Unsolicited off the cuff jingle for my favorite radio program.
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LYRICS:

Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM with George Noory
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM with George Noory
Well, they talk about Aliens, they talk about ghosts
They talk about Big Foot, and other types of things
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM with George Noory
They talk about Aliens, they talk about ghosts
They talk about Big Foot - George is nice host
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM with George Noory
Well, the guests are cool, and the callers are pretty weird
and if you're lookin' for somethin' to listen to
well, now you've been steered to
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM with George Noory
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM with George Noory
They talk about Aliens, they talk about ghosts
They talk about Big Foot and George is nice host
They talk about lots of stuff you'll never hear anywhere else
Oh, no no no
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM
Coast to Coast AM with George Noory
Boo!

Coast To Coast AM (jingle)

created 1-4-12
written by Pete Townshend.

The Real Me (Who/Townshend cover)

written by Robyn Hitchcock.

Both my grandfathers were railroad men.  One worked in the offices, and one upon the trains.  One possessed of a wandering spirit, the other content to remain in place.  Their grandson pulled between the two states of being.

Railway Shoes (R. Hitchcock cover)

I'm Out Of Time

words: John Eagle / music: Phutz
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LYRICS:
North Beach was quiet for a Saturday night 
Kerouac was drinking whiskey in a bar 
Cassady was somewhere, I wasn’t sure 
I was leaving, a book under my arm 
City Lights were closing, still bright like a star

Maybe it was a mistake to have left the farm 
I wasn’t quite sure I was ready for this dream 
Reality paralyzed me entering the bar 
Kerouac was wincing over whiskey or rye 
His look didn’t quite say, here’s mud’n your eye

Back from Big Sur, there was blood in his eyes 
So I found a spot well down the bar 
The doctor didn’t say I would go this far 
It was quiet for a while, until someone came in 
He talked and waved like a great whirlwind

Oh, that must be Neal, he goes on as such 
In my present condition, I find him a little much 
So much easier to deal with Jack’s surly grimace 
Or iridescent light coming through the door 
But before I hit the wall, it melted to the floor

Neal is talking to me, on a longish jag 
Something about pool and bebop jazz 
Hands waving like fireflies sprung from a bag 
I wish Jack would come, take him from my view 
Suddenly I was in a church, kneeling in a pew

On the pulpit stood and man I had seen before 
He ranted about our greatest minds 
He bellowed Howl was the truth 
Colors from the windows that reached to the sky 
Seared my brain, and terrorized my eyes

I had to get out and set myself free 
But the first person that I met 
Was the good Doctor Timothy 
He said I was free, free to roam 
But all I could think was I had to get home

I passed the City Lights until it was out of reach 
And ran for my life, then I was out of North Beach 
Before I could find myself, I was On the Road 
The wind in my ears, but it sound like The Dead 
Truckin’ was playing inside my head

I’ve never been back 
To that place of City Lights 
Never again saw the surly face 
Of Mr. Kerouac 
And if Cassady’s a mystery 
I am sure you will note 
To watch what’s given you 
From Hofmann’s lab coat

Albert Hofmann (collaboration w/John Eagle.  click title for lyrics)

Thanksgiving Day On Cannibal Island

words: John Eagle / music: Phutz (Paul Phipps)
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"This song is a poem I wrote several years ago for the entertainment of a girlfriend of mine who fancied Thomas Hardy's lyrical poem "The Darkling Thrush." This is my very lame attempt at emulating Hardy's style and the subject of the poem. So, when I heard a mockingbird serenading me this morning through my window, as they are want to do, I remembered this poem and thought Paul (Phutz) might do a good job of turning it into music."  - John Eagle
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LYRICS:
The mockingbird sings above the drone 
Of daylight’s penultimate lament, 
And we sit nigh, our shoulder’s high, 
Our drinks are nearly spent.

What but a bird of labor’s love 
Could sing from such a spree 
For us to hear, our love sublime 
Beneath a fruitful tree.

‘Tis but a day, like any other 
That we have pause to close 
With drinks in hand, our ears inclined 
Our stage in final repose.

Yet this quavering bird in perfect pitch 
From a rostrum in the green, 
Called to us the close of day 
Rejoiceful and serene.

