More Songwriting In Nowhere

After last Freeflow’s futile diatribe, I thought it would be wise to take on another humbling venture into songwriting. I think I am falling in love with the practice. I actually work at it steady and true, like a Calvinist thought janitor rearranging the gray matter. No milking the clock for me this week! Up before dawn, cheap mixing new tunes at bedtime. The finger callouses on my left hand feel like beach pebbles and I have given them names. This songwriting expression is so valuable to me. That is, I produce something while learning, yet feel like it’s work the whole time I’m doing it. And believe me, I could use the work! Maybe Nashville will buy the rights to some of these ditties. Probably not. That’s like expecting Keith Urban to have a thought go deeper than one of his swimming pools. I don’t think words like “anarchy”, “maggots” and “succor” ever make it into country songs. Or any songs other than those sung by lone wolves beneath full moons. I suggest songwriting for all the lessor poets, which is every one of us who has ever cried a tear or laughed at something funny.

Please remember, like my previous recordings, these tunes are not polish and performance. I think you will miss out on something if you take them that way. I do not have a catchy voice. My guitar playing is beginner with a flare for the intermediate. My one man band name is called “Amateur” for a reason. I write these songs with a Stuckist perspective in mind.

From the manifesto: The amateur, far from being second to the professional, is at the forefront of experimentation, unencumbered by the need to be seen as infallible. Leaps of human endeavor are made by the intrepid individual, because he/she does not have to protect their status. Unlike the professional, the Stuckist is not afraid to fail.

We listened to the album last night and my wife said that although several of my influences were noticeable, she could find the original Ron in each song.

Success!

Thank you so much for coming by to have a listen. Click on the link for my second album I Miss Parties and it will take you to something new. You can read/sing along with the lyrics I’ve provided.

I Miss Parties

Peasant Hill

Capo 3rd fret Dm F Dm Am F G7

I’m gonna take you to Peasant Hill
We got so much time to kill
Payne’s gray out and some crimson hue
Whaddya think we’re gonna do?

I’ll tell ya what, yer gonna marry me
and we’ll lie beneath our wedding oak trees
Shepherd’s pie without any meat
Your daddy’s whiskey at my feet

I dug a hole and we crawled inside
pulled up turnips by the creekside
Squire came by on his curry comb mare
He promised to take you anywhere

20 years later and we have a house
an old black cat and a wiser mouse
Squire is fat and I bought his land
another day take me by the hand

We’ll walk on top of Peasant Hill
We got so much time to kill
Cadmium earth and Bimini blue sky
Not another need to satisfy
Not another need to satisfy

Wumpa Wumpa

F B? C Am

Wumpa wumpa dittle dost
I love you the utmost most
Carrots steamin’, quiche on the stove
More than dinner it’s you whom I love

Thudda cudda thistle thame
You desire me much the same
With the soaps and suds in the tub
Whips and whoops and rub rub rub

Widdle widdle wattle why
I could never tell a lie
In the rain moon sun shade and fog
Red kistle whistle rog rog rog

Wumpa dumpa dittle dot
I like you a whole lot lot
Maggots dreamin’, leech out of luck
When I get home it’s you I will kiss

Thuddle puddle whistle whip
When I get home it’s you I will kiss

Widdle widdle wattle why
I could never tell a lie
In the rain moon sun shade and fog
Red kistle whistle rog rog rog

Anarchy Wrote Me a Letter

G Bm C D C G D G

Don’t be afraid of the cops
They have their fingers in their butts too
They’d pull out yellow flowers for love
If we gave them a reason to

But we give them guns and badges
Like John Waynes on TV
As if that’s not white supremacist
Having two first names, please

They get to join a band of brothers
While you gotta get through life alone
They look after one another
Religiously like a clone

Like that time a girl was left for dead
and it was Officer Tom who did it
The brothers made the cover up clean and swift
And put homeless hair in the rape kit

O dear anarchy
O dear anarchy,
Write a letter to me

Don’t fear toupeed lawyers
With convertibles and lots of money
They were over-achieving cheaters in high school
And their mothers probably had bulimia

I imagine a line of graduates
Floating down the steps at Yale
Finally a chance to prove to Dad
They can send poverty back to jail

In twenty years they’ll have a swimming pool
And spouse swapping with the Sawyers
The kids will be high on Ritalin®
Jonesin’ to become lawyers

Lawyers they are mutant
Their DNA just isn’t right
What kind of person profits from another’s loss
Like an engorged parasite

