101st Fighting Keyboarder Songfest!

General JC Christian posted about a fella whose love for Karl Rove knows no bounds, except for the basement walls.

Here’s a snappy little number in honor of one more freedom and mold fighter…

+++

Mom, Leave Me Alone!

I lit the candles, the incense and a cig
I put the towel down and snorfled like a pig
I did oblations, hosannas and a grunt
Karl is the Godhead, I’m his little runt
What rhymes with runt?
What rhymes with runt?

I lay my head down on a pillow of Cheetos
I touched my manhood and thought of Alito
I neared the garden where God and Karl play
I was the fountain in a manly kind of way
What can I say?
What can I say?

(chorus, preceeded by loud knocking)
Mom! Leave me alone!
I’m kind of busy here
I’m kind of busy here
Oh! Oh! Oh, moan!
Do not come down here
Mom! Leave me alone!
Ignore my groans!

When I take a bath I pretend that I’m Norquist
I drown the government with a gallon of my piss
I splishy-splashy with my giant submarine
Mission Accomplished, and then I start to scream
I am the King!
I am the King!

Someday the people will line up at my door
To show obeisance to me the Man of War
I will greet them and shake all of their hands
Have to remember to wash the Cheetos off my gland
I am the Man!
I am the Man!
Understand?

(chorus, preceeded by loud knocking)
Mom! Leave me alone!
I’m kind of busy here
I’m kind of busy here
Oh! Oh! Oh, moan!
Do not come down here
Mom! Leave me alone!
Ignore my groans!

I lit the candles, the incense and a cig
I put the towel down and snorfled like a pig
I did oblations, hosannas and a grunt
Karl is the Godhead, I’m his little runt
What rhymes with runt?
What rhymes with runt?

I lay my head down on a pillow of Cheetos
I touched my manhood and thought of Alito
I neared the garden where God and Karl play
I was the fountain in a manly kind of way
What can I say?
What can I say?

(chorus, preceeded by loud knocking)
Mom! Leave me alone!
I’m kind of busy here
I’m kind of busy here
Oh! Oh! Oh, moan!
Do not come down here
Mom! Leave me alone!
Ignore my groans!

+++

Image from here.

+++

Ask Joe Lieberman

How many stones must a man hurl down
Before you bleed from your hands?
Yes, ’n how many votes must a candidate get
Before you strike up the band?
Yes, ’n how many crimes must the White House commit
Before you make a last stand?
The answer, my friend, is ask Joe Lieberman
The answer is ask Joe Lieberman

How many dimes must a man cough up
Before they are spent for peace?
Yes, ’n how many lives must end in the sand
Before we tame the killing beast?
Yes, ’n how many lies will it take till we know
We have turned the most to the least
The answer, my friend, is ask Joe Lieberman
The answer is ask Joe Lieberman

Yes, ’n how many guns must we ship overseas
Before we stop the killing game?
Yes, ’n how many hearts must be broken apart
Before our heads are all buried in shame?
How many fears can a Congress exploit
Just to keep their jobs and their fame?
The answer, my friend, is not Joe Lieberman
The answer is not Joe Lieberman

+++

Original Words & Music by some guy named Bob Dylan.

Image of Norman Rockwell’s “Do Unto Others” found here.

+++

UPDATE Welcome, Expecting Rain readers!

Cheney's Gunplay An Instant Legend! Blam! Blam!

JC Christian noted our Vice-Regent’s marvelous gunplay and I was so moved I wrote a song in Cheney’s dishonor!

+++

SWING AND SHOOT, YES WE DO!

Sometimes the gun, it gets so hard
Sometimes I am lifting cannons in the air
Sometimes, when I shoot them
I don’t even care
Hell, the rounds are just like pebbles
And pebbles are just like sand
I never got to shoot
In bad-ass Vietnam
Understand?
Blam! Blam!
Five deferments
And one big medical plan
I never got to shoot
In bad-ass Vietnam

(chorus)
The last time I shot you
Man, that was the best
I wore my favorite glasses
You wore that orange vest
I saw the birds in heaven
I turned and fired away
Tears corrupt the night time
I laugh the day away

Sometimes the heart, it presses hard
And my blood panics in the stream
I clutch my chest and wonder
If they will find me in my dreams

Sometimes the gun, it gets so hard
Sometimes I am lifting cannons in the air
Sometimes, when I shoot them
I don’t even care
Hell, the rounds are just like pebbles
And pebbles are just like sand
I never got to shoot
In bad-ass Vietnam
Understand?
Blam! Blam!
Five deferments
And one big medical plan
I never got to shoot
In bad-ass Vietnam

(chorus)
The last time I shot you
Man, that was the best
I wore my favorite glasses
You wore that orange vest
I saw the birds in heaven
I turned and fired away
Tears corrupt the night time
I laugh the day away

Sometimes the heart, it presses hard
And my blood panics in the stream
I clutch my chest and wonder
If they will find me in my dreams
(fade)

+++

More about this pathetic, neo-macho, supremely retarded fucking story here.

