Friday, April 20, 2018

book V




Setting the Table of Contents:


Set 1:

Bid You Goodnight > Around > Bertha > Bird Song > Box of Rain

The Who, Gun Control, Politics, Atheists & Televangelists, Cheap Wine

Set 2:

Brokedown > Brown Eyed Women > Cassidy > Cold Rain & Snow > Cumberland

Infestation & Relocation, Girly Drinks & Promiscuity, Domestic Violence & Adoption, Scarface, Speed Traps

Set 3:

Dark Star > Deal > Don't Ease > Stranger > Fire on the Mountain 

Pirates, Anorexia, Breakfast, Immigration & Border Crossings, Fans & Attendance

Set 4:

Gimme Some Lovin' > He's Gone > Bucket > Help on the Way > Hey Pocky Way

Base Sexuality, Abortion, Debauchery, Homosexual Liberation, Penguins

Set 5:

High Time > Miracle > Jack Straw > Last Time > LTGTR

Alcoholism, Beer, Misogyny, Movies, Marijuana

Set 6:

Rooster > Looks Like Rain > Loser > Me & My Uncle > Might as Well

Royalty, Climate Change, Cyber-terrorism, Uncle Dunkle, Asymmetric Warfare

Set 7:

Morning Dew > Minglewood > New Speedway Boogie > NFA > Saturday Night

Usury, Jewish Hold-Ups & Hang-Ups, Road Rage, Indians, Battery

Set 8:

Promised Land > Queen Jane > Ripple > Shakedown > SOTM

Heaven & Hell, The President, Breasts, Excretion, Take Me To The River

Set 9:

Sugar Magnolia > Sugaree > Music Never Stopped > Other One > Wheel

Obesity, Pork, Drama, Cigarettes, Steelworkers

Set 10:

TLEO > Touch of Grey > Truckin' > U.S. Blues > Women Smarter

The Art of Trolling, Gayness, Pittsburgh Hoes & Gigolos, Donald Trump, Flatulence

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To all you picky readers... a little something for everyone, eh?


PROLOGUE:


Forty-five Dead shows.  Twenty-five years later.  Say whaaat?!

A quarter century has passed.  That’s a long time.  The memories have faded.  Consequently, this book wouldn’t be a decent forum for traditional concert reviews.  Or reminiscing about the drugs and alcohol.  Campgrounds, hotels, road trips, tailgating, so on and so forth.  Still, I’ll take this opportunity to make a solemn vow.  You’ll never hear "we were trippin' our brains out/balls off" or “that show was killer.”  Such fodder grows stale.  Faster than a slice of Wonder Bread.

So what say we shoot for some slice of life stories instead?  After all, it’s the Dead.  Right?

As I asserted, you won’t be bombarded with epic tales of concert lore.  Those anecdotes, while sometimes amusing, are literally a dime a dozen.  Or for all you stoners out there, a quarter a quart.  And not to sound patronizing, but we’ve already been down that road.  It’s not necessarily a recipe for feeling fine.

Whatever your analysis of the Grateful Dead, whether it be subjective or objective, one thing cannot be disputed.  The band took you on a journey.  The highs and lows.  The ups and downs.  Hopefully this doesn’t sound metasophical or whatever, but the premise of this book is to take you on a similar trip.  One that’s long, strange, accurate and seemingly implausible.  Think of it as an extensive collection of short stories.  Just gimme a little leniency.  Much of the content will trend caustic.  Hell, this ain’t a prescription for swellness.  These aren’t happy days and I’m not The Boz.  No, not Brian Bosworth (former Seahawks linebacker).  Not Father Howard Cunningham doling out the Life Savers.  And certainly not some rank and file Catholic priest administering infinite acts of executive rape and child sodomy.

So…. drumroll please.  If your disclaimer is properly signed and dated.  And your waiver of contempt has been duly notarized.  Well, it’s time to leave the station and hitch a ride on the animus express.  All aboard!  Come join me on an anachronistic expedition.  An introspective look into my personal escapades with the Dead.  But right here.  In the here and now.  Granted, some of the material will slalom down some very slippery slopes.  But all you gotta do is just slide, glide, slippery slide.  And secure your permit for a fantastically sublime voyage.  The time is now.  Now.  Now.  Now.