O dear anarchy
O dear anarchy,
Write a letter to me

Don’t obey Bible judges either
They say it’s better to marry than burn
Like Clarence Thomas in his chambers
Groping his intern

Because all judges are lawyers
Just revert back to the previously mentioned
and multiply by two or three
Their retirement pensions

Now that it’s our time to rule
Anarchy is the way for me
I know I can’t live it
But can dream if I wanna be

O dear anarchy
O dear anarchy,
Write a letter to me

Stiff Yogi

A G D A E F#minor A

Systems breaking down after a year inside
You work in a closet and I abide
Air feels like lead
I’m a bore

I don’t do yoga, it’s been commercialized
It dots the T’s and crosses the eyes
We buy yoga mats at the dollar store

Take your pants off and lie on the floor

Bile yellow and steely gray
It’s how I feel almost everyday
But you’re like the dawn
always promising more

You salute to the sun in a stale room
and I shavasana like a pale moon
a dead weight with an iron core

Take your pants off and lie on the floor

The cat’s all static, furnace blows cold air
You chew on ice and I don’t care
I’ll press your third eye till there is no more

If it will take you to homeostatsis
I could think of so many worse places
that people kill time going for

Take your pants off and lie on the floor

Talking to Myself

Em Cmaj7 G D

You don’t want to paint
Cause there’s no market for it
You save seeds like a saint
But the soil’s too acid
Why walk in the park
When you know you’re a loser
Hold hands in the dark
And promise to confuse her

Cheese in the cheese drawer
Litter in a plastic box
Don’t walk to the store
when everybody’s driving
Why pay more
When you don’t own nothing
General Tso’s chicken
and a pork fried dumpling

Go get me a steak
And I’ll cook it for ya
Last time I made 50 dollars
I had euphoria
Euphoria

Where are you going
That you can go without me
Sure the grass needs mowing
but think about global warming
Look at you watchin’ the working class
Like a billionaire from a private jet
First your mother now your wife
feeds you by the TV set

Go get me my coat
And I’ll hang it up for ya
last time I shaved my face
I had dysphoria
Dysphoria

Thinking about that
Never dream of doing this
Big news was the cat
going for a vaccination
If you need to get inside
There’s a key on a string
You can look in the window
and not see anything

Go fetch the mail
There’s nothing in there for ya
Last time I got a letter
It was postmarked California
California

You’re just too old
To be anything new
Off the plane at the gate
Nobody is waiting for you
Monday to Sunday
Ticks by on a clock
The sun feels like a ghost
When you’re under a rock

Go get me a steak
And I’ll cook it for ya
The last time
I was Living
I had euphoria
Euphoria

Kerosene Reduction to Scat

Am E D

And you can make up your own story with this one.

She is Fun

C F C F G Fmaj7 C

I gotta pal
She comforts me
Uncages a raccoon
Effortlessly

She puts it on
She takes it down
No mixed breed cat
Has seen her frown

All the town boys lost
When I won
She is fun

At a window
She’ll stare for hours
at the last honey bee
On the flowers

In the springtime
When the lilacs bloom
She’ll listen to my
Homily on doom

She’s that humble star
Who doesn’t know she’s a sun
She is fun

She pours me a drink
Like an amateur
Knows bourbon on ice
Won’t succor

When the lights are low
And the sirens sound
And there’s no one else
Around
I reach down her back
For a hidden dimple
Who knew life
Could be so simple

We can go to bed now
The TV shows have begun
She is fun

Sita and the Bengal Tiger

E A F#minor B
D A E A

I wanna tell you a story
About Sita and the Bengal Tiger
And talk about the only evil
In the end I think you’ll be wiser

Last night in India
The Power plant shut down
The darkness got cold like the moon
And everybody froze to death

Some soldiers marched into a hut
And kicked a body out of its bed
Every one was wearing hats
They assumed the whole village dead

But not Sita, Sita of the sun
She had an iron will, an innocence, a matchbox and an elephant gun

The government got word
But the international press was at lunch
So the news never left
The frozen village of dead people

Sita crawled out
From her mother’s last embrace
You could see she was very upset
Her make up smeared on her face

Meanwhile a Bengal Tiger
Was out prowling for a sinner
He heard Sita whimpering
And was starving for dinner

He lept toward her door
And let out a guttural roar
With his filed incisors
He’d take Sita as an appetizer

But not Sita, Sita of the sun
She had an iron will, an innocence, a matchbox and an elephant gun

Sita sang the lullaby
Her mother hummed while she froze to death
The Bengal tiger was very moved
And respectfully held his bad breath

