Humor

Nature

Encouragement

Victor Harrison

Business Ballads

I’m Not From Around Here

Animals

© Copyright 2006, 2015 Peter Lloyd
Produced and performed by Jason Ayers
                          
Summer sun’s a-fadin’ heavy clouds are laden
Rain’s comin’ down every day
Buried deep in slumber, yellow, orange, and umber
August has faded away

Dreary days are comin’ pleasant thoughts succumbin’ 
Winter’s up to stealin’ the light
Chilly breezes speedin’ all the birds a-heedin’ 
September’s last call to take flight

Bye, bye, blue summer sky
Give my love to July

It was laughin’ kids a-runnin’ pretty girls a-sunnin’
Now it’s bundle up and bring out the kites
October’s leaves a-dyin’ November snows a-flyin’
December means the longest of nights

Aw, and January hurts, but February’s worse
‘Till March summons spring from her grave
 April spills her showers, May parades her flowers
June returns the long days we crave

Bye, bye, blue summer sky
Give my love to July

Leave me alone, I’m feelin’ so sad 
I just left the best Summer I ever had

It was neighbors outside talkin’ lovin’ couples walkin’
Now the “Howdy-do”s get stuck my throat
As the bitter winds of winter like a thousand metal splinters 
Cut through the weave of my coat

Bye, bye, blue summer sky
Give my love to July


Leave me alone, I’m fixin’ to cry 
I can’t stand to see such a sweet summer die

                               
Summer sun’s a-fadin’ heavy clouds are laden
Rain’s comin’ down every day
Buried deep in slumber, yellow, orange, and umber
August has faded away

Bye, bye, blue summer sky
Give my love
Give my love
Give my love to July

Give My Love to July

© Copyright 2007, 2015 Peter Lloyd

It's hard for me to smile when you're looking so lonely
It's hard for me to laugh when you're feeling blue
It just might take a while to show you it's never as dark as it seems
But I'll be right by your side  until you're dancing your dreams

I'll hold you while you cry when your poor heart gets broken
I'll laugh with you again when you're on the mend
I know you'll find a way to laugh down your troubles in all their extremes
And it's never hard to smile  while you're dancing your dreams

Let me see your big bright smile like the sun coming up over the sea
Whistle me a tune, spin around the room
Like you do when you're laughing with me

Who could see you smile and not want to smile with you?
Who could hear you laugh and not laugh along?
The world's already cried enough tears to overflow all of her streams
We need to hear your song  and see you dancing your dreams

Let me see your big bright smile like the sun coming up over the sea
Whistle me a tune, spin around the room
Like you do when you're laughing at me

Who could see you smile and not want to smile with you?
Who could hear you laugh and not laugh along?
The world's already cried enough tears to overflow all of her streams
We need to hear your song  and see you dancing your dreams

Let us hear your song  and see you dancing your dreams
It's time to hear your song  and see you dancing your dreams

Dancing Your Dreams

©Copyright 1973, 2015 Peter Lloyd

You can take my shoes, you can drink my soup
I no longer lock my door at night
Here the moon comes up when the sun goes down
And the mountains roll ‘round the thunder clouds
While the river, she winds her way behind

It’s like beautiful, beautiful music
Mellowed in the Appalachian way
Folks come and go, but these mountains kow
That you take a bluegrass tune down to your grave

When Tom Gentry died, I cried and cried
Then one night I heard his voice below the ground
I said, “Oh, Tom, you make such a sweet, bright sound.
Can you tell me, my old partner, what have you found?”
And he sang these words I’m singing to you

It’s like beautiful, beautiful music
Mellowed in the Appalachian way
Folks come and go, but these mountains know
That you take a bluegrass tune down to your grave

When my stories are all told and my bones are cold
And all that’s left is an empty rocking chair
Won’t you wrap me up and carry me down
Cover me over with that sweet, black ground        
And pick a bluegrass tune above my head

It’s like beautiful, beautiful music
Mellowed in the Appalachian way
Folks come and go, but these mountains know
That you take a bluegrass tune down to your grave

Folks come and they go
But these mountains stay right here and they know
That you can take a bluegrass tune down to your grave
Yes, you take them bluegrass tunes down to your grave

Bluegrass Music

© Copyright 2021 Peter Lloyd

I was feelin bout as groomed as Genghis Kahn
When I came across a place called Saul’s Salon
I walked in and said, “I need a haircut, Saul”
He said, “Sit on down, neighbor, and I’ll cut em all!”

