Keith Forster supplied a set of music for another lyric. But the lyric sat in the music, kinda roped in and nursery rhyme like. I thought it'd make an epic heavy blues song so I invented some counter melodies and wrote these lyrics, suggesting the ever present danger of war and the brevity of life. Keith didn't like what I'd done so I waited to become brave. Finally sang it on November 29th 2021, about ten years after I got the music. Sorry Keith, but thank you for a great bit of music, and I have finally used it.

Making It Clear

I hear the sunlit river call,
I hear the winter ice that’s gone;
There seems to be no sense at all –     
A restless shifting all life long.

And if I never held a gun,
And if I ever smelled the spring,
I could be good for anyone –                
I could be good for anything.

There is no terror at all – 
No reason to fear –
No terror at all –                                             
Death will make it all clear (chorus)

I hear the phantoms in the mist;
I hear the truest sounds of all.
I feel the closeness of your kiss;              
I watch as Eden starts to fall...

And if I never held a gun,
And if I always held the spring,
I could be good for anyone –                    
I could be good for everything….

There is no terror at all – 
No reason to fear –
No terror at all –                                             
Death will make it all clear (chorus)

Making It Clear

I wrote this after watching a news interview with a sexually abused Ukranian girl who had been imprisoned and used by Russian soldiers in April 2022. The song is universal though, because there are man-pigs all over the planet. 
Thanks to Tez Howes, who loved the lyric, put a vocal melody to it and sang the bridge, and my new friend Adam Grossman who supplied the music and played all instruments. I recorded my voice over Adam's music.

Little Body

She don’t own her little body, she’s not certain of today
she don’t have a dad and mommy, all her world is blown away
she has dreams of times before this, she’s not certain what it was
she lies twisted in the present, she tells herself it’s just because

She don’t own her little body
she’s not certain of today
she don’t have a dad and mommy
all her world is blown away

Men like this have come to get her, men are treating her this way
does this make things any better? no-one knows quite what to say
times have come and gone before this, time does really not connect
days have disappeared in cold mist, it does no good to cry or beg 

She don’t own her little body she’s not certain of today
she don’t have a dad and mommy all her world is blown away
She don’t own her little body she’s not certain of today
she don’t have a dad and mommy all her world is blown away

and the sun dies at the window’s edge and the wind blows wild and cold
among these soulless beings around is there a gentle hand to hold 

Men are praising God and Allah, as they leave her on her own
she keeps her body close together, tries to get her mending done                                 
day by day and nothing changes, then one day she’s gone at last
just a spirit among strangers, just a dream lost in the past. 

She don’t own her little body she’s not certain of today
she don’t have a dad and mommy all her world is blown away

They can do just what they want to
she can not do anything
she is waiting for tomorrow
for a caring bell to ring
She don’t own her little body
she’s not certain of today
she don’t have a dad and mommy
all her world is blown away

Bill White, 9th May 2022.

LITTLE BODY Bill White, Adam Grossman And Tez Howes

My mate Greebs sent me this lovely light gospel sounding track to do what I would with. The music told me that it was deeper and more serious than it appeared on the surface. The lyrics and vocals I put to it seem to prove the music right.
All music by Greebly Mork, aka Tevil X Bloom.
Lyrics, lead vocal and final production by Bill White.

Sunday in Kiev 

Sunday morn the white drones moan
on the way to Belgorod
and the children are off to Sunday school
to be blown into the arms of God
to be blown into the arms of God

We wandered down these avenues 
before this war began
at the whim of the tic of insanity
in a vile and dishonest man
falling from the rim of humanity
the soul of a dishonest man

Too mean to be real, too mean to be real 
the sum of all his acts reveals
he’s too mean to be real

Gods roamed between these old ramparts
before our race was born
and forged the love within our hearts
on the holy sabbath morn
the holy sabbath morn
the holy sabbath morn

So sing low to this gospel tune
and send the rockets out
that man is gonna weep beneath the redblood moon
as his darkness oozes out
as his darkness oozes out

19th May 2023

Sunday In Kiev

Tevil put this music and these words together some time ago.
He got them to me back in October, '22.
I got the vocals done this week.

