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Nevermore Billionaires

sung to the tune of
The Beverly Hillbillies theme song "Ballad of Jed Clampett"

by Luther Rangeley
music by Paul Henning

Here’s a little ditty ‘bout some big billionaires
had a greedy little problem with puttin’ on airs.
They sold a bunch of mortgages that weren’t worth dip,
and they made a bunch of yuppies think that they were really hip.

Cool that is,
too cool for school.

Well the first thing you know we’re all a-riding on a wave,
except for folks like me that nobody could save
but it doesn’t really matter cuz no one gives a duck
’bout a washed-up old hippie a-livin’ in his truck.

With dogs, that is.
Two of them, Max and Lila.

So everyone became a happy debt slave
grinnin’ and a grinnin’ while we dig our own grave
coz believe it or not, we just did what we were told
always denying that our souls had been sold.

Down the river, that is.
With credit cards.

And then one day we awoke from our feast
to find ourselves starin’ down the mouth of the beast
even lots of patriots don’t understand yet
the consequence of fritterin’ and goin’ into debt.

Usury that is.
Big bucks for no work.

Well I be damned if it didn’t come out right
There’s not a greenback dollar anywhere in sight
Cuz the laws of physics says, only God can create
so you’ll have to be happy with what’s on your plate.

Bail-out that is.
Bail your SELF out!

Its time to say good-bye to some greedy billionaires.
99% thinks they oughta play fair.
So we’re standing in the way puttin’ down our foot
and we won’t be moved till common causes take root.

For everybody. There’s so much abundance.

Enough for us too, and they can STILL BE RICH!

(tab)

Do the right thing and don’t do the wrong thing.

Oh boy, what a plan!

What you need to make you happy:

Mama never said you could have that.

You want permission to be happy?

Wanna try real hard to get there?

Beat your head against the wall?

Go ahead, that’s what it’s there for.

Feel like hell, what’s there to lose?

Blame your hopeless situation

on the morning news.

Whatever justifiability my fears think

they can claim for their existence,

still their absence would make life boring so I

chase my tail to keep my eyes bright.

And make for greener pastures,

and wind up in a ditch there,

badmouthing everything that happens:

“Oh what an awful life!

You can’t depend on nothing!

Guess I should be content with boredom.”

But say, what’s this?

It’s a fight in my insides,

it’s getting way out of hand now.

My heart’s in my gut and my head’s up my butt,

and I can’t get them out.

Little bit of chitter-chatter plugging up my brain;

I can’t get it all figured out.

My life and my mind are in the same cardboard box;

it’s all just something to talk about.

Then I see a bright light before me;

the mists of time have burned away.

The rules were made just to be broken,

so get off your ass, its time to play.

You want a medal for being unhappy?

You sadomasochistic whiner,

trying to say you’re not having fun.

Don’t just sit there with a hard-on;

get a grip: it’s not too big.

To prove that life is not a nightmare,

don’t be such a pig, don’t count what you give,

start with where you live.

Clock tells us when

to collapse in bed at night

clock tells us when

to resume our daily fight

clock makes us think

we're running out of fun

clock asphyxiates us when the day is done

We're a hundred fifty million people

with jobs that make us smile,

doing things for money

just to stay alive a while

gladly looking forward

to the day we can retire

and stop pretending we're not senile

Head on my shoulders is whispering in my ear

"You know we get more sophisticated every year

it's too dang bad we don't get any less stupider"

I hate to admit it, but maybe on the whole

driving in my auto keeps my jitters in control

and if it wasn't for my mission at the five-and-ten

I'm afraid my little world might never roll again

So I gotta get a move on, or I'll be late to work

I am a dimestore manager

it's hard to make a living in the land of the berserk

but you gotta look smart while the planet's still turning morning clones are streaming in to wander in the aisles

even if it blows they're gonna go their way in style

makes me feel useful to keep them satisfied

we're all aglow with secure mellow rapture.

Stumped-No-More the fearless fiddler had no legs nor arms,

so,

strings stretched twixt his steamy stumps,

bow clenched twixt rotting happy jaws,

he played like he was getting paid.

Now what do you think about that?

I stumbled innocently upon old Stumped-No-More in a

ghost town one fine day,

drawn by tones that spoke of no such home for no such dream.

Sun beat, dust blowed, Stumped-No-More the fearless fiddler

was apparently just warming up.

Knowing that uncalled-for babble has been known to

draw two loves to battle,

I neither spoke nor breathed as song crouched on

and sank claws into my skull.