+++

Five Deferment Shooter With a Gun

Dick Cheney, Just Before Turning and Firing at a Stage Hand

+++

JC General has worked out a theory regarding a magic BB, Dick Cheney, and that poor old man down in Texas.

I wrote another song about our Veep. Hope you like it!

+++

FIVE DEFERMENT SHOOTER WITH A GUN

We got a five deferment shooter with a gun
A five deferment drinker out for fun
A five deferment shooter
Boy, there ain’t nothing that’s cuter
Than a five deferment shooter with a gun!

We got a five deferment chickenhawk deluxe
A five deferment trigger pullin’ putz
A five deferment shooter
Boy, there ain’t nothing that’s cuter
Than a five deferment chickenhawk deluxe!

(chorus)
Duck, everybody, better duck!
Hit the ground ‘a running
Or your shit is out of luck
Better duck and better dive
Be glad you’re still alive
Duck, everybody, better duck!

A five deferment millionaire drives up
A five deferment manly patriot
A five deferment shooter
Boy, there ain’t nothing that’s cuter
Than a five deferment manly patriot!

This old guy, he passed on Vietnam
Seems he had himself some other plan
When he got himself ready
He would shoot with aim most steady
He would shoot for fun but not in Vietnam

(chorus)
Duck, everybody, better duck!
Hit the ground ‘a running
Or your shit is out of luck
Better duck and better dive
Be glad you’re still alive
Duck, everybody, better duck!

We got a five deferment shooter with a gun
A five deferment drinker out for fun
A five deferment shooter
Boy, there ain’t nothing that’s cuter
Than a five deferment shooter with a gun!

We got a five deferment chickenhawk deluxe
A five deferment trigger pullin’ putz
A five deferment shooter
Boy, there ain’t nothing that’s cuter
Than a five deferment chickenhawk deluxe!

(chorus)
Duck, everybody, better duck!
Hit the ground ‘a running
Or your shit is out of luck
Better duck and better dive
Be glad you’re still alive
Duck, everybody, better duck!

+++

Image of Dick Cheney holding a long weapon from here.

+++

Fixin' to Die Diplomatic Rag

Some, eh, a whole lot of diplomats don’t want to go to Iraq. Imagine that…why does mommy want to make them go where they do not want to go? Bad mommy! Bad!

Fixin’ to Die Diplomatic Rag
(with a large and graceful sweep of the tonsure to Country Joe & the Fish)

Well, come on all of you diplomats
Uncle Sam really digs you cats
He’s got himself a little Zone of Green
Could use a little help with the local scene
So lay down your life and pick up a check
Pray your heads don’t fall off your necks

And it’s one, two, three
Who are you working for?
Don’t ask them, they’re all so sad
Next stop is in Baghdad
And it’s five, six, seven
Open up the big brief case
Well, there ain’t no crime in wondrin’ why
Condi has a wink in her eye

Imagine the fun in going to work
Driven by a bunch of trigger happy mercs
Blackwater taxis are lined with pearls
Makin’ Christian money in a Moslem world
Just hope and pray when their kingdom comes
Jesus doesn’t think they’re all bums

And it’s one, two, three
Who are you working for?
Don’t ask them, they’re all so sad
Next stop is in Baghdad
And it’s five, six, seven
Open up the big brief case
Well, there ain’t no crime in wondrin’ why
Condi has a wink in her eye

Condileeza gave you all a task
Just go along, do as she asks
Time to play war out in the sand
Put on a show and strike up the band
You know your gang can only come back
When there’s no one left to die in Iraq

And it’s one, two, three
Who are you working for?
Don’t ask them, they’re all so sad
Next stop is in Baghdad
And it’s five, six, seven
Open up the big brief case
Well, there ain’t no crime in wondrin’ why
Condi has a wink in her eye

Come on mothers, don’t be nervous
Put your kids in the foreign service
Come on dads, there are vacancies
Send your kids to the Middle East
Do it for George, do it for Rice
At the airport you can kiss ’em all twice

And it’s one, two, three
Who are you working for?
Don’t ask them, they’re all so sad
Next stop is in Baghdad
And it’s five, six, seven
Open up the big brief case
Well, there ain’t no crime in wondrin’ why
Condi has a wink in her eye

++++

Last add from the Huffpo story:

Rep. Duncan Hunter, R-Calif., the House Armed Services Committee’s top Republican, said he intends to suggest that diplomats who refuse to serve in Iraq be replaced by wounded veterans.

“Let’s replace these reluctant Nellies with America’s finest citizens,” he said in a statement. “Our wounded warriors will serve our country efficiently, effectively and with undying patriotism.”

I have an even better idea, Duncan Hunter, R-Calif.: it has to do with your doing precinct work in the Anbar Province. Hey, just in case no one else catches this, “nellies” is a nicer way of saying faggala.

1. a female given name, form of Helen.
2. (lowercase) Slang. a fussily effeminate male.
3. Slang: Disparaging and Offensive. a male homosexual.

Nelly definitions from here.

By Duncan Hunter’s defintion, if he doesn’t go off to fight in Iraq (a war/occupation he supports) than it is obvious he sucks on male reproductive organs. Nelly, indeed.

