(TO THE TUNE OF TOMBSTONE BLUES BY BOB DYLAN)

Ode to the Lit-up Losers…..

The Hamburgular and His Heroine hold down the hoe stroll

While Disney and Facebookers are draining your soul

And the whole wide world is under control

Of the Signal’s hum and It’s power.
Newton and Tupac have left us alone

With gravity’s consequence on the Sickest third stone

And Adam is sleep walking, missing a bone

Holding hands with the snake in the Garden.
Mama’s in the whorehouse

She’s looking for booze

Daddy’s yellow pillbox

Says he just can’t lose

I’m in the jungle

With the blackball blues.
The symmetry of Venus is on the newsstand

Laughing at the candy bars “this must have been planned!”

The Nuts and Diabetics just whisper, “Isn’t this grand?”

While the clerk sifts the dope in his apron

Modern man’s sickness is smiling tonight

And the seeds of my saint’s day just doesn’t seem right

But the Jolly Green Giant has forfeited the fight

For his rights to his beans at the flophouse.
Mama’s in the bathroom

She’s cooking up chris

Daddy’s on the borderline

Holding his piss

I’m in the Desert room

In a blacked out bliss
The Joker and Robin both have gone home

Leaving Batman and us sad folks “like …seriously alone”

Tell me My Captain in the most solemn tone

Is it better in the hellish here or the hereafter?
Footballs and teen spirit are holding us tight

Wearing their numbers and fighting to fight

I think somebody better turn off the big light

And send Babe Ruth to the gallows for his hanging.

The bar rooms and gun shops are stretched the seams

The stars on the playground are grinding their dreams

With Cheswick and Kobe on opposite teams

Still the crowd screams for blood from the chickens.
The Queen Mary and the Love Boat are losing their shine

While Julie and Isaac are cooking up swine

The Muslims are angry but Doc says “it’s fine,

can we please get some courage for the lion?”

Aww Mommas at the courthouse

She’s Lying with men

Daddy’s got the top bunk

At the old state penn

I’m in the liquor store

With my bottled best friend
the best things in life are lost in the breeze

Faith, Hope and Virtue are down on their knees

culture vultures hover, spreading disease

In our mission streets in San Francisco.
Cindy and Bobby Brady are getting their fix

While Rerun and Potsie are plotting bank licks

The magic is gone all that’s left is light tricks

Is there a drink for me in the kitchen?
Mama’s in the whorehouse
She’s looking for booze
Daddy’s yellow pillbox
Says he just can’t lose
I’m in the jungle
With the blackball blues