I’m Not From Around Here

© 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

Words and music © Copyright 1969, 2015 Peter Lloyd

Take a good look at your shoes, you may not know it
But they've got feelings just like you, although they never show it
Your shoes should be your friends. They love you and it's true
That if you treat them really good, they might even talk to you

So be good to your shoes, love them new or old
A real good pair goes everywhere and never should be sold
If you love your shoes, your toes will never get cold
Just remember when you walk on them, each one has a sole

When I was a little bit younger, about the age of you
I had my favorite hat and my favorite pair of shoes
My hat, it blew away one day, so I looked down at my feet
My shoes just smiled and said to me, "We're still with you, Pete."

So be good to your shoes, love them new or old
A real good pair goes everywhere and never should be sold
If you love your shoes, your toes will never get cold
Just remember when you walk on them, each one has a sole

I took a walk the other day. I didn't know where to go
But I walked so far and got so lost, I thought I'd never get home
I cried, "I need direction!" But my shoes just said, "What for?"
As the turned me around and walked me up, right to my front door

So be good to your shoes, love them new or old
A real good pair goes everywhere and never should be sold
If you love your shoes, your toes will never get cold
Just remember when you walk on them, each one has a sole

Some folks like to wear sandals and I think that's a shame
They're no good  in the winter time and you can catch cold if it rains
And if you're climbing up a ladder, you can get your toes caught on the rungs
And sandals never talk to you, 'cuz they ain't got no tongues

So be good to your shoes, love them new or old
A real good pair goes everywhere and never should be sold
If you love your shoes, your toes will never get cold
Just remember when you walk on them, each one has a sole

I started going barefoot back in my early teens
I must have stepped on every thorn and got stung by every single bee
I stubbed my toe a thousand times. I even caught a rusty nail
Me feet got so obscene that they threw 'em both in jail

I haven't seen my feet now since  I don't know when
Because I never take my shoes off, not even when I swim
You see, my shoes, they love me feet from the ankles to the toes
And every time I try to take them off,  they won't let go

So be good to your shoes, love them new or old
A real good pair goes everywhere and never should be sold
If you love your shoes, your toes will never get cold
Just remember when you walk on them, each one has a sole

Shoes are a lot like people and people are a lot like shoes
We've all got soul, we all got tongues, so that shouldn't come as any news
But if anybody, anywhere, harbors any doubt
Just try to recall the most recent time you got caught with your foot in your mouth

Chorus
So be good to your shoes, love them new or old
A real good pair goes everywhere and never should be sold
If you love your shoes, your toes will never get cold
Just remember when you walk on them, each one has a sole

Tag
Each one has a sole
each one has a sol

Be Good to Your Shoes

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

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 1996, 2015 Peter Lloyd

You wear the pants in your family 
And I'll wear the pants in mine
 We'll get together every once in awhile 
And have ourselves a time on the sly 
But we could never get along for more than a week at a time
So you wear the pants in your family and I'll wear the pants in mine

I need a clean, wholesome type of gal 
To give my life a sense of calm
But you've showed me you are never really satisfied 
Until you think you've got me in your palm 
You’ve just gotta be the boss and you swear you'll never toe the line
You wear the pants in your family and I'll wear the pants in mine

Last Sunday night we strolled through the park
And bathed in the gold moonlight 
We came to the fountain where the path makes a Y
I went left and you went right 
We had better part our ways and hope the wound is healed in time
You wear the pants in your family and I'll wear the pants in mine

You want me there when I'm over here
And when I'm over there you want me gone
 You bring me down whenever things are looking up
And never look me up when things are down 
How could we make this house a home, with pots 'n pans flying all the time?
You wear the pants in your family and I'll wear the pants in mine

I married you. Right? And you married me. Okay. 
Right here's the part where I get lost
I swore I heard you say that you would honor and obey
I guess you must’ve had your fingers crossed 
I gotta hand it to you, gal. You really handed me a line
So you wear the pants in your family and I'll wear the pants in mine

I'll wear the pants in... I'll wear the pants in...  I'll wear the pants in mine

Your Pants

Jay Petach plays the kazoo on this song
Words and music © Copyright 2003, 2015 Peter Lloyd

To celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary, Judith suggested we spend a day or two at the Sauerkraut Festival in Waynesville, Ohio. I researched the festival in order to surprise her with a song set at the festival. The song, I'm afraid, paints a picture of an event much more engaging than the actual festival. While throngs appear every year, we found miles of mediocre crafts booths, very little sauerkraut, and worst of all, no beer! We missed the antique car parade and found no polka band.