++++

George Bush set to star in musical, Part I

JC Chrisitan wrote about some changes to the constitution that Senator Bill Frist is ready to put forth. I was moved to write a song along this theme…

+++

My Little Magical Pen

Int. Oval Office, Day

Bush enters, throws back the curtains, plops down in his chair, and picks up his Magical Pen. He squints at it, smiles, and begins to sing:

I sure love you
My little magical pen
I can make you cross out everything
The who, the what and when
I can make disappearable
The rights of men
Oh, I love you
My little magical pen

(chorus, to be sung by Karl Rove, Karen Hughes, Alberto Gonzalez, Dick Cheney & Condoleeza Rice)
Ooh, you got it
Ooh, it’s good
Ooh, you got it
When you got it
You should use it
Use it good

I can make history
Into something new
I can take the factual
And turn it into goo
I sure love to cross out
Stuff that bugs me so
I crossed out the Geneva Convention
At Guantanamo

(repeat chorus)
Oooh, you got it
Ooh, it’s good
Oooh, you got it
When you got it
You should use it
Use it good

Yes, I love it
My little magical pen
I will use it
On the Constitution
And if everyone
Had a magical pen
We could wipe out everything
And start all over again

(repeat chorus)
Oooh, you got it
Ooh, it’s good
Oooh, you got it
When you got it
You should use it
Use it good

I sure love you
My little magical pen
I can make you cross out everything
The who, the what and when
I can make disappearable
The rights of men
Oh, I love you
My little magical pen
Oh, I love you
My little magical pen
(fade)

+++

O Come All Ye Fitz-Full!

[UPDATE: Because alert readers have been steadily adding Christmas carols, I’m moving this to the top again. Heard James Brown’s Santa Claus Go Straight To The Ghetto today, and that put in mind of “Wingnut’s Roasting…,” which I’d never been able to complete—and downthread, “Rove’s Nuts Roasting” was contributed. Truly, Jesus is Magic.—Lambert]

I’ve been collecting Fitzmas Carols, mostly from Atrios’ comment threads but from other hithers and yons as I run across them.

We need more! Fitzmas day is coming soon…. Gather ye carols where ye may, and drop ’em off here. Credit will be given as indicated by the sender, if no other author is indicated it will be presumed to be authored BY the sender.

Oh, and MUSICALARKIES ONLY please! I have at least 16 versions of “The Night Before Fitzmas” but that’s a poem, not a song. Those are worthy of collection too, but Fitzmas music is like none other, beloved by all, transcending even theological differences.

Here are some that have been gathered so far:

It’s the most wonderful time of the year
With the Fitzy indicting
And Scotty back-biting
How can we not be of good cheer
It’s the most wonderful time of the year

It’s the hap-happiest season of all
With Wurmser a-telling
Miller a-selling
Her book come next fall
It’s the hap-happiest season of all

There’ll be champagne for drinking
Our flutes will be clinking
We’ll be laughing until we guffaw
There’ll be Duncan Black stories
And tales of his glories
We’re Atriots after all

It’s the most wonderful time of the year
The trolls will be crying
About all of our lying
And calling us crass
But they can all just kiss
My wine-loving ass!

(author: Monica_A)

Away in the slammer, no lube for his butt.
The little shit, Libby, cries out, “No! Enough!”
But Bubba, the father raper, will not be deterred.
He paid for this bitch and he likes what he’s heard!.
The little shit Libby, awakes with a jerk.
“Not now, JimmyJeff! I must get to work!”
Away to the White House, the little shit runs,
All down his pants leg and pools in his buns.
He checks in with Karl, and hears the bad news,
“Indictments unsealed! FUCK! Break out the booze!”

(author: Chris Tucker)

(Xan’s note: The following is not exactly a “traditional” tune, but hey, who am I to stand in the way of musical progress?)

“Fitzmas Wrapping”
(sung from Bush’s POV to the tune of The Waitresses’ “Christmas Wrapping” though influenced more by Save Ferris’ cover)

Part I

Woke up this morning hungover and with a scary feeling
Realized it was October 25th
Fitzmas oh my God it’s nearing
“What am I to do?” I said
Then I covered up my head
Prayed for sleep for two more months until this “Plamegate” mess is over
Wasn’t that lucky turned on the TV
Harriet Miers on the news
Suspended from the Texas Bar
‘Cause she forgot to pay her dues
So TV off, now I’m alone. Called my friend from Skull & Bones
Said to meet at Crawford for some Jim Beam and a stripper

Talked about our fear and dread of indictments and impeachment
Suddenly like a bad dream
Crawford is transformed into a liberal commie paradise, everywhere are protesters
Outside of their “Free Speech Zone” and where’re the Minutemen when you need’em?
Had to ride my bike to
Get away from all these hippies
Marching with their eggs and signs
Now where did Rummy hide those mines?
Suddenly I couldn’t ride
I couldn’t breathe I couldn’t move
Liberal traitors everywhere
Screaming “Impeach Bush Now!”

