Politics 101

Murders, Romance, Beautiful Cowgirls, Handsome Cowboys, Wild Childhoods, and a Robot Cyborg Cowboy build for love by a mad Scientist called Dr Nova Kane…

Make Mine Country 𐚁 ⋆.ೃ࿔ ݁ ˖*

Somewhere in Texas: Belle's Version 🇨🇱

You’re just a waste of space
A big empty balloon
A drug addled geek
A ego-driven gooon

[chorus]
Billionaire shortbread
Not sweet or good for you
A nasty piece of work
That no one wants

Billionaire shortbread
Not a cake or a slice
Let me be very clear
You…
Are…
Not…
Very…
You’re a wanker

[verse]
Your children even hate you
So why should we care?
All you do is useless shite
We didn’t need a space car

You couldn’t help the cave boys
People say you smell
It doesn’t mean you’re funny
If you bully SNL

[bridge]
You make no sense
Money is not a charm
You are too stupid
To understand that
You don’t understand

[chorus]
Billionaire shortbread
Not a cake or a slice
Let me be very clear
You…
Are…
Not…
Very…
You’re a wanker 

[Slow melodic Outro]

When you lie alone in the dark,
do you feel the breath of skeletal death
on the back of your neck,
do you just take more meth?

You did nothing for anyone,
Other than yourself,
Billionaire shortbread,
A crap snack we will all leave on the shelf

A Wikipedia page,
Doesn’t mean you matter
We don’t care what you think,
So yeah, you are just a wanker

Billionaire Shortbread

Billionaire Shortbread

Billionaire Shortbread

[End]

Billionaire Shortbread ⊹ ࣪ ˖ $⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆  ₊˚⊹♡

Welcome to Trumpland, where the skies never grey,  
White picket fences, and straight YMCA!  
Men wear the trousers, wives bake the cakes,  
Every kid’s perfect, god don’t make mistakes 

No rainbow flags, no wheelchairs in sight,  
Just plain-talkin’ folks who sleep easy at night.  
Jobs fall like manna, no résumé needed—  
“Just show up, buddy, you’ve already succeeded!”  

Trumpland! Trumpland! 
Where the sun don’t set on a lack of a plan!  
No fears, no tears, just win-win deals—  
If the strong take all, who needs appeals?  
Trumpland! Trumpland!
Where the other’s a ghost, and the climate’s canned!  
If trouble brews? Blame DEI 
Every hand is Trumps, well, just for you and I!

Trumpland! (｡•́︿•̀｡)

Oink! Oink! Oink!

Oink! Oink! Oink! OINK!

Trottin’ through the pub with yer belly untamed, Ego like a stodgy pie—ye’re drippin’ in shame! General of Gas, with a gut full of hate, Yer rotten core’s curdlin’—Brexit’s on the plate!
Pre-Chorus Oi! Navel Fromage! Cheese in yer crease—stale and sweaty! Oi! ! Navell Fromage! Yer bellyache lies—nobody’s ready!

Navel Fromage ₍˄•͈⚇•͈˄₎

Beneath the wheaten waves, we make our home,  
Where golden stalks once whispered to the sky.  
Now thunder shakes the earth as steel beasts roam,  
To strip the fields their hunger to allay.  

Yodel aye, eehoo,
Yodel aye, eehoo,
Yodel aye, yodel aye,
Yodel aye, yodel aye, 
Heehoo!

They reap such wealth! A feast beyond our ken, 
While we, with crumbs, outlast the frost’s dagger sting.  
What gluttony demands vast tracts of grain?  
A single ear could birth a mouse’s spring!

Yodel aye, eehoo,
Yodel aye, eehoo,
Yodel aye, yodel aye,
Yodel aye, yodel aye, 
Heehoo!

Yet - still they carve the land with ravenous scythes,  
As if each kernel un-full-fills some endless void?  
If they but paused to spare what greed persuades,  
Their hands, like ours, might find a kinder mode!

We nibble time; they feast on fleeting years—  
The earth grows thin, and fat with human fears.

Yodel aye, eehoo,
Yodel aye, eehoo,
Yodel aye, yodel aye,
Yodel aye, yodel aye, 
Heehoo!

We nibble time; they feast on fleeting years—  
The earth grows thin, and fat with human fears.

