“green bottles + elevators” from vikings of the turnpike
i’d call this version 0.77 – use your imagination here and hear the wondrous sounds of johnny pink-label on the bass and keith on the keys and choirs angelic in the chorus.
down beneath broadway and one-seventy-fifth
there exists a man who only knows one riff,
and he go, “whoa oh oh”
“whoa oh oh”
bouncin’ down the a-train to that song from before,
you see, johnny told me bout it, but now i can can be sure
that he go, “whoa oh oh”
and it’s a symphony
that writes itself:
these sweet street symphonies -
here’s to your health.
(with some help from the soulmen)
now i’m sitting on a stool at the lolita bar
and nabokov was my boy but words can take you so far
be it mirth and be it merry: dance through this city that’s yours
scarred hearts and flasks in jacket pockets warm up
to the one-two-three-four:
whoa oh oh
and it’s a symphony
that writes itself. . .
and yeah you never can tell baby
or ever ask why.
sometimes it’s sitting on a beach
reading the bukowski guy;
sometimes it’s rambling on-and-on-and
-on without end ’cause-
it’s all about love and
starting again
a conversation with my father and brother yesterday evening (over hot peppers, eggs, and the worst iced coffee on the planet [sorry airmont diner]) meandered over to the topic of diminutive folks . . . little people (not dwarfs, midgets, lilliputians, or whatever the p.c. term is now, but just small guys) and not just any small guys, but short white guys [this short white guy syndrome (swigs) is not to be confused with (swibs) skinny white boy syndrome. whereas swibs is much more physical kind of thing, swigs is usually indicative of a complex of underlying personality disorders and a tendency towards the mendacious. now this is certainly quite a complicated kind of thing, so please don't write your congressman in protest just yet, not all small white dudes are swigs just like all _______s are ________s (insert your non-p.c. stereotype here [gently please, rambles with dubious connection to fact have feelings too]) anyway, the conversation led papa-hawkdawg to suggest that i listen to this song by randy newman:
i think if i ever make a whole lot of cash, instead of flying out to vegas and blowing it all, i’d like to blow it playing monopoly for real money. there would be a house (bank) and it would be winner take all (or winners, if the non-losers decide to pussy out and walk away with what they have.) of course the winners would have to pay a certain percentage [rigged so the house wins in the long run] back to the house (or have their legs broken.)