Merry Fitzmas Merry Fitzmas
But I think I’ll miss this one this year

Now Brownback’s throwing a fit cause
Miers thinks the Earth’s as old as she is
Maybe Dobson can calm him down
And talk to him more about Jesus
And she can’t fill out a freaking form?!
Guess they don’t teach that in law school
Aw, maybe I should cut her some slack
After all, she thinks I’m “superkewl!”
Yeah I guess I’m being a little too hard
She sent that nice Festivus card
Last year, and Barney likes her leg,
So I’ll invite her for Thanksgiving,
Which is right around the corner. Time to pardon turkee!
Though I’d rather watch it roast and hear it squawking “Please don’t kill me!”

Turkee Day again and everybody knows what that means
I’ve gotta jump through lots of hoops
Give an IM greeting to the troops
And then it’s back to Crawford for a dinner with the family
Mom’s being a total bitch, and dad won’t stop giving advice
Laura’s turkee’s worse than plastic Where the hell is Brownie?
He’s supposed to bring dessert
I guess a phone call wouldn’t hurt
And Jeb’s flirting with Kath again
Caught’em necking in the den
Maybe I should just tell mom and then I’ll be her favorite

Merry Fitzmas Merry Fitzmas
But I think I’ll miss this one this year

Needed a break from all these polls, so I did my Fitzmas shopping
Cigarettes for Unca Karl; got new boots and shoes for Condi
I sorta ruined her other pair, oh man, y’all should’ve seen it
But when I say “I gotta go,” now she knows I really mean it
The twins are getting Grey Goose, and BC pills for Lauren
That drug-store man was giving me lip; said I’m gonna burn in hell
New stem cell things for Unca Dick so he can grow a heart
Laura’s getting books, if I can find out where to score some…

Don and ‘Berto wanted cattle prods, electrodes and some choke-chains
I wonder what they want them for. Something to do with the War?
It’s nicer here than in D.C.,
But where’s that Cindy Sheehan grinch,
And all her smelly hippy friends?…
Wait, Jenna…those aren’t carolers!
Whew! Managed to shut the door in time
Before the Gold Star Families slime
Could ooze its way into my life
And ask me awkward kweschins that I
Just don’t feel like answering, especially on vacation
I think I need to play some golf for the good of the whole nation

Merry Fitzmas Merry Fitzmas
But I think I’ll miss this one this year

(author: Doncjesus)

Oh come all ye liberals,
socialists and patriots
oh come ye oh come ye to the Grand Jury.

Come and behold them
born of lies and mayhem,
oh come let us adore Fitz,
oh come let us adore Fitz,
oh come let us adore Fitz,
he’s the righteous dude.

(author: not noted. My bad)

Rove’s nuts roasting on an open fire
John Law nipping at his nose
Fitzmas carols being sung by a choir
And the perps dressed up like traffic cones

Everybody knows these turkeys in a prison cell
Would help to make the season bright
Eschateers with their eyes all aglow
Will find it hard to sleep tonight

They know that Fitz is on his way
He’s bringing twenty two indictments, so they say
And every Troll says no, just Wilson and his wife
Oh yes, those dipshits really know how to lie

And so I’m offering this simple phrase
To those Republicans who choose
Not the truth, but to lie in our face
Merry Fitzmas, you lose!
(author: Doozer)

Alt. version:

Rove’s nuts roasting on an open fire,
George Bush with a straw up his nose,
Federal indictments being read by a hour,
And folks dressed up in prison clothes.

Everybody knows aluminum tubes and some forgeries,
Help to make the war seem right.
LGFer’s with their eyes all aglow,
Will cry themselves asleep tonight.

They know that Fitz is on his way;
He’s got incriminating stuff on video tape.
Was Judith Miller really a Mossad spy?
Since Novak ratted, I think we know is going to die…

not naturally…I’m offering this simple praise
To Eschatonians, you Americans so true,
Although its been said many times, many ways,
A very Merry Fitzmas to you
(author: not noted. See above re. badness)

Have a holly, jolly Fitzmas;
It’s the best time of the year
At least for me, ’cause I’m still free
While you’re locked up in here

Have a holly, jolly Fitzmas;
As you sit there in your cell
Say Hello to Scoots and Rove
They’re both right there as well.

Oh, ho, the misery!
The fucking Grand Jury
Dropped a load of shit on you
My ass is still scot free!

Have a holly jolly Fitzmas,
With you cheeks clenched up in fear,
Oh by golly, have a holly,
jolly Fitzmas this year!

(author: Tsung-tu, the Tuna)

God rest ye Lefty Blogistan,
Let nothing you dismay,
Remember Pat Fitzgerald
Was born on Fitzmas Day;
To save us all from Dubya’s crew
Who’ve clearly gone astray.

O indictments of Scooter and Karl!
Scooter and Karl;
O indictments of Scooter and Karl!

In Brooklyn, in America,
This lawyer dude was born,
And laid within a bassinet
Upon that blessed morn;
The which His Mother what’shername
Did nothing take in scorn.

O indictments of Scooter and Karl!
Scooter and Karl;
O indictments of Scooter and Karl!

From Chi Town to Washington
Our Counselor did go;
And unto certain miscreants
Brought tidings of great woe;
To burn a Spook in Fitz’s book
Was lowest of the low.