Stay home and enjoy the lip-trombone kazoo duet.

It all began about three decades ago, this most amazing tale
A little town and folks who wanted to throw a simple sidewalk sale 
It went so well they did year after year until it crossed the line 
And turned into a festival, a mess of food, and best of all
That shredded cabbage soused in brine

Everyone in Waynesville’s wild about sauerkraut 
Right around this time of year
They come from miles around to get a belly full of sauerkraut 
 And chug-a-lug a bucket of beer

Kielbasa, roasted nuts, and sweet funnel cakes, you know it’s all homemade 
Pass up the arts and crafts but be sure to make the antique car parade 
The polka band it swings on into the night and you can sing along
We could use another feaster, so get up off your keister
For that famous polka drinking song

Lip trombone or kazoo “Roll Out the Barrel”

Everyone in Waynesville’s wild about sauerkraut 
Right around this time of year
They come from miles around to get a belly full of sauerkraut 
 And chug-a-lug a bucket of beer

My Polish-Czechoslovakian wife, she loves that polka beat
Strike up the band, she has the time of her life soon as she finds her feet 
We’ve been together now for 30-some years and we’re still doin’ fine
Cuz we join that congregation in their annual celebration of
That shredded cabbage soused in brine

Everyone in Waynesville’s wild about sauerkraut 
Right around this time of year
They come from miles around to get a belly full of sauerkraut 
 And chug-a-lug a bucket of beer

Tag
Anybody here who doesn’t like sauerkraut, 
We’ll throw you out on your ear 
But if you wanna polka with a belly full of sauerkraut
Just chug-a-lug a bucket of… chug-a-lug a bucket of… chug-a-lug a bucket of beer   

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

Sauerkraut Polka

Words and music © Copyright 1970, 2015 Peter Lloyd

This song has been around since 1970. I still wonder how such an inexperienced young man managed to write it? I do recall that it owes its central image to Rudolf Dirk's Mama Katzenjammer.
Pardon my French.

Well, she gets me up in the morning and she hits me upside the head 
Tears the covers off me and jerks me out of bed
Stirs my coffee with an old fingernail file
And she wonders why I don’t wake up with a smile
She says, How come you never wake up with a smile?

Hard-hearted, mule-headed, tight-fisted, bitter-lipped
Foot-stomping, door-slamming, 
Rolling pin woman, you’re bringing me down

I met her on the subway and I offered her my seat
She was about the prettiest woman I had ever hoped to meet 
She said, “Come on up to my room and we’ll have a cup of wine.”
It was then I laid my future on the line
From then on, it was no longer mine 

For she spun a spider web and she tied the knot tight
I was seduced and reduced before I had a chance to fight 
I didn’t run, I admit, but if I ever live twice
I’m gonna keep them pretty women out of my sight
If I see one, I’m gonna poke out my eyes

Hard-hearted, mule-headed, tight-fisted, bitter-lipped
Foot-stomping, door-slamming, 
Rolling pin woman, you’re bringing me down

Oh, I’d leave her if I could, but I can’t, so I won’t
I’ve tried so many times and it hurts so much, I don’t
She’s got me hung up on her like the clothes out on the line 
And then they tell me love is the might tie that binds
Sure, just like a noose in due time

Hard-hearted, mule-headed, tight-fisted, bitter-lipped
Foot-stomping, door-slamming, 
Rolling pin woman, you’re bringing me down

Now all you single men, you best take my advice
If you think you’re in love,  think twice
If your woman’s kind of plain, you might give her a chance 
But if she’s one of them beautiful women, you’re not gonna last 
Them gorgeous gals, they run you down much too fast
I’m warning you, she’ll turn into a

Hard-hearted, mule-headed, tight-fisted, bitter-lipped
Foot-stomping, door-slamming, 
Rolling pin woman, you’re bringing me down

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

Rollin Pin Woman

This story comes from a joke posted on the Internet. The melody is "Flow Gently, Sweet Afton." 
Jay Petach plays the mandolin
Words © Copyright 2003, 2015 Peter Lloyd

The fair, young Peggy Adler loved handsome James Lee 
She said to her father, “Lee’s bride I shall be.”
“My daughter,” cried her father, “this cannot be done. 
“Unknown to your mother, James Lee is my son.”

