Archives for category: song

Wrote this many years ago, recorded it a couple of years ago.  You can hear it on my SoundCloud page.  One of those “really amused myself while writing it” things.  As a Jon Lovitz character on SNL used to say, “lower your standards.”


All I wanted was a house in the suburbs

With a white picket fence and very healthy yard

And a paper towel dispenser hangin’ in my brand new kitchen

Is that too much to ask?

Oh, is that too much to ask?


Then all I wanted was a studio apartment

With hardwood floors and a very funky smell

And a few of my friends to drop by and watch some football

Is that too much to ask?

Oh, is that too much to ask?


Then all I wanted was a nice little lady

Who could cook me up some grits and wash my faded jeans

And love me in the evenin’ like a busty pin-up poster

Is that too much to ask?

Oh, is that too much to ask?


Now all I want is a shack in south Missouri

With dirt-covered windows and a broken old screen door

And a hefty little woman who tries to hide her moustache

Is that too much to ask?

Oh, is that too much to ask?

Been stuck on a few songs I’m working on, but have one completed.  Not a lot of lyrics, but it’s pretty rockin’.  Obviously inspired by hanging out at clubs.





The band is animated, playin’ Hall and Oates

And you’re animated, swayin’ to and fro


Your boyfriend looks pretty mean

He’s not impressed with the rock club scene



Shake your booty

Bump and grind

Let’s get outta here

And leave this shit behind


The band is lubricated, playin’ “Hot Hot Hot”

And you’re lubricated, lookin’ hot hot hot hot hot


Your boyfriend looks upset

He thinks he might just lose this yet




The band is overheated, playin’ Men at Work

And you’re overheated in your tight little skirt


Your boyfriend wants to fight

I hope you won’t choose him tonight



New song.  And I hate it when inspiration strikes at 3 a.m.



Facebook, let’s take a look

The social interaction of the times

Facebook, don’t read a book

When you can electronically destroy your mind


Why do you love animals more than people?

Why are you angry and calling me a sheeple?

Right-wing loonie or a left-wing commie

I think you weren’t loved enough by your mommy


I don’t care what you had for dinner

And you don’t have to call me a dirty sinner

Are you in a relationship or are you single

Or is it complicated? I don’t even know what that means


I wish you had something interesting to say

And I’m getting pretty sick of George Takei




Think six thousand pictures of your kid’s enough?

You broke a nail, yeah, life’s pretty rough

You’re sending me all your stupid game requests

And your YouTube links are tepid at best


You’re clinically depressed and need attention

You’re drunk again and need an intervention

Can you think of any kind of an original joke?

Is that a duck face or are you having a stroke?


If I were granted one wish, I’d make it really count

I’d go back in time and shoot Zuckerberg in the mouth

Also to appear on the next CD.  Fast celtic-rock thing.  Inspired by…well, you know who you are, drunky.




She asked me to come over and to have a drink or two

When I showed up at seven she was pretty freakin’ stewed

Empty Ripple bottles lyin’ all around her place

And non-stop patter rollin’ out that damn hole in her face


She prattled on about her kids, the weather, and the war

For every drink I swallowed, she was suckin’ down five more

She ranted ‘bout the neighbors and her stupid office staff

The only time she stifled was to take another quaff



She’s a ramblin’, ramblin’, ramblin’ drunk

A ramblin’, ramblin’, ramblin’ drunk

Ramblin’, ramblin’, ramblin’ drunk

She won’t shut up


Oh please, God, deliver me

From all of this misery

I try to be good, Lord

Please make her stop


She yakked about her money woes and things that make her sore

She gestured wildly and she knocked her wine glass to the floor

I tried some witty repartee, but she’d have none of that

I might just wanna bang her if she’d shut her goddamned trap




No, she won’t shut up

She won’t shut up

New song to appear on my sophomore CD.   Sometimes I really feel the human condition.




I was ridin’ old Bess on the dusty plain

When the clouds unleashed and I was ridin’ in the pourin’ rain

Old Bess got spooked and she bucked me down

And I could feel my perineum split as I hit the ground



Didn’t break my bum, didn’t hurt my sack

But that couple of inches in between sure got a nasty crack

I’m now a man that I wish I ain’t

Oh, will you still love me and my busted taint?


The doc patched me up with a plaster cast

It’s really uncomfortable and goes halfway up my ass

I can’t sit down, I’m in a lotta pain

And I shuffle around like I’m walking like ol’ John Wayne


He says I’ll be okay, if I’m to do things his way

Like no heavy liftin’, no heavy sittin’

And shittin’ ‘round the cast every single day


Well I hope it heals fast and I can get back to ridin’ ol’ Bess

‘Cuz a man needs his taint like a painter needs his paint

And my taint’s my good friend, I must confess




My shattered taint

My battered taint

My damaged taint

My torn up taint

My fractured taint

My crippled taint

My splintered taint

My injured taint

My ruptured taint

My mangled taint

My annihilated, demolished, pulverized, destroyed beyond all recognition taint

Another nugget from the comedy act archive.  I opened with this for about the first year I performed.


WHO DO YOU LOVE? (George Thoroughgood)


My arteries are clogged and icky

I got teeth rottin’ outta my head

My spine’s as crooked as a politician

And my eyes are puffy and red


Got an ugly case o’ head lice

I smell like a rancid pig

Got bugs crawlin’ ‘round in my underwear

And my ass is way too big


Well, who do you love?