I love small talk; bullshitting about nothing

turns me on, but I managed to refrain.

Sounds I’ve heard ever since my decision-making center

settled down on physical terrain,

but I knew as Stumped-No-More scraped away that

ordinary sound waves,

heretofore interpreted

as noise, truth, or music were

as far removed from

the potential of bliss as pleasure is from pain.

Now what do you think about that?

What’s that?  What’s that?  What’s that?  What’s that? 

What’s what?  What’s what?  What’s what?  What’s what? 

That?  Oh that?  Oh that?  Oh that?

That’s air!  That’s air!  That’s air!  That’s air!

Is it real?  Is it real?  Is it real?  Is it real?

Does it feel?  Does it feel?  Does it feel?  Does it feel?

What does it feel?  What does it feel?  What does it feel?  What does it feel? 

Whatchacall!  Whatchacall!  Whatchacall!  Whatchacall!

Can you touch it, can you stroke it, can you fear it, can you know it,

or are you just another American consumer on stampede?

Atmosphere, that’s what I fear, it’s a suicide dance.

Whatcha gonna do when the air comes down,

up to your knees with your head in the ground,

buried in the sand with your legs floppin’ ‘round,

whatcha gonna do when the air comes down?

You can think about it, read about it,

dream about it, sneeze about it,

spew it, spout it, mouth it, laugh it right outta the picture,

but you just can’t make it go away!

Atmosphere, that’s what I fear, it’s a suicide dance.

It’s a dance, it’s a dance, it’s a suicide dance.

We guzzle on and on and on and on our funeral path.

How do ya know, how do ya tell,

how do ya know you’re not in hell,

how do ya smell the roses on the way?

Atmosphere, that’s what I fear, it’s a suicide dance.

Whatcha gonna do with the poison that you’ve pumped?

There’s nothing pending but the ending;

it’s a plan in which you’re stuck.

You’ll never break this commitment,

not with your kind of luck.

Whatcha gonna do when you’ve already jumped?

So get your gas mask!

Get your seeing eye dog!

This is serious!

Don’t send your kids out there!

We’ll be buying breathing air

from the boys that brought us smog;

there’s got to be a change of personnel!

Atmosphere, that’s what I fear, it’s a suicide dance.

It’s a dance, it’s a dance, it’s a suicide dance.

We guzzle on and on and on and on our funeral path.

How do ya know, how do ya tell,

how do ya know you’re not in hell,

how do ya smell the roses on the way?

Atmosphere, that’s what I fear, it’s a suicide dance.

Standing in a circle with the others

looking for something to do with my hands

playing hide-and-seek with a storm of eyes

hiding in the woodwork between gazes

hiding in the spaces between faces

while I wonder what they're thinking about me

wonder why they act like they like me

hope I didn't say something stupid

I'm embarrassed to exist... I'm embarrassed to exist

I'm embarrassed to be noticed doing nothing

I'm embarrassed to be noticed doing anything

I'm embarrassed to be noticed at all 

When those little black holes in their eyes

turn my way I realize, it was always there but it’s

always a surprise, embarrassment is basic to the human enterprise

How would you feel if your mind gave way

And you acted like an ass in a public place?

Embarrassed.

And how would. you feel if you lost your cool

and you stood there shaking like a goldarn fool?

Embarrassed

All I need is a little time

to pick the right words and put them in a line

that'll answer any question at any time

so I  won't have to interact with other humans

I'll no longer have to think how to respond

they can paw me with their questions all they want

cause I'm safe and sound with my new-found phrase

immune from questions in every way

only trouble is I noticed today

I'm still embarrassed to exist...I'm still embarrassed to exist...

I'm embarrassed to be noticed doing nothing

I'm embarrassed to be noticed doing anything

I'm embarrassed to be noticed at all

When those little black holes in their eyes

turn my way I realize, it was always there but it’s

always a surprise, embarrassment is basic to the human enterprise

Well I might look like I mean it but my mind's on something else

I found invisibility by repeating something false

I'm sorry

and I blend Into the woodwork with my little magic words

I could've thought of better ones, but I was in a hurry

I'm sorry

(repeat first section)

(tab)

Now it's time to talk about your old habits

they call you up just to let you down

they say they've got just what you need

and you get there to find it's just air in their mouth

as if they knew just what you needed

just because they think they've known you for years

But what are years to lying fools?

the passing time just teaches them the art of deception

comfortable in their know-it-all game plan

they manufacture their own brand of misconception

Once I had a friend named Batanwa Jim

I called him up and told him to come on out to Portland

when he got out there I wasn't in the mood to talk to him

and now that man is dead as a doornail

So next time you decide you've found the magic formula

and you think that all your friends should know it

write it all down and mail it to yourself

and then you'll know, then you'll know, then you'll know.