"I ain't been good 'cept nothin'" is an Appalachian phrase meaning "I've been nothing but good", usually because the person has not had a chance to be naughty.

I had quite a bit of fun doing this one. It was done in one take, 'cause that's how rock should be.

Ain't Been Good 'Cept Nothin'

Tevil sent me this music and some leading lyrics, inspired by his month long national parks trek, and asked me to finish off the lyrics and sing lead.
All backing voices are by Tevil. aka Greebly Mork, as is the music and backing voices production. Final mix and lead vocal production by me.

Out Here

 
Revenance in the sand.              
Messages on the runes.
We came here, man and man,
through the bare, sunparched dunes.

We came out here, you always kept me in line

Our people are torn from home;
fate decided in their songs
The perfect future chars and burns
and screams into us without words

We came out here, you always kept me in line

Out here it all makes sense now the neon has gone
Out here it all makes sense

The wild ancestral spirits sing
as they soar on desert wind
They sparkle like the morning dew
in the bone dry land they’re passing through

We came out here, you always kept me in line

Out here it all makes sense, now that the neon has gone
out here it all makes sense
Out here it all makes sense, now that the neon has gone
out here it all makes sense
Out here it all makes sense, out here it all makes sense  

We came out here, you always kept me in line



Greebs... and Bill White, before and up to 19th July, 2023

Out Here 18th August 23.WAV

I wrote these lyrics in 2012 and recently began a project with Shannon O'Riley, who put this music together for me to sing. Wild shit. 

Gangsta
It pays to be a gangsta when the world don’t give a damn 
Flex your muscles and machismo and pretend that you’re a man
It’s a buzz to crash the parties and watch the way they cower
Give the straights a taste of blood. Spray it on their ivory tower

Be a gangsta, a gangsta, you can never lose
Be a gangsta, be a gangsta, it’s the only life to choose

It’s good to push them in the chest; it’s good to put ‘em to the test
It’s good to stick the blade in when they look as if they’ll fight
I love to slash ‘em with one strike, see life go out just like a light
It’s good to fold the wet blade as the day’s displaced by night

It’s good to hear the women scream as their heroes bite the dust
It’s good to scare them shitless and face their fear with lust
Catch their vision of the barren land as you're stampin' on their boyfriend’s hand
It’s good to break their spirits down from rock to drifting sand

Be a gangsta, a gangsta, an’ you can never lose
Be a gangsta, it’s the only life to choose

If I could take just one thing back, I’d take back my remorse
I should have known I’d get this way when I set out on my course
If I could go back to those dead days all apologies would be erased
And I’d set out on this journey with an element of force

Last night’s newscast hovers like a wraith before my eyes
The brightest of the bright stars are fading from the sky
Cold rain comes through the window; it brings the smell of life
And my guilt has fallen from me like a body from a knife

01 Gangsta

A work in progress. Lyrics, vocal and vocal melody Bill White of the Mount Lofty Ranges in South Australia, music by Arthur Mook, aka Tevil X Bloom, from Blacksburg, Virginia, USA.

Finished

Sometimes things just finish. Endless space diminished.
The solar wind unsteady; dimensions at the ready.
The seeds we plant are trembling as rain and sun come tumbling;
the disbelievers mumbling about their doubts, or something.
While, in between the unimaginable and the simple day, we seek our fill.
In between the unimaginable and the simple day, we seek our fill.
We seek our fill. We seek our fill.

The river of forever does not depend on weather; 
it flows through those who hold it and is the sum of what enfolds it.
All living beings waste, waiting in endless hesitating.
The goblet, pure, presented, when not accepted is resented.
While, in between the unimaginable and the simple day, we seek our fill.
In between the unimaginable and the simple day, we seek our fill.

Finished

Arthur Mook, better known at the Music Barn as Tevil, sent me this music in November. He said, "I can hear 'Look at Me Now' in it; ya wanna write something to it and sing it?" Of course the answer was, "Yes."

Look At Him Now

There was a boy in the sun, he was reading the sky;
he knew there’d be clouds comin’ up bye and bye. 
The slow day was drifting, a wish at a time;
there were dozes to glide on and daydreams to climb.

