Sailing the seas of Cheese
When the going gets tough, and the stomach acids flow.
The cold wind of conformity is nipping at your nose.
When some trendy new atrocity has brought yo to your knees.
Come with us, we'll sail the Seas of Cheese.
Here they come...Here come the bastards
I heard it from a confidant- who heard it form a confidant.
They're definately on their way.
There's one with this idea...something about a hammer head shark.
Nosehairs and flatus- best keep your distance because,
Here they come. Here come the bastards.
Bury your head, deep in the sand.
Anonyminity is a virtue in this day and age.
Amazing hand dexterity, flagrant misuse of security,
Better run...Here they come...
Sgt. Baker is my name,
I'm gonna teach you how to play the game of warfare.
Suddenly it appears to me, you got a bit much dignity,
For your own good, boy. Yes sir, yes sir...
I will rape your personality.
Pummel you with my own philosophy.
Strip you of your self-integrity.
To make you all a bit like me.
I said right... left...
Sgt. Baker here again,
And if you calls me "Puddin Tame", I'll stomp you down,
boy.
Steers and Queers. Steers and Queers.
Where you come, from there's just steers and queers.
And you ain't got no horns, boy.
Yes sir, yes sir...
I will rape your personality.
Pummel you with my own philosophy.
Strip you of your self-integrity.
To make you all a bit like me.
I said right... left...
In a town in southernmost Sicily, lived a family too proud to
be poor.
In the year that fever took father away, they hastened for
American shores.
Now a mother and her son are standing in line, it's a cold day on
Ellis Isle.
And they look to the Statue of Liberty, for the boy we have
American Life.
Ong is a Laotian refugee, he works in the audio trade.
The smoke from flux is filling his lungs, he's earning minimum
wage.
Spending spare time down on San Pablo Ave., once a week gets a
woman for the night.
And he writes home tales of prosperity, for the boy we have
American Life.
Bob is an unemployed veteran, born and bred in the South Bronx.
He's living off the streets down in east L.A., residing in a
cardboard box.
Now he plays a little quit and he has a small dog, searching for
aluminum cans.
And he hold on tight to his dignity. he was born into American
Life.
Jerry was a Race car driver, and he drove so goddamned fast.
He never did win no checkered flag, but he never did come in
last.
Jerry was a race car driver, he'd say "El Sob. Number
One."
With a bocephus sticker on his 442, he'd light 'em up just for
fun.
Captain Pierce was a fireman. Richmond engine #3,
I'll be a wealthy man, when I get a dime,
for all the things that man taught to me.
Captain Pierce was a strong man. Strong as any man alive.
It stuck in his craw that they made him retire at the age of 65.
Jerry was a race car driver. 22 years old.
Had one too many cold beers one night, and wrapped himself around
a telephone pole.
I just can't seem to blend into society.
I have no hope for this dim simplicity.
Of law and order.
By whose rules I see no rhyme in the reason,
I hold no hope for this holy treason.
Of love and so soft.
By whose standards?
They tell me, they tell me.
Who are they, who is they?
My socks and shoes always match...Is it Luck?
There's a foot at the end of each of my legs...Is it Luck?
I can play my bass for you...Is it Luck?
Some gals like to kiss my face...Is it Luck? Is it Luck?
There was food inside your mouth today...Is it Luck?
Your barber cuts your hair just so...Is it Luck?
When the taste of sex is on your lips...Is it Luck? Is it Luck?
Cyanide works oh so fast...Is it Luck?
Polyester makes you sweat...Is it Luck?
If a graham cracker gets you off...Is it Luck?
Love. Love...Is it Luck? Is it Luck?
She said she wanted my body, not my mind so I showed her
my dictionary to show the words that I know and how loquacious
I can be when I set my mind down to it, but she wasn't impressed.
No, No, No, No, No. She wasn't impressed at all! She wispered in
my ear,
Do you wanna' get lucky little boy? I smiled...I smiled and said,
Is it Luck?
As I stand in the Shower, singing Opera and such...
Pondering the possibility that I, pull the pud too much.
There's a scent that fills the air...is it flatus? Just a touch.
And it makes me think of you...
I remember as it were a meal ago
Said Tommy the Cat as he reeled back to clear whatever
foreign matter may have nestled its way into His mighty throat.
Many a fat alley rat had met its demise while staring point blank
down the cavernous barrel of this awesome prowling machine.
Truly a wonder of nature this urban predator.
Tommy the cat had many a story to tell,
but it was a rare occasion such as this that he did.
She came slidin' down the alleyway like butter drippin' off a
hot biscuit.
The aroma, the mean scent, was enough to arouse suspicion in even
the
oldest of Tigers that hung around the hot spot in those days.
The sight was beyond belief. Many a head snapped for double,
even triple, takes as this vivacious feline made her her way into
the
delta of the alleyway where the most virile of the young tabbys
were known to hang out.
They hung in droves. Such a multitude of masculinity could only
be found in One place...
and that was O'malley's Alley.
The air was thick with cat calls (no pun intended) but not even a
muscle in her neck did twitch as she sauntered up into the heart
of the alley.
She knew what she wanted. She was lookin' for that stud bull.
She was looking for that key cat. And that was me.
Tommy the Cat is my name, and I say unto thee...
Say baby do you wanna lay down by me, say baby do you wanna' lay
down by my side?
I've seen them out at Soco, they're pounding sixteen penny
nails.
The truckers on the interstate, have been known to ride the
rails.
The sweat is beating on the brow, can't keep these fellas down.
'Cause those damned blue-collared tweekers are runnin' this here
town.
I knew a man who hung drywall, he hung it mighty quick.
A trip or two to the blue room, would help him do the trick.
His foreman would pat him on the back, whenever he would come
around.
'Cause these dammed blue-collar tweekers are beloved in this here
town.
Now the union boys are there to protect us from all the corporate
type,
While curious George's drug patrol is out here hunting snipe,
Now they try to tell me different, but you know I ain't no clown.
'Cause those damned blue-collar tweekers are the backbone of this
town.
Now the flame that burns twice as bright, burns only half as
long.
My eyes are growing weary as I finalize this song.
So sit back and have a cup o' joe, and watch the wheels go round.
'Cause those damned blue-collar tweekers have always run this
town.
Felt a pang late one afternoon, I was fishin' off Muir beach
with Larry LeLonde.
Grabbed a tuna salad sandwich, and I started to chew. Pretty soon
Ler's yellin'-
Fish on! Fish on!
I was just a little pup, and it was derby day.
Was dad and me and Darrell out in San Pablo bay.
Taco flavored Doritos, and my orange life vest,
Dad caught a hundred pound sturgeon on twenty-pound test.
Now he fought that fish for an hour and a half,
Darrell'd say "Jump ya sons a bitch!"
And he grabbed for the gaff.
When we got him in the boat he measured six feet long,
I was so danged impressed I had to write a song -called Fish On!
T'was a bright and sunny day it was me and Todd Huth.
Fishin' shark & Stingray out of Bohuas Lagoon.
Well hey, hey, hey I'll be screwed, blued and tatooed.
Looks like I got me one of them.
Fish on! Fish on!
Here they Come!
Here they Come!
Here they Come!
Here they Come!
Shut up you Bastards!
You just called me a bastard, didn't ya?
These guys are freaks man!