Folkwise

The Ballad of Steve Irwin

2006-10-02T13:28:00.000-07:00

(Or, Say Hi to Ray and His Close Friend Barb)

If you’re gonna go swimmin’ with the fishes,
The fishes in the deep blue sea,
Be sure to keep your flippers off the stingrays,
Or sleepin’ with the fishes you will be.

We watched with dreadful trepidation,
Not believing what we thought we saw,
The time you held your little baby out
O’er that crocodile’s gaping maw.

Oh farewell, Steve Irwin, wrestler of crocs,
You were our bonnie nature boy,
The best of all the jocks.

You held the deadly snake before the camera,
When opening his mouth about to strike, he
Wriggled as you leapt and dodged his fangs,
And you spun around and shouted, “Crikey!”

Oh farewell, Steve Irwin, wrestler of crocs,
You were our bonnie nature boy,
The best of all the jocks.

But then the day arrived that you were destined,
Destined to approach the lurking ray,
And in a flash his barb had pierced you,
And you died, Dear Steve, you died,
G’day.

Tempus Fugit About It

2006-07-13T10:01:00.000-07:00

Who knows where the bloody time goes?
You turn your back to blow your nose,
And suddenly you’re in the throes
Of hemorrhoids and old folks’ woes.
Who knows where the bloody time goes?

Who knows where the bloody time goes?
The bloom comes off the pretty rose,
You spend your time at HMOs,
Like morbid Edgar Allen Poes.
Who knows where the bloody time goes?

Who knows where the bloody time goes?
The fate of hobos and CEOs:
From blushing youth to orthopedic hose,
And then you start to decompose.
Who knows where the bloody time goes?

Snow Job

2006-04-29T11:30:00.000-07:00

Tell us a tale, make it up as you go,
Tell us a tale, Mister Tony Snow.

Give us the scoop, put us in the know,
Give us the lowdown, Mr. Tony Snow.

Weave us a story with narrative flow,
Spin us a yarn, Mr. Tony Snow.

[INSTRUMENTAL INTERLUDE WITH RIGHTEOUS HARP BLOWIN’]

Make us believe it’s all apropos,
Make us less anxious, Mr. Tony Snow.

Run through the facts on the new status quo,
Paint a quaint picture, Mr. Tony Snow.

Tell all the critics to go and eat crow,
Feed us some bullshit, Mr. Tony Snow.

Deportease

2006-03-31T09:50:00.000-08:00

(apologies to Woody Guthrie)

Don’t mind us, we’re just workin’,
We’re puttin’ in our time for decent pay.
Down Mexico we couldn’t keep our babies fed,
We had to pull up stakes and get away.

Don’t mind us we’re just workin’,
We’re doin’ jobs that you don’t want to do,
We’re scrapin’ by, sendin’ money home to Mama,
We’re not here to pick a fight with you.

CHORUS
You need your lawns mowed, let us do it.
You need your seeds sowed, let us do it.
You need your kids watched till they’re fully grown,
Your dishes washed and your dead leaves blown,
You need us and we’re here, let us do it!

Don’t mind us we’re just workin’
We came across with nothin’ but our clothes.
We heard this was the land where we could make a stand,
And if you’re willin’ to work, anything goes.

My brother Juan picks strawberries in Gilroy,
My sister makes the beds in Kankakee.
My wife’s a Merry Maid, and my cousin swings a spade,
And as for me, I mop the floors at KFC.

CHORUS
You need your lawns mowed, let us do it.
You need your seeds sowed, let us do it.
You need your kids watched till they’re fully grown,
Your dishes washed and your dead leaves blown,
You need us and we’re here, let us do it!

Don’t mind us, we’re just workin’,
Listen to us in this humble ballad.
We might live seven to a room, but we can work a broom,
And without us you’d pay fifty bucks for salad.

Three Years In Iraq

2006-03-21T11:21:00.000-08:00

Three years in Iraq, and there’s no end in sight,
No sign of the milk and the honey.
I been startin’ to wonder if we’re in the right,
Or whether we’re here for the oil n’ money.

I been up to Mosul and down to Al Kut,
Been all around Baghdad and downtown Tikrit.
Got nothin’ to show for it but sand in my boot,
Got two wary eyes n’ two bloody feet.

The people are cowering with fear in their hearts,
Then they show me the soles of their sandals.
Over here that’s the same as “Fuck You” back home,
‘Cuz they’re lighting their houses with candles.