He tossed a sheet across me and said, “I’m Bob
“It can get a little hairy, but I love my job”
“I believe you, Bob, but as I recall
“The sign on your window says your name is Saul”

“Well, what is truth,” Bob philosophized
“Is there really any difference tween truth and lies?
“Can you prove that E equals M C squared?
“When the Rapture comes will you be prepared?”

“The thing about it is, Bob, facts are facts
“And what you believe determines how you act”
I said, “There’s only one reality”
That’s when Bob interrupted me

“Everybody’s got their own reality
“I got mine and it’s right for me
“Does it really matter if I’m Bob or Saul
“Long as I answer when you call?”

Lie lie lie lie, lie dee lie
Oh, so sad to see truth die
They twistin it, bendin it, fixin to be endin it
Come on, people, time to start defendin it

I saw no use confronting Bob’s insanity
So I decided to ignore him and watch TV
Looked up on the wall and there on the screen
Was the spookiest creature I’ve ever seen

Her eyes were blazing, what she said, absurd
Though the sound was down, I could read every word
The more I read, the more I realized
What got into Bob was a shitload of lies

I said to Bob “I think I know what’s up with you?
“You been watching too damn much Fox News
“It’s no good for your brain, it’ll sicken your soul
“In the middle of your heart, leave a gaping hole

“Well,” Bob replied, “I got news for you
“Covid’s a hoax and global warming too
“The election was stolen, nine-eleven was staged
“The Clinton’s eat babies, but no babies were caged

“Obama’s from Kenya, and masks don’t work
“Sleepy Joe Biden is a socialist jerk
“The earth is flat and the moon is too
“I know cuz I watch — Fox News”

Lie lie lie lie, lie dee lie
Oh, so sad to see truth die
They twistin it, bendin it, fixin to be endin it
Come on, people, time to start defendin it

Bob’s not a fool, he’s just misinformed 
Like in Orwell’s story, nineteen-eighty-four
Took a little longer but it’s coming true 
And the people behind it — Fox News

No respect for the truth, don’t even know what it means 
Nothing but a clusterfuck of lying machines
First they lie, then you catch em, then they start denyin
If their lips are moving, you know they’re lyin

Lie lie lie lie, lie dee lie
Oh, so sad to see truth die
They twistin it, bendin it, fixin to be endin it
Come on, people, time to start defendin it

Even if you don’t believe the Earth is round
I think we can still find common ground 
Cuz there’s one thing we can never deny
If we hear it on Fox, it’s a goddamn lie

Lie lie lie lie, lie dee lie
Oh, so sad to see truth die
They twistin it, bendin it, fixin to be endin it
Come on, people, time to start defendin it
Come on, people, time to start defendin the truth

Fox News Blues

© Copyright 2020 Peter Lloyd
Melody adapted from "Beautiful Dreamer" by Stephen Foster

No, bladder cancer’s not such a bad fate
Not ‘less you miss it or treat it too late
Urologists spot it, no matter how small
Then go in and scape it right off of the wall

To get to your tumor, they don’t have to cut 
They don’t turn you over and go up your butt
The way to your bladder’s not in through your nose
They go up your schlong with long, rubber hose

Poor little penis takes all the pains
Gives only pleasure and never complains
Poor little penis just longs to be
A stout-hearted poker and not a poke-ee
A stout-hearted poker and not a poke-ee

First they prepare you and put you to sleep
Into a twilight you go, not too deep
Meanwhile your penis takes all of the flak
While you in your twilight, lie flat on your back

Poor little penis takes all the pains
Gives only pleasure and never complains
Poor little penis just longs to be
A stout-hearted poker and not a poke-ee
A stout-hearted poker and not a poke-ee

No, bladder cancer’s not such a bad fate
Not ‘less you miss it or treat it too late
So go see your doctor, and one who’s well known
For treating each penis as if it’s his own

Poor little penis takes all the pains
Gives only pleasure and never complains
Poor little penis just longs to be
A stout-hearted poker and not a poke-ee
A stout-hearted poker and not a poke-ee

Poor Little Penis

In the leafy crown of Northern Argentina
Like a slow-motion ballerina
She climbs, she cries, “Ah-ee! Ah-ee! Ah-ee! Ah-ee! Ah-ee!”
Her plea penetrates the forest, high and low
“Please wrap your limbs around me, only if you have three toes.”
Not so far away, hanging from a tree limb
He hears her cry. She does not see him
He turns her way, hoping this will be his lucky day

