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Excuse Me Sohn,
But Yer Pants Er Fallin' Off COPYRIGHT 2004 JULIAN LEE (Printable Version) (Best read with Irish or Scottish accents) |
AUDIO
PART ONE |
AUDIO PART TWO |
AUDIO PART THREE |
| Hello there young fella Excuse if I'y cough I'm sure you don't notice Yer pants fallin' off I am sure it's an error Your face has some smarts More than to oppress us By sight of your "arse" 'Reckon Pop never showed you The use of a belt Or you can't afford pants That fit very well Just now I will grahnt you My 'benny of doubt' No wish to declaim you A slag or a lout, but if Strip-tease be yer callin' This place loses class The room it be smellin' Just lightly of trash It may be in hipness Or fashion I lag But your butt-tease is makin' The atmosphere sag In jail they do confiscate Each new con's belt So hapless new inmates Can't go hang thirselves Well, I don't mean to bum you As you hitch, and you hitch But such is the provenence Of your gravity glitch Might be that jail felons Aren't highest inspiration (Bad sign if you resonate to Prison house fashions) You probably don't notice Yeah, must be an error American youth Have the roots to be fin'r Than feckless baboons That display their behinds (Or she-cats in estrus) Yer from loftier lines! I reason ya must have had Forebears somewheres Who had too much clahss To show thir underwear And we do have a Culture here Rare and still precious That's somewhat at odds with An undies exhibitionist Yeay dood, there's a culture here Aeons in brew Worth saving from One-man, self-appointed cultural demolition crews And that Culture bears knowledge Seasoned, hard learned For hoisting ideals In pathways that "work" Ya see, "Here's what works" Is a norm's antecedent From that, culture gives us The notion of "decent" And decency's real goals, Sweet Culture's true giving, Are friendship, fidelity Beauty, good living And some kind of order Stability, safety And fruit in the fields... (We've an olyd word: felicity) Decency holds court For that, and all this: Learning, Art, Marriage Happy Children, and Bliss Plus: Community, Fellowship, Rare Architecture Literature, Philosophy -- Even "ultimate answers" |
You see, decency's
rar'ly A thoughtless invention, A meaningless norm Or an empty convention It holds up the house Of sweet Culture to cherish And fahstens to other beams Moor esoteric It points the way back To "The Sacred" to capture On the saint's hidden road, The mystical rapture The path to enlightenment God's inner gold -- All this is provisioned In Culture's sweet hold In sum, our norms link To the great ancient "Dharma" (Which references Virtue, prosperity and "karma") Where virtue and merit Become blades of technique Meditation and Ecstasy... Many things sweet! For these culture bears her Persnickety content Like "Hide private smellies" "Undress in right context" So grandma and grahmps To true Knowledge did cling That's why they demurred From showin' underthings If this be too heady I'll translate the cayce As a matter of class Or of simple good taste: I'm here in this coffee shop Eatin' my food Then I see your doomb butt... Pull them up boy! It's rude Or: "Buddy, it's gross Seein' cloth-of-yer-stains" If you think thaht it's sexy Reformat y'r brain Could be yir just aping Some sad rock 'n' rollers (Who'll one day be saying "What? What? I can't hear ya!) Who use up their short Fifteen minutes of fayme To muck up the world (Ignomious, thir shayme) Always "pushing the edge" With the bucks to be goht Fomenting new cultural, Spiritual roht Maybe this is their best Contribution to culture But you could land higher Than sloot rock 'n' rollrs You could be a great mind An authentic original A philosopher saint! Or a deeper new rebel You could be a true hero Beat back the decline! A soul warrior like me In a cause most sublyme But lower and lower The pantlines they slide Degrading our public realms, Darkenin' minds The female, she follows Descending the steep'r Behaving the worse But you act as her lead'r And lahstly: Iyn't ye got More better to do Than fuss with yer underpants Keepin' em "just sooo"? And if enemies give chase, son Then where will ye be? Waddlin' like a duck? Or a toddler of three? With ahn-cisters noble It begs fair to ahsk: Did yer Fath'er hiv trouble Jist keeping on 'is pants? |