One final warning.  If you’re searching for the holy grail of peace and love, I strongly suggest you power down.  You won’t find that here.

You might refer to me as sonofsaf.  Or even worse, label me a spiteful Saf.  Just. Never. Forget.  I take these stories seriously.  Believe me, anybody can write something helpful and uplifting.  But if you truly wish to share the hatred and divine.  If your ultimate desire is to slay the dragon of iniquity.  Well, it requires a venerable sword-stabbing keyboardist.  That’s where I come in.  For I am the hateful head.

TUNING

In an an ideal world, I would have encountered the Dead as a college freshman in 1985.  This way, my introduction would have coincided with my favorite era (1985-1990).  Instead, I entered the fray in 1989.  Yeahz.  Looks like I was born fours years off.  But like they say, better late than never.

One last sweeping reminder: you will not be hearing about the toasty campfire, marshmallow roasting memories during Uncle John’s Band.  That’s not what this is about.  When it comes to the heart of the book, think in terms of a broad, expansive, long and winding road.  Snippets about the time and vibe, the concerts and moments.  And how it all relates to the most pressing issues of our time.

SET BREAK

What exactly led me to the Grateful Dead?  There’s insight to be had here.  Thus, it’ll be necessary to examine my musical evolution.  Get charged up because we’ll be taking a stroll down the electric avenue of existence. 

My parents listened to a pretty wide swath of music.  They weren’t folksy hippies, but they occasionally dined at Alice’s Restaurant.  They didn’t play instruments, but they frequented the symphony.  My mother preferred broadway show tunes.  My father, the opera.  He had a passion for Pavarotti.  Needless to say, I wasn’t on board for any of that.

My brother Tolkien was the musician of the family.  Scott Joplin’s Entertainer was a familiar mainstay in our household.  Let’s just say he put the rag in ragtime.  And the Saferstein in Steinway.  Tolkien didn’t play an instrument.  He played all instruments.  He’d even manufacture instruments.  Give him a toilet seat and he’d turn it into a harp.  Some discarded PVC pipe would be transformed into a makeshift piccolo.  Piano, steel drums, the lute.  Pre-9/11, he constructed a harmonious version of the Whac-A-Mole arcade game.  This way, my niece could productively vent her frustrations.  His ingenious strategy for countering the terrible twos.

Our older brother Tie Guy embodied the conventional landscape of the late 70’s.  He listened to the hits of the era.  Boston, Styx, Supertramp and the shattered remains of the disco scene.  Rapper’s Delight, Le Freak, We Are Family.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.  Burn baby burn.

One of my earlier memories occurred in second grade.  There was an impromptu contest.  Our class decided to nominate a “rock’n’roll representative.”  It all boiled down to two distinct choices: Elvis Presley or Kiss.  Who was better?  I scurried around the room like a K-street lobbyist, actively seeking votes for Kiss.  I didn’t know much about the hound dog or the hottest band in the world, but I knew one thing for certain.  Anyone who looks like Satan, has an extended tongue and spits up blood is a helluva lot cooler than some regal weirdo shaking his hips.  I forget the final tally.  But when the polls closed, Kiss had won a resounding victory.  That sunny afternoon I made my rock’n’roll bones.

Keep in mind, the Elvis supporter was someone who spent the bulk of his day mixing Elmer’s glue and tissues.  The concoction had a snot-like consistency.  And then he’d eat it.  Naturally, we called him Booger Boy.  So in retrospect, the Kiss vs. Elvis competition already had the predictability of an electoral landslide.

