BOB
Bob was a gentle person who loved the company of men. He went w/
Jonny Phlip Morris n them flamed ablaze. Burma Shave
Bob was a Communist no mystery why: unkempt n unshaved, the he
tried the Burma Shave
BOYB WAS A LOVER
Boyb was a lover and we loved him back. Communist Party hack.
Burma Shave had his back.
FOR RELIEF FROM THE PAIN
For relief from the pain of against the grain: Burma Shave ’em.
GOTTA ADMIYT
Gotta admiyt, mfkrs, my folwrs know their s- -yt.. Yall goyt iyt. Fck the
rest, I’ll siyt bck, ediyt ths shyt. Yr the best: which isz? Burma Shave
IF YOU’VE GOYT THE ITCH
If you’ve goyt the itch, poetitch tht byt - - sorry. Scratch tht...Burmacise
the...chck.
MY FOLLOWERS
My followers write this BS s--yt better than the master. Proyps 2 U
mfkrs, make iyt laster. Retweeyt all day: Burma Shave.
TWITTER ’S THE ECHO
Twitter ’s the echo in all iyts quik-wittered, when iyt’s oyn re-twitter w/
Burma Shave.
NOYT DEMOCRACY
Poetocracy noyt democracy. lyt’s my brand down to the man (or
chick). No Gillette, no Schick. Burma Shave. Tht’s iyt.
PPLE CLOSE TO BOB
Pple closetoBob plannd ths gathrin: they lay aside th’road as tailgaters
n pray: Burma Shave.
RETWEETS GR8
Retweets gr8. Feel like Floyd th’ Barber re-upd blades. Burma Shave.
THE KEEPER
The ’keeper of the flame’ and ’sharer of the cottoyns’: clean blade...n
Burma Shave.
TOUR DE FRANCE
Tour de France, whtevr stage it ’s. 2 compete, gotta shave
complete: legs, face, biyts. Shave yr grl’s tiyts. Burma Shave th’ bytc- -
clyts oops. Sorry.
BOUNCY, BOUNCY, BOUNCY
Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy I’ve got silly putty in my tummy
And I feel peppy, peppy, peppy like Gumby Gumby Gumby
[Refrain]
Oh painted doll - - bouncy bouncy superball
Let’s ball (now) - - oh Wow!!
Luv - - Luv - - is all around
L.U.V. - - it’s all around
L – is for Lucifer: we blew smoke in his face
U – is for unisex miniskirts of ultrafashioned lace
V – is for Vernor’s: we drink to the human race
Oh Luv, Luv, Luv ... is all around
I’ve got six sex volumes under my nom de plume, this
calls for solitary drink (aw, give us a wink); for every
rhyme there is a season, and this month’s moon is june,
turns prose to poetry, and wine to ink, makes me wanna
croon; I think I’ll pour myself another double, Dang!
Came out triple again, my pourin’ arm’s corkscrewier
n’ Carl Hubble, ’nother win, my friend, calls for
celebratin’, pour me ’nother gin ...
Oh Luv ... luv ... is all around ...
[Refrain]
V – is for Venus, still loving and Now!
U – is for You! Oh darling, oh Wow!
L – is for Lucy, she fell from the sky (that high!)
U – is for you know who I mean (I mean you, oh)
V – is for Victory, and flashing the peace sign (that scene, that story)
Oh, luv is sound waves, bouncing all around
Love that lov-e-ly sound
Luv ... luv ... luv is all around ... Oh!
Oh, pour the milk in the milky way, pour the juice
in the rocket fuel that splits Venus in her half shell!
Pour and pour and pour ... if love is what you’re makin’
I’ll always be wantin’ more ... Oh!
Oh Luv ... luv is all around, come to town ... Oh!
I saw your heart beat, baby: your blood ran hot and cold,
The stuff it pumps out is ... is good as good as gold
Oh! Luv is all around ... (Repeat)
[Refrain]
FREE ROCKY RACCOON
G+B: Free Rocky Raccoon, Free Bugs, Free B’rer, Free Rabbit Love
G: I’m a bit o’ fun
B: You’re a rabbit on the bit, run with it
G: I’m a lil’ bit o’ soul, funky
B: You’re a bit o’ honey in the hole, and don’t I know it, don’t blow it, won’t you?
G: You’re the hole in one dozen donuts and one mo’ for fun: make it dirty dozen n’one
B: I hold the jelly roll
G: I’m a little cunt
B: I’ a little rac on roll
G: You’re a coontreed cuzz: fried. Cunttree fried. g’ wan n’shake!