Among Arkansas bachelors, the bounty is thin
In the search for a match there, you’re bound to run into your kin
So softly Peggy Adler bid James Lee farewell 
And bending her head into sadness she fell

Then winsome Billy Watson asked Peggy to wed 
She went to her father and to her he said
“Again I must confess, dear, I fathered that man.” 
In deepest despair to her mother she ran

Among Arkansas bachelors, the bounty is thin
In the search for a match there, you’re bound to run into your kin
“My Peggy,” cried her mother, “no need love to lose. 
“That man’s not your father, wed which one you choose.”

“That man’s not your father, wed which one you choose.”

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

Peggy Adler's Lament

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

Love doesn't always go bad, but when it does, it goes something like this number composed with Buck "Tiger by the Tail" Owens in mind.

© Copyright 1992, 2015 Peter Lloyd

She used to  call me every Friday morning
And we'd go dancing every Friday night
But now she lays around, she never takes me out to paint the town 
Her feet don't get it any more

She used to  tickle me between the covers
She'd keep me up all hours of the night
But now she's cold as ice, she's got some batteried device 
Her hips don't get it any more

I know this hasn't been exactly
What a marriage oughta be
But if you only get out what you put into
I got plenty coming to me

She made me  give up hunting and hard liquor
She taught me how to count cholesterol
But now she smokes in bed and looks extremely overfed 
Her heart don't get it any more

I know this hasn't been exactly
What a marriage oughta be
But if you only get out what you put into
I got plenty coming to me 

She used to  always ask me my opinion
She'd call me twice a day for my advice
But now she  leaves me notes, she even tries to tell me how to vote

Her head don't get it
Her heart don't get it
Her hips sure don't get it
Her feet don't get it
She still might bear it but she sure don't grin it
Cuz she don't get it anymore

She Used To

Verse
I’m not from around here—so I hope you take this the right way but 
Even though you seem to be neurologically complex enough
You flesh-bearing bipeds make an incredibly contradiction-riddled 
Species, as if you’re all bent on comic self-destruction
Of course, you could be vastly superior in some inscrutable way 
So allow me to share some of my recent observations and 
Perhaps you might be able to help me understand your kind

Verse
I saw one of your kind walking with a quadruped progeny substitute 
The poor thing was tethered to a territorial freedom constraint
Still it managed to defecate on a chlorophyll-covered status exhibit 
When someone ran out of a privacy protection unit and yelled
“Get that mongrel out of my yard. Why don’t you
Dump its shit on your own damn lawn!” The other pretended
Like she didn’t hear and muttered underneath her breath, “Animal hater.”

Verse
I ventured into one of your culturally vacant expanses of sameness
And found myself in the middle of one of those mass consumption pits
They were running some sort of consumer feeding frenzy when I overheard
A verbal exchange between two discretionary income disposers
“John’s out of town,” one said, “I’ve been shopping now
For two whole days. This is really gonna cost him.”
The other just chuckled and replied as she winked her eye, “Serves him right.”

Verse
I headed out to the surrounding asphalt field neatly divided into
Grid-lined stalls packed side-to-side with air-polluting transportation
Pods as your sun was shining through your withering ultra-violet buffer
I passed some bipeds operating carcinogen intake units. One said
“I don’t know why people complain about smoking indoors
“I mean like I don’t complain about other people’s perfume.”
Just then a passer-by remarked, “Perfume doesn’t consume other people’s lungs.”

Verse
Then I looked up and noticed a huge artificially lit persuasion display
It kept flashing arrangements of symbols which when decoded
Promoted tricks like internet banking, certificates of deposit
And a way to easily obtain large quantities of paper wealth units
Claimed you could even pick your own interest rate and then it displayed 
Arbitrary measurements of thermal activity and temporal calibration
But before it began to repeat these messages all over again, it flashed, “John 3:15”

Verse
Well, did some digging and found your “John 3:15” resembles a
Concept long ago discarded in ridicule and shame back where
I come from. Seems we were killing so many of our own kind over
Our version of schizophrenia, we had to give it up in order to survive
So I visited a known purveyor of your brand of high-flying hocus pocus
And I described the great liberation we enjoyed when we gave it up
Although he seemed to understand, he just gave me a condescending look and said, “Go to hell.”

© Copyright 2000, 2015 Peter Lloyd

I'm Not from Around Here

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.