And we perched by with eyes so wide, 
The gloaming in repair, 
And flew this bird into the night 
Thoughtful and unaware.

The Mockingbird (collaboration w/John Eagle.  Click title for lyrics)

God's Comic (Elvis Costello cover)

The Potato [a spud ditty]

Little Birds (Guadalcanal Diary cover)

Yes It Is (Beatles cover)

An extemporized lyric/vocal over a backing track by Unfinishedsongs - youtube link:  https://www.youtube.com/user/unfinishedsongs/feed


Lullabye of Madness (collab w/UnfinishedSongs)

Smiley Smile

There's A Place (Beatles cover)

I Me Mine (Beatles cover)

The Bob Dylan Blues (Syd Barrett cover)

Cry Baby Cry  (Beatles cover)

Keep Me Turning (Pete Townshend cover)

Spotlight

Dear Diary (Moody Blues cover)

Crackerbox Palace (George Harrison cover)

Jive Talkin'  (Bee Gees cover)

Tell The Neighbor With The Guitar To Shut The Fuck Up

Let Her Dance (Bobby Fuller Four cover)

Thank You Girl (Beatles cover)

I'm Checking Out

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da  (Beatles cover)

Lyrics:
Well he had to die, that fucking guy
What he did or didn’t made so many cry
He attempted but he did not try
Even when he spoke the truth it sounded like a goddamned lie
Bye bye bye bye, yeah
He had to die
Man kills the thing he loves
Women they don’t want no scrubs
In the weeds and in the shrubs 
It’s all he is it’s all he does 
Man reaps just what he sows
Scares the children and the crows 
The hour now grows nigh
He had to die 
Hung in the public square 
Ah, life just ain’t fair for those that dare to go where even angels fear to tread
And now he’s dead

He Had To Die

Wounds

An extemporized ditty.
AKA The Ballad Of The Kitty Who Committed Humancide.

The Ballad Of The Kitty Who Committed Homicide

words by me
music by Pete Townshend
LYRICS:
I woke up in a rabbit hole where the Anons play their game
deciphering info drops from Q, yeah that's the name
I stumbled forward and threw up, must have been something I ate
this notion that Donald Trump is really a super-genius, out to bring down the deep state
well who are Q?
Q are you, QQ, QQ…etc 
I view youtubers 4chan, cringe worthy to put it mild
internet patriots, so woke and red pill styled
days and nights anticipating the maestros next steaming pile
if I didn't find it so sad, the fact that I find it so funny might just make me smile
well who are Q?
(Repeat chorus)
I know there's a message board where heroes post the plan
I keep tabs cos I wanna know how far this deception will go, if it can
it's just another degree of the madness I see 
all around and it really 
fascinates me
so who are Q?
(Chorus)

Q Are You (to the tune of Who Are You by The Who)

The Year Of The Cat (Al Stewart cover)

Resigned

What Can You Say About A Cat?

Dead Of Night

Boot Straps

An oldie, dating back to the primordial days of Phutz (2009/10).  It was the worst of times, it was the best of times....
This was created one night whilst out of my mind blind drunk (as were so many of these things), a homage to Syd and his Pink Floyd.

Interstellar Undertow (Anunnaki)

An oldie from days of yore (2009/10), when Phutz was young and so was I (sort of).  This perhaps will do as a nice little epitaph.

Lyrics:

Years have passed, left me dry
worn out, you know why and I’m 
out of ideas, out of time, luck
anything I could design 
to appear 
years from here
So I will
say a fond but quiet farewell 

Oh ohh I’ll tell you now
Lord, I’m waiting
please don’t be late
I’ll be waiting 
there by the cemetery gates

Now all I believed and all I’ve trusted is gone
and I’ve hung around here
in this dirty little town too long

So now please, lord - don’t be late
I’ll be waiting for you
by the cemetery gates
Ready to up
or go down 
Whichever it is 
you’ve found my life
has merited

I won’t mind, I won’t cry
anymore, anymore

Cemetery Gates

Mostly extemporized, microcosmic blueprint demo recordings of original song ideas.  Plus covers and collaborations.  
Recorded between 2010 - 2019 at The Hovel, in all its lo-fi, d.i.y. glory.

In memoriam: Shelley, 10/15/2019.   
My muse and co pilot.  You are dearly missed.

Phutz

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