Zeke Hoskin Song Lyrics - R Through Z

Songs A through B
Songs C through F
Songs G through L
Songs M through Q
Choruses are in italics and are sung after every verse. Bridges are in boldface and are not followed by a chorus.

Ring Of Keys

This song includes a musical joke. The chords in the bridge keep going
around the circle of fifths until they get back to the I chord of the song.

I walked out of my house one day, the pocket of my pants gave way
And everything cascaded to the ground
A ballpoint pen that used to write, a book of matches that almost light
And a ring of keys that weighs about a pound
It slithered down my trouser leg and landed on my toe
And I wondered why I take this garbage everywhere I go

A key for my house, a key for my car, a key for my toolshed door
A key for the men's room in my office on the fourteenth floor
A key for my bike, a key for my computer, a key for my mailbox
This life is like a prison, it sure is full of locks

I thought about the good old times when we weren't so obsessed with crime
And locks were things that ships went up and down
We had Loch Lomond and Loch Ness, but lock and key we used much less
And traffic wasn't gridlocked all through town
We had oarlocks and locks of hair, but seldom got locked in
And we never used a key except to open a sardine tin

Music has a dozen keys, it keeps them in a ring
You can't get far from where you start, no matter how you sing
You modulate and modulate until your mind is numb
And you're right back in the key you started from

So don't forget your ring of keys, we need our locks in times like these
When some have nothing and others have so much
It's not our fault that people fail, those losers should be locked in jail
Cause we have to lock up everything we touch
We've got to have out locks and keys to keep our stuff secure
So every time you go outside, check and make sure

You have a key for your house . . .
(optional)I wish I had a bagel, I sure have lots of lox.

River Of Garbage

From my first cassette, Life is Lethal.

There's a river of garbage that flows through the city
A river of chemicals, plastic, and piss
The folks that first settled here thought it was pretty
Did they know that their children would make it like this?

River of garbage, roll on to the ocean
Carry your burden of trash to the sea
Sun, suck the water up, wind blow the clouds ashore
Rain wash my river of garbage from me

The Indians would come here for twelve days of travel
To feast on the sweet fish that teemed by its shore
Now the mercury level is nine time the limit
And cancers are growing in three out of four

I dreamed we were trying to clean up our river
We dug a great channel to far northern bays
At last we had got to that clean Arctic water
Then down our clean river sailed Exxon Valdez

Simple Song

This is a simple song
Not too clever, not too long
Ask what it's about, I reckon
It's about fifteen seconds

Skeleton Inside

This is my Halloween song for 2012.

I was climbing in a tree, kind of hanging by my knee
When the branch broke and the ground below came up and clobbered me
The doctors took an X-ray to see what they could find
When I saw what was inside of me, I almost lost my mind

I've got a skeleton inside, why did it pick me to hide? in
I can't get away from it no matter how I've tried
I've got a skeleton inside, I cried and cried and cried
When the X-ray doctor said I've got a skeleton inside

I'm afraid of skeletons, they're worse than any ghost
But having one inside of me, that's not what scares me most
Cause when I said how scared I was, that was when the nurse
Said, "Everybody's got one!", and that scared me even worse

Please don't stand so close to me, just leave me alone
I don't mind your skin, but I'm frightened of your bones
It isn't only you and me, it's happening world-wide
Scary people running round with skeletons inside

Slack Key

My lover is learning music from Hawaii
She practices fourteen hours every day
She will not participate in blues or old time
Or all those mainland tunes we used to play

Oh woe -- is -- me, Don Ho -- and -- she
Are making our jam sessions truly tryin'
When I sing -- a -- song, she won't -- play -- along
Unless I put in licks that sound Hawaiian

Hawaiian music moves so very slowly
When I sing up-tempo, she gets left behind
I guess I am gonna have to learn some slow songs
Or else I'm simply gonna lose my mind

Alo -- ha -- Oy -- vey, there's no joy
In singing songs that creep along so slowly
If they had -- a -- beat, they'd still -- sound -- sweet
But what the hell do I know? I'm a Haole

A little Hawaiian music is a fine thing
But a steady diet of it rots your soul
I'm going to get us tickets to Hawaii
Cause there, I hear, they just play rock and roll

Slow Mice

When I wrote this, I had forgotten that Rob Lopresti wrote a song with slow mice ten years ago. As of October 2011, I sing it with swing chords. Fl!p suggests I do a folk-friendly version.