There was dirt on his hands and sweat on his brow.
The well-off looked sideways and some they looked down;
but that boy could preach like hardly no-one around.
And he preached up a pulpit and look at him now.

He told of the hard times, the pain and the fear
that’s been growing in Gaza for year after year:
a poor thing invented— a result of our guilt.
All things ill-planted, you know they will wilt.

They ask for a miracle they ask for a sign.
They say “Prove what you say is true. Don’t tell us we’re blind!
Don’t pretend you know how.”
And look at him now.

Two verses of noodles

He told the enablers their guilt multiplied.
He said no-one survives with The Lie at their side.
He had light in his hands, the truth shone from his brow, 
and he gave them direction, but look at him now.

They ask for a miracle they ask for a sign.
They say “Prove what you say is true. Don’t tell us we’re blind!
Don’t pretend you know how.”
And look at him now.

(If Jesus came back, MAGA and all other extremists, Left and Right, would humiliate Him, because they don't know how to love.)

5th November 2024 
Bill White (to a Greebs tune)

Look At HIM Now 11th Dec '24.WAV

Lowell George's great song that Linda Rondstadt was too squeaky and weak to sing. This a man's song, period.
Art Mook, greebly Mork and Tevil X Bloom on backing vocals and they put the music together. Myself on lead vocal and final mixdown.

Willin' (Lowell George, Little Feat, cover)

This little lyric tale is an ode to meeting an artistic collaborator late in life.

Mook (the Mook is the deity of winter’s abundance)

I glanced a Mook at the back of the garden,
where the forest grows up to the rose.
I saw him when winter was starting;
On the snow where the cold moonlight froze.
He was wearing a white hood and lumberjack coat
that fell all the way to his knees,
and in the cold moonlight his eyes seemed to float,
and he wandered wherever he pleased.

I saw a Mook… a genuine Mook!

There’s a Mook, there’s a Mook
is he some kind of spook,
or a charm that is living and breathes?
There’s the Mook, yeah the Mook; tell me how did I fluke
these visits that make me believe.

Each evening as winter advances
he’s quicker to come to the yard.
Now the forest has entered the garden
and mowing the lawn’s become hard.
As I slowly freeze I remember my plea
for the Mook to come into my world 
And so winter has found me, ungagged and unbound me,
and the cold stars are shining like pearls.

Lyrics and vocal by Bill White; arrangement and music by A for Arthur Mook

A Mook 24th Feb 2025

Tevil X Bloom, aka Art Mook, put music and harmonies to this track, which I wrote and sang lead on. Art recorded his end at his home in Virginia, where he is qualified to live, while I recorded my voice over his marvellous contribution and did the final mastering, so it's not completely his fault.

Dylan's Here

Bob Dylan’s here he’s in my car
He whispers in my ear, says drive real fast
Bob Dylan's here, he's in my car
he talks in my ear, he says let’s drive real fast
let's put some distance between us, let's put some distance between us
and all those people we don't trust

You got to reach across the sky where the starlight ends
you think you’ve used your eyes, but look again
Those gold years ago a song dripped through the rain
You got to reach across the sky where the starlight ends
you think you’ve used your ears but think again
A leather drum was banged and only sense remained
Holy, holy, holy day. Holy, holy, holiday. 
Holy, holy, holy day. Holy, holiday.

We take the low road and then the high
He whispers in my ear as the years swirl by
we take the wet road, then the dry
He’s talking in my ear as the years zing by
and as the turbulent air curls, and as the turbulent air curls
we're winding like a string of pearls

Chorus

Bobby's in my car, he whispers in my ear
Don't you drive too fast, just sneak us out of here
Bobby's in my car, he whispers in my ear
Don't you drive too fast, just sneak us out of here
let's put some distance between us, let's put some distance between us
and the crazies on the magic bus

Chorus and your applause (blush)

Dylan's Here

The trusty and much-lauded Tevil X Bloom honoured me with this bluegrass embellishment to a spooky countrified lyric I put together in '23.
Does it need harmonies on the chorus?