Descending in a flurry as quickly as he can, two hundred yards a day He drags himself across the tangled forest floor
She’s waiting patiently for him to reach her
Sloths come from near, they come from far
He’s pulling hard so he can be the first to climb into her tree. He wins! Out of breath from the race, he reduces his pace
Upside-down, they embrace, coupled, dangling in space
Once again face-to-face, all night long they linger, two as one
Too rapt to move a finger, not until the deed is done

In the dreamy, steamy crown of Northern Argentina
He rests, breathing gently in and out like virtuoso-mellowed concertina Bugs and algae call his coat home, he does not mind them
Harpy eagles hunt and jaguars prowl, they’ll never find him
He sleeps eighteen hours a day. Why on earth would he stray?
He’s got insects to eat, buds and leaves for a treat
So contented that he never has to worry where to be
He feels no need to hurry, not until she cries, “Ah-ee!”

Life would be so sweet, hanging by your feet Just like a three-toed sloth
No, he never has to hurry, not until he hears her plea, “Ah-ee!”

Day In The Life Of A Three-toed Sloth

© Copyright 1973, 2022 Victor Harrison and Peter Lloyd

Four little fishies in a red, hot bowl
Two got rhythm and two got soul
When along come a tomcat with bright, white teeth 
Long, sharp claws slippin’ outa they sheath
And he say, “Let me teach you fish how to dance!” Gulp!

Three little fishies in a red, hot bowl
Two got rhythm and one got soul
When up jump the tomcat in one fell swoop 
Takes another helping of that gold fish soup Gulp!
And all of a sudden the soul fishy cries

“Oh I-yi think it's cri-yime! We’re still in our pri-yime
Let’s rock this little pond, roll this little bowl 
Shake the lake while we’ve still got ti-yime”

Two little fishies in a red, hot bowl
One got rhythm and the other got soul
When whoop go the tomcat as quick as a wink 
Scoop some more sole food right outa the drink Gulp!
And all of a sudden the rhythm fish cries

“Oh I-yi think it's cri-yime! We’re still in our pri-yime
Let’s rock this little pond, roll this little bowl 
Shake the lake while we’ve still got ti-yime”

No more fishies in that red, hot bowl
Just one cat left with his tummy full
He’s sufflin’ about just as happy as can be
Singin’ “I got four fish dancin’ rock ‘n’ roll inside of me 

Be bop a shoo be do wha. I do like fish!”

I'm Not From Around Here

Ahdoolak Fish Shuffle

Music by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, "Rondo alla Turca," from his Sonata No. 11 K331 for piano, words © Copyright 2007, 2015 Peter Lloyd.

Bedadeedadeep bedadeedadeep bedadeeda deedadeeda deedadeeda deep 
Bada rumpa bada rumpa bada rump bump bum

The Australian lizard known as Skink
Tongue of blue inside a mouth of pink
All of sixty centimeters long
Watch those teeth, his jaw is mighty strong
If he finds a date, spring’s his time to mate
Spends his summers sunnin’ and mornin’s sleepin’ late 
All the winter, deep beneath the leaves he lies in state. 

Bedadeedadeep bedadeedadeep bedadeeda deedadeeda deedadeeda deep 
Bada rumpa bada rumpa bada rump bump bum

Orange and umber with a racing stripe
Skink is not the energetic type
Sleeps alone in hollow, fallen logs
Runs away from hungry cats and dogs
Dingoes will pursue, kookaburras, too
If you get his hackles up, he’ll puff and hiss at you 
But some predators avoid him ‘cuz his tongue is blue

When he runs for his life, he lets his tail drop off behind him 
While his rump feeds his predator, he’s safely on his way 
Skink’s a wise little lizard, doesn’t need us to remind him 
You can lose your behind and live to run another day

Bedadeedadeep bedadeedadeep bedadeeda deedadeeda deedadeeda deep 
Bada rumpa bada rumpa bada rump bump bum

He is not a picky omnivore
Finds his dinner on the forest floor
Snails and beetles, any bug’ll do
Fruits and flowers, he can eat a few
Goes for slower prey, others get away
Likes to snatch his supper in the middle of the day 
To digest it just a bit of gravel works okay

When he runs for his life, he lets his tail drop off behind him 
While his rump feeds his predator, he’s safely on his way 
Skink’s a wise little lizard, needs no wizard to remind him 
You can lose your behind and live to run another day

The Australian lizard known as Skink
Tongue of blue inside a mouth of pink
All of sixty centimeters long
Watch those teeth, his jaw is mighty strong
I don’t make this up, you can call my bluff 
See Tiliqua scincoides intermedia
Go and look him up online in Wikipedia