People go to Heaven, so they say
Get a golden harp and sing hymns all day
Pussycats prefer a different Paradise
They go to the country of -- Slow Mice

There's a land where hairballs just evaporate
Everywhere's your litterbox, you never have to wait
Sleep on cashmere sweaters of incredible price
Walls full of mouseholes and -- Slow Mice

Fragile china on nice high shelves
Laser pointers that point themselves
Ponds full of goldfish, birds with a death wish
Catnip, sunshine and -- Slow Mice

I don't want to leave this world and go away
I'm afraid of heights, and harps are hard to play
People have to work so hard, wouldn't it be nice
To go with the cats and chase -- Slow Mice

Software On My Mind

I was born on Daddy's farm, my Mama died that day
With the roads washed out and the nearest doctor forty miles away
My daddy raised me up with love, did everything he could
But there's some places in the world where farming ain't no good

This old farm broke my Daddy's heart, it damn near broke my back
It squished us like a caterpillar on the railroad track
Hard times ain't hard to leave behind, got software on my mind

My Daddy went to his reward when I was twenty-one
The banker said, "You cain't do things the way your Daddy done.
You cain't do your accounting on your fingers any more –
Gotta buy a new computer at my brother's hardware store."

This old farm broke my Daddy's heart, seems nothing grew at all
But the debt we owed the banker and the mildew on the wall
Hard times ain't hard to leave behind, got software on my mind

I went right out and bout that thing, but when I plugged it in
It told me "SYNTAX ERROR", though there ain't no tax on sin
I took it right back to the store, they told me, "Life is tough
You gotta have a program, and you're credit's just enough"

This old farm broke my Daddy's heart, got broker every day
We never knowed how much we owed, just knowed we couldn't pay
Hard times ain't hard to leave behind, got software on my mind

I looked at what them programs cost, then said I'd roll my own
I didn't do no farming, just programmed all alone
I wrote a farming program, didn't take too long at all
And I sold a thousand copies 'fore the snow began to fall

This old farm broke my Daddy's heart, it sure gave me the blues
Got more fresh air and exercise than any boy could use
Hard times ain't hard to leave behind, got software on my mind

Software ain't like farming, cause the bugs don't eat your yield
They call me Full Screen Farmer, cause I'm out standing in my field
And now I don't grow nothing but the flowers on Daddy's grave
And this old farm ain't so dusty now I've had the sucker paved

This old farm broke my Daddy's heart, it damn near broke my back
But it makes a dandy parking lot for all my Cadillacs
Hard times ain't hard to leave behind, got software on my mind


I learned to make spaghetti at the hand of my mama
Don't cook it till it's mushy, don't serve it hard and raw
And when you think it's almost done, here's a handy trick:
Throw a little at the wall and see if it will stick

I'm gonna throw myself at you and see if I will stick
I'm feeling mighty tender, the sauce is getting thick
I'm in water hot enough to cook a fella quick
I'm gonna throw myself at you and see if I will stick

Spaghetti has no feelings, I'm not like that at all
You're soft and warm and cuddly, you're nothing like a wall
We've got something cooking and I don't know what to do
But I know that when I get done, I want to stick to you

When I was first a bachelor, I made an awful mess
My mother came to see me, she laughed, I must confess
She said, "Of all the foolish cooks, you must be the worst
When you throw spaghetti at the wall, don't put the sauce on first"

Thanks For Being My Mother

Mother's Day, 2007, for Jean Hoskin and Mary Ann Breskin

I'm glad that I cannot remember when I
Did nothing at all except eat, sleep, and cry
And fill up my diapers whene'er they were dry
And make lots of work for my mother

Thanks for having me, thanks for raising me,
Thanks for being my mother
Thanks for loving me all my life
I'm so glad you're my mother.