O indictments of Scooter and Karl!
Scooter and Karl;
O indictments of Scooter and Karl!
(author: Tsung-tu, the Tuna)

Keep ’em comin’ folks…

O-bloody, O blood ah!

+++

Georgie had a future in the United States
Rummy was leftover from his dad
Georgie says to Rummy: let’s invade that place
And Rummy said this as he took him by the hand
O-bloody, o-blood-ah, death goes on, ja!
Ga-ga, how this death goes on
O-bloody, o-blood-ah, death goes on, ja!
Ga-ga, how this death goes on

Georgie took a tour of The Big Easy
Poses for a photo-op, touching
Stops to look at Karl waiting at the door
And waits to feel the pull of all those puppet strings

O-bloody, o-blood-ah, death goes on, ja!
Ga-ga, how this death goes on
O-bloody, o-blood-ah, death goes on, ja!
Ga-ga, how this death goes on

In under two terms they have broken
Everything
Just a couple more years with them in charge
There’ll be nothing left but bones

Happy never after in the dying light
Rummy stares at blood that stains the sand
Georgie stays at home and starts to clear his brush
And in the evening waits for shit to hit the fan

Yes,
O-bloody, o-blood-ah, death goes on, ja!
Ga-ga, how this death goes on
O-bloody, o-blood-ah, death goes on, ja!
Ga-ga, how this death goes on

In under two terms they have broken
Everything
Just a couple more years with them in charge
There’ll be nothing left but bones

Happy never after in the dying light
Rummy stares at blood that stains the sand
Georgie stays at home and starts to clear his brush
And in the evening waits for shit to hit the fan

Yes,
O-bloody, o-blood-ah, death goes on, ja!
Ga-ga, how this death goes on
O-bloody, o-blood-ah, death goes on, ja!
Ga-ga, how this death goes on
O-bloody, o-blood-ah

+++

Special thanks to The Beatles for my abuse of Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da in this un-authorized parody of that most delightful song.

Image from here.

+++

Crossposted at Mortaljive and at Corrente. Don’t forget to tip your waitress/bartender/valet guy!

+++

Ode to Billy 'O

Jesus’ General has revealed a new way to think about Bill O’Reilly, and feeling a surge in affection for Falafel Man, I wrote a song. Duh.

+++

Let me tell you all a story
About a man, a hero
He stood for hope and glory
His tolerance was zero

He fought against the bad guys
He brought them all to heel
He had two beautiful & firm thighs
They made you want to cop a feel

Oh, Billy, Oh, Billy
Ride the loofa
Let’s get silly
Oh, Billy
How’s the falafel?
When you’re such a sexy man
You should bathe cuz you smell awful
Oh, Billy
Call security
My love for you
Has brought impurity
Impurity, call security
Oh, Billy
I think I need a towel

The way he handles callers
Who tempt him on the airwaves
Bet you doughnuts on the dollar
They never get to see his cave

Bill’s a rough and ready leader
Breaks a nail and calls the troopers
In his manly little bike shorts
You can almost see his pooper
Super dooper

Oh, Billy, Oh, Billy
Ride the loofa
Let’s get silly
Oh, Billy
How’s the falafel?
When you’re such a sexy man
You should bathe cuz you smell awful
Oh, Billy
Call security
My love for you
Has brought impurity
Impurity, call security
Oh, Billy
I think I need a towel

+++

Image “How to examine your testicles” from here.

+++

President's Day

A Song Thingie For President’s Day!

+++

there is a legend
there is a tale
of the dead presidents
that will surely turn you pale

one day a year
their spirits blue
they arise and then they
come ’a gunning after you

turn the deadbolt
hide the kids
all the dead presidents
have flipped their deadly lids

(chorus)
presidents day
ooh la la
a day when we all dance and sing
dance and sing and form a ring
presidents day
ooh la la
just the thing to make us see
when you vote for your king
all the magic it will bring
they all rise from the beyond
for one special day
ooh ooh
presidents day

i heard a clawing
at the front door
some man was mumbling
about needing me for war

then at the window
a crazy grin
i think it was the wooden teeth
of mr. washington

i ran to the backyard
but it was too late
Coolidge and Hoover
had opened up the gate

(chorus)
presidents day
ooh la la
a day when we all dance and sing
dance and sing and form a ring
presidents day
ooh la la
just the thing to make us see
when you vote for your king
all the magic it will bring
they all rise from the beyond
for one special day
ooh ooh
presidents day

resistance was hopeless
so i let them in
so many dead presidents
i managed a frozen grin

what do you want here?
what do you seek?
is your special day a joy
or a curse you must repeat?

solemn are the ways
of the shadows of men
no more blood left in their hearts
but they can smell it on the wind

(chorus)
presidents day
ooh la la
a day when we all dance and sing
dance and sing and form a ring
presidents day
ooh la la
just the thing to make us see
when you vote for your king
all the magic it will bring
they all rise from the beyond
for one special day
ooh ooh
presidents day