B: You’re a cunttreed, kissin’ cousin to me. Tied to the family tree
G+B: Free Rocky Raccoon, Free Bugs, Free B’rer,
B: You’re a cunt to curtsy in the peoples’ court, Kurt n’ court
oh! have mercy, beat on me!
G: Rocky’s dead! Viva le roc! Leave it to the
Beave instead. Let’s roll Tony Dough for his jelly roll
B: Whoa nellie!
G + B: We’re the king n’ queen bee o’ rock n’ roll at court. Fuckin’ a
B: Rock is dead! Punk rock rules
G: You knave!
B: You whore! The white slave trade is less one black o’ moon
G: Long live the new wave! Blue Eyed Davy. What’s more all black boards God save
B: You mean... we’re extreme. Square Peggy Sue n’ sew
G: Soooey! Miss Piggy + you Ms. Lipton tea to
Peter Quince on the clavicord and Quincy on the mixing board
G+B: Free Rocky Raccoon, Free Bugs, Free B’rer, Free Rabbit Love
We’re the king n’ queen o’ rock n’ roll at court. Fuckin’ ey
Free Rocky Raccoon, Free Bugs, Free B’rer, Free Rabbit Love
HAPPY RHAPSODY
A rhapsody in Forum blue it’s all good,
win one for the Gershwins the Hein, (the team?)
Paul Whiteman’s version, I got rhythm and Forum blue, too,
it’s a quorum: Suits vs. Skins
A rhapso-ditty da-line da-long- da-along
Rap ya slap-hap-hap-hap-Hairston, son
Check it out, my luck: set a pick
an’ rock n’ roll sun.
Motherfucking dick
KETTLE IN THE KITCHEN
Kettle in the kitchen singing only for me,
only for me, only for me (Repeat)
Kettle in the kitchen asks how many for tea?
how many for tea? how many, any more?
for tea, what’s for
How many settings do you see, do you see,
how many settings do you see? do you see
’That many?’ said the kettle, as he’s miss-iss-
issing a beat, miss-shihing a beat, and the
miss-issed beat mis-isted the air
How many settings are there?
And-a-one, and-a-two, ahem, tooty-too,
said the kettle, adding up a
saucer and a cup, the cup half-filled and
the saucer spilled, the kit-keddle-kaboodle
the ’Gaga, goo-goo-hiss-moo-moo“
go figure to brew, and kettle eat ivy tow,
to be sure.
Kettle in the kitchen singing only for me,
only for me, only for me (Repeat)
Kettle in the kitchen asks how many for tea?
how many for tea? how many, any more?
WE PARTY EVERY DAY (We say 'what?')
Buy ... I ... I ...
Buy ... and party every day ...
I ... and party every day ...
I ... and partay every way ...
Buy ... Boom, boom, boom, boom deeay!
Say, we don’t care what the old folks say -- what?
Say what a boom, boom, boom ... deeay
Say’s who? Boom-a,boom, boom, boom ... deeay
Whole lotta whole lotta roll I -- soul I say ...
Say, we don’t care what the old folks say -- what?
Say what a boom, boom, boom ... deeay
Say’s who? Boom-a,boom, boom, boom ... deeay
Say, a-hem ... I got a bigol’ buttercup!
Whole lotta rock’n’ roll I got – swing it
Whole lotta whole lotta roll I -- soul I say ...
Gotta roll for a rainy day, what ...
TRUTH TO TELL
Make me n’ bake me, make me n’ bake you till I’m,
make me n’ bake you till I’m, make me n’ bake you till I’m,
Make me n’ bake me.
Truth to tell, truth’s my thing, it’s my
me too thing bro, oh brother, I cannot
tell all lie, [bells sound now], who told on me?
you’re my little ding-a-ling.
I’m a cherry tree, swee’ cherie,
Shake me n’ bake, make me n’ bake you till I’m.
I’m a cherry tree, swee’ cherie,
can you shake me n’ bake me with
my damn thumb stuck in -- that’s not
my bum – well that’s not my thumb
not either – make me n’ bake you till
I’m [bells resound now]
Make me n’ bake me
Twigst twelve and teen ’t is plenty to learn young things
on the bended learnin’ knee
The more you’re grown the more you need to leave alone
Wash behind your ears, with soap between – watch your mouth
(bell sounds) Who tattle-telled?