You taught me to stand and you helped me to walk,
You listened and listened while I learned to talk
And the words that I said must have come as a shock
I never heard that from my mother

You kissed all my owies, you kept my face clean,
You helped me with schoolwork when teachers were mean
And before very long, I grew into a teen
Who no-one could love but a mother

And now I'm grown up and I live far away
With my own home and family, I'm doing okay
But I know that I couldn't have lasted one day
Without all that you did as my mother.

This Folking Song

Folk the Army, folk the Navy, folk the Air Force too
I don't love the military complex –
That's no reason soldiers shouldn't have sex
Reaffirm their basic human worth –
And we may get a little peace on earth

It's a very pleasant thing to do
So, in the very nicest way: folk you

Folk the bosses, folk the scabs, and folk the unions too
Industrial relations are a fistfight
So don't take your troubles home at night
But get together, skin to skin
And play the only game that both sides win

Folk professors, administrators, folk the students too
Universities are full of old poops
Making people jump through pointless hoops
Take off your gown, your business suit, your jeans
And learn a bit about what real life means

Folk folksingers, guitar players, folk songwriters too
Trying to change a world that's going wrong
But music's just one way to get along
But if the powers that be in every nation
    And all those in industiral relations
        And the whole damn Board of Education
          Thought about the joys of copulation
They might learn about cooperation
And I wouldn't have to sing this folking song

This War's For You

There's outrage in your face and in the sign you tote
But in November of 2000 you forgot to vote
This war's for you, this war's for you

I hold my vigil candle for everyone to see
Ands I drive five hundred miles a week in my S U V
This war's for me, this war's for me

We send our soldiers to fight in other lands
But, hey, I'm a civilian, there's no blood on my hands
George Bush the Second has a very low I Q
He should do what we say, not what we do

If you want to save the world, then you're a friend of mine
It's gonna take more than singing songs and carrying a sign
This job's for us, this job's for us

Three Feet Tall Again

The last time I was three feet tall, I was five years old
Couldn't do what I wanted, had to do what I was told
I got frustrated all the time, the memory is plain
Cause now I'm in a wheel chair and I'm three feet tall again

I'm three feet tall again, got a different point of view
Looking up your nostrils wondering what I saw in you
I might say I can't kick, that doesn't mean I won't complain
Got a problem with my altitude, I'm three feet tall again

The last time I was three feet tall, I couldn't cross the street
These days I need a curb cut, don't use my stinkin' feet
The traffic's mighty heavy and the street is kinda wide
I get across and there's no curb cut on the other side

When I go shopping, I need help, can't do it all myself
Cause everything I want to buy is on the highest shelf
The mirror's up above the sink, can't see to comb my hair
And crowded elevators smell like dirty underwear

You only see my wheel chair though my face is in plain view
You look as if you're worrying that I might drool on you
You're treating me so weird, I think I'm gonna go insane
And bite your goddamn leg off so you're three feet tall again

Tim Eyman Bridge

Commemorating the collapse of the Skagit Bridge and the tax cutters who prevented its upgrading. TTTO Stawberry Roan and Over The Waves (George Washington Bridge)

When crossing the Skagit, the best way to drive
Was a steel girder bridge on the busy I-5
It had trusses endangered by overheight trucks
But upgrading bridges is wasting tax bucks

Yeah, that's how Tim Eyman says people should think
We've got to cut tax to make government shrink
And in case we forget, as the future grows dim,
Now there's a bridge we can name after Tim, it's the

Tim Eyman Bridge, Tim Eyman Memorial Bridge 4 times

Way up in Alaska, they ripped off the folks
Built a bridge that went nowhere, which caused lots of jokes
That's a lousy excuse for not paying your share
To maintain all the bridges that do go somewhere, like the . . .