In the summer of '78, my parents shipped me off to summer camp.  The counselors gathered everyone for a “Name that Tune” contest.  Our group selected me for the position of captain.  After a dozen songs, the score was tied 6-6.  The next song would be for the win.  A popular ditty by The Cars blared over the speaker.  Debate ensued over its name.  Consensus opinion strongly favored “I Don’t Mind You Comin’ Here.”   But I held to my position.  “I’m tellin’ you guys, I’m pretty sure that song’s called “You’re Just What I Needed.”  But I was overruled by the unruly mob.  When the head counselor announced, “Aww, sorry.  You guys should have stuck with Ricky.  The title of that song is… “Just What I Needed.”  Well, everyone looked at me with this awestruck daze.  If only they had listened.  For the duration of camp, I was hailed as the expert on all things rock’n’roll.

In 1979, I upped the ante and further explored my musical identity.  I called in to WOMP-FM and made a request.  Can you please play the “let me smell the moon in your perfume song?”  The dee-jay backtracked the request and chuckled, “Yeah, I think my young friend wants to hear Romeo’s Tune.  We’re sending this one out to Ricky.”   I cranked it up on my tiny Toshiba radio alarm clock, intermittently singing along.  Eventually, my father yelled out from downstairs with an obligatory, “Rick, turn that shit down!”  The next day I went around the various pods of my 4th grade class, asking teachers and fellow students if they’d heard me on the radio.  Listeners as far away as Pittsburgh knew about me.  I assured everyone of my newfound fame and how I was considering a career in broadcasting.  Not only that, but there’d be more to come.

I sensed a shift into the new decade.  Stars on 45, the first known Beatles mash-up snippet hit was fun.  Pop Muzik was hip.  But Funkytown was fading.  Things were getting heavier.  AC/DC’s Dirty Deeds took the world by storm.  The music was suddenly bolder.  More aggressive and hostile.  Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap became my discordant method for celebrating the release of the American hostages and denouncing those evil Iranians.  I’d march around my bedroom like a demented soldier, with zero understanding of military theory or the impending Cold War.

Depending on the time of the year, a bunch of us would walk over to Wheeling Park and go ice skating or roller skating.  We’d pester the rink dee-jay to play our favorite songs.  “It’s your job to play the stuff we wanna hear!”  He’d coyly dismiss us and feed off our collective frustration.  At the end of the night, he’d finally pull out ELO’s “Don’t Bring Me Down.”  And we’d go absolutely nuts.  Skating as fast as we could, cutting people off with ice-spraying hockey stops, violently jamming on our air guitars.  The rink guard would be forced to blow his whistle and send us off the ice.  But we didn’t care about getting ejected.  By then, the night was essentially over so it didn’t really matter. We’d gather around the Solar Ride pinball machine, drink graveyards or suicides, and share outlandish stories of our rock’n’roll victory.

In 7th grade, our small class took a short bus journey from Wheeling, WV to Montreal, Canada.  Part of a student exchange program so we could hone our French/English translation skills.  Twas’ a 10-hour trip of clandestine kissing games and non-stop truth or dare.  At the time, most of the kids owned a Sony Walkman. But I was the only one who brought a tape of Prince’s 1999.  Everyone wanted to hear it but the vehicle didn’t have a cassette player.  So my classmates persuaded our chaperones to play the tape over a boom box.  I pitched for DMSR (Dance, Music, Sex, Romance).  Sure enough, that funk-filled song got the entire bus rocking.  Kids showing off their moves in the abbreviated aisle much like the line dancers on Soul Train.  I replayed it over and over again.  A rather risqué counterpunch to Nancy Reagan’s Just Say No campaign.  I had them all in the palm of my hand.

I was a fourteen year old Ratt’n’Roller.  Ratt were my heroes.  They were larger than life.  On a sticky and humid summer night, July 14, 1985, the invasion surfaced at the Wheeling Civic Center.  It was my first legitimate, parentally unsupervised rock concert.  I even snuck in a Panasonic tape recorder and taped the show.  I still have those TDK D90 tapes to this very day.  The sound quality ranges somewhere between hissingly dissatisfactory and atrociously muddy.  Nonetheless, I was totally sold on the infestation.  Not school or work, sports or clubs.  It was all about rock concerts.  That’s where the action was.