“the dead commend thee
and counsel fate
we cannot steer the ship
we can no longer take that bait

please release us
from this curse
the promise of america
has gone from bad to worse”

they dissipated
in air both thin and stark
awaiting more members
who will vanish in the dark

(chorus)
presidents day
ooh la la
a day when we all dance and sing
dance and sing and form a ring
presidents day
ooh la la
just the thing to make us see
when you vote for your king
all the magic it will bring
they all rise from the beyond
for one special day
ooh ooh
presidents day

there is a legend
there is a tale
of the dead presidents
that will turn you pale

one day a year
their spirits blue
they arise and then they
come ’a gunning after you

lock your doors
hide the kids
the dead presidents
have flipped their deadly lids

(chorus)
presidents day
ooh la la
a day when we all dance and sing
dance and sing and form a ring
presidents day
ooh la la
just the thing to make us see
when you vote for your king
all the magic it will bring
they all rise from the beyond
for one special day
ooh ooh
presidents day

+++

Sad Songs

Neil Shakespeare takes a look at sad songs which I believe we all need to do, from time to time. Sadness visits all of us, sooner or later.

Here’s a slightly sad song I wrote many years ago…I had seen a picture of a poor woman, cupping her son’s face in her hands, her face careworn, but the child looking back at her, unblinking, which was as good a response to the weight of the world as I could have possibly imagined.

+++

We Just Feel These Things For Awhile

I saw a young man talking to his mother
She was crying, he spoke right to her
“Momma, I’ll be alright
Momma, I’ll be alright”

I saw a poor man talking to his mother
She was crying, he held her closely
“Momma I’ll be alright,
Sweet momma I’ll be alright
You gave me birth, I gave you a smile
We just feel these things for awhile
Oh, momma, I’ll be alright”

The love that you held is holding you
And will never let you go
It’s all we know

I saw a soldier talking to his mother
She was crying, he whispered to her
“Momma I’ll be alright
Momma I’ll be alright”

I saw an angel talking to his mother
She was crying, he spoke so softly
“Momma, I’ll be alright
Sweet momma I’ll be alright
You gave me birth, I gave you a smile
We just feel these things for awhile
Momma, sweet momma I’ll be alright

The love that you held is holding you
And will never let you go
It’s all we know

(whispered)
I saw a young man talking to his mother
She was crying, he spoke right to her
“Momma, I’ll be alright
Sweet momma I’ll be alright
You gave me birth, I gave you a smile
We just feel these things for awhile
Oh momma, sweet momma I’ll be alright”

+++

Sing Along With Rep. Miller!

At Least We Didn’t Gas You In The Chambers
(traditional spiritual)

The people gathered, their clothing tattered
Their hearts were sorely pressed
The flood had covered one another
Help arrived in the form of death

On the highway, in the dawn’s haze
Stood the angels with wings outstretched
As in Babel, the unruly rabble
Had the nerve to climb out of the ditch

Come and save us: the danger’s gravest
Send us guardsmen, send us rangers
We should be greatful, and not hateful
You didn’t lead us to gas chambers

(chorus)
And God came down in His mercy
And God was a babe in the manger
And God looked up and winked at us
At least we didn’t gas you in the chambers
Lord, Lord, Lord
At least we didn’t gas you in the chambers

Some people are chosen, some levees explodin’
Some chances are slim, some are fat and none
Sometimes Jesus does as He pleases
You’ve got to look out for Number One

Nothing can faze us, we still sing praises
We rise up in church and declare
The Lord’s plan includes a Promised Land
We will all wear gas masks there

(chorus)
And God came down in His mercy
And God was a babe in the manger
And God looked up and winked at us
At least we didn’t gas you in the chambers
Lord, Lord, Lord
At least we didn’t gas you in the chambers

(repeat until help arrives)

+++

Inspired by Jesus’ General channeling Steve Gilliard.

+++

Song for Jean Schmidt

+++

General JC Christian has found French infiltrators jimmying (jaucqeesing?) Rep. Jean Schmidt’s “Smears Across America” campaign…seems some Stalinist group called Cincinnati.com ran a poll, and a lot of respondents “no-likey bitch corpse bride.”

Heck, the love Frau Buckeye Breath shares with the world has inspired me to write some lyrics:

She Makes Me Scream

I want to eat her with a serving of crow
I want the whole wide world to know
I want a second helping of Jean
I want to eat her like a lima bean
Jean
She makes me scream

I want to love her by the side of the road
I want to fill her with a loving load
I want to do her in the rays of the sun
Second thought: I think I’ll cut and run
Jean
She makes me scream

(chorus)
Like Zena, like Joan of Arc
Like Medusa just before dark
Like the banshee that howls in the mist
Jean wears her knickers in a nasty twist
Man, she is pissed

I want to take her to a movie show
Study the exits, and then I’ll go
Leave her with popcorn and ju ju fruit
Tell her I have to go drain my flute
Jean
She makes me scream

I’ll go see her in Washington
Another suitor in her legions of men
I’ll wave to her and shout from the crowd
And then I’ll dump her for Maureen Dowd
Jean
She makes me scream

(chorus)
Like Zena, like Joan of Arc
Like Medusa just before dark
Like the banshee that howls in the mist
Jean wears her knickers in a nasty twist
Man, she is pissed

+++

Idealized image of Jean Schmidt from here.