Mutton Chop Lake

There’s a sound up on the hillside like a breeze gone out of whack.
When I ask if someone’s up there I get no answer back.
When the mailman came on Sunday he asked me, “What’s that noise?”
I said, “That’s my dead nephew playing with some other boys.”

We were skippin’ stones on Mutton Chop Lake
in nineteen seventy-three,
taking trout back home in gunny sacks—
enough for Danny and me.
We’d fry ‘em on an old, black pan on a crackling backyard fire.
Man, those fish sure tasted grand with beans and cherry wine.
I’d love to get back to those days if I could play with time

And now, the hillside’s whispering, looking down on Mutton Chop Lake.
Whispering and listening as the time between times breaks.
The whispering is everywhere, like a breeze gone out of whack,
but if I ask who’s up there I get no answer back.
The voices blow around the branches like a breeze gone out of whack

We were skippin’ stones on Mutton Chop Lake
in nineteen seventy-three,
taking trout back home in gunny sacks—
enough for Danny and me.
We’d fry ‘em on an old, black pan on a crackling backyard fire.
Man, those fish sure tasted grand with beans and cherry wine.
I’d love to get back to those days if I could play with time


And now, the hillside’s whispering, looking down on Mutton Chop Lake.
Whispering and listening as the time between times breaks.
The whispering is everywhere, like a breeze gone out of whack,
but if I ask who’s up there I get no answer back.  
If I ask who’s up there I get no answer back.

Mutton Chop Lake

Tevil X Bloom, alias Arthur Mook, put the music and backing harmonies to the lyric I supplied and recorded the backing track. I sang lead and did the final production.

Old Man in a Ute 

I’m an old man in a ute 
My dog’s back in the tray 
My life kind of dilute 
Don’t know how I got this way 
I’m an old man in a ute 
Getting older every day 
Just a white haired aging coot 
With nothing much to say 

The speed is up the pedals are vibrating 
My life in this cold desert resonating 
The road out in the distance, lost amongst the land 
My final late arrival in my strong, unsteady hand 

My life is flashing past me the way the landscape goes 
The past a rear view mirror of a long and winding road 
Just an old man in a ute where my memories are stowed 
An old man in a ute, my recollections are my load 

The speed is up the pedals are vibrating 
My life in this cold desert resonating 
The road out in the distance, lost amongst the land 
My final late arrival in my strong, unsteady hand 

My kids are interstate, 
too many friends have died 
and I am tempting fate— 
I’ve brought the devil to my side 
My wives are all in hiding 
but my interest has declined 
I don’t need reminding
of the lives I’ve left behind

Old Man in a Ute 13th March 25

A great old song by John Hartford, made famous by Glen Campbell in 1967.
I asked my good friend Arthur Mook, aka Tevil X Bloom, from Blacksburg, Virginia, USA, for a musical backing and he kindly and magnificently obliged with a couple of guitars and banjos, a fiddle and a bass, plus programmed drums.
My vocals and the final mastering were done in my studio in the Mount Lofty ranges, near Adelaide, in South Australia.

Gentle On My Mind

My lyrics. Music by my good old friend Nicole Walkem. Recorded in Nicole's spare bedroom at Streaky Bay in 2007 and sung by our mate Gail Page, who was staying at our house in the Adelaide Hills when the lyrics were written.

Gecko Moon (ft Gail Page)

What can you believe,
where can you stake your soul?
Man I believe in Rock and Roll!
I wrote the words in 2011. A collaborator of mine did an insipid version. Then Shannon O'Riley got hold of it. 
It now ROCKS.


Rock And Roll 2 Eq

Art Mook aka Tevil X Bloom saw these lyrics on my FB page back in 2018 and put a set of backing tracks and vocal harmonies together. He recently rocked it up a bit more and I put down a lead voice on it in my studio and then a final master. Thanks Tevil!