He waited patiently for Sita
To sing her song careful and slow
Then gobbled her up very mindfully
From Sita head to Sita toe

Up on the mountain top
You could hear a snowflake fall
I bet you thought the tiger
Would be a hero to us all

But he’s a wild animal
And so are you if you would be
He wouldn’t sell his tigerness
For a quick buck or easy rupee

So now you know what evil is
And I proved it with this song
All the way to the first star out
We’re the only thing that’s wrong

Just like Sita, Sita of the sun
She had an iron will, an innocence, a matchbox and an elephant gun

Blue Socks on the Chair

Am Cmaj7 F G7 C Am F G7 C Dm G C Am

Last night I got two blue socks
(Blown in by the wind)
They came with the rain
(Blown in by the wind)
She walked through the door
and laid upon on the floor
and pressed against my skin
Blue socks on the chair
I’m in love again

I closed the door to the dark
(shut in from the rain)
Pulled her blue socks off
(through one each way)
I watched the shadow play of leaves
Heard the water splash on eaves
and hit against the windowpane
Blue socks on the chair
I’m in love again

So alone. So alone without a single friend
Blue socks on the chair
I’m in love again

Now she’s gone and the sky’s quiet
(down on hermit lane)
Moonlight makes the clouds look blue
(down on hermit lane)
The trees are still and black
and I’ll bounce back
Now I know who’s to blame
Blue socks on the chair
I’m in love again

Cement Block Layer’s Lament

Dm Am F Bb Gm A

A man finds it hard to stand
8 a.m. to the end
Deep in the dark bendin’ down
Throwin’ dirt in a hole
Throwin’ dirt in a hole

It’s like this all over town
Grown men in line at home centers
Screamin’, “Buck 25 fer a block?”
Throwin’ dirt in a hole
Throwin’ dirt in a hole
Throwin’ dirt in a hole

But it don’t have to be that May
June’s spring leaves and women on a roof
French thinking painters never get paid
They eat like happy monsters
and are always warm
always warm

Old man one block at a time
4 cups of dust and one cup of dirty city water
Why don’t the damn flies just eat us alive?
Throwin’ dirt in a hole
Throwin’ dirt in a hole
Throwin’ dirt in a hole

This is cement block layer’s lament
Put your two hands in yer pockets boys
and don’t ever say, “Peaches would look nice in that light”
Out loud!
Throwin’ dirt in a hole
Throwin’ dirt in a hole
Throwin’ dirt in a hole

But it don’t have to be that May…

Six in One, Half Dozen in the Other

(Capo third fret)
G Bm C D G C G
Em G C G E G D D7

Are you a poet or a loser
A painter or a user
A critic or accuser
It don’t matter brother
Six in one, half dozen in the other

Are you profound or cliché
Overwhelmed or bitchie
A fake egg or paper maché
Go ask your mother
Six in one, half dozen in the other

Zen Buddhists say words get in the way
You either have it or you don’t
Somebody says don’t do it
And they won’t

Don’t lose your day job or is it a career
Make it an I.P.A. or just give me a beer
Do I cry like a fool or shed a tear
And why do I smother
Six in one, half dozen in the other

Walking

G C G D C G

If I had some money
I would take a ride
Not to a party
or Montserrat
I would go walking
to the highway
and watch the cars pass by
at dawn

That I know I’m simple
this I know is right
It’s not hard to work
It’s hard to play
You could go walking
Along a wood line
Or meditate in the short buckwheat

I am just a poor boy
When it’s cold I cough
People go to bars
In the night
We will go walking
like some opossums
And dodge the cars in the road
But you won’t

Dostoevsky the Loan Officer

G Em D G D C D G

I’m falling asleep
I’m tired all the time
If I had a thousand bucks
I’d be cooking with wine
I wouldn’t know what to do with a woman
They’re so open when it comes to money

Bankers get it legitimately
and steadily over time
Dostoevsky such a stupid word
to say at dinner to a girl
when she’s hungry
and so sunny

Hey lad, lady lay how do you become a banker?
He lad, lady lay I wanna be one now
I’m drifting in privation throw me an anchor
Dostoevsky give me a wink and a nod

I want two hundred thousand
Out to lunch everyday
Train rides to Manhattan
Reading The Economist
Don’t be a piss poor poet
When you can bank on securities overnight

Hey lay laddy lay how do you become a banker
Hey lay laddy lay I wanna be one now
I’m drifting in privation throw me an anchor
Dostoevsky give me a wink and a nod

