11 May, 2009

Keep Taking The Cork Off The Trees





Well I could tell baby
What you've been through.
Don't make much sense to the lively crew,
That you've collected through your charms.
But now you've found,
A man who don't see,
 The sparkles coming off you
From your static cling.
Baby, I'm not too alarmed.


 Don't like your shoes,
And I don't like your dress,
And I don't like your car,
Though I'd like some redress...
And I don't like the things (like me)
That you don't think through.
And I don't like the game that you mimic now,
For the past is full enough to brag about,
But baby:  I like your bottle of blues.


Well, you used to have taste like they'd tell you to,
In the good old sections of your magazine due,

And you'd take your finger to your throat like a clock,
With a spring...
But wait up baby,
I felt so bad,
I had to ask you "Darlin why'd you pack your bag?"
Maybe... I should have just thrown down my drink.


Cause I don't like your dress,
And I don't like your shoes,
I don't mind my women if they've been used.
And I don't like.... your attitude.
And I'm getting too old
To choose my way,
Through a world that's cold and grey.
But baby, turn back, don't go,
With that  bottle of blues.


I'm back and bringing,
You a Harley and a car.
You can tell your Mama that we're living up large.
We'll go to her grave and we'll tell her with flowers
And shoes.


And your children can go and be real strange;
As the young have right to do...

But you and me baby,
Go home with a bottle of blues.


So we'll get up in the morning,
And read the paper well.
We'll make our coffee for the sake of our health.
And just when our minds uncloudy,
What will we do?
We'll goto the store and buy a great prime rib,
And make up a salad, and cut that thing thick.
And somewhere around five we'll pour...
A stiff drink or two.


I don't like your dress,
And I don't like your shoes,
I guess I wonder a bit, by whom that bodies
Been used.
And who did the using and what was the reason
You let them.
You sure do squeal like a happy child,
The Whiskey and Jack, give prey to my lies,
So, I guess I should just ask,
Why aren't you with any of them?


'Cus, I sure love that dress,
And, I sure love that hair,
And, I don't give a damn about those goddamn fools,
Who let you get away even though,
I'm sorry you ended up here.
You given me more, than anyone else,
To be honest would be almost unfair,
So I guess I am fated to ask:
Can I get you a  beer?




This song was inspired in a very glancing way by a song introduced to me by my friend Jaz.  The song is "If Only You Were Lonely," by Paul Westerberg and has essentially nothing to do with this song but for the delivery of the singer, who has this lovely sloppy way of singing and devil may care attitude that can't quite cover his devastation and lonliness.  One night I was singing and parts of this song just floated out while I found myself in the Westerberg groove.  The protagonist is obviously a complete ass.  I always wonder how wise it is to sing this song at all.  But it really is kind of funny in a rated R kind of way.


I am still working on the end after two years, due to my awareness that it doesn't really work to have this buffoon tell this pathetic ragdoll he loves her.  That he is switching to beer and thinks that's got to do with love seems spot on for this guy, but suddenly realizing the error of his ways:  I don't think it works.  Still sounds great when I sing it though.


The song is named "Keep Taking The Cork Off The Trees" due to a line a heard a drunk say to me one night when he couldn't (illegally) open a bottle of wine in the hotel I was working at.  He wasn't strong enough (due to his alcoholic emaciation, ect.) to get a synthetic cork out.  In exasperation at the insult of this most dependable of sidekicks (the bottle) letting him down he said to me while I tried not to laugh (and failed), "They ought to keep taking cork off the trees."  Our hero in the song seems to fit the audacity of that hope.

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