This stuff isn't funny, but still I would smirk
If a sign by the bridge said YOUR TAX CUTS AT WORK
Our taxes got cut and the bridge took the hit
If you won't pay for chicken you get what you pay for the . . .

Too Much Religion

A really early one, definitely earlier than 1975, before I'd
decided to keep the really angry songs as light and humorous as I could.

Should Ulster be ruled by the Queen or the Pope?
Well, who gives a damn through the flames and the smoke?
Shillelaghs and bombs, you don't have to look twice –
They've got too much religion — and damn little Christ!

Too much religion and not enough love
Men die on earth for their gods up above
I don't care what they call 'em, their people are fallin'
They're dying of too much religion

The Muslims and Hindus, the Muslims and Jews
Islam is a bomb with a mighty short fuse
Muhammed, Muhammed, they kill in your name
And they don't realize — that it's only a game

They celebrate Krishna and the Maharaj Ji
Give you Bhagavad Gitas, then beg for a fee
They don't have the guns yet, they can't fight a war
But the New Age religions — have rot at the core

If God is on our side, the Devil's on theirs
If lives will be taken, they'll both take their share
If we don't leave our guns and our sticks and our stones
They'll be nothing but gods — of a pile of bleached bones


I bought a high tech toilet seat, but you can't sit on the lid
That has to be the brightest thing that anyone ever did
Marquis de Sade and Torquemada, neither of them hit on
The concept of a toilet seat with a lid that you can't sit on

I take a shower and scub my skin till all the dirt is gone
And then I need a place to sit and put my clean socks on
The place I used to perch is now to frail to take a chance on
But it sure feels strange to sit here with the lid up and my pants on

The folks who built that seat that you can't sit on when it's shut
Know when it breaks, the jagged shards will lacerate your skin
And so they put a warning on it, I'm sure glad they did
It's too bad that they stuck it on the inside of the lid

The heated seat is comfy during winter's drafty chills
The squirting nozzle helps cut down our toilet paper bills
It's got a cool remote control for turning this and that on
But the lid turns into a deadly weapon every time it's sat on

As Shakespeare said, "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown"
For royalty may often be the prey of an assassin
And now I feel just like a king, I'm frightened to sit down
On a throne topped with a booby trap no one can put their faith in

The Vacuum Cleaner

I bought a vacuum cleaner with an electronic brain
It cleans the house all by itself, and, needless to explain,
When it finds a thing that isn't dust, it's programmed to abstain,
But the vacuum cleaner ate my watch this morning

The vacuum cleaner ate my watch, I found it in the dust
It was running twenty seconds fast and beeping fit to bust
And they're sending me a Model Two, a product I can trust
Cause the vacuum cleaner ate my watch this morning

The Model Two's impressive, it has tail fins and a hood
It leaves my jewelry alone, exactly as it should
But my cat's been acting nervous, and today I understood
Cause the vacuum cleaner ate my cat this morning

The vacuum cleaner ate my cat, it must have been a sight
From the scratches on the furniture, he put up quite a fight
And they're sending me a Model Three to try to make it right
Cause the vacuum cleaner ate my cat this morning

The Model Three's so scarey, I'm afraid to send it back
It has laser beams and grinders, an incinerator stack
And a sign that says
               THESE PREMISES
               VACUUM CLEANER
But it ate the sign this morning.

The vacuum cleaner ate the sign, the doorknob, and the door
A box of cookies, two Girl Guides*, and ten square feet of floor
I'm afraid to call the hotline, cause they'll send a Model Four
Like the one that ate Saskatchean this morning

*Or, in the USA, Girl Scouts.