I got a million and a pool
And leaf piles in the yard
My neighbor’s name is Charles
My wife’s inside cooking spaghetti
All the folks in the neighborhood
Have a Block party with stinky cheeses
And Mr. Jones the President
Does with ’em what he pleases
Kenneth Patchen was a poor scab
With a lot of pretty words and pain

Hey lad laddy lay how do you become a banker
Hey lay laddy lay I wanna be one now
I’m drifting in privation throw me an anchor
Dostoevsky give me a wink and a nod

I got a shiny green hose
And a brand new car
I’m always playing games with my friends
I have a saved seat at the bar
I wanna get this banker’s life
So I can live outside of my head

Hey lad laddy lay how do you become a banker
Hey lay laddy lay I wanna be one now
I’m drifting in privation throw me an anchor
Dostoevsky give me a wink and a nod

Sledding Down a Hill

D Em7 G A C#m A

Sledding down a hill
Going fast and keeping still
Sunday morning your ears are cold
and you don’t think I’m too old
You say I’m 16 but I’m 54
I stole your Grandma from a department store
She was there cause her clothes were in tatters
now you’re here and nothing else matters

Natalie

On my birthday I brought you cake
I do these things for nonsense sake
You made me a candy wrapper card
Glued us together in the front yard
Now your sister she loves you too
I can tell by the way she looks at you
She’ll copycat what you decide
You’re the reason she came outside

Natalie

We cover the tracks made by the deer
and you don’t notice a passing year
Grab your sled, brush off the snow
just one more time before we go
All the joy and shine in your eyes
Getting old came as a surprise
Take my hand to the top of the hill
Going fast and keeping still

Natalie

Don’t Swaller Yer Teeth

A

I’m getting old now I know it’s true
I have to think about things to do
Simple stuff like walking outside
The old just teach the young to abide
The old just teach the young to abide

Thoreau told it like it was in 1854
The new generation breaks the one before
and forgets Grandpa who worked and died
The old just teach the young to abide
The old just teach the young to abide

What good advice was ever given me
Days before I raised a family
No one ever told me to let it all ride
The old just teach the young to abide
The old just teach the young to abide

Nuclear bombs and melting poles bequeathed
Might as well tell me not to swallow my teeth
You left the best death insurance money can buy
The old just teach the young to abide
The old just teach the young to abide

Grandma drank from a damned white fountain
And expected me to climb a mountain
No. I locked the door and stayed inside
The old just teach the young to abide
The old just teach the young to abide

If you think money’s good then good
That’s what I learned in my neighborhood
Don’t give it up for Christ he lied
The old just teach the young to abide
The old just teach the young to abide

Take my advice and do the opposite I hope
Don’t steal from the rich or grow your own dope
Better listen to Grandpa at his bedside
The old just teach the young to abide
The old just teach the young to abide

Now I hope that confused ya enough to distraction
If I say addition you’ll go for subtraction
and if I shut up you won’t pick a side
The old just teach the young to abide
The old just teach the young to abide

Prettier Than Graves

C#minor A7 D Dm G7 A F#m

You’re Prettier Than Graves
You’re softer than my shoes
And I know this might sound quite strange
But they’re simple truths

You’re smarter than a rock
You’re brighter than the dark
You shine all over me
But you’re not the sun

And now for a simple truth
I like you
And now for a more complex truth
I love you

You’re quieter than rain
You try harder than a fish
And although I never pray
I always get my wish

And now for a simple truth
I like you
And now for a more complex truth
I love you

I Miss Parties

(Capo 3rd fret) Am Em D C Dm F G7

I miss parties when I was young
And no one asked what I do
When I stared at her and she didn’t care
And the time really flew

I miss those parties without any cheese
And the burning couples upstairs
I walked through the room not into it
Like I was going somewhere

I miss parties I miss parties
Call me on the telephone
I miss parties I miss parties
I don’t know what is to be alone
I miss parties I miss parties
Do you think she’ll be there
I miss parties I miss parties
Or anywhere

I miss parties when I went alone
And myself wasn’t the chaperone
Steve in the airforce and Beth brought a bong
Nothing in the night was wrong

I’m goin’ back when COVID’s done spreading
There was no place good I was heading
I’ll let my wife come with me
To the party

I miss parties I miss parties
Call me on the telephone
I miss parties I miss parties
I don’t know what it is to be alone
I miss parties I miss parties
Do you think she’ll be there
I miss parties I miss parties
Or anywhere