                              

Skink the Lizard

© Copyright 2021 Peter Lloyd and David Hirschberg

The Ghost Army’s set out to win another fight 
With magic, illusion, noises in the night

Gilbert Seitzer, world war number two
Never pulled a knife or fired a gun
With tanks that never rolled and planes that never flew
He did his part by pulling pranks and having fun

What fun to make the Nazis act like dupes
With inflated rubber cannons, planes, and tanks
Blasting loud the sound of deadly marching troops
He made the Nazis shoot at ghosts instead of Yanks

Boom boom, ha ha, fooled another Hun
Boom boom, ha ha, thought he heard a gun
Boom boom, ha ha, thought he saw a tank
Boom boom, ha ha, saved another Yank

The Ghost Army’s set out to win another fight 
With magic, illusion, noises in the night

In ‘45 on the perilous front line
A day our brave troops still deserve to toast
While two US divisions ten miles downstream crossed the Rhine
They made the Nazis blow their wad on ghosts

Boom boom, ha ha, thought he heard a plane
Boom boom, ha ha, shot again in vain
Boom boom, ha ha, fooled another Jerry
Boom boom, ha ha, silly adversary

Post-war Gilbert gave up playing tricks
Pleased with just how well he’d played his part
Lived beyond big birthday number one-hundred-and-six
The prize for winning war with art 

The Ghost Army’s set out to win another fight
The Ghost Army’s set out to win another fight
The Ghost Army’s set out to win another fight 
With magic, illusion, noises in the night

Boom Boom Ha Ha (Ghost Army)

© Copyright 2018 Peter Lloyd

Have you heard, “If you can dream it, you can do it”?
No, you can’t, but go ahead and try
Just remember, even if you do achieve your dream
You’ll still get old and sick, and then you’ll die

What you can do is do a little better
Help your neighbor tote part of his load
What you can do is take less and give a little more
When you serve the cake, make sure it's a la mode

Now, the next verse, I lifted. Full disclosure. 
From a man whose work has topped the test of time
He wrote the way he wrote, cuz that’s the way he chose to write 
And perhaps that’s why it doesn’t rhyme

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more
It is a tale told by an idiot
Full of sound and fury signifying nothing

What you can do is be a little kinder
Help your neighbor tote part of his load
What you can do is toss a little spare change out your window
To the guy with the cardboard sign along the road

While I’m stealing material, let’s go back a little further

Vanity of vanities! All is vanity. 
What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?
What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done
And there is nothing new under the sun

What you can do is show a little mercy
Help your neighbor tote part of his load
If you do perform some random act of kindness
Don’t look back and wonder if it showed

Your eulogy won’t mention your income
If you do gain fame, it may cite a coup or two
Most likely your obit will simply make a list
Of those you loved and those who loved you
Yes, it’s all about whom you love and who loves you

The rest is bullshit

Tomorrow, Tomorrow and Tomorrow

Words and music © Copyright 2012 Peter Lloyd

When I come back again
Oh, yes, I’ll come back as a cephalopod  
Delicate and long
Butter-smooth and strong
My eight arms treasure you 

In the heat of the night
Oh, yes, I’ll cool you like a cephalopod 
Lazy streams of milk
Light and soft as silk
My eight arms  treasure you 

Close your eyes 
You’ve only care to lose 
Paint your skies 
Any shades you choose

When I come back again
Oh, yes, I’ll come back as a cephalopod  
Delicate and long
Butter-smooth and strong
My eight arms  treasure you 
My eight arms  treasure you

Dream of the Fishermans Wife

Words and music © Copyright 2000, 2015 Peter Lloyd

Let me be your storm cloud, rain for all I’m worth
Roar in with the thunder, soak your sorry earth        
Let me be your river swollen with debris
Feed your awful sadness to the hungry sea
Let me be your hurricane’s raging, screaming eye
Toss your thieving pirate ships through the frozen sky

I don’t want to see you cry anymore. 
Let me kiss away your tears 
I just want to see you fly once more 
Far beyond your darkest fears 

Let me be the pillow where you rest your head 
Raise a cozy canopy just above your bed
Let me be the ceiling over you at night
Drive your surly demons ever from your sight    
Let me be the watchman in your sleeping skies
I will turn the Milky Way as you close your eyes

I don’t want to see you cry anymore. 
Let me kiss away your tears 
I just want to see you fly once more 
Far beyond your darkest fears 

You don’t need a refuge. It’s no use to hide 
Anything you run from follows you inside        
You don’t need a wonder. Miracles are free
You’ve already shown me more than I can see    
You don’t need an aeroplane. You can fly alone
Think of all the fantasy you’ve already flown

I don’t want to see you cry anymore. 
Let me kiss away your tears 
I just want to see you fly once more 
Far beyond your darkest fears

I don’t want to see you cry. Far beyond the darkness fly 
I don’t want to see you cry. Far beyond the darkness fly

This song was introduced to me by Walter Craft. I believe the version I received was a traditional, unprotected work. After polishing it up a bit, I claim my version, words and music © Copyright 2006, 2015 Peter Lloyd.

