Got into town about twenty four hours ago
A bit long in the lip and a drawl that's thick and slow
Mighty pleased to meet you, my name is Sanwich Jones
Brought a friend along, his name is Hadji Martini.
Got a mess of cases with saxophones in between.
He's got real nice hands but don't his eyes look mean.
We call ourselves and insignificant pair of gents
With two high stools and miscellaneous instruments
No club would touch us so were here to play for rent.
Don't call us to your kitchen if we cannot pet your cat
She seemed a lot lonesome and just needs a little pat
Pardon our dust, were late for the railroad tracks.
Please bring him to my office.
And keep him as dry as a bone.
You see, it is harder to skin a critter
When his fur is all puffed up and nappy like some gnarley gnome.
Yes I have the kitty percodans.
To keep him jive-walking slow.
There may be a howl, a loosening of bowels
But I'm pretty sure they don't feel a thing in their toes.
Some say I should be in jail,
Those assholes that don't own a hat with a tail.
Yours is almost finished, as soon as I scrape out this spinach
Try it on, prance around, you look like the bloddy king of Finland.
Well go ahead and lock me away.
There's not a court in the land that wouldn't agree with what you say.
But don't come runnin', asking, "Where's my kitty?"
When half of him's on your head and the rest of him's out on the street.
I live like the Quail in the bushes...
waitin' for some fat Gomie to strike
Got me so confused, to keep myself amused
I tapped my own phone to see...what I say...at night
(Chorus)
I'm just Hadji of the Meridian
I ain't no caribbean
Got no thorns stickin' out my face
I've just come here for your daughter
but I'll take that glass of water
For I got this thirst that's built up from the chase
Changed my name to Gene Dong Baggy
and learned how to strike a pose
So now the bullets may ricochet
I'm not sure what's better, to wear this bowler and sweater
Or live under the regime of Pinoche
(Chorus and out....)
TO BE A REAL BLUES CAT
YOU GOTTSTA WORK AN EIGHTEEN HOUR DAY
ASLEEP ON A SOFT BED
RESTIN' UP FOR YO' NEXT NAP
REAL BLUES CATS
WILL LISTEN TO JAZZ LIKE MILES & COLTRANE
IF THEY HAVE TO
AS LONG AS MUDDY OR JOHNNEY LEE ARE UP NEXT
REAL BLUES CATS ARE FEEDERS
GRAZING TO MAINTAIN THEIR WIDE BODY STYLE
MORE IN THE WINTER
AND AT THE END OF SUMMER TO KEEP OUT THE COLD
REAL BLUES CATS DON' RUN
UNLESS TA CATCH A BIRD OR ANOTHER NAP
BUILT FOR COMFORT
WORLD GOES BY FAST ENOUGH WITHOUT HURRYIN' IT ALONG MO'
BLUES CAT! BLUES CAT!
WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!
THE BOMB HAS BEEN DROPPED
AND ALL MAN IS GONE
YOU WERE NAPPIN' I S'POSE, YES YOU WERE
ALL THAT IS LEFT ARE THE SOUNDS OF MILES AND MUDDY
JOHNNY LEE AND BIRDS
SOFT BEDS
EIGHTEEN HOUR NAP
AND THICK FURRED, WIDE BODIED, STRUTTIN'
BLUES CATS
Scotch & Rye, Scotch & Rye
Meg'll be mad when she sees me tonight Scotch & Rye, Scotch & Rye
Better call Clammy cuz I know he will drive Scotch & Rye
Southeastern L.A. just before dark
I pulled into this store, turned out to be a bar
I thought Pasadena was near and I'd throw back a beer
Buy some cigars and pull right out of here
But one beer turned into a glorious Scotch rage
'Til I made some comment about a Black man in a cage
They hauled my ass out and kicked it with conviction, no doubt Now I'm
pasted on the asphalt from my stern to my spout
Scotch & Rye, Scotch & Rye
The home boys are laughing in Spanish tonight
Scotch & Rye, Scotch & Rye
I woulda had my cell phone if I wasn't so tight Scotch & Rye
I met hommies from the hood with crack-frozen eyes
Some cat with tatoos that called me his wife
This can't be happn'n I'm Fat Bobby from the Glen
I'm a Catholic-teachin' white boy, oh my God here they come again!