Half as Nice (Good Thing)

GOOD THING oh yeah it’s a GOOD THING
Well it’s a GOOD THING you don’t want me around anymore GOOD THING
and it’s a good thing that you’re walking right out of my door 
‘Cause when you’re with me I must say I feel too happy every day
So it’s a GOOD THING you don’t want me around anymore GOOD THING
Oh yeah it’s a GOOD THING tell you it’s a GOOD THING 
and it’s a GOOD THING, baby, you can’t stand my face GOOD THING
and it’s a GOOD THING that you’ve gone without a trace 
‘Cause when I’m with you I’m afraid, that something will go wrong some day
So it’s a good thing... yeah it’s a good thing...
If I found a girl half as nice as you You wouldn't be so sure... of what you'd do HALF AS NICE
You'd wonder baby, if you could survive
If I hooked up with someone half as nice AAAAAh 
Oh oh half as nice… half as nice
GOOD THING
oh yeah it’s a GOOD THING
Well it’s a GOOD THING you don’t want me round anymore GOOD THING
oh yeah and it’s a good thing that you’re walking right out of my door 
GOOD THING 
‘Cause when I’m with you I must say I feel too happy every day
so it’s a GOOD THING, oh yeah it’s a GOOD THING ….
If I could find a girl half as nice as you You wouldn't be so sure of what you'd do
HALF AS NICE
I wonder baby, if you could survive
If I could find a girl that’s half as nice. AAAAAh
Half as nice! Oh half as nice AAAAAh 
I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do AAAAAh
I’m gonna find a girl who’s half as nice as you AAAAAh
Gonna never worry and live my whole life
with that girl who’s only half as nice GOOD THING oh and that’s a GOOD THING 
Guaranteed a GOOD THING    mm it’s a GOOD THING          

Half As Nice 24th June 2025

Art Mook, aka Tevil X Bloom, put the music together for this fun adventure which I wrote in the supermarket car park after seeing a dorset ram innocently grazing. Sorry, ram, I turned you into a villain and a victim.
I'm the singer, including the baas.

Black-Headed Sheep (Tale of Two Psychos)

Black-Headed Sheep  (Tale of Two Psychos)

There's the crowded beach 
each person undressed down
exposed yet out of reach
on the sandy edge of town
dark people under palms
shards of sun dissect the fronds
and fall where shadow calms
the sad and golden blondes

There are criminals in my ceiling
and no one here to trust
the whispering evening stealing
and the flavour of the dust

We swim beyond the pier
open to shark attack
what are we doing here
the shore's a long way back
we rise and fall in swells
the land blinks out of sight
buoys dip and clang their bells
and the muttering sea is quiet

There are criminals in my ceiling
and no one here to trust
the whispering evening stealing
and the flavour of the dust

Way out upon the sea
under the endless sky
we float in mystery
too buoyant yet to die
clouds rise and mar the day
we swim like jellyfish
to the far end of the bay
two alone with just one wish 
(My wish is to be slippery like fishes.)

Marc Roberge made this way out music. I wrote the words and sang it. I really like this. Recorded 2013. Oh, I produced the vocals as well.

The Flavour Of The Dust

A song about Edie Sedgwick who died thru drug abuse in 1971 at 28 years of age. She was abused by her father and used by other men, and so had a need to avoid reality. A fragile, sad and finally tragic case. 
My lyrics and vocal idea, Russell White's arrangement and first guitar, Keith Forster on alternate guitar and Nicole Walkem on keys, Rienna White on drums.
EDIE
In old days her future seemed planned, now she’s blown by the wind
the stars are demanding she doesn’t go near them again
there is no need to fear anything
just fly blind and try not to swing
into the paths of the kings

Poor Edie lies out in the rain and her bones are so white
her skin is transparent her bare heart beats frail in the light
She turns from the real to the place she desires
no more sad endings, no slow burning fires

Watercolour faces go by in the whimsical dawn
the fog sets upon her as she from the old world is torn
from the basement below her there comes
from the grate in the asphalt that hums
a whisper that numbs

Poor Edie lies out in the rain and her bones are so white
her skin is transparent her bare heart beats frail in the light
She turns from the real to the place she desires
with no more sad endings, no slow burning fires

The terrified lovers in the lofts up above her are quiet
They speak with regret of the time of the end of the night
they take little comfort from thoughts
that safety might somehow be bought
or future be fought

Poor Edie lies out in the rain and her bones are so white
her skin is transparent her bare heart beats frail in the light
She turns from the real to the place she desires
with no more sad endings, no slow burning fires
she turns her face downwards and so she retires—
exorcised.