Yodel aye, eehoo,
Yodel aye, eehoo,
Yodel aye, yodel aye,
Yodel aye, yodel aye, 
Heehoo!

We nibble time; they feast on fleeting years—  
The earth grows thin, and fat with human fears.

Field Mouse Blues ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

Neither let us be 
slandered from our duty 
by false accusations against us, 
nor frightened from it 
by menaces
 ... of destruction nor of dungeons... 
to ourselves.

Let us have faith 
that right makes might, 
and in that faith,
 let us, to the end, 
dare to do our duty 
as we understand it.

Let US Have Faith  (﹙˓ ‍🎧 🎩 ˒﹚)

Yo, it’s 1930, Congress got a vibe,  
Smoot and Hawley droppin’ tariffs, thinkin’ they’ll revive,  
“Save the jobs!” they screamed, but the plan was wack,  
Other nations clapped back—”Yo, we taxing that!”  
Global trade? Nah, we buildin’ walls,  
Economy free-fallin’, Depression hits the malls,  
Wheat stacks rot, Ford cars ain’t sellin’,  
“America First!”—but the whole world yellin’.  

[Chorus]  
Raise the walls, watch the dollars drop,  
Smoot-Hawley’s legacy—a economic flop!  
Tax the imports, ghost the global crew,  
Amexit on the horizon—same dumb déjà vu!  

[Verse 2]  
Fast forward, new age, same ol’ plot,  
Politicians yellin’ “Amext! Let’s ditch the lot!”  
“WTO? NAFTA? Cancel the subscription!”  
But the supply chain’s tangled—man, that’s science fiction.  
China side-eyein’, EU trolls the feed,  
“Y’all want tariffs? Cool—we’ll tax your seed!”  
Soybeans in the dirt, iPhones cost a stack,  
Inflation’s lit, but the wages ain’t comin’ back.  

[Bridge] 
“Sovereignty!” they scream, like it’s TikTok fame, 
But the GDP’s coughin’, playin’ survival games.  
Free trade’s ghost haunts, “Y’all had it right in ’94!”  
Now we beggin’ for chips, but the factories outsourced.  

[Chorus]  
Raise the walls, watch the dollars drop,  
Smoot-Hawley’s legacy—an economic flop,  
Tax the imports, ghost the global crew, 
Amexit on the horizon—same dumb déjà vu!

[Verse 3]  
Amext fantasy—like Brexit’s cringe sequel,  
“We’ll make our own rules!” …but who’s gonna feed you?  
Walmart shelves empty, gas prices absurd,  
MAGA hats cryin’, “Wait, isn’t this what we preferred?”  
Global banks laugh, swap dollars for yuan,  
“Y’all had the reserve currency—now it’s done, son.”  
History’s a loop, protectionism’s a curse,  
But we blastin’ the same verse—just in a worse verse.  

[Outro] 
So next time you hear “Let’s quit the globe, it’s a scam!”  
Remember Smoot-Hawley—the OG economic Lamb.  
Trade wars ain’t slick, they’re a self-inflicted bruise,  
Drop the mic, pass the bill—y’all got the Protectionist Blues.

Tariff Riff 🗽 [̲̅$̲̅(̲̅5̲̅)̲̅$̲̅] 🐈💨

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, 
  The road is forlorn all day, 
Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, 
  And the hoof-prints vanish away. 
The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,
  Expend their bloom in vain. 
Come over the hills and far with me, 
  And be my love in the rain. 

The birds have less to say for themselves 
  In the wood-world’s torn despair
Than now these numberless years the elves, 
  Although they are no less there: 
All song of the woods is crushed like some 
  Wild, easily shattered rose. 
Come, be my love in the wet woods; come,
  Where the boughs rain when it blows. 

There is the gale to urge behind 
  And bruit our singing down, 
And the shallow waters aflutter with wind 
  From which to gather your gown.    
What matter if we go clear to the west, 
  And come not through dry-shod? 
For wilding brooch shall wet your breast 
  The rain-fresh goldenrod. 

Oh, never this whelming east wind swells   
  But it seems like the sea’s return 
To the ancient lands where it left the shells 
  Before the age of the fern; 
And it seems like the time when after doubt 
  Our love came back amain.      
Oh, come forth into the storm and rout 
  And be my love in the rain.