I am the meek Banana Slug, a relative of the snail
I go about without a shell in which to tuck my tail
You’ll find me in the garden in the early morning light
Just pick me up and take me home and give someone a fright

Banana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana Slug!

They call me the Banana Slug because my hue is yellow 
My body’s the consistency of old and rubbery Jell-O
You can call me “slick” because I slide along my slime 
And since I have to drag my butt, I always take my time

Banana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana Slug!

My belly is all brown and striped with gooey little bands
So if you pick me up, you get my slime all over your hands 
Upon my head two little stalks, they give my eyes a ride 
And if you try to touch them, I just suck ‘em both inside
Banana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana Slug!

A lot of people envy me and wish they shared my fate
Cuz all I do the whole day through is eat and sleep and mate 
Although some folks consider me a rare and delicate treat
I really would prefer that you find something else to eat

Banana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana-nana Slug!

Banana Slug

Words © Copyright 2003, 2015 John Robbins and Peter Lloyd. Melody is traditional

When you fail to find Osama, bomb Iraq 
When the market's in a trauma, bomb Iraq 
When the “tersts" are gettin' frisky
North Korea's lookin' risky
When you fail to find Osama, bomb Iraq

When you think somebody's dissed you, bomb Iraq 
When you got no allies with you, bomb Iraq
Aw, forget the damn inspection
Look ahead to next election
When you think somebody's dissed you, bomb Iraq

Wanna make a big impression? Bomb Iraq 
It's pre-emptive, it's aggression, bomb Iraq 
They got weapons we can't see
And that's all the proof we need
Wanna make a big impression? Bomb Iraq

When you feel a bit dejected, bomb Iraq
What the heck, you weren't elected, bomb Iraq 
We all know Saddam's gone mad
Cuz he tried to kill your dad
When you feel a bit dejected, bomb Iraq

When your cronies' greed is growin', bomb Iraq 
And your ties to them are showin', bomb Iraq 
When your cabinet's so sleazy
That they're making folks uneasy
When your cronies' greed is growin', bomb Iraq

Even though we have no reason, bomb Iraq 
Disagree? It must be treason, bomb Iraq 
Fall in line and follow orders
And to hell with sovereign borders
Even though we have no reason, bomb Iraq 
We don't need no reason, bomb Iraq
We're America, for Chrissake, bomb Iraq

When you w[ant to be a hero, but your IQ's seven-zero 
Don't even try to reason, bomb Iraq

Bomb Iraq!

Words and music © Copyright 1969, 1999, 2015 Peter Lloyd

A long time ago, I took a History of Broadcasting course taught by Jack Rouse at the University of Cincinnati College Conservatory of Music. Jack spent a good deal of time on the story of the great inventor Thomas Edison.

I went home after the Edison lesson and wrote the song. Most of it is true. Including the part about "Mary Had a Little Lamb" and Tom's thaumatrope, praxinoscope, and phenakistoscope.

Every time you lay down in bed
You got no control what comes into your head
I lay down the other night alongside of my cat
Thinking about the weather and things like that
When a dream took me back a year or two
I woke up with the Tom Edison Blues

‘Tain’t enough to create. ‘Snot enough to invent
You wanna do it right. Get your name in lights.  Gotta imp-a-lement

I was up in my lab near the break of day
When a woman walked in and said, “Hey, let’s play!”
I said, “I’ve gotta make a light bulb before dawn
She said, “Come on, Tom, let me turn you on.”
“I’ve been up all night, I can’t quit now.” 
She said, “Gimme a chance, I’ll show you how.”
I said, “History’s waiting, I can’t clown around.” 
She said, “Don’t look now, but your pants just fell down. 
 Sure enough, I was standing there naked
No way to hide it, no way to fake it.
So I ran behind my phonograph
Played “Mary Had a Little Lamb” to make her laugh.
She said, “Too bad, Mary, if you dig sheep
But I like inventors, cuz they never sleep.”

