Tuesday, November 17, 2009


Continuing to celebrate Roger Miller’s birthday for one mo’ Blog Bit, I have posted below the lyrics to four more humorous songs. There’s a certain risque element to all of these songs. The way I see it, a person who has S-E-X as often as I do (never!) had damn sure better be able to laugh about it. Besides, let’s think about it for a moment and then be honest . . . what’s funnier than S-E-X?

This first tune is by a true genius of comedy. I apply the “genius” label very sparingly because I think it’s generally over used, but when it comes to Jim Stafford, the fit is perfect. If there is anybody qualified to wear Roger Miller’s mantle, it’s Jim Stafford. I’d love to see him perform live someday, but I just don’t want to have to travel all the way to Branson, MO. to do it. It should also be noted that Jim Stafford is responsible for, in my opinion, the best and funniest music video ever created. Yeah, the ol’ boy must have consumed a drink or two once or twice, because he totally NAILED IT. Anyway, on to the lyrics:

Written and performed by Jim Stafford

I just got into town and I didn’t have nothin’ to do
When I happened upon this telephone booth
With a whole bunch of writing covering one entire wall
It said, “If you ain’t afraid to spend a dime
And if you want to have a real good time
Just give Lucille a call.”

Underneath her number was this big long list
That said she’d do that and that she’d do this
I let my fingers do the walkin’ through all kind of stuff I’d missed

I shuffled through my pockets ‘til I found myself a dime
I heard it ring a time or two and I got her on the line
And I said, “Lucille, I’d like to have a real good time.”

Might have found a lover; might have made a new friend
Well, I ain’t had a real good time since I don’t know when

She said, “Who are you and what is this?”
I said, “It’s Jim, Lucille, and it’s about this list.”
Which I began to read with particular emphasis
On my favorite numbers: one, five, eleven, fourteen, twenty-two, thirty-three, and forty-one through fifty-nine.

She said, “Where are you?” and I gave her the street
She said, “You sound like a guy I’d love to meet.”
She said, “Stay right where you and and I promise you a real good time.”


About fifteen minutes after my arrest
In the middle of the questions, I tried to protest
That I wasn’t that phantom obscene phone caller or master of crime
So, they took me away; they allowed me one call
And I recalled that number on the phone booth wall
And I said, “Lucille, me and you got a altogether different idea about a real good time.

I lost my lover; I lost my new friend
Well, you can’t have a real good time doing one to ten

“Hello, Lucille? Listen here, honey.
Uh, I was wonderin’ – I’m gonna be tied up for quite a while here
And I was wonderin’ about… Oh… maybe ten years or so when I get out of here
If you’d mind if I gave you a call?
Hello? Hello, Lucille? Lucille! Hello!
Uh… hello? Hello, Lu— uh, hello?”

Now here’s a humorous song by an alright guy:

Written and performed by Todd Snider

You know just the other morning
I was hanging around inside my house

I had that new book with pictures of Madonna naked
I was checking it out

Just then a friend of mine came through the door
Said she never pegged me for a scumbag before
She said she didn't ever wanna see me anymore
And I still don't know why

I think I'm an alright guy
I think I'm an alright guy
I just wanna live unitl I gotta die
I know I ain't perfect, but God knows I try
I think I'm an alright guy
I think I'm alright

Now maybe I'm dirty
And maybe I smoke a little dope

But it aint like I'm going on T.V.
And tearing up pictures of the Pope

I know I get wild and I know I get drunk
But it ain’t like I gotta lot of bodies in my trunk
My old man used to call me a “No good punk.”
And I still don't know why


You know just the other night
These cops pulled me over outside a bar
They turned on their lights and said,
“Hey, kid, get out of the car.”
I was only joking when I called ‘em a couple of dicks
But still they made me do the stupid human tricks
And now I'm stuck in this cell with a bunch of dumb hicks
And I still don't know why
I think I’m an alright guy

Going from A (“Alright Guy”) to Z (“Zevon”), here’s another funny one. In 1978, Linda Ronstadt scored a Top Forty hit with a cleaned up, unfunny, inferior cover version of this song. Never send a woman to do a man’s song:

Written and performed by Warren Zevon

I lay my head on the railroad tracks
And wait for the Double "E"
But the railroad don't run no more
Poor, poor pitiful me

Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me
These young girls won't let me be
Lord, have mercy on me
Woe is me

Well, I met a girl in West Hollywood
I ain't naming names
But she really worked me over good
She was just like Jesse James

She really worked me over good
She was a credit to her gender
She put me through some changes, Lord
Sort of like a Waring blender

Well, I met a girl at the Rainbow Bar
She asked me if I'd beat her
She took me back to the Hyatt House
I don't wanna talk about it.

Poor, poor pitiful me

Poor, poor pitiful me
These young girls won't let me be
Lord, have mercy on me
Woe is me

Think you can write? Someday, try to come up with something as great as "She put me through some changes, Lord. Sort of like a Waring blender." Lines like that make it clear to me why I ain't never been nothin' but a "no good punk."