Be My Love In The Rain: Cowgal ⋆.ೃ࿔ 𐚁 ⛈ ݁ ˖*༄

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.
I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done,
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
"That fellow's got to swing."

[CHORUS]
Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
Some kill their love when they are young,
 And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
 Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
 The dead so soon grow cold.

[BRIDGE]
Some love too little, some too long,
 Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
 And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
 Yet each man does not die.

[VERSE]
He does not die a death of shame
 On a day of dark disgrace,
Nor have a noose about his neck,
 Nor a cloth upon his face,
Nor drop feet foremost through the floor
 Into an empty place

[OUTRO]
And all men kill the thing they love,
By all let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Oh yes, my son, 
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man
WITH A SWORD!

Reddin' Jail pt.1 - The Prisoner 𐚁𐂺⊹₊ ⋆

[CHORUS]
O dee-o-dayee
Odee-o-dayee
Woe-woe-dalaye

He jumped off the box-car
In Eastbourne, the beast born
In him was too hungry to hide;

His neck in grief's grommet,
He groaned through his vomit
At the churn
And the yearn
At the turn of the tide.

[CHORUS]
O dee-o-dayee
Odee-o-dayee
Woe-woe-dalaye

He headed him soon
For a sad-lit saloon
In back of the edge of the strand,
Where a man almost ended
Sat down and extended

His speckled,
Blue-knuckled
And cuckolded
Hand.

[CHORUS]
O dee-o-dayee
Odee-o-dayee
Woe-woe-dalaye

Cried, The wind broke my marriage in two.
Clean through the bones of it,
Christ how it blew!
I got no tomorrow
And sorrow
Is tough to rescind;
So, forgive me if I should break wind, son,
Forgive me
If I should break wind.

At this the bartender
Addressed the agenda,
A dish-cloth kept dabbing his eye,
Said, Pardon intrusion
Upon your effusion
Of loss but none wooed it
Or rued it
As I.

[CHORUS]
O dee-o-dayee
Odee-o-dayee
Woe-woe-dalaye

For after the eve of Yvonne,
My God, how it hurts now the woman has gone!
Heart-sick as a dog,
I roll on like a log
Down the roaring black river
Where once sailed
A swan.

Then the dog on the floor,
Who'd not spoken before,
Growled, Ain't it the truth you guys said?
I may be a son-
Of-a-bitch but that bitch

Was my Sun
And she dumped me,
The bitch did,
For dead.

[OUTRO]
So three lonely guys in the night and a hound
Drank up, and they headed them out to the Sound,
Threw up, then they threw themselves
In and they
Drowned.

O dee-o-dayee
Odee-o-dayee
Woe-woe-dalaye


The All Purpose Country & Western Self Pity Song (Cowboy version)

The Long Deployment by Jehanne Dubrow

For weeks, I breathe his body in the sheet
     and pillow. I lift a blanket to my face.
There’s bitter incense paired with something sweet, 
     like sandalwood left sitting in the heat	
or cardamom rubbed on a piece of lace.

     For weeks I breathe his body.  In the sheet
I smell anise, the musk that we secrete
     with longing, leather and moss. I find a trace  
of bitter incense paired with something sweet.

     Am I imagining the wet scent of peat	
and cedar, oud, impossible to erase?
     For weeks, I breathe his body in the sheet—
crushed pepper—although perhaps discreet,
     difficult for someone else to place.

There’s bitter incense paired with something sweet. 
     With each deployment I become an aesthete
of smoke and oak. Patchouli fills the space
     for weeks. I breathe his body in the sheet	
until he starts to fade, made incomplete,
     a bottle almost empty in its case.

There’s bitter incense paired with something sweet. 
     And then he’s gone. Not even the conceit
of him remains, not the resinous base.	
     For weeks, I breathed his body in the sheet.	
He was bitter incense paired with something sweet.  

     With each deployment I become an aesthete
of smoke and oak. Patchouli fills the space
     for weeks. I breathe his body in the sheet	
until he starts to fade, made incomplete,
     a bottle almost empty in its case.

There’s bitter incense paired with something sweet. 
     And then he’s gone. Not even the conceit
of him remains, not the resinous base.	
     For weeks, I breathed his body in the sheet.	
He was bitter incense paired with something sweet.

The Long Deployment

Music Studio, covering any genre, any kind of artist.

The Long Deployment

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