Valparaiso In A Rowboat

The price of liquor is mostly tax. Unsold booze is often kept in a bonded warehouse, meaning the tax hasn't been paid. When you take whisky out of the warehouse, you have to pay the tax ... unless it's for export, of course.
During Prohibition in the U.S., there was a dockside bonded warehouse in Windsor, Ont. across the Detroit river from (what a surprise) Detroit. Men would bring a rowboat to the dock and check out a few cases of whisky. The Customs officer would ask, "Are you paying tax, or exporting?" "Exporting", they would answer. "Where to?" "Valparaiso, Chile." The Customs man would nod and write it down in his book, and away they'd row. Half an hour later, they'd do the same thing again.
This is a sea chantey for them. I wrote it on Canada Day, while returning from cross-border shopping for my Dusty Strings Harp. I left the verse about the cat off the recordings, on
Reprieve! and Lethal Reprieve

Windsor is a lovely port we're proud to sing about
There's a warehouse full of whisky, though the Yankees do without
And when Customs asks us where we're bound, we ship our oars and shout:
"We're bound for Valparaiso in a rowboat"

Pull your oars! We're on our way!
With a thousand quarts of whisky bound for Valparaiso bay
And we haven't no intention for to see the U. S. A.
We're bound for Valparaiso in a rowboat

Some say that for an ocean trip our craft is very small
But we bold Canadian lads don't fear a little Cape Horn squall
And a deep sea schooner's just too big to shoot Niagara Falls
We're bound for Valparaiso in a rowboat

Though Michigan is very near and Chile's very far
We are expert navigators, we can steer by any star
But the cat pissed on the sextant and we don't know where we are
We're bound for Valparaiso in a rowboat

We've sailed for Valparaiso twenty seven times this week
But every time we've gotten to the mouth of Muddy Creek
We've had to jettison our cargo 'cause the oarlock sprung a leak
We're bound for Valparaiso in a rowboat

Now some sing of Vancouver, of St John and Halifax
But those salty water cities, they have nothing Windsor lacks
We've a doryload of whisky and the muscles in our backs
We're bound for Valparaiso in a rowboat

Walk Into The Bathroom

More or less TTTO Crying Time Again. This is the earliest of my songs I can still remember. I don't like it, but that's the kind of stuff I wrote when I was a teenager

When you lie there, you're so cute I almost love you
But our wedding day is swiftly drawing near
And when I walk out through the door and I'm just goin' to the store
Your daddy comes along with me in case I disappear
Well, I'm sorry that I took advantage of you
And I don't know if I ever can explain
But today I'm gonna walk into the bathroom
And you're never gonna see me again

I've been practicing to do this for a long time
I can hold my breath five minute when I try
I can bend my body like a snake, I've figured out the chance I take
And if I lose my gamble, then I'm not afraid to die
I wish there was some way to say goodbye, girl
But I'll leave a note before I pull the chain
Cause today I'm gonna walk into the bathroom
And you're never gonna see me again

Get the jar of vaseline and grease my body
Gonna lay my sewer-cide note on the floor
Gonna jump right in and flush, and I'll leave you in a rush
Don't get your bowels in a turmoil, cause you'll have to go next door

If I make it through, I'm gonna send a postcard
To say I'm sorry that I caused you pain
Cause today I'm gonna walk into the bathroom
And you're never gonna see me again

Walla Walla Waltz

with Fl!p Breskin, Clare Meeker, and Ryan Stephens
This happened late one night at guitar camp when two Walla Walla dwellers demanded that we flesh out the lines of the immortal Walt Kelly:
     Deck us all with Boston Charlie, Walla Walla Wash and Kalamazoo . . .
The song as it stands (August 21, 2008 oops! Nov 3 2011) is longer than it should be, but I am posting the words and an
MP3 because Fl!p keeps singing it and Tom Rawson sang it at his Walla Walla concert and threatens to record it. There is a version of it on our 2009 home album Work In Progress