I’ll never forget a 1986 ZZ Top concert from the same venue.  Part of their Afterburner world tour.  A man on the arena floor had this glamorous, buxom woman on his shoulders.  Best of all, she was sporting a tank top and had these massive, floppy boobs.  “Sally’s gonna ‘flash the top.’  We need to get to the front.”  And the crowd parted like the Red Sea.  It was a magical moment. I was mesmerized.  Not only with the nudity, but the sense of inclusiveness.  The universe suddenly made sense.  Everything came full circle.  You see, around that time, “that’s tits” or “that’s totally tits” was a common expression.

My taste in music grew more brazen.  I veered away from the mainstream metal on MTV and gobbled up a handful of M&M’s… as in Metallica and Megadeth.  I convinced my mother to sew me an Iron Maiden back patch.  For the love of Christ!  Jesus Christ!  Judas Priest!

Yet my metal obsession required a greater level of spiritual accessibility.  Death Angel, Testament, Metal Church.  These were the bands that spoke to my soul.  A holy addiction.  They even wore t-shirts and jeans, just like I did.  Best of all, they were physically within our grasp.  We’d go to in-store signings at Eide’s Records in downtown Pittsburgh.  And we’d see them play at the Electric Banana on Bigelow Boulevard or the City Limits in Penn Hills.  We’d talk to them.  And believe it or not, they’d talk to us.  My reason for existence had solidified.  I was exclusively metal… for life.  Or so I thought.

Right after I enrolled at the University of Dayton, I was befriended by a fellow metalhead who went by the nickname Stone.  A guy named Anthony Semirale from Cleveland, Ohio.  Note: I make it a point to never use actual names in my ramblings.  But I think he’d be more than willing to give me a pass.  We quickly bonded over Violence and Flotsam, Nuclear Assault and King Diamond.

However, Stone lived in a parallel universe.  He had a deep affinity for a band known as the Grateful Dead.  We’d hang out in his dorm room and I’d make these benign requests.  “Play the ashes, ashes all fall down song.”  “Oh yeah,” he countered.  “You mean Throwin’ Stones.  Yeah, that’s a good one.”  He gave me my first ever Dead boot - a quality audience recording of the 12-31-87 New Year’s show from Oakland, California.  From that point, I was hooked.  I’d open my dorm window, tilt the speakers and blare the crescendo of Terrapin for students walking to and from class.  The positive reaction I got from the masses reconfirmed my hunches.  The Dead gave life.

I haven’t spoken to Anthony since 1990.  Until I recently googled him, I had no idea whether he was alive or dead.  According to his rudimentary facebook page, he took up residence in Portland, Oregon.  There is a phone number.  I could call him.  But if possible, I’d prefer he learn about all of this in authentic grassroots fashion.

Let’s dedicate the entirety of this book to Stone.  If anyone out there knows the guy, please send him the link.  I’m virtually certain he’d get a kick out of it.  His nickname is one I often use when making dinner reservations.  Seriously, why would someone wanna hear me spell out the name Saferstein?  In a loud restaurant brimming with gregarious activity no less.  Trust me, I'm no monster.  This proves it.

I’d also like to invoke a memory of the late Sophie Masloff.  She was the former mayor of Pittsburgh (1988-1994).  She’d make it a point to welcome the Grateful Dead and their faithful followers.  She’d mistakenly refer to them as “dreadheads.”  She'd encourage residents to walk over to the arena or head down to the stadium.  “We need to embrace the Grateful Dead and welcome their fans to our fair city.  We could learn a lot from the dreadheads.  From what I’ve heard, many of them are environmentalists.  They have a motto.  Leave nothing but footprints.  I like the sound of that.  So on your lunch break, head over to the parking lots and purchase a grilled cheese sandwich or veggie burrito.  Buy a tye dye t-shirt and wear it to work.  Take a moment and listen to the bongos.  Rather than being cynical about the afternoon traffic headaches, let’s all embrace the Grateful Dead and welcome them to Pittsburgh.”

