three -
There's him and you and me
Why should one of us have to go?
We
All love each other so,
We three.
We'll put the trip in triplicate,
Let's begin.
No odd man out, always welcomed in.
Two -
That's just us, love, without you.
Well, ou know that could never be.
You
Know you belong to me -
Him, too.
Three names on the certificate!
Blow their minds!
We'll simply say, 'Well, it takes all kinds.'
One
Would be so lonely,
And two so blue at their fun.
None
Should think only
Of pairs
When there's the additional one.
Three -
This trio, can't you see,
Will leave none of us in the cold?
We
Will have and we will hold,
We three.
[Note: this one was written as an afterthought for A String of Banjos and pulled pretty quickly and stuck in the trunk. The idea of the song was to underscore Jack's desire for having three-way sex involving Pecos.]
TROUBLED MIND
Troubled mind,
A troubled mind.
Well, you went and left me with a troubled mind.
You said goodbye and went away.
Now the skies, above, so gray,
Paint the picture of a bleak and troubled mind.
I can’t eat,
I can’t sleep.
I pray the Lord to come and take my soul to keep.
You said your love for me has died.
Oh, the tears that I have cried -
I’m the picture of a bleak and troubled mind.
I can’t dance,
I can’t date.
To the ones who want to kiss me I say, “Wait.”
Gotta see this heartbreak through,
Till the day I’ve over you.
I’m the picture of a bleak and troubled mind.
[Note: This one too was in and out of A String of Banjos. I always thought it worked perfectly in.]
Troubled mind,
A troubled mind.
Well, you went and left me with a troubled mind.
You said goodbye and went away.
Now the skies, above, so gray,
Paint the picture of a bleak and troubled mind.
I can’t eat,
I can’t sleep.
I pray the Lord to come and take my soul to keep.
You said your love for me has died.
Oh, the tears that I have cried -
I’m the picture of a bleak and troubled mind.
I can’t dance,
I can’t date.
To the ones who want to kiss me I say, “Wait.”
Gotta see this heartbreak through,
Till the day I’ve over you.
I’m the picture of a bleak and troubled mind.
[Note: This one too was in and out of A String of Banjos. I always thought it worked perfectly in.]
WHAT’S WORSE?
A dying zombie
Went “Ho Ha” and he
Put on our fam’ly a curse.
Don’t mind that zombie
‘Cause he can’t harm me
But you don’t love me -
What’s worse?
I’ve seen creatures
With double features
And arms that work in reverse.
I say, spare me.
‘Cause they don’t scare me,
But you don’t love me -
What’s worse?
This here planet
Is only granite
And not expected to last.
If I’m ever to have your lovin’
I better have it fast.
Judgment Day
Comin’, so they say
But before we order the hearse,
Tell me you love me,
And show you love me
If you love me -
What’s worse?
Tag.
(Though) Times is lean,
Eatin’ pork and beans
And there’s only coins in my purse,
Blame my depression
On this impression
That you don’t love me -
What’s worse?
A dying zombie
Went “Ho Ha” and he
Put on our fam’ly a curse.
Don’t mind that zombie
‘Cause he can’t harm me
But you don’t love me -
What’s worse?
I’ve seen creatures
With double features
And arms that work in reverse.
I say, spare me.
‘Cause they don’t scare me,
But you don’t love me -
What’s worse?
This here planet
Is only granite
And not expected to last.
If I’m ever to have your lovin’
I better have it fast.
Judgment Day
Comin’, so they say
But before we order the hearse,
Tell me you love me,
And show you love me
If you love me -
What’s worse?
Tag.
(Though) Times is lean,
Eatin’ pork and beans
And there’s only coins in my purse,
Blame my depression
On this impression
That you don’t love me -
What’s worse?
WHEN LAST SEEN SHE WAS A BLONDE
Gone, gone girl, and took my Mercedes.
She's a gone, gone girl, foxiest of all ladies.
Well, she drives me wild, and she drives in the eighties
And when last seen she was a blonde.
Wouldn't swear to it, but I think she's Chicano.
I would marry her, but she said she don't wan', oh
And she took my wheels and she's travelin' mono
And when last seen she was a blonde.
Get an all points on her, boys, don't let her shaft me.
Them points on her, boys, are the points I let witchcraft me.
Gone, gone girl - gone and took all my money.
She's a gone, gone girl with her accent so funny.
I'll let her keep the car but I must have my honey
And when last seen she was a blonde.
[Note: this was set to a jaunty piece by Johann Sebastian Bach, of all people, and it fit remarkably well. For the life of me I can't remember which one, but if I ever stumble across it I will add that fact here.] [I found it: the Gavotte from Cello Suite no. 6.]
Gone, gone girl, and took my Mercedes.
She's a gone, gone girl, foxiest of all ladies.
Well, she drives me wild, and she drives in the eighties
And when last seen she was a blonde.
Wouldn't swear to it, but I think she's Chicano.
I would marry her, but she said she don't wan', oh
And she took my wheels and she's travelin' mono
And when last seen she was a blonde.
Get an all points on her, boys, don't let her shaft me.
Them points on her, boys, are the points I let witchcraft me.
Gone, gone girl - gone and took all my money.
She's a gone, gone girl with her accent so funny.
I'll let her keep the car but I must have my honey
And when last seen she was a blonde.