+++

Song In The Key Of A Well-Oiled Man

A Suit to Suit a Viper

I took a viper and I put him in a suit
I combed his hair across his head
To make him look real cute

I reminded him to keep his venom low
I taught him everything I know
Everything I know

I found a scorpion and trained him how to sit
He practiced tea and sympathy
His act was quite a hit

I took his stinger and wrapped it in a bow
I taught him everything I know
Everything I know

(chorus)
They sit angelic, composed and full of grace
They learn their lines by heart and keep a poker face
I know the world will benefit when they are truly free
To come and poison you and me
To come and posion you and me

I spied a vampire and put him to the test
Got him a lawyer and then
Sued God for damages

I told him: “be patient, blood will surely flow”
I taught him everything I know
Everything I know

I gussied up a tumor and took it to DC
And there it had a great career
It acted naturally

At the cocktail parties it always thanks the host
I taught it everything I know
Everything I know

(chorus)
They sit angelic, composed and full of grace
They learn their lines by heart and keep a poker face
I know the world will benefit when they are truly free
To come and poison you and me
To come and posion you and me

I took a viper and I put him in a suit
I combed his hair across his head
To make him look real cute

I reminded him to keep his venom low
I taught him everything I know
Everything I know

I found a scorpion and trained him how to sit
He practiced tea and sympathy
His act was quite a hit

I took his stinger and wrapped it in a bow
I taught him everything I know
Everything I know

(chorus)
They sit angelic, composed and full of grace
They learn their lines by heart and keep a poker face
I know the world will benefit when they are truly free
To come and poison you and me
To come and posion you and me

+++

One may smile and smile and be a villain

Hamlet
Wm. Shakespeare

+++

Songs In the Key of Struggle

Gustave Doré “Poor People on the London Bridge, 1872”
Also known as “Funniest Wal-Mart Christmas Party Outtakes”

+++

The following lyrics were inspired by JC General’s patriotic story about Wal-Mart. He is the flood and I am that little house that often gets swept away.

+++

Nineteen Miles and Then We’re Free!

(chorus)
Nineteen miles from another Wal-Mart
Nineteen miles for you and for me
Ninteteen miles, let’s build another one
Nineteen miles and then we’re free

Did you visit Main Street and see the shops?
You know, the little ones, the mom & pops
Ain’t they the cutest things you ever saw?
Let’s get rid of ’em with Shock and Awe

Corporations are gifts from God above
We all know in our hearts that God is love
What did He whisper in the Virgin’s ear?
“Birth me a Wal-Mart, get me a beer!”

(chorus)
Nineteen miles from another Wal-Mart
Nineteen miles for you and for me
Ninteteen miles, let’s build another one
Nineteen miles and then we’re free

Get some surveyors, and get them quick
Get us demographics, they’ll do the trick
Get us a vacant lot, it will be fun
Gosh darn if we didn’t build another one

We are an Empire, We are the law
We are the future that nobody saw
We are the pinnacle of laissez faire
We are the answer to every prayer

(chorus)
Nineteen miles from another Wal-Mart
Nineteen miles for you and for me
Ninteteen miles, let’s build another one
Nineteen miles and then we’re free

Wal-Mart cares about Our employees
Out in the parking lot we planted trees
If a clerk cuts a finger and is damaged
For a discount he will get to buy a bandage

It used to be “Buy low, then sell higher”
Now it’s “Pay low, see you in the choir”
We are America, how do you like it?
We sell the shovels and you dig the pit

(chorus)
Nineteen miles from another Wal-Mart
Nineteen miles for you and for me
Ninteteen miles, let’s build another one
Nineteen miles and then we’re free

+++

Author’s note: This song begins with the chorus which I imagine as being sung acapella by a barbershop quartet, or worse by some French group like The Blind Boys of Alabama or Sub-French-Candian Hippy Dipthongs like CSNY. If everyone prays hard enough maybe a CD of it will appear, and you can buy it at Wal-Mart.

+++

Image from here.

+++

There Is A Throne In Heaven

SCOTUS Lube: A Magical Gift for the Supreme Court Nominee in Your Family!

+++

WASHINGTON — Insisting that God “certainly needs to be involved” in the Supreme Court confirmation process, three Christian ministers today blessed the doors of the hearing room where Senate Judiciary Committee members will begin considering the nomination of Judge Samuel Alito on Monday.

The rest of the article is at the Wall Street Journal.