‘Tain’t enough to create. ‘Snot enough to invent
You wanna do it right. Get your name in lights.  Gotta imp-a-lement

Well, your dreams are pretty free and you can do what you please
So I tried to change myself into somebody mean.
I said, “Look, I’m your pa, I’m gonna give you a spanking.” 
She said,  “You look more like Benjamin Franklin.”
So I made like the devil with a whip and a sword
But she said I reminded her of Henry Ford.
Then I tried to make her fear for her very life
I said, “Settle down, you’re gonna wake up my wife.” 
She said, “Tom, while you’re up here, leaving her all alone
She’s out with some ding-a-ling inventing telephones.”

‘Tain’t enough to create. ‘Snot enough to invent
You wanna do it right. Get your name in lights.  Gotta imp-a-lement

Then I tried to distract her with my thomatrope
My phantasmagorica, and my prakcinescope.
When she paid no attention to my pharaktoscope
I knew my motion-picture camera was my only hope
So I rolled my first film about the factory
And all the workers trudging out as tired as can be
But the sun came up and filled my lab with light
I said, “I guess I’ll knock off till tomorrow night.”
She said, “Tom, you see that light bulb in your pocket? 
 I can make it shine because I got the socket.”

‘Tain’t enough to create. ‘Snot enough to invent
You wanna do it right. Get your name in lights.  Gotta imp-a-lement

Then phone rang, woke me up, to my surprise
I was kissing my cat and it was scratching out my eyes 
I answered the phone, mad as hell. 
I said, “Where’s my wife, Alexander Graham Bell?”

‘Tain’t enough to create. ‘Snot enough to invent
You wanna do it right. Get your name in lights.  Gotta imp-a-lement

See http://peterlloyd.com/music/cds/infah/index.shtml for all I'm Not From Around Here credits.

Thomas Edison Blues

Words and music © Copyright 1995, 2015 Victor Harrison and Peter Lloyd

Can you hear the bankers holler, “You’re leveraged to the hilt.”
You’ve bet bottom dollar just to get your business built
There’s little satisfaction and you’re under lots of stress
You toss and turn and wonder, how’d I get into this mess?

You got the cash-flow blues
You got the cash-flow blues
No remedy’s been found 
That can turn that flow around
You got the  cash-flow blues

Your accountant tells you gently, you can’t service all your debt
Your operation’s suffering, your boys are upset
Your hair’s gone gray from worry, your body’s lying limp 
You used to be so macho, but you’re feeling like a wimp

You got the cash-flow blues
You got the cash-flow blues
No remedy’s been found 
That can lift you off the ground
Boy, you got the  cash-flow blues

The IRS is after you for always paying late
Your bills are piling higher than the bridge called Golden Gate
Your wife’s about to leave you, cuz you’re never ever home
Your kids can never talk to you, you’re always on the phone

You got the cash-flow blues
You got the cash-flow blues
No remedy’s been found 
That can turn that flow around
You got the  cash-flow blues

Can you hear the bankers holler, “You’re leveraged to the hilt.”
You’ve bet bottom dollar just to get your business built
There’s little satisfaction and you’re under lots of stress
You toss and turn and wonder, how’d I get into this mess?

You got the cash-flow blues
You got the cash-flow blues
No remedy’s been found 
That can turn that flow around
You got the  cash-flow blues

Cash Flow Blues

Words and music © Copyright 2003, 2015 Peter Lloyd

Girls, girls, girls were made to love (3 times) 
Girls were made to love (twice)

I love girls, you know that
I love 'em skinny, I love 'em fat 
I love 'em tall and I love 'em short 
Lovin' girls' my favorite sport

Girls, girls, girls were made to love (3 times) 
Girls were made to love (twice)

I love my girl and she loves me 
When I'm tired she lets me be 
Says I'm lazy but not too old 
And I'm the one she loves to hold

Girls, girls, girls were made to love (3 times) 
Girls were made to love (twice)

When God made girls, She made 'em right 
She made 'em tender, She made 'em tight 
She made 'em supple, She made 'em strong 
Lovin' girls you can't go wrong

Girls, girls, girls were made to love (3 times) 
Girls were made to love (twice)

Saddest thing in all the world 
A lovin' man without a girl 
Find a girl, don't take it slow 
Hold her hand, never let her go

Girls, girls, girls were made to love (3 times) 
Girls were made to love (3 times)

Girls Girls Girls

Words and music © Copyright 2003, 2015 Peter Lloyd

There was a whole lot of suspense in the way she walked 
She didn’t make no sense, but I let her talk and talk 
I musta had a hole in my head