Wait! Is that Clammy that I see!? I'm hop-skip-runnin' with glee Just
start the car man and thank's for rescuing me
Scotch & Rye, Scotch & Rye
Oh man, here in this town they do what they like
Scotch & Rye, Scotch & Rye
I'll never leave Pasadena, I swear on Emily's eyes!
Scotch & Rye, Scotch & Rye
Oh Clammy, I'm gonna cook you the best dinner you ever had in your
life! Scotch & Rye
Baby Sanwich, Baby Sanwich!?
Ah got da poo in mah diaper blues.
There you are Baby Sanwich! Where have you been? What were you singing?
Pooh in mah diaper, Mom. An’ it’s coooollldd, too.
Did you mess yourself, again?
Hmm, mm, an’ it’s coolllld!
It is not cold in the house, Baby Sanwich. The heat’s on and there’s a fire in the fireplace. It’s nice and toasty warm.
Ah got da poo in mah diaper blues. Uh Huh. Der’s snow outside mah room. Yeah, mama. Dat makes the pooh in mah diaper’s cool.. Watch me now. An’ if the cat outside should freeze. Rrrrannnowww. How da hell am ah s’pose to pee?!
That’s enough of that, now. What am I going to do with you? It’s time for a nap.Where you pick this stuff up I’ll never know.
Lightnin’ Hopkins.
BB: I understand you have an aversion to cold climates.
SJ: Not only an aversion I want no version of cold. That's why ahm eatin'
doughnuts every mornin' in August.
BB: Why's that.
SJ: Well, you see it's summer now. Ya gots to think ahead. I put on a good
fat layer now, ah be ready fo' winter.
BB: Where did you come up with that idea?
SJ: Fat Gomey...You see last winter ah remember it acutally got awll the
way down to 60 degrees!
BB: Do tell, I'm suprised you survived.
SJ: Me too. I mean ah had to wear a full sweater, not one of dose li'l vests.
BB: The horror must have been tremendous.
SJ: Daaaat's right! She was a big ole' fat thang. You know a big butted Mama. But she sho' did keep me waaaarrmm!
BB: Uhh...
SJ: Why ah remember ah had to actually use two blankets at night during one
cold snap!
BB: I'm getting chilly just thinking about it. Got any more doughnuts?
SJ: Getsyo'own!! Ahm in mah survival trainin' right now!!
"Yes ah brought you here taday to announce dat ah'm holdin' out. Ah'm holdin' out as a Charger fan 'till dey pay me mo' money. Ah'm holdin' out on Virgin records 'till dey can top that faggy REM band's contract for $80 million for me and Hadji."
When asked if the Insignificants had been offered any contract at all, Mr. Jones became irrate and growled, "You missin' da whole damn point! Ah'm holdin' out!!! Ah'm holdin' out on da PGA tour. Dat Tiger Woods is a smart boy and he gotta blues name to boot! So ah refuse to join the tour until ah sees some green. Dey tour in warm places right? Ahm holdin' out on de NBA Ravens, too!"
When explained that the Ravens were a football team, Mr. Jones again exploaded, "Don't you start wid me!! Don't you...cuz if you do ah won't hold out on yo' sorry ass!" At this point, the reporters and bus boys began to depart the restaurant. Upon leaving, all this reporter could hear was Sanwich's caterwauling backed by castanets, "AH'M HOLDIN' OUT, AH'M HOLDIN' OUT, AH'M HOLDIN' OUT, AH'M HOLDIN' OUT, HOO-OOO-OOLDIN' OUOOOOOOT!
Sample the whisky to check for quality. Take a large bowl. Check the whisky again. To be sure it is the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink. Repeat. Turn on the electric mixer, beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar and beat again.
Make sure the whisky is still okay. Cry another tup. Turn off the mixer. Break two leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit. Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers pry it loose with a drewscriver.
Sample the whisky to check for tonsisticity. Next, sift two cups of salt. Or something. Who cares? Check the whisky. Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Spoon. Of sugar or something. Whatever you can find.
Grease the oven. Turn the cake tin to 350 degrees. Don't forget to beat off the turner. Throw the bowl out of the window, check the whisky again and go to bed.