Bad Poetry and Strange Lyrics

Some things are so self-evident that you wonder why you have to even bring it up, but you do. Look: I wrote this stuff and it belongs to me. You can't have it, and if you take it I'll sue the bejeezus out of you. In other words: All material contained herein is (c)Tim Meighan, 1998/1999. All rights reserved, and permission to copy is only at the express written consent of the author.

The Potato Song

Some songs sing praises to John Barleycorn, And some of them praise the day that Jesus was born, But I'll not sing of Jesus, or John Barleys' blood, I'd much rather sing of the glorious spud! (Chorus) Potato, potato, God's most perfect food: Bake it or mash it, or have it in stew, Boil it plain, or have it au gratin... just don't eat that spud if you think it is rotten! Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden, In innocent bliss cavorted and played, Along came a serpent with apples to tease them, If they'd had potatoes they'd be there today! (Chorus) The potatoes praises' can't be raised too high: Aside from its' obvious myriad eyes, Its' skin comes in sundry and various hues, and its' complex carbohydrates are so good for you! (Chorus) My potato praises are now nearly done, I pray that my praises offended no-one, Just remember ma'am, and also you too, sir, Never underestimate the power of the Tuber!

Mud

There's angels up in Heaven, In Hell there's fire and blood, but in this world we live in, the world is made of Mud. (The world is made of Mud.) When Noah he had landed, From God's most righteous Flood, The world he'd been handed was a world made of Mud. (Mud, mud, mud.) The English men were marching, complained to General Ludd "We don't mind the rations, but the world is made of mud!" (The world is made of Mud.) But we should not be hateful, for from it springs green buds! Indeed we should be grateful that the world is made of Mud! (Mud, mud, mud.)

The Ballad of John Barleycorn

(Beat version... To be read as a poem to the accompaniment of bongos, string bass, etc.)

Three worthy studs strode over terra firma while starling flew and came to rest to roost from flight in starling nest feathers flapping reflecting shine of sun on glistening wings disturbed to flight by men of the west fly bird flee

Jimmy Joe said, "catch my script and dig my drift daddio, we are grooving like the bird that split. we're on the go, we're beat, man, jet-set, flying, digging the day, and grooving on it. Do you dig?" "But JJ man," said Bruno Mac, " you miss the vital point, the quintessential it that put us on the road that made us flit

We got to do the deed we agreed we'd do and that's the reason why I mean, daddio, dig it: John Barleycorn's number has come up, and we're here to punch his ticket."

Three flashing shivs stilletto slim flashed like fire in the in the hands of them who came like blood and fire to do the deed they said they'd do and do the deed they did: Three knives as one flashing down cut that Barley cat down, And there he fell and there he lay Three worthy studs grooved on the stubble and the place where Barleycorn lay In a field of green under the sky In the merry month of may-o a-be-bop a-bay bob (and so forth...)

That's all for now... I'll add more as the fancy strikes me.

Back

Home