She made this silly little giggle, kinda like Betty Boop 
Got me runnin round her wiggle like a hula hoop 
I musta had a hole in my head

I musta had a whole in my head
Musta been three feet wide
How else could that woman work her way inside 
I musta had a hole in my head
She sure made a mess of my mind 

Some women’ll mess your mind no matter who you are 
You can be Bill Gates or some big high-tech tsar
You can be Brad Pitt gettin’ tossed out of a bar
You can be Tiger Woods coming in way under par 
You can be Clint Eastwood chompin’ a stub cigar
You can be James Christie hawkin’ a hot Renoir
You can be Snoop Dog ridin’ a long, white car
You can be Elvis Presley strummin’ a big, black guitar 
You can be Stephen Hawing gazin’ up at a star
You can be Johnny Depp sportin’ a sword and a scar, but 
You’ll still end up with a hole in your head

I musta had a whole in my head
Musta been three feet wide
How else could that woman work her way inside 
I musta had a hole in my head
She sure made a mess of my mind 

No other way  to explain this pain in my brain 
I musta had a hole in my head

See http://peterlloyd.com/music/cds/infah/index.shtml for all I'm Not From Around Here credits

Hole In My Head

Words and music © Copyright 2006, 2015 Peter Lloyd
Performed by my dear, long-time buddy, David Rhodes Brown

Cut a little bait, rig a little pole
Drive out on the lake, drill a little hole 
Ice fishin’, ice fishin’ 

Catch a mess of perch, throw ‘em in a pan 
Cook ‘em up and eat as many as you can 
Ice fishin’, ice fishin’ 

Nothin’ puts your mind at ease
Like ice and sky as far as your eyes can see 

Your toes as warm as toast, ‘spite what you’ve been told 
Fish are always fresh, beer is always cold
Ice fishin’, ice fishin’ 

Head back to the shack, play a little cards 
Drink a little whiskey, smoke a few cigars 
Ice fishin’, ice fishin’ 

Nothin’ puts your mind at ease
Like ice and sky as far as your eyes can see 

Cut a little bait, rig a little pole
Drive out on the lake, drill a little hole 
Ice fishin’, ice fishin’ 

Ice fishin’, ice fishin’

Ice Fishin'

Words and music by Ben Lawson. Ben sent his version of this song around to friends and invited them to re-do it. So I did. The image features Dash of the Ayers family.

I don't know why I think like a dog
But I'll run all day, yeah, like a dog
If runnings what I gotta do
I'll do it for you

I can't explain why I'm hungry all the time
But I go without food, yeah, I'll be fine
If starvings what I gotta do
I'll starve for you

I don't understand why you make me wait outside
When all I wanna do is be by your side
If waitings what I gotta do
I'll do it for you

If waitings what I gotta do
I'll wait for you
If that's what it's coming to
That's what I'll do

Laika Dawg

There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who search for gold 
The Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold 
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest they ever did see 
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee

Now Sam McGee hailed from Tennessee, where he left his sweet Marie 
Why he’d quit his home and his love to roam ‘round the Pole bewilders me 
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him under its spell 
Though he’d often say in his down-home way that he’d sooner burn in hell

On a Christmas Day as we mushed our way across the Dawson trail 
The wind so cold, through our parka folds stabbed like a driven nail 
If our eyes we’d close, then our lashes froze till I swear we could not see 
No, it weren’t much fun, but the only one to whine was Sam McGee

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our bags beneath the snow 
The dogs were fed, and overhead the stars danced heel and toe 
Sam turned to me and, “Cap,” says he, “I will die this trip, I guess 
“And if I do, I’m asking you, don’t refuse my last request.”

Well, he seemed so low, I could not say no, then he soft began moan 
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold, and I’m chilled clean to the bone 
“Though I’m still not , it’s my awful dread of an icy grave that pains 
“So please do swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”

Now a pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail 
Then we carried on at the streak of dawn, but he looked so ghastly pale 
He drove his sleigh and raved all day of Marie in Tennessee 
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee

There was not a breath in that land of death, as my burden I conveyed 
A corpse turned blue that I could not lose, for the promise that I made 
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore not to give in 
And I’d often sing to the frozen thing, as it mocked me with its grin

Then I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a grounded ship I did see 
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the Sweet Marie 
Well, I looked at it, and th[F6]ought a bit, and looked back at my chum 
Then “Here,” said I, with a grateful sigh, “is your crematoreum.”