[Note: this was set to a jaunty piece by Johann Sebastian Bach, of all people, and it fit remarkably well. For the life of me I can't remember which one, but if I ever stumble across it I will add that fact here.] [I found it: the Gavotte from Cello Suite no. 6.]
WHO DIES OF LOVE?
How am I?
Thanks for asking,
I’m all right,
Who dies of love?
What did you think -
You’d find me
Struck down
By heartbreak?
Oh, funny.
Someone told you
I was wasting away?
Your ego would have liked that, wouldn’t it?
Sorry, I’m okay.
True, when you left
I thought I’d fall over.
Thought it all over,
Thought I’d die.
But who dies of love?
How am I?
Thanks for asking,
I’m all right,
Who dies of love?
What did you think -
You’d find me
Struck down
By heartbreak?
Oh, funny.
Someone told you
I was wasting away?
Your ego would have liked that, wouldn’t it?
Sorry, I’m okay.
True, when you left
I thought I’d fall over.
Thought it all over,
Thought I’d die.
But who dies of love?
WHO’S GONNA MIND THE STORE?
I don’t mind a little kiss
But, hey, a serious thing like this -
I don’t mind but who’s gonna mind the store?
You don’t have to plead and beg
But say a customer wants an egg?
I don’t mind but who’s gonna mind the store?
How would it look, for pity sake,
My unbuttoned jeans,
Leaning across the counter where
We keep the pork and beans?
I just pay for you to clerk.
Now don’t you bill me for extra work -
I don’t mind but who’s gonna mind the store?
I don’t mind a little kiss
But, hey, a serious thing like this -
I don’t mind but who’s gonna mind the store?
You don’t have to plead and beg
But say a customer wants an egg?
I don’t mind but who’s gonna mind the store?
How would it look, for pity sake,
My unbuttoned jeans,
Leaning across the counter where
We keep the pork and beans?
I just pay for you to clerk.
Now don’t you bill me for extra work -
I don’t mind but who’s gonna mind the store?
WRONG NUMBER
The drinks,
The lights,
The music-
I think that I’m half gone.
The booze,
The smoke,
The perfume -
Too much to drink, I guess.
I think that I’m holding you much too tight.
I think you like it, yes?
Slip me your telephone number.
If your husband answers, well, hey,
Wrong number, I’ll say.
Wrong number. OK?
Wrong number, I’ll say.
I’m deep in your grooves.
Let’s keep up these moves.
Your hair,
Your eyes,
Your lipstick -
My cheek against your face.
Oh, God, I’m aroused, and I shouldn’t be,
Not in a public place.
Slip me you telephone number.
If your husband answers - OK,
Wrong number, I’ll say.
I shouldn’t be dancing this close to you.
You really turn me on.
Slip me your telephone number.
If your husband answers, OK,
Wrong number, I’ll say.
The drinks,
The lights,
The music-
I think that I’m half gone.
The booze,
The smoke,
The perfume -
Too much to drink, I guess.
I think that I’m holding you much too tight.
I think you like it, yes?
Slip me your telephone number.
If your husband answers, well, hey,
Wrong number, I’ll say.
Wrong number. OK?
Wrong number, I’ll say.
I’m deep in your grooves.
Let’s keep up these moves.
Your hair,
Your eyes,
Your lipstick -
My cheek against your face.
Oh, God, I’m aroused, and I shouldn’t be,
Not in a public place.
Slip me you telephone number.
If your husband answers - OK,
Wrong number, I’ll say.
I shouldn’t be dancing this close to you.
You really turn me on.
Slip me your telephone number.
If your husband answers, OK,
Wrong number, I’ll say.
YOU TAKE ME BACK TO MY CHILDHOOD
This was written for but not included in The Curse of Vilma Valentine, meant to be a song Fred Astaire sings to Vilma in Sparkler, the film they made together. In the novel it was intended to be sung nostalgically and campily by Vilma and Betty DaTodi as they reminisce about Hollywood in Vilma’s gift shop. [Note: Sparkler was choreographed by George Balanchine, the only time he ever got to work with Fred, and Balanchine is one among many in the novel interviewed about the titular character.]
Hershey Kisses, to be truthful,
Never made me feel this youthful.
You take me back to my childhood.
With your body like a crescent
Close to mine, I’m adolescent.
You take me back to my childhood.
Dancing!
Are we really dancing?
Are we on a dance floor -
Perchance more,
A merry-go-round!
It’s like prom night - graduation!
It’s an old, yet new sensation.
Loving you is my vocation.
You take me back to my childhood.
This was written for but not included in The Curse of Vilma Valentine, meant to be a song Fred Astaire sings to Vilma in Sparkler, the film they made together. In the novel it was intended to be sung nostalgically and campily by Vilma and Betty DaTodi as they reminisce about Hollywood in Vilma’s gift shop. [Note: Sparkler was choreographed by George Balanchine, the only time he ever got to work with Fred, and Balanchine is one among many in the novel interviewed about the titular character.]
Hershey Kisses, to be truthful,
Never made me feel this youthful.
You take me back to my childhood.
With your body like a crescent
Close to mine, I’m adolescent.
You take me back to my childhood.
Dancing!
Are we really dancing?
Are we on a dance floor -
Perchance more,
A merry-go-round!
It’s like prom night - graduation!
It’s an old, yet new sensation.
Loving you is my vocation.
You take me back to my childhood.