This here’s Stretch Coyote talkin’ at ya.
Well Billy-ding-dang-dong, now that smokin' wacky tobacky is catchin' on in assorted public opinion polls and Super Bowl states of residence, I'd like to un-bogart some old song lyrics I wrote back in the days of my country western rap band: The Palaverin' Polecats. You'll have to imagine a lively two-step with banjo, fiddle and mandolin.
The man in the moon is a cowboy
Ever since I smoked that rope
The man in the moon is a cowboy
And the moon is a cantaloupe
Gotta pair a’ pantaloons in the gravy
And the chicken upstairs is not home
And I think I’m gettin’ kinda lazy
Here on the range on the home
Home on the range, home on the range
Grease your pan with half a turnip
Home on the range, home on the range
Take two egg whites and beat em’ stiff
Home on the range, home on the range
A cup a’ cornpone and a pinch a’ saltpeter
Home on the range, home on the range
Mince a little meat and slice a bit a' rhubarb
There used to be a bit more to that recipe, but I can't quite recollect how "preheat your oven to 350 degrees" fits in to the overall rhyme scheme.
I suppose I could finish this tune if my agent gave me a little encouragement, but I'm not quite sure of his location. Seems he shook the dust off his boots and hightailed it out of town pretty dang quick after that bar mitzvah the Polecats did for Nathan Rosenstein, son of the deodorant stick tycoon at his palatial Malibu beach spread.
It was the most highfalutin bar mitzvah we'd ever done. (I'd never had chocolate-covered lobster before.) The Polecats were fillin' in for some country western band what got stuck in some airport north of the snowline.
Our doggone agent didn't even leave us so much as a goodbye note, much less a check. And this was just after we'd fronted him some pretty hefty cash to cover recording costs for the album we were gonna make: “Ding Dang Disco.”
I suppose you can reckon how long ago that was, back when musicians were still cuttin’ wax and my cousin’ Jane was puttin’ John Travolta posters up in the hayloft. We weren’t rope smokers back in those days. Just an hour or two shovelin’ manure pretty much did the trick.
~ Stretch Illustration by John Sherffius
~ © All Rights Reserved