(tab)

Baby do you feel good? I know why

you got a boyfriend

up in the sky

Jesus makes you feel like you

did when you were five

sitting at your daddy's side

exchanging glances

God if I was God I'd feel so goddam fine

you'd be making love to me

all of the time

you could make me feel like

Jesus if you tried

if I'm not careful I might end up crucified

Woke up feeling like a super guy

every one who looked at me

just started to cry

knowing they’d never be

as super as me

made them as jealous as they could be

Opened my mouth at a quarter till ten

lost all my friends

before I shut it again

First thing I notice

when my eyes come back in focus

coming off the wall at me

your standard hocus pocus

Baby if you tried you might just find something you like

but you're too busy seeing through everything in sight

if you could let yourself be stupider

you'd be happy by and by

you're smart, you're smart, you're smart

too bad I’m only human

(repeat first verse)

(tab)

A man without a fart is a man without a heart

a man without a heart is a man without a mission

a man without a mission is a man without a plan

a man without a plan is a man without a vision

a man without a vision is a man without a goal in life

a man without a goal in life is subject to whatever

impending disaster happens to come fluttering his way

that's his excuse, that's his routine 

that's his own little way of achieving massturbation

that's right, achieving--achieving massturbation

achieving what you say? Achieving massturbation?

If I gotta achieve anyway, then why can't I get paid?

to do what I do anyway, do what I do best

do what feels the best to me in my particular situation

 smoke another cigarette--achieve massturbation

watch another TV show--achieve massturbation

make sure my nose is clean--achieve massturbation

put a tiger in my tank--achieve massturbation

there went another one, achieving massturbation

there went another one, achieving massturbation

Sometime after the first explosion

having somehow survived its disastrous effects

I look up, wipe the ashes off my face

I'm not yet threatened with immediate extinction

so I might as well take out time while I still have time to spend

and smoke another cigarette--achieve massturbation

watch another TV show--achieve massturbation

make sure my nose is clean--achieve massturbation

put a tiger in my tank--achieve massturbation

How much longer can I keep on getting real

at my present rate of acceleration

before I cease existing in this universe at all?

Is it worth it? Why not? It's the saddle that fits my back

Is it worth it? Why not? It's the saddle that fits my back

I feel sorry for anybody who doesn't live on the streets of the city

who has to rely on the news media for their information

on just how fast things really are sliding

I don't mind being a genius, doesn't bother me a bit

I just can't figure out why no one wants to listen to me

could it be I'm being too abrasive?

Could it be I'm achieving massturbation?

Now where'd I put my nose? It's on your face, it's on your face

 It's gotta be here somewhere. It's on your face, it's on your face

Now where could I have lost it? It's on your face, it's on your face

I must've put it in some stupid dang place

AH, the regular singing of our bowels:

Orgasm, the bodacious real fart,

the pull of pain to connect, to gralthify

a miruvorning vroombelleration.

Even though it might catapult me

right into the

into the middle of the whole bag of worms,

 

The only twist of reality that untwists just right,

just enough,

leaving only the spring quivering,

hovering lurking,

leaking and spilling where it wants to

 

And pulling from a black unnamable

blemish on the universe,

it gets in your, gets in your blind spot,

and dances there,

pulling pulling

Well, everything has its place,

and the outcome: you can name it

but you can't call it names or it goes away, so:

Death doctor, Thank You! for offering to kill me. (3x)

For being twisted (4x)

Name me assassins! (3x)

a-s-s-a-s-s-i-n (4x)

(tab)

Bemused and dismayed

to think that yesterday I had it made,

scooping scum

out of the itsy-bitsy teensy-weensy rich folks’ yard.

It isn’t too hard;

once you’ve got the tools they’re gonna change all the rules.

If shoveling shit isn’t it you can always go

someplace else and shovel shit.

It’s a prison planet!

You wouldn’t be here unless you’d been up in heaven

and couldn’t handle it.

If you don’t dig it then how come you’re always

down there in the mud just diggin’ it?

I don’t give a shit!

I don’t wanna hear about where you’ve been

or what you did.

So shut up!

And get an itsy-bitsy, teensy-weensy tiny whiny—

—life is just a masquerade

of no one in particular

rearranging empty shelves infinitum predicular.

What I’m saying, if you could hear me,

is, “Don’t let it get you, but don’t hide so near me.”