Walla Walla Waltz, Walla Walla Waltz,
Dancing with your darling(s) in spite of all his/her/their faults
Walla Walla Waltz, Walla Walla Waltz
Dancing with your darling(s) to the Walla Walla Waltz

The band is finished tuning so listen to the caller ( or hear the caller holler)
Hang onto your partner as we waltz through Walla Walla
Step out for some beer, or if you're underage, chocolate malts,
Then back into the dance hall for the Walla Walla Waltz

Cuddle with your woman, snuggle with your man
Never mind the highways to Richland and Spokane
The roads are full of ice, and no one ever salts
So hang onto your partner for the Walla Walla Waltz

Walla Walla onions, big and sweet and round
Toss 'em on the barbecue and grill 'em till they're brown
Walla Walla Sweets are the onions most divine
Even better washed down with Walla Walla wine

Walla Walla wineries, too fancy to be real This is verse is by Fl!p
Who thought that Walla Walla would end up with snob appeal?
They drink it at the golf clubs and fancy ski chalets
Even Walla walla winos are drinking cabernet

The wineries have tasting to see which ones you like Fl!p, with input from Richard Scholtz
And folks from the coast do the winery tour by bike
They pedal, sip, and pedal till they're really pie-eyed
They do the Walla Walla Wobble while the semis thunder by

Klicker Pickers toiling with fingers painted red
Filling flats of berries until they're nearly dead
Too young to drive cars, but age is not a factor
Who needs a car when you get to drive a tractor?

Walla Walla wheatfields are a sight to rest your eyes on Zeke's work, no longer sung
Golden grain is waving from horizon to horizon
When you hear thundering hooves, you've got to understand
It's not just the tourists, it's the best beef in the land

There's Walla Walla Whitman and Walla Walla U
And a community college in Walla Walla too
Dishonest behaviour? No ethics? Well, then
You can put in your four years at the Walla Walla Pen greatly improved by Tom Rawson

There's folks born and raised here, and now there's a host
Of Walla Walla Wannabees who flock from the Coast
The friendliest people that you ever saw
Are waltzing down the sidewalks of Walla Walla, WA.

Welfare Plan

I'm not saying who this is about, but it's not me. Honest.

Happiness comes in an envelope, drops in the old mail bin
Happiness is sittin' smokin' dope while the welfare checks roll in
I've got my health and I've got your wealth, I'm a mighty happy man
Havin' quite a ball doin' nothin' at all, livin' on the welfare plan

Bout once a month I go look for work, and the way I look drives the boss berserk
He looks at me and he seems to see I'm not a workin' man
Been lookin' for work for 'most a year, and if you find work, don't bring it here
Cause I'm havin' quite a ball doin' nothin' at all, livin' on the welfare plan

Well, the workin' man calls me a parasite, and I think he's got me just exactly right
Cause I sleep all day, mess around all night, just as happy as a clam
And I know some day I'll have to get a job, and I'll bitch about the taxes that support you slobs
Havin' quite a ball doin' nothing at all, livin' on the welfare plan
Havin' quite a ball doin' [two loud chords] all, livin' on the welfare plan

Westboro Baptist Church

In February, 2013, there was a Facebook meme: Live your life so well that, when you die, The Westboro Baptist Church pickets your funeral. I put it to music and made a Youtube slide show. Then one of their neighbors painted their house in the gay-pride rainbow, so I put that in.

I haven't done my part in winning equal rights for gays
But, starting with this song, I plan to find a lot more ways
So, when you hold my funeral, you'll know I died content
If the Westboro Baptist Church pickets the event

Oh, Rev'rend Phelps! Oh, Rev'rend Phelps!
I'll send you a recording if it helps
There's not much I know for certain, but one thing's well understood:
If your church is against it, then it's good.

I don't need no fancy hearse, no rubber tired hack
When they haul my ashes to the graveyard, I ain't comin' back
If I think my life was wasted, then my last days will be rough
But if Westboro pickets, then I'll know I've done enough.