Those who make the weight may ride the pony,
bug boy, saddle-daddle daddy, Huggy Bugger bear buddy
Burns the learning curve ’round first turn
hug the rail, now switch leads
Make me n’ bake me, make me n’ bake you till I’m [repeated]
Those who make the weight may ride the pony,
bug boy, saddle-daddle daddy Huggy Bugger bear buddy
Burns the learning curve ’round first turn
hug the rail, now switch leads
bug-a-bug boy, saddle-daddle daddy Huggy Bugger
[bells]
WHAT WE KNOW IS SECRET
what we know is secret, what we know is secret, what we know is secret, what we know is secret!
How lucky to be alive in the year of ’85
Darby died OD ’d indeed indeed n - - dead
is he?
If you had to ask, you’d never know, ask your
ass if I told you so
What we tell is secret, secret, secret, to
ourselves ... now you get it? What we
tell is: the truth, ya know ... is beautiful
and pity a bull
And now you know ... Th’ rest o’ the story
No! Ya don’t! let it rest in peace inflexed,
with me, G.I., O.G., A.D.
And now he rested down to sleep, y’ know,
for keeps for you, y’ know: for his squeeze,
he doth, Darby, bequeath: “My leather
jacket coat to Bosco, quote”
The wham! It hit me, slamming speed in my sex
boy gland, count it out loud, the c’c’s
I feel it now, oh wow, the need to know the more
come for c’mon boys to men come in ... trouble at? trouble at? trouble at?
trouble at the cup, trouble at the cup, trouble at the cup ..
begin again, next week the A begins B-gwin
But just one more before I go go to sleep
The ‘H’ ... how many Z’s gewgaggewgaw f’ R.I.P.
trouble at? trouble at?
what we know is secret, what we know is secret, what we know is secret, what we know is secret!
YOU’RE THE TOP (SKI)
You’re the Top (ski)
You’re a Hegel turned over from the back proxy
You’re too hot to Trotsky, you’re Stalin’s confidant
and best close friend
You’re a red flag sale at Bloomingdales
so I could get it for you whole sale [friend]
everything must go - - for good this time
I’m the comrade in arms who lost his limbs
You’re the porter at the door with the door jambs - - get in
You’re Andropov / Harmonica Honecker’s Hohner / a Dickens hovel /
Jack London novel / Kalyshnikov / Comintern / Chaliapin as Godunin / Godunin
You’re a cell in Spain, you’re redder than red, you make me blush,
you’re a royal motherfuck’n flush
You’re the tops
You’re a fly on the wall of Gramsci’s cell
I call that heaven that you call hell
You’re the KGB, you’re the NKVD, you’re the New Kids on
the Chartist’s mob, you’re hits, you’re dismissed
You’re a Pullman Porter given first class berth (birth?)
How’s the weather up there? in the underground
It’s the Royal Family, it’s a Royal Flush
It’s Anastasia’s red ginger bush
You’re the Top,
I’m versatile, you’re the king
I’m an old queen living that dream at Versailles
adorned his guitar in a Paris bar, this skag kills fascists
and rockstars rock’n’roll stars too
You’re Brecht back stage living in L.A.
I’m your brick girl Becky the good pair’s slave
waiting for a lefty with Jenny at the backstage door
W’re all whores. You’re up I’m down for it
You’re a top cart on the drizzling shit so drop the bell
I’ve nickeled like Foucault gets his
You’re a Staasi agent listenin’ in when the fuck’n starts
like it when you’re watch’n ... me
You’re a Katarina Witt taking a – shi... hush your mouth
You’re a Lillians, you’re a hell on wheels, you’re the Hollywood Ten’s
they’re taking the fifth for your defense and making their deals
You’re a Bullshy-backer turned Party Boss Hack(er)
[You’re the Tops]
You’re a Nipper Goring Rin-tin-Tin on the battlefield, you’re the RCAP – Victor on
the field, ‘Heel!’ Jrrr ... ‘Heil!’ Jrrr nuff-nuff!
because His Master’s Voice is stilled
terrierista no Bottom Dog are you
You’re still inline to be the receiver of the surplus value
you’re due the national debts last dollar
You’re Burgess, Philby and Maclean, you’re a, we are, we’re a team
You’re a second chance, you’re Belov in the
red paint underneath he’s over the rim it’s in
against the Ameriskins
Russia wins !
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