ENCORE

Finally, a brief overview of the book.  If you made it this far, I hope you continue reading.  If you don’t care for the written word.  If you’re the equivalent of a Trumpian dotard.  If you only want to see the pretty pictures, that’s fine by me.  Just scroll down to the epilogue.  I’m quite certain you’ll find that section to be of interest.  It’s an iconic blast from the past.  Extrapolative opinions and concert reviews along with an organized mix of ticket stubs, scribbled set lists, hand-outs and newspaper clippings.  But of greatest importance are the personalized Dead plates.  Oh, the license plates!  More on that later.

The bulk of The Hateful Head is divided into 10 distinctive sets.  Five song parodies per chapter.  Five entries per set.  Maybe someday it’ll be referred to as the Dictionary of the Dead.  Dare to dream.  The neurotic compartmentalization is designed to appeal to like-minded fans, particularly in the 45-60 year old age bracket.  Hey, I know you’re out there.

Dead.net was my source for lyrics as well as inconsistent punctuation.

Why did I choose 50 songs?  Is there any significance behind the number?  Well of course there is.  Mason and I traveled to Chicago for the hippie cash grab, er uhh, 50th year Grateful Dead anniversary tour.  Fifty’s just a good solid half-century number.  Yippee, I'm almost fifty.  A hundred’s too much and twenty five wouldn’t have been enough.

We never made it inside Soldier Field that evening.  But that’s okay.  I did manage to snag this sign.


And we used its back to successfully obtain free tickets to the Rolling Stones at Indy Motor Speedway the following day.


All part of a quickie 2015 Midwest road trip/July 4th Independence weekend celebration.  Wave that flag.

The core of this book is the Weird Al styled song parodies.  Be that as it may, an admission is in order.  I could have allocated more time to making every syllable progression spot-on.  However, I find myself dealing with time constraints.  I've got a self-imposed deadline for the publication of my next book (November 6, 2018 — the congressional mid-terms).  Teaser:  this non-bestseller’s a little more important.  It’s about the right to vote.  In a nutshell, I conceived of a way to permanently alter and potentially improve or irreparably damage the state of our democracy.  So I had to do this cost-benefit analysis thingy.

Also, the Dead was about creativity, spontaneity and inspiration.  Not execution and perfection.

It goes without saying, if you happen to know anyone who plays Dead songs or performs in a Dead cover band, feel free to share this book.

So without further adieu, may I present… The Hateful Head.


Set 1:
And We Bid You Goodnight

Lay down my dear brothers
Lay down and take your rest
I want to lay your head upon your Savior's breast
I love you all but Jesus loves you the best
And I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight


The Kids Are Alright (The Who)

Go home all you deadheads
Go home and get some rest
The music and the drugs, you left us quite impressed
Satan loves you and he puts you to the test
But the kids are alright, alright, alright

Dedicated to who?  To whom?  To Slosh.  To Schloom.  The biggest Who fan I know.

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Around and Around

Well the joint was jumpin', going 'round and 'round,
Hey! realin' and a rockin', what a crazy sound,
Well they never stopped rockin' till the moon went down.

Well it sounds so sweet I had to take me a chance,
I rose out of me seat Lord, I had to dance,
Started moving my feet, well a clapping my hands.

Well I kept on dancin', going 'round and 'round,
Hey! reelin' and a rockin', what a crazy sound,
Well they never stopped rockin' till the moon went down.

Well at twelve o'clock Lord, the place was packed,
The front doors was locked Lord, the place was packed,
When the police knocked, those doors they flew back.

Well I kept on dancin', going 'round and 'round,
Hey! realin' and a rockin', what a crazy sound,
Well they never stopped rockin' till the moon went down.


What a Crazy Sound (Gun Control)

Well the church was thumping, what a crazy sound,
Hey! Preachin' and a prayin', like a kid's playground,
And they never stopped prayin', till dead on the ground.

Some nut packin' heat, he left us all in a trance,
I cried out to God, but didn't have a chance,
Used an AR-15, bullets rapping the land.

Well the church was thumping, what a crazy sound,
Hey! Preachin' and a prayin', like a kid's playground,
And they never stopped prayin', till dead on the ground.

Preacher had a glock Lord, and fired back,
He shot a few kids Lord, kept firin' back,
Guns loaded and cocked, good Lord turned his back.