Cute little elf said,

“Beware the monster hiding on the empty shelf.”

When I bent over the elf stole my wallet

and headed for the door.

Boy was I pissed.

I looked the monster in the eye and told him I was pissed.

The monster opened up his

slathery, slimy mouth and said:

“Give us a break!

We only chase you

‘cause you run the other way.”

I guess the universe ain’t broken after all.

(tab)

We are animals

animals

irresponsible actions of an electrical storm

and a couple quadrillion anonymous chemical reactions

that's what we are, that's what we are, that's what we are now,

animals, in the flow of somebody's cruel cosmic joke.

We're mistakes

cosmic mistakes

it really could never have happened like this twice in a row

so why did it ever have to happen at all now,

just tell me that, just tell me that, just tell me that

and then you'll be my favorite mistake

and we'll dance down that suction highway paw in paw.

Think I'll kill myself kill myself

irresponsible actions of an innocent few

a couple of victims like me--if only they knew how it feels

they're killing me, they're killing me, they're killing me

and when I die, I'll be dead

and my atoms will disperse and influence other atoms like themselves.

Well, give it to me good fellas, while you got the chance

before these slobs toss me up on a cross

the next time they get a sticker in their pants

‘cause they think I'm the soul of Jesus

but I'm really the spirit of the son of the sea

thrown out nameless to do my salt-city tap-dance

on the turbid surface of the death doctor's afternoon tea

CHORUS:

and when they find me out, they're gonna kill me

they're gonna do their dance on me

they're gonna do their dance on me

they're gonna do their dance on me

they're gonna do their dance on me

Standing at the window,

picking my nose for all the neighbors to see

who knows what grows in the folds of my spforildewitt,

who cares but me

Well, Victor Vroombellerator rides on the tides of the numbophrenic sea

disguised as death he collides with our shiny troovammickles

as we ride down that suction highway

our pedestrian souls run over by fate's mad

victims of power-drunk politicians' pastime diversions

(CHORUS)

Smoking with my shoes on,

licking my whiskers and wearing my  hat

there's this used blue goo all over my face

now how about that

Algophobia, counterphobia,

algo-, counter-, contra-phobic swill-gavelling spaceman

sitting in your robes of black

it's easy for you to say just maybe you think I'm insane

Next time they bust you with your fingers in the dust

as you're, just in the midst of inhaling a crime

try to explain to the piglets at play

that fantasy is sacred, delusion divine

Well, Luther is a prophet, Gunther is a whore

but Scotty is a wassol and a numbophrenic bore

so don't talk to me unless you know my real name

and don't walk up to me to ask me where I came from

‘cause I'm here right now, I'm all here right now

I'm all right here now

until the hoveltongue appears on the

horizon of my life my life my life my life my life my life my life my life my life…

Once there was a dog and his name was Max

hairy little mop from the wrong side of the tracks

CHORUS (based on "Move Over Little Dog" by George Thorogood):

he said movie it on over

move it on over

move over big dog, little shaggy dog is moving in.

Saw him in the alley with his hair all full of ticks

little girls tortured him to make him do tricks

Saw him in the parking lot wagging his tail

at every dumpster diver but he couldn’t make a sale

Saw him on the sidewalk licking burger off a sack

it didn’t satisfy him but he wouldn’t give it back

One rainy day he thought he’d follow us home

looking mighty hungry but he didn’t have a comb

Sat quiet on the porch with his hands folded nice

I just walked around him but I had to think twice

Finally gave in and gave the dog a drink

he licked it clean and smiled at me and gave me a wink

Couple days later we let him in the yard

offered him a sandwich and he didn’t think too hard

He didn’t like the yard ‘cause it’s lonely out there

a-yippin’ and a-yappin’ now this dog is in my hair

He threw himself against the house and it made me mad

I start in thinking if he got lost I won’t be sad

We let him in a minute and he snuck out the front door

I wouldn’t go find him so the wife gets real sore

Someone brought him back and he moved back in

I’m a lucky doggy daddy and I’ll try again

So we let him in a little but only to the laundry room

and he stands behind his board and watches our every move

But pretty soon he thinks he’ll be a prisoner no more

look you fuddy duddy I’ll just hop over your board

Well OK you little vagabond but I have to draw the line

I’ve made my decision, come on in, that’ll be fine

Now Max is always with us and we’d never let him go

I never would’ve guessed it but I’ve always been slow

So next time you start thinking you’re the boss in your house

let go of the controls before you prove that you’re a louse.