Skinny Chickens

 Skinny Chickens

 

Skinny chickens are barking at the moon                        

Minnie Mouse is singing badly out of tune                         

On Calvary’s Hill they’re doing Vaudeville                    

Sex is wrong but God knows they love to kill                 

 

Skinny chickens pecking at the grain

If you ain’t got Love life is vain

Skinny chickens quoting Marx

Skinny chickens doing it in the dark

 

Skinny chickens doped up on valium

Pluto and Budha compete with wisdom

Jesus was woke well he can go to hell

Drag Queens make scenes saying nothing is well

 

Skinny chickens pecking at the grain

If you ain’t got Love life is vain

Skinny chickens quoting Marx

Skinny chickens doing it in the dark

 

Skinny chickens demand we all conform

Shine our boots bright and don a uniform

The coming winds of war a hurricane

Skinny chickens say they can feel your pain

 

Skinny chickens pecking at the grain

If you ain’t got Love life is vain

Skinny chickens quoting Marx

Skinny chickens doing it in the dark

 

Skinny chickens went on a rampage at the farm

They beat up Moo Moo the cow but didn’t mean harm

Skinny chickens coming to a theatre near you

Skinny chickens tell me what are you gonna do?

 

Walt’s body’s frozen for some future time

Skinny chickens sing but they hate to rhyme

Skinny chickens wearing painted on jeans

Skinny chickens they will corrupt your teens

 

Skinny chickens pecking at the grain

If you ain’t got Love life is vain

Skinny chickens quoting Marx

Skinny chickens doing it in the dark

GREAT BOOK OF SONG LYRICS

GREAT BOOK OF SONG LYRICS

Spare Change

 Spare Change

 

Spare change, spare change, spare change

A lamentable moan

As a chanting solemn monk

Full of sorrowful spunk

Businessmen, businesswomen

Flurry in a worry hurry

Dreading the daily encounter

A pinprick deflating

The high flying balloon of picture perfect reality

But there is just one passage

This solitary tunnel from the train

A living thistle a scornful thorn

Spare change, spare change, spare change

A pitiful cry in torment

The upper crust yuppie army hastens the pace of their march

Refusing to glance at the creature’s anguished face

Worse yet, the two stubs for arms

Fill the professionals with alarms

A scant few in guilt

Will toss a coin or dollar bill

In the cup the man cannot grasp

Lying at his torn shoes

 

Life is full of cruelties

Privilege gravitates

Wolves in packs

Beauty Vogue style

Little tin gods speaking tongues of blasphemy

Abhorring the ugly, the deformed

Even the common

 

See Jesus touching the leper

 

Spare change, spare change, spare change  

CHECK OUT THE BOOK!!!