Well the church was thumping, what a crazy sound,
Hey! Preachin' and a prayin', like a kid's playground,
And they never stopped prayin', till dead on the ground.

Dedicated to the next individual who lights up a house of God, penthouse of prayer, shack of sanctity, or lean-to of dependence.

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Bertha

I had a hard run, runnin' from your window.
I was all night running, running, running, Lord I wonder if you care,
I had a run in, run around, and run down.
Run around the corner, corner, Lord run smack in to a tree.

I had to move, really had to move,
That's why if you please, I am on my bendin' knees,
Bertha don't you come around here anymore.

Dressed myself in green, I went down unto the sea.
Try to see what's goin' down, try to read between the lines.
I had a feelin' I was fallin', fallin', fallin',
I turned around to see,
Heard a voice a callin', Lord you was comin' after me.

I had to move, really had to move,
That's why if you please, I am on my bendin knees,
Bertha don't you come around here anymore.

Ran into a rainstorm, I ducked back into Novato.
It's all night pourin', pourin', pourin',
Lord but not a drop on me.
Test me, test me,
Test me, test me, test me,
Why don't you arrest me?
Throw me in to the jailhouse,
Lord until the sun goes down, 'till it goes down.

I had to move, really had to move,
That's why if you please, I am on my bendin' knees,
Bertha don't you come around here anymore.

I had to move, really had to move,
That's why if you please, I am on my bendin' knees,
Bertha don't you come around here anymore.


Murtha (Politics)

I launched a campaign, polling from your district.
All day all night saying, saying, Can I get you some health care?
I had a pollster, poll around, and tracking.
Poll around the region, feedback, charge me a fee.

I had to vote, really had to vote,
Democrats are weak, Republicans are what I seek,
Murtha don't you campaign round here anymore.

They tried to bribe me, and dressed up like a Saudi.
The shit was known as Abscam, Fed scammers wined and dined me.
I had a feelin' they were scammin', scammin', scammin',
A loaded boot for me,
Had no choice appalling, Iron Sheik comin' to kick me.

I had to vote, really had to vote,
Democrats are weak, Republicans are what I seek,
Murtha don't you campaign round here anymore.

He got an infection, doc removed his gall bladder.
Bled all night bleedin', bleedin', bleedin',
Oh Lord he dropped dead on me.
Jerry, Jerry
Jerry, Jerry, Jerry,
Why won't you mander me?
Carve me out a new district,
Lord until the vote goes down, 'till it goes down.

I had to vote, really had to vote,
Democrats are weak, Republicans are what I seek,
Murtha don't you campaign round here anymore.

I had to vote, really had to vote,
Democrats are weak, Republicans are what I seek,
Murtha don't you campaign round here anymore.

Dedicated to the late Congressman John Murtha (D).  District 12, Pennsylvania.

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Bird Song
 
All I know is something like a bird within her sang
All I know she sang a little while and then flew on
Tell me all that you know
I'll show you
Snow and rain

If you hear that same sweet song again, will you know why?
Anyone who sings a tune so sweet is passing by
Laugh in the sunshine
Sing, cry in the dark
Fly through the night

Don't cry now
Don't you cry
Don't you cry any more
La da da da

Sleep in the stars
Don't you cry
Dry your eyes on the wind
La da da da da da

All I know is something like a bird within her sang
All I know she sang a little while and then flew on
Tell me all that you know
I'll show you
Snow and rain



Word Song (Atheists & Televangelists)

All I know is something like the words within our minds
All I know that god's a figment dreams imagined upon
Sell me prayers that you know
I'll show you
Love and faith

If you fear that devil down below, would you know why?
Anyone who burns in hell must wonder when they die
Cry to make it fine
Light, mourn in the dark
Try with your might

Don't pray now
Won't you pray
Don't you pray any more
Fa la la la

Weep to the stars
Don't you pray
Sow your mind on the seed
Fa la la la la... la

All I know is something like the words within our minds
All I know that god's a figment dreams imagined upon
Sell me prayers that you know
I'll show you
Love and faith

Dedicated to those who faithfully donate to televangelists.
Anyone but Hinn.