Edie (with full backing)

My kids and me. A remix. Rienna White drums, Russell White music, guitar and bass, Bill White Lyrics and vocals.

Silver Screen

I want to take you back to China
I want to leave you in the gutter
View you through the silver screen you’ve made for me
View you through the silver screen you’ve made for me
I want to run through railway stations
With the transit police chasing
View me through the silver screen you’ve made of me
View me through the silver screen you’ve made of me

It’s all a dream, a mystery, I don’t know what it means to me
Just a dream, but history, churned out in some factory

I want to go back to the ghetto
Draw on something warm and mellow
I want to feel the old time world that used to be
I want to feel the old time world that used to be
I want to read the morning papers
Without a sign of false news shapers
I want to feel that what I hear can be believed
I want to feel that what I hear can be believed

It’s all a dream, a mystery, I don’t know what it means to me
Just a dream, that’s all it seems to me

I need to take a long vacation
It’s overdue I’m tired of waiting
I want to go behind the screen you’ve made for me
I want to go behind the screen you’ve made for me
I want to be untouched by lightning
I want to see horizons brightening
And glisten on the silver screen you made for me
Glisten on the silver screen you made for me

It’s just a dream, a mystery, I’m lost in what it means to me
Just a dream, but history, churned out in some factory
It’s just a dream, that’s all it seems to be
Hey...! just a dream.

Silver Screen REMIX

My lyrics and lead vocal; music, most instruments and ad lib vocals by Arthur Mook, bass and final mastering by Duncan Smith.
THE UNIVERSAL CHICKEN

Chicken, in season, is just another reason 
For seasons to come around each year.
It’s served in every navy, in globs of gray-green gravy,
From cans on which the dating is unclear.

Chicken, flamed in brandy, makes a young Rhinelander randy
Whatever Fraulein might be wandering by;
And warm chicken pies light up the light blue eyes
Of Swedes who dwell beneath the Arctic sky.

Chili chicken jerky, tasting stark, yet somehow murky,
Is peddled on the streets of New Orleans;
And red red chili chicken makes a gourmet’s gay heart quicken
In high Peru, with pork and Lima beans.

Braised chicken patties are favoured by the fatties
in bistros from Beijing to Adelaide;
And soft chicken dumplings trigger watery-mouthed mumblings
In Paris at the Bastille Day parade.

Well every man loves his chicken 
So treat that chicken like it likes the best
Put those tender morsels in your mouth. Check it out!
The thigh, the leg, the breast
BREAK
Well every man loves his chicken 
So treat that chicken like it likes the best
Put those tender morsels in your mouth. Check it out!
The thigh, the leg, the breast

So! all you chicken knockers: you must be off your rockers;
It’s plain to anyone with half a brain
Chicken is the flavour all good and true men favour,
Without chicken, life’s like walking in the rain!

If you don’t get into chicken
Man you won’t know what you’re missing
those braised pork trotters just don’t taste the same
chicken is the flavour all good and true men favour,
Without chicken, life’s like walking in the rain!
chicken is the flavour good and true men favour,
Without chicken, life’s like walking in the rain
Without chicken, life’s like walking in the rain

The Universal Chicken Song

My lyrics, lead vocal, and recording of lead vocal. All backing vocals, instruments, music composition, production and final mastering by Arthur Mook.

What I’d Been Missing (2nd Hand Guitar)

I bought a second hand guitar,
I threw it in the car and drove away.
Left the wife and kids behind, thinking I could find a better way.
I drove around Australia for nigh on twenty years;
smoked a lot of dacha and I drank a lot of beers,
and I found what I’d been missing
sittin’ right between my ears.

I dunno how I done it I found sensitivity;
I found that living for myself was not the way to be.
I rang the girl I’d left behind and told her I was wrong
(expecting her to tell me she’d been waiting all along).
She said “I found a cracked old harp,
I held it to my heart and kept it there.