. . . I'll paint my house like a rainbow if it helps . . .

The sign you wave says GOD HATES FAGS, which makes you look absurd
I hope my friends all hug and kiss while flipping you the bird
I guarantee you're one thing that I won't miss when I'm gone
And if you die first, there's no one dumb enough to carry one

. . . I'll wear a dress with mixed fabrics if it helps . . .

If your church says I'm bound for Hell,
I'll know for sure I'm doing well
You give us all a way to tell we're good.

Why They Killed The Saturn

Pro-space, anti-NASA

We built it in the Sixties and they flew it to the moon
We built it for the future, but the future came too soon
And they sold the tools we built it with for scrap this afternoon
Will someone tell me why they killed the Saturn?

They told us we were building for the future of the skies
Space stations - planetary probes - the stars were in our eyes
And everything they told us was a pack of fucking lies
Will someone tell me why they killed the Saturn?

They told us that the Shuttle would be better when it flew
But every time they blow one up, we lose a year or two
And when the Shuttle's on the ground, there's nothing we can do
Will someone tell me why they killed the Saturn?

We gave it all our finest years, we never grudged a day
Cause a country with a space ship isn't on the ground to stay
We handed you the universe - you pissed it all away
Will someone tell me why they killed the Saturn?

Yahoo! The Highway's Comin'

I wrote a bluegrass musical theater piece, but chickened out of trying to produce it. Three Strong Winds and a bunch of guest instrumentalists sing it on Lethal Reprieve

The fields are mostly boulders, and all we grow is older
The goat just ate the washing off the line
The tractor's broke and so's the plow, the bull's lost interest in the cow
I'm sittin' here and feelin' mighty fine

Yahoo! The highway's comin' through the farm
They're gonna compensate us so our living won't be harmed
Ten thousand bucks an acre, forty thousand for the barn
Yahoo! The highway's comin' through the farm

The wheat's too short to gather, we'd have to spread out lather
And shave it smoother than a baby's cheek
Some gophers broke into the field to eat whatever they could steal
The poor things starved to death inside a week

There's four lanes of blacktop goin' where the grass and weeds are growin'
Where the cornfield was before it got the blight
They'll find the rock that broke the plow, and they'll bulldoze that sucker now
If that don't work, they'll bring in dynamite

God bless that highway crew, they chose better than they knew
This is land that God intended to be paved
It wasn't no use farmin' here, we just got broker every year
But they're gonna build a highway, and we're saved

Yellow Ribbon Blues

Tied a yellow ribbon round my car antenna
Put yellow laces in my running shoes
Cause my lover's gone away and I've been fearing every day
I'll see him dying like a hero on the evening news
We voted left wing
But the generals don't seem to share our views
Just another stupid war, don't know what we're fighting for
I'm a Red with the yellow ribbon blues

Seems only yesterday that we were marching
With a sign that said, "Let's keep our planet green"
Now the howling war dogs are reminding us we're cogs
In the military-politics-industrial machine
It seemed so black and white
War or peace, how could it be hard to choose?
They chose the war direction just to win a damned election
I'm a Red with the yellow ribbon blues

Now I'm not sayin -- that the leaders on the other side ain't wrong
But killing all their soldiers doesn't prove that we were right
It just proves our war machine is strong
Our bombs and missiles -- are putting folks through every kind of hell
We're hiding in our bunkers while Dupont and Martin Marietta
Win the war for Exxon, Gulf, and Shell

They're saying on TV the war is over
My lover should be home sometime this year
And we all should shout, "Hooray!" and bless the happy day
Our heroic leaders won the war and ended all our fears
But every grey cell
In my brain says that's an offer to refuse
Though my lover's wearing khaki I can't swallow that malarkey
I'm a Red with the yellow ribbon blues.

Songs A through B
Songs C through F
Songs G through L
Songs M through Q