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Box of Rain

Look out of any window
Any morning, any evening, any day
Maybe the sun is shining
Birds are winging, no rain is falling from a heavy sky
What do you want me to do
To do for you to see you through?
For this is all a dream we dreamed one afternoon long ago

Walk out of any doorway
Feel your way like the day before
Maybe you'll find direction
Around some corner where it's been waiting to meet you
What do you want me to do
To watch for you while you're sleeping?
Then please don't be surprised when you find me dreaming too

Look into any eyes
You find by you; you can see clear to another day
Maybe been seen before
Through other eyes on other days while going home
What do you want me to do
To do for you to see you through?
It's all a dream we dreamed one afternoon long ago

Walk into splintered sunlight
Inch your way through dead dreams to another land
Maybe you're tired and broken
Your tongue is twisted with words half spoken and thoughts unclear
What do you want me to do
To do for you, to see you through?

A box of rain will ease the pain and love will see you through
Just a box of rain, wind and water
Believe it if you need it, if you don't just pass it on
Sun and shower, wind and rain
In and out the window like a moth before a flame

And it's just a box of rain, I don't know who put it there
Believe it if you need it or leave it if you dare
And it's just a box of rain, or a ribbon for your hair
Such a long, long time to be gone and a short time to be there


Box Of Wine (Cheap Wine)

You should buy a box of wine
Any mornin', any evenin', any time
Maybe you're drunk and tired
Feelin' wired, the bar is empty gotta make it right
Could you please give me a clue
Though I won't need you to drink it through
For this is all a drink we drank and threw up long ago

Walk into any Walmart
blow a fart the savings galore
Maybe you'll find wine section
Around the aisle where box is waitin' to meet you
Could you please give me a clue
To pay for you and start my drinking
Just please don't ask for i.d. suspended license too

Walk into any bar
Tables of red, tables of white, just for another night
Chardonnay let's go
The Cabernet, Reisling you say, I'm sippin' Merlot
Could you please give me a clue
Might piss on you, I know it's taboo
It's all some wine, we whined, just couldn't find any blow

Run into any state store
Make your way to the back, and back to the front
Maybe you're hungover and pukin'
Your breath is stinkin', with words a slurrin' and cotton mouth
Could you please give me a clue
to find what's true, we always knew

A box of wine is so divine, the juice that's just so fine
Just a box of wine, grapes and flavors
Rectangle, cardboard goodness, costs a twenty dollar bill
Cheap and easy, class to spare
In and down your windpipe, like a drunk, without a care

And it's just a box of wine, I don't know if you're a schmuck
Just buy it if you want it, or steal it if you suck
And it's just a box of wine, a remedy for bad luck
Such a big, big box to drink on, I don't really give a fuckkkkkk

Dedicated to Mason.  Quite possibly the inspiration for this entire book.  High praise indeed.  She wasn't pleased when I completely forgot that "Box of Wine" was her idea.  And thereby, the impetus for The Hateful Head.

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Set 2:

Brokedown Palace

Fare you well, my honey
Fare you well, my only true one
All the birds that were singing
Are flown, except you alone

Gonna leave this brokedown palace
On my hands and my knees, I will roll, roll, roll
Make myself a bed by the waterside
In my time, in my time, I will roll, roll, roll

In a bed, in a bed
By the waterside I will lay my head
Listen to the river sing sweet songs
To rock my soul

River gonna take me, sing me sweet and sleepy
Sing me sweet and sleepy all the way back home
It's a far gone lullaby sung many years ago
Mama, Mama, many worlds I've come since I first left home

Going home, going home
By the waterside I will rest my bones
Listen to the river sing sweet songs
To rock my soul

Going to plant a weeping willow
On the bank's green edge it will grow, grow, grow
Singing a lullaby beside the water
Lovers come and go, the river will roll, roll, roll

Fare you well, fare you well
I love you more than words can tell
Listen to the river sing sweet songs
To rock my soul


Bad Crib Shit Hole (Infestation & Relocation)