But if popular music has ever produced a better lyricist than Bob Dylan, it’s Tom Waits. I know there are plenty of people out there who would disagree with me (although my friend The Great L.C. is not amongst them), but Tom Waits eventually pissed away his genius in a conscious effort to become an “artiste.” Waits may represent the greatest waste of God-given talent ever seen. That’s only my opinion, of course, but on this Blog, my opinion rules the roost.

However, make no mistake about it – even if Waits had never written anything other than ‘Emotional Weather Report’ his “genius” classification would have still been secure for all-time. But let’s take a look at his song titled . . .

Written and performed live by Tom Waits

[Spoken Introduction:]
This is for all the bachelors out there tonight. Yeah, or for anybody who’s ever whistled this song [*plays ‘Here Comes The Bride’ on the piano*] Or maybe you’ve whistled it but you’ve lost the sheet music. Heh!-Heh! Well, actually, I don’t mind going to weddings or anything, as long as it’s not my own. I show up. But, uh, I’ve always kinda been partial to calling myself up on the phone and asking myself out, ya know? – [*positive audience reaction*] – Oh, yeah, you call yourself up too, huh? Yeah, well, one thing about it, you’re always around.

Yeah, you ask yourself out, ya know, to some class joint somewhere. The Burrito King or something, ya know? Well, I ain’t cheap, ya know? You take yourself out for a couple of drinks maybe. Then you need some provocative conversation on the way home. And park in front of the house, ya know? Oh, yeah, you’re smooth – you put a little nice music on. Like, maybe, you put on, like, you know, shopping music; something that’s not too interruptive, ya know? And then, uh, slide over real nice, ya know? “Oh, I think you have something in your eye.” Heh!-Heh! Well, maybe it’s not THAT romantic but, you get into it, ya know?

I take myself up to the porch, and take myself inside. Oh, maybe… uh, oh, a little something in a brandy snifter or something. “Would you like to listen to some of my back records?” I got something here, uh…. uh… Well, usually about 2:30 in the morning you’ve ended up taking advantage of yourself and there ain’t no way around that, ya know? Yeah, makin’ the scene with a magazine. I’ll confess, ya know? I’m no different, ya know? I’m not weird about it or anything; I don’t tie myself up first. I just kinda like to spend a little time with myself. So, this is kind of a little anthem here:

All my friends are married

Every Tom and Dick and Harry
You must be strong to go it alone
Here's to the bachelors and the Bowery bums
And those who feel that they're the ones
Who are better off without a wife

I like to sleep until the crack of noon
Midnight howlin' at the moon
Goin' out when I want to; comin' home when I please
I don't have to ask permission
If I want to go out fishin’
And I never have to ask for the keys

Never been no Valentino
Had a girl who lived in Reno
Left me for a trumpet player
Didn't get me down
He was wanted for assault
Though he said it weren't his fault
Well the coppers rode him right out of town


Selfish about my privacy
As long as I can be with me
We get along so well I can't believe
I love to chew the fat with folks
And listen to all your dirty jokes
I'm so thankful for these friends I do receive

[Spoken Conclusion:]
Yeah, I got this girl I know, man. She’s been married several times. I don’t want to end up like her. I mean, she’s been married so many times she’s got rice marks all over her face. Yeah, you know the kind.


Although he ain't no genius, Yoey O’Dogherty is probably the most persecuted and prosecuted songwriter ever. How was he to know the chick was only 17? It was dark, she said she was legal, and her bra said she was “36.”

Written and performed by Yoey O’Dogherty And His Corn Liquor Boys

Adam was content
He loved his life, he loved the land
He wasn’t really lonely
There was a woman he called “Hand.”

His life was, oh, so peaceful
Upon that holy ground
He’d still be living there today
Had Eve not come around

She forced the thing upon him
Poor Adam was misled
He took a bite of forbidden fruit
The apple, sweet and red

They were expelled from paradise
By the great creator, God
Lived their days in misery
Because of that stupid broad

Delilah snipped at Samson’s hair
She wanted to cut more
But finally she was forced to leave
When he began to snore

Throughout the ages, it is true
The downfall of the male
Has always been a pretty girl
Pretending to be frail

Men in suits or jeans or hats
Will always become the prey
To brown-skinned beauties, string bikinis
And a little T and A

She will capture him with cunning
She will capture him through lust
She will capture him when weakened
By her Double D-size bust

Now me, I’m not the kind of guy
That a woman could destroy
For I stay home on weekend nights
With the centerfold from ‘Playboy’

~ Stephen T. McCarthy

POSTSCRIPT: I hope the National Organization for Women won’t go after the messenger. I merely posted the lyrics to ‘Now, What About Love?’ If you want to take it up with someone, take it up with the songwriter, Yoey O’Dogherty. You’ll find him in cell #36-DD, at the Kern Valley State Prison in Delano, California.

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