I was so moved by this invocation of an invisible omnipotent force I felt another Spiritual Song rising up in me, rising up off its Hallowed Oiled Seat on the Barca Lounger of my Soul, to claim it’s rightful 37 seconds of your life. Adjusting bottoms now…

+++

There is a throne in Heaven
Where the Lord awaits the Flood
There is a throne in Heaven
High above the mud

There is a throne in Heaven
There to find what you did seek
It’s time to spread the oil
Where He will spread His cheeks

It’s time to spread the oil
Where He will spread His cheeks

God is very interested
In what we say and do
But just in case He should forget
We have something we can do

On the seat where sits the Chosen
Who will face the faithless ones
The oil will prepare our Man
For the shit that is to come

The oil will prepare our Man
For the shit that is to come

On earth as is in Heaven
The cheeks will surely meet
A blessed lubricant
Massaged into the seat

For life is full of danger
Though we seek to make it safe
We pray for God and SCOTUS
Their asses not to chafe

We pray for God and SCOTUS
Their asses not to chafe

Where does the Oil come from?
What makes it so profound?
Why with all the questions?
Are you some nosy kind of hound?

Let’s just say it’s Holy
And wields a special power
But do not put it in your milk
It will turn it rather sour

But do not put in in your milk
It will turn it rather sour

We have taken every measure
To insure that he will pass
The judgement of our brothers:
Be he true or just an ass

So off we go, we Christians
We Keepers of the Flame
If Alito should get hemorrhoids
It’s not us who’ll be to blame

The judgement of our brothers:
Be he true or just an ass

There is a throne in Heaven
Where the Lord awaits the Flood
There is a throne in Heaven
High above the mud

There is a throne in Heaven
There to find what you did seek
It’s time to spread the oil
Where He will spread His cheeks

It’s time to spread the oil
Where He will spread His cheeks

+++

Original links to this story include the notorious Jesus’ General via Pharyngula.

+++

Image of Holy Oils from here.

+++

Two From the Vault

+++

A couple of song parodies from days gone by…

This first one goes out to George: Good times back then,
eh Georgie? When you got to play Dress Up and Let’s Pretend?

PISSING IN THE WIND
(sung to the tune of Singing in the Rain)
ARTIST: Herb Brown and Arthur Freed

I’m pissing in the wind
Just pissing in the wind
What a spasmodic unveiling
I’m flapping again

I’m laughing at crowds
My ass they adore
‘Cause there’s cash in the bank
And the Press is a whore

Let the army grunts chase
Every Iraqi they face
Come on with Hussein
I’ve a bulge he can taste

I walked on the deck
With my crotch all erect
‘Cause I’m pissing
Just pissing in the wind

+++

This next song parody was written after the first Presidential debate between Bush and Kerry, when it appeared that Kerry had put the lie to Bush’s swagger: 43 looked angry, petulant and not presidential at all.

BUSH, THE TICKING TIME BOMB
(sung to the tune “Puff the Magic Dragon”)

Bush, the ticking time bomb, debated John Kerry
And bollocks to the whoring press who bent down on their knees
Brittle hackneyed pundits loved that strident stuff
And called him King and Fearless One and other bits of fluff, oh

Together they would battle the Truth out on the trail
Cheney kept a grip on things from his bunker deep in hell
Ignoble kings and Saudis would bow to Bush’s fame
Tyrant shits would snicker when Bush roared out wrong names, oh

(chorus)
Bush, the ticking time bomb, debated John Kerry
And bollocks to the whoring press who bent down on their knees
Bush, the ticking time bomb, debated John Kerry
And bollocks to the whoring press who bent down on their knees

A legend lives forever, but not so callow boys
Broken dreams and soldiers’ screams make for lousy toys
One strange night it happened, the Pundit Crowd played fair
And Bush the Spoiled Liar, had to face the music there

His head was bent in anger, he paced upon the stage
Bush no longer cared to hide his bitterness and rage
Without his fawning pundits, Bush could never win
So, Bush that flinty cipher found blame for everyone but him

(repeat chorus)

+++

Ah, memories…

+++

What Does It Profit A Mel?

+++

The General was cc’d by an avenging angel who, given the job of looking after the estate of a Mr. Christ, sent Mel Gibson a missive laying out, in terms any armageddonist could understand, a cease to exist order. Oh, and Mr. Christ wrote a song to Mel too, but used me as his beard!

+++

Mel, I hate to infringe
But on me you have impinged
You will probably be real singed
When I burn you, baby, burn

Mel, you took the pledge
Against a graven image
Come down from that dangerous ledge
So I can teach and you can learn

(chorus, in which Jesus screams)
My death sucked
My death sucked
I hate to be reminded
That my death sucked
I was so fucked
Seriously fucked

Mel, you tried all the drugs
Until the walls were crawling with bugs
All you needed were kisses and hugs
And three hours of me in Hell

Mel, come answer the door
I have come to ask you for more
I am the Lord, and we’re in a war
Ha, ha—gonna ring your bell

(chorus, in which Jesus screams)
My death sucked
My death sucked
I hate to be reminded
That my death sucked
I was so fucked
Seriously fucked

Mel, you found the fashion
Of profiting from my Passion
Of holy shit you’ll get your ration
So take it all in stride

Mel, pray God has humor
Lest your money bring you tumors
At least that is the rumor
When you’re gone, no place to hide

(chorus, in which Jesus screams)
My death sucked
My death sucked
I hate to be reminded
That my death sucked
I was so fucked
Seriously fucked

+++

Image of Mel Gibson tugging at the hairs of his chinny-chin-chin from here.

+++