CHORUS
Give my regards to Baghdad,
I don’t mean to rag, Dad,
But I think we’ve hit a snag, Dad,
And I wanna come home.

I seen children get slaughtered from our cluster bombs,
I seen innocent men shot at road blocks.
They’re sayin’ we’re worse than a thousand Saddams,
And the mullahs have won at the ballot box.

Some say that we’re winnin’ the minds and the hearts,
But who the hell’s aiming them damn RPGs?
I guess if we’re winnin’, it’s in fits and in starts,
‘Cuz we never did find Bush’s WMDs.

Twenty-three hundred of us paid the price,
While Cheney’s out huntin’ for game birds.
And Rumsfeld, Gonzales, and Condoleezza Rice,
They make me too angry for words.
Christ, they make me too angry for words.

CHORUS
Give my regards to Baghdad,
I don’t mean to rag, Dad,
But I think we’ve hit a snag, Dad,
And I wanna come home.

Censure Song

2006-03-17T15:53:00.000-08:00

Since you’re inquiring about taps of your wiring,
And since it’s three years before Bush is retiring,
Let me run this solution to unconstitutional
Power pollution: A new resolution.

Censure the president, call him to answer,
Take the taps off the wires, and cut out the cancer
That he represents on the body of state.
And do it today, man, before it’s too late.

Russ Feingold stood up in the well of the Senate,
(Took all kinds of flak from the likes of Bill Bennett),
Said, “It’s a crime when the president orders his spies
To spy without warrants under ‘Merican skies.

“And to undermine FISA, which came after Nixon,
‘Cuz Watergate showed us that Nixon was fixin’
To punish his enemies, real or phonies,
By using the structures of power and cronies,

“To get what he wanted, but that’s not my speech.
My speech is censure if we can’t impeach
This son of a bitch who keeps picking fights
And taking a shit on OUR Bill of Rights.”

Censure the president, call him to answer,
Take the taps off the wires, and cut out the cancer
That he represents on the body of state.
And do it today, man, before it’s too late.

You’da thought they’d line up and speak truth to power,
But Democrats didn’t do nothin’ but cower.
Now Feingold is getting called all sorts of names,
But he started a fire, he’s fanning the flames.

How long will it take, how far will we plummet?
Democracy used to stand high on the summit
Of civilization and human endeavor,
But now it’s in crisis and we all say, “Whatever.”

Censure the president, call him to answer,
Take the taps off the wires, and cut out the cancer
That he represents on the body of state.
And do it today, man, before it’s too late.

Subcutaneous Blues

2006-03-09T09:43:00.000-08:00

There’s one sure-fire way to know who is who,
To make sure we’re all free from harm.
Surrender yourself to a fait accompli,
And get a chip put in your arm.

Get through the airport in front of the rest,
Smile at the friendly gendarme,
Transparent as your x-rayed Louis Vuitton,
You had a chip put in your arm.

One of these days we will all be like you,
Safe in our houses and warm.
Homeland security mandates compliance,
We’ll all have a chip in our arm, hey ho,
We’ll all have a chip in our arm.

You Can Name The Kid Pierre

2006-03-06T11:59:00.000-08:00

Over there in South Dakota
Women now don’t have a voice.
From now on, the governor says,
You ain’t gonna have a choice.

They’re gunnin’ hard for Roe v Wade,
Pushin’ this thing to a legal crisis.
They don’t want to hear your tale,
They’re knockin’ down that stare decisis.

Gonna have a baby, like it or not,
Havin’ a kid and I don’t mean maybe.
Got yourself in trouble, too damn bad,
Gonna make sure you have that baby.
Gonna make sure you have that baby.

This one’s one’a the workin’ poor,
Got two jobs, can’t make the grade.
Now she’s sixteen weeks along,
Don’t know whether to row or wade.

Teenage girl dropped outta school,
Halfway through her second trimester,
Savin’ up to go to college,
But then she got diddled by Uncle Fester.

Gonna have a baby, like it or not
Havin’ a kid, and I don’t mean maybe.
Got yourself in trouble, too damn bad,
Gonna make sure you have that baby.
Gonna make sure you have that baby.

Couple just met and started kissin’,
Huggin’, pettin’, gettin’ frisky.
Didn’t take long to make that zygote,
Premarital sex is too damn risky!
(In South Dakota, that is. For now, that is.)

Katie thought she was bein’ careful,
Now she’s gonna be a mom.
Didn’t want to, didn’t try,
But her fate was up to that Trojan condom.