Who do you freakin’ love, baby?


My toes are grown together

My liver’s as hard as a rock

Got cellulite hangin’ out over my jeans

And it jiggles when I walk


Got a deviated septum

Got a punctured eardrum, too

Got a hemorrhoid the size of a submarine

And I wanna rub it on you, darlin’


Well, who do you love?

Who do you freakin’ love, baby?

Another song to appear on my upcoming debut CD (projected release date: hopefully before the end of the world later this year).  Fast country/honky-tonk.


Hey there, darlin’, can I sit next to you

Buy you a drink or maybe even two

And we’ll get cozy here at Merle’s Bar and Grill

And if you’re really lucky, I’ll give you a thrill

‘Cuz you’re the prettiest girl in this here bar

Then again, you’re the only girl in this here bar

All the guys say you look like you been hit by a car

But to me you look like a movie star

Well, that’s my pickup truck parked right outside

Only fifty-six more payments and that goddammed thing is mine

But it takes two to tango and I’m burnin’ up inside

So won’t you do some grindin’ with a really lonely guy?

‘Cuz you’re the prettiest girl in this here bar

Who cares if you’re the only girl in this here bar?

All the guys say you look like you been boiled in tar

But to me you look like a movie star

I used to do this song in the comedy act.  It will also appear on my upcoming debut CD (projected release date: next Year of the Rat).



He was a rough-and-tumble hard-drinkin’ cowboy

From just north of the Rio Grande

She was a steamy Mexican senorita

Who did interpretive dances on the weekends for a few extra pesos


They met one night at a seedy dive

Called The One-Eyed-Three-Tongued Rattlesnake Saloon

He was poundin’ shots of whisky

She was writhing nude on the stage to a disjointed samba rhythm


And then their eyes met, and thunder stuck and waves crashed and empires toppled

I mean it was really something, let me tell you, man

He leapt over fifteen tables, cracked his shin on the stage, grabbed her up

And took her back to his ranch with mirrors on the ceiling


They did everything imaginable in every possible position that two naked people could ever think about doing, and then some

He was especially impressed by the way she could twist her arm behind her head

Like Ronnie Cox as the dead guy in Deliverance


And then she started talkin’ about her six kids, her six mortgages

And her six cases of herpes since she was sixteen

The cowboy thought, “Oh my god, six-six-six,

“She’s the antichrist right here.”


He leapt out of bed, he threw on his clothes, he jumped on his horse

And he rode for kilometers and kilometers and kilometers

He rode until his horse had a heart attack and died

Leaving him stranded in the desert with no food or water


As he lay dying of hunger and thirst, and a ragin’ case of VD

An angel appeared before his eyes and said,

“Me so horny”

No, wait, she said,

“Go see the senorita, she needs you”

With every last ounce of strength me could muster he crawled his way back to the ranch

Only to find the senorita had left him for a short balding accountant


Now he’s a broken-hearted syphilitic cowboy

Without a horse

Woe, woe, woe

Yeah, he’s a broken-hearted syphilitic cowboy

Without a horse

He hasn’t got a horse

I wrote this when I was 13.  It’s since been my most requested song at shindigs and such.  I have no idea why.  It will also appear on my upcoming debut CD (projected release date: Fall 2025). 




Hostess Twinkies, apple pies

Quarter Pounder and French fries

All these foods taste rather good

But you know my favorite’s mud



Mud, mud, mud, mud, mud, mud

It’s for me

Mud, mud, mud, mud, mud, mud

Good as can be


I hate corndogs on a stick

Cake and ice cream make me sick

There’s one food that’s not a dud

And everyone knows it is mud




I like mud with eggs and ham

My dog Spot eats mud and jam

Mud’s nutritious and it’s fun

Let’s feed mud to everyone




If you don’t like mud, you’ll see

Adding moss makes it tasty

Just throw in a worm or two

You’ll find out that mud’s for you




Mud’s the food for you and me

Let’s consume it faithfully

Some folks say, “here’s mud in your eye”

But put it in your mouth and you’ll be just fine



To appear on my upcoming debut CD, whenever I get around to recording it.  Upbeat ska/reggae.




We’re goin’ out to the baseball game

Me and my friends are gonna get a bit insane

We got the tickets and we got a lotta cash

To buy the frothy alcohol that gets us really trashed


We get to our seats and order up a round

Eight bucks a beer sure ain’t the best deal in town

We toast to the players and the women in the stands

And suck it down our throats because we’re real sports fans



I’m gonna drink three beers an inning

I don’t care if my team’s not winning

I don’t care if they slip to last place

‘Cuz I’m gonna get ‘faced


It’s bottom of the third, a foul comes our way

We scramble for the ball, but it’s just too far away

We find the guy who caught it and we give him all our beers

And fifty dollars later we’ll take home a souvenir


The pitcher hits the batter, they get into a brawl

Both the benches empty, it’s an ugly free-for-all

The drunken crowd is frenzied and they start to scream and shout

‘Cuz alcohol and violence are what it’s all about




Now it’s getting late, I’m feelin’ kinda dead

It’s seventeen to three, but I don’t know who’s ahead

My wallet’s nearly empty, my body’s full of booze

My friend says, “this is awesome,” then he vomits on my shoes