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire 
Some coal I found that was lyin’ ‘round, and I heaped the fuel up higher 
The flames just soared and the furnace roared, such a blaze you seldom see 
So I dug a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee

Then I took a hike, for I did not like to hear him sizzle so 
As the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow 
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, I don’t know why 
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking ‘cross the sky

I do not know how long in snow I wrestled grisly fear 
But the stars came out and they danced about till again I ventured near 
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said, “I’ll just take a peep inside 
“I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked.” So the door I opened wide

There sat McGee, looking right at me in the heart of the furnace roar 
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said, “Please close that door! 
“It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll admit the freezin’ storm. 
“Since I left Marie, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”

There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who search for gold 
The Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold 
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest they ever did see   
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee

Words adapted from Robert Service, music by Peter Lloyd 
© Copyright 2016, 2025 Robert Service and Peter Lloyd
Music by Suno.com AI

The Cremation of Sam McGee

Words and music © Copyright 1971, 2016 Peter Lloyd

You left your footprints on the doorstep of my heart when you walked out
You caught my finger when you slammed the door
I guess you didn’t hear me when I opened it up to shout
“I guess this means you don’t love me anymore?”
 
You took along all my favorite phonograph records and you don’t own a stereo
I still don’t understand how you’re gonna hear them play
I guess it doesn’t matter. They were all scratched and kind of old
Keep the damn things. I never played them anyway

My darling, how can I forget you with your footprints on my heart
And all my records stole from me besides?
There’s so much I want to say to you, but I don’t know where to start
So I’ll stop

Footprints

Merry Christmas, boys and girls
Come on, sit on Santa’s lap
I’ll tell you story about a toy
And a very bad boy

Well, Mom bought Larry a Starter-Up Steve
The truck that puts kids in the driver’s seat
They punch in a program, and the truck moves slow
At least that’s how the commercial goes

No, Mom didn’t know it, but she’d soon find out
What the darker side of fun was all about
You see, Larry was cuter than a newborn cub 
But he’d sold his soul to Beelzebub

Starter-Up Steve 
Starter-Up Steve    

Mama watched Larry “oo” and “ah” 
Punching Steve’s buttons with his cute li’l paw 
But she got bored and snuck up to the sack 
Now Steve was headed for the end of his track 

The boy hopped Steve like a kangaroo 
Up, back, left, right, and wheelies, too
As Larry kept driving, anyone could tell 
He was setting up Steve for one living hell

Starter-Up Steve 
Starter-Up Steve    

Steve tried to avoid his rendezvous
But he could only do what he was programmed to 
His tires screeched and his motor raced
And he drove right into the fireplace

His plastic chassis went up in flame
Bounced out of the fire on its twisted frame
Then he spun around trailing sparks and soot 
Took a hit on his hood from the kid’s left foot

Starter-Up Steve
Starter-Up Steve    

That mean little devil, he squealed with glee
Chasin’ flamin’ Steve ‘round the Christmas tree 
The tree caught fire with a hefty roar
And the boy followed Steve out the parlor door 

Then the whole damn house went up in smoke 
‘Course Larry took it all as one big joke
No more diapers, no more pins
No more Mommy’s goo-goo grins

Starter-Up Steve 
Starter-Up Steve    

Now Steve, started movin’ at a blindin’ speed
Burning ‘cross the lawn toward the hickory tree
He hit that trunk at a terrible pace
Made a big impression on his plastic face

Larry ran up to his loyal chum
All hot and gooey like chewing gum
Steve’s one good eye rolled back in his head
And the boy cried, “Damn! Stupid Steve is dead.”

Starter-Up Steve 
Starter-Up Steve    

Now mom and dad, it’s time once more
To run on down to your big, box store
Just keep in mind when you’re buyin toys
What happens in the hands of innocent boys

Take your list and check it twice
But before you buy take my advice
No matter what you get for your sweet li’l son
He’s bound to find the darker side of fun

Starter-Up Steve 
Starter-Up Steve

© Copyright 2016 Peter Lloyd

The Darker Side of Fun

Words, music, and performance © Copyright 2017 Peter Lloyd

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Back to our song

I’ve been told
The roads of Hell are lined with gold
The rats dress up in pinstripe suits
And tom cats prowl in combat boots

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When camels spy the needle’s eye
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Welcome to Amerikoch

Songwriter since 1966. Can't believe I still have to write protest songs. Prefer writing love songs and songs of praise for stand-up women and men, parodies, lyrical nonsense, blues and adaptations.