You’re gonna have a baby, like it or not
Havin’ a kid, and I don’t mean maybe.
Got yourself in trouble, too damn bad,
Gonna make sure you have that baby.
Gonna make sure you have that baby.

Guantanamo Bay

2006-03-03T08:48:00.000-08:00

(sung, obviously, to the tune of “Guantanamera”)

There is a place down in Cuba,
Five hundred miles from Aruba.
If in your heart there is terra,
You will wind up rendered there-a.
Kiss good-bye to your wifey,
You’ll be imprisoned for life-y.

Guantanamo Bay
You’re stuck in Guantanamo Bay.
Guantanamo Bay.
You’re stuck in Guantanamo Bay.

You’ll eat the fish with the lemon,
Two types of fruit, like in Yemen.
Of course, the Yankees will beat you,
But at least they will feed you.
Chained by the arms to your bedstead,
You’ll stand with panties on your head.

Guantanamo Bay
You’re stuck in Guantanamo Bay.
Guantanamo Bay.
You’re stuck in Guantanamo Bay.

There’s no due process for you now,
It’s sleep in your own poo for you now.
The torture might be so paining,
But, hey, at least it’s not raining.
Just try to smile through each new flog,
This is America’s Gulag.

Guantanamo Bay
You’re stuck in Guantanamo Bay.
Guantanamo Bay.
You’re stuck in Guantanamo Bay.

Celebrity "Friends"

2006-03-02T08:38:00.000-08:00

Who shall be my manly hero --
Mr. Gibson or Bob DeNiro?

Who shall be my main man --
Jacko, or that guy from Rainman?

Who shall I as a model use --
Mickey Dolenz or Tom Cruise?

Who’m I to one day marry --
Cate Blanchett or Halle Berry?

And what’s become of Matthew Perry?
What’s become of Matthew Perry?

If I’m on a bus or plane --
Can I sit by Shania Twain?

Who can I take on my kayak --
Heidi Klum or Salma Hayek?

When it’s time to play some tennis --
Kournikova or Hopper, Dennis?

Still and all -- where’s Matthew Perry?
What’s become of Matthew Perry?

Olympic Flameout

2006-03-01T08:23:00.000-08:00

It didn’t going well in Torino,
Things were a bust on the ice.
We thought were were winners
They ate us for dinner,
Some of us even fell twice.

The USA has seen its day,
We look like a loser’s convention.
The medals are fewer and farther between,
Once we were uber-menschen.

Once we were titans on bob sleds,
We were aces at axels and twirling.
We mastered speed skating,
While Communist-hating
(Though we weren’t very good at the curling.
No we never won medals at curling.)

The USA has seen its day,
Our “athletes” should cash in their pension.
If we were still doping, I bet we’d be coping,
Once we were uber-menschen, Ja!
Once we were uber-menschen.

Port Whine

2006-02-28T12:13:00.000-08:00

Givin’ up our harbors to the UAE,
Givin’ up our harbors to the UAE,
Suitcase nukes from across the sea,
Comin’ through the port of Miami.

Bush says, Not to worry, you can trust me.
Bush says, Not to worry, you can trust me.
He listens to my phone calls to my friend in Karachi,
While he’s givin’ up our harbors to the UAE.

Livin’ in the land of the brave and the free,
We’re livin’ in the land of the brave and the free,
Your mama wouldn’t know it if she was here to see,
‘Cuz what was free to her ain’t free to you and me.

Givin’ up our harbors to the UAE,
Givin’ up our harbors to the UAE,
Suitcase nukes from across the sea,
Comin’ through the port of Miami.

Nostalgia, With Hangover

2006-02-28T08:49:00.000-08:00

Broken is my little red wagon,
Busted is my G.I. Joe,
Wrecked and bashed, my model planes,
Dried and cracked, my old Play Dough.
Is life worth living? Yes, I think.
‘Cuz now I’m old enough to drink.
‘Cuz now I’m old enough to drink.

Afoot And Afield With Richard Bruce Cheney...

2006-02-27T15:35:00.000-08:00

Second U.S. Vice President in History to Shoot a Man
(The First Being Aaron Burr)

Cheney went a huntin’ wit a ladies’ gun
To bag hisse’f a couple hundred quail.
(To Cheney it’s still huntin’ if the birds are caged,
Even if that makes it hard to fail.)

Cheney went a huntin’ wit a ladies’ gun
And spun aroun’ to shoot, but even moreso,
He drew a bead and fired a load of birdy shot,
But hit his old friend Harry in the torso.