“Over time its sound grew true,
I think it had something to do with how I cared.
I’d been waiting for a few months when I ran out of hope.
I went down to the pawn shop trying to find a way to cope,
and I found a dusty piece of work, and I’m glad I took it home.”

Well I dunno how she done it, but she made me think again.
I saw the car and that guitar as my only two friends.
I said “Girl I understand,” and I hung up the phone again.
And gigs in bars and that old car are my home.

I’m gonna drive around Australia for another twenty years;
I’ll smoke a bit more dacha and I’ll drink a few more beers
And I’ll find what I’ve been missing when some punter tells me, “Cheers.”

What I'd Been Missing

Lyrics and music by Tez Howes (Terry Gorman) from a discomfort which Trudy Newell shared. Arrangement, harmonies, and musical production by Arthur Mook. Lead vocal and final mixdown by Bill White.

1999 Again
One more truly tuneless Tuesday at the local record shoppe
I grabbed a tray of what the chickens lay, steppin' light so's not to drop
Spun a track at random but it weren't no work of Proust
All the lyrics sound the same to me now they've all come home to roost

I say damn the new millenium ‘cause the music's turned to shite
I'm only gonna say it once, shout it out with all my might
Invite the new apocalypse
the demand of each new trend
Let's all party like it's 1999 again

The old rooster's on a rampage and the hens are all a-cluck
Mate, yer thinkin' that's some lucky shit, but you're just shit out of luck
Stuck with all these emo chickens safety pins adorn their ears
And my pulse begins to quicken as I trade my tears for fears

I say screw the new millenium as the old notes set to rust
Hey I'm only gonna say it twice before our music bites the dust
Let’s welcome Armageddon
As our song comes to an end
Let’s party like it's 1999 again

It's time to party like it's 1999. All my chickens dead inside my head
And the smell sure ain't sublime
Put your eggs inside one basket
Watch the quality decline
Nothin' left to do but party like it's 1999

BREAK

By the time the weekend rolled around, all the eggs still in their trays 
No matter what the charts declare, can't give that shit away 
But the hen’s keep on a-layin'
As the inventory keeps decayin'
My hair is prematurely grayin'
Punk is dead is what I'm sayin', yeahhhhhh

So, I say fuck the new millenium as the notes all turn to dust
I am only gonna say it thrice the music's such a bust
Toast the final curtain call 
As the grooves come to an end

Shake a leg like it's '59 
Love in like it's 1969 
Break out like it's 1989
One last party like it's 1999 again

PARTY (Like It's 1999 Again).WAV

In 1989, when she was two and a half, my daughter looked out the kitchen window to see cows in our vegetable garden. 'CWOWS!' she yelled.
I wrote a poem about it which Arthur Mook edited for music, which he provided. Background vocals are by Art, lead by Bill White, whom I happen to be.
Cows (song version)

Well cows, in the yard, make gardening hard.
They'll eat up your spinach and poop on your cabbage—

And when spring arrives they'll eat up your chives 
Step on potatoes and squash your tomatoes
Zuchinni, no jest, they will eat up with zest;
and pumpkins get devoured, and pooped out by the hour.

Methane! Mama's by the door while the cows are eating corn! 
Sipping ethyl in the shade while the methyl's being made!  
Tell your sons and daughters why the planet’s getting hotter! Methane! 

Well beans and peas a cow can eat with ease,
she’ll eat a cucumber and take an hour’s slumber—

She'll have a quick radish crunch before she eats her lunch,
while a turnip or swede will have her mooing with greed.
A chilli attack or a light pepper snack
before she locks horns on the last ear of corn.

Methane! Mama's by the door while the cows are eating corn! 
Sipping ethyl in the shade while the methyl's being made!  
Tell your sons and daughters why the planet’s getting hotter! Methane! 

She'll crop the crisp shoots from the beetroot
and chomp up the loquats and spit out the pips.

Well don’t look now, but we got funky cows. 
Don’t ask how, but we got funky cows.
Well don’t look now, but we got funky cows.
Don’t ask how, but we got funky cows!

COWS (methane)

I started out as a poet, and that's what I am, essentially.

KingscoteKid

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