Home was hell, no money
home was hell, was not that much fun
All the turds in the toilet
left stains, inside of the throne

Gonna leave this bad crib shit hole
In a bike or car, I will ride, drive, drive
Make myself a new home I won't be denied
In my time, In my time, I will ride, drive, drive

On the floor, on the bed
Where the roaches roam I would lay my head
Keepin all the brightness on to shine
Bugs got no soul

Vacuum gonna suck it, clean up the carpet
Clean the dirty carpet so the bugs can roam
It's a lonely battle cry a mop with no ammo
Drama drama, when CPS bastards come to my home

Filth and grime, filth and grime
On the kitchen floor as I hear her groan
Cleaning my crib and writing the wrongs
Will take its toll

Saying goodbye instead of hello
Time to spray that pledge, don't you know, know, know
Hear my battle cry, like cannon fodder
Renters come and go, they have less soul, soul, soul

Home was hell, home was hell
It will be a tough place to sell
Cleaning my crib and writing the wrongs
Will take its toll

Dedicated to the scum hoarders and slum lorders.  
The late Mr. Goober of Goober Apartments on Wheeling Island comes to mind 
(correctly pronounced Gruber).

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Brown Eyed Women

Gone are the days when the ox fall down
Take up the yoke and plough the fields around
Gone are the days when the ladies said please
Gentle Jack Jones won't you come to me

Brown-eyed women and red grenadine
The bottle was dusty but the liquor was clean
Sound of the thunder with the rain pouring down
And it looks like the old man's getting on

Nineteen twenty when he stepped to the bar
Drank to the dregs of the whiskey jar
Nineteen thirty when the wall caved in
He made his way selling red-eyed gin

Delilah Jones was the mother of twins
Two times over and the rest were sins
Raised eight boys, only I turned bad
Didn't get the lickings that the other ones had

Tumble-down shack in Big Foot County
Snowed so hard that the roof caved in
Delilah Jones went to meet her God
And the old man never was the same again

Daddy made whiskey and he made it well
Cost two dollars and it burned like hell
I cut hickory just to fire the still
Drink down a bottle and you're ready to kill

And it looks like the old man's getting on



Sex on the Beach (Girly Drinks & Promiscuity)

Gone are the days when the gals drank crown
Snort up the coke and shrink the dicks around
Gone are the days, when the daiquiris freeze
Crazy crack whores won't you come fuck me

Red grenadine and sex on the beach
The cocktail is stupid and taste is a reach
Smell of the vodka and the schnapps goin' down
And there go the drunk kids fallin' down

1987 when she was a star
Drunk on the drinks at the girly bar
1990 when she lived in sin
Pimpin' for shots, blow jobs for cold gin

Jimmy Buffett was the father of fins
Juke box hero to the trained minions
Songs that annoy, you'd hope they're a fad
Burger with cheese and the rest are really bad

Girl showed up on Maury Povich
Lied so bad that the stage caved in
Fahlhaber man said she was a fraud
Baby daddies whip their dicks out again

Waitress made foo foo drinks, she made them swell
Filled with juices and sweet to the smell
Asked for scotch just to test her will
When she denied me pulled my knife out to kill

And there go the drunk kids fallin' down

Dedicated to Lance Anthead.  
That singular moment when he pounded the bar and angrily ordered a screwdriver.

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Cassidy

I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream
I can tell by the mark he left, you were in his dream
Ah child of countless trees
Ah child of boundless seas
What you are, what you're meant to be
Speaks his name, though you were born to me
Born to me, Cassidy

Lost now on the country miles in his Cadillac
I can tell by the way you smile, he is rolling back
Come wash the night-time clean
Come grow the scorched ground green
Blow the horn, tap the tambourine
Close the gap of the dark years in between
You and me, Cassidy

Quick beats in an icy heart
Catch colt draws a coffin cart
There he goes and now here she starts
Hear her cry

Flight of the seabirds
Scattered like lost words
Wheel to the storm and fly

Faring thee well now
Let your life proceed by its own designs
Nothing to tell now

Let the words be yours, I'm done with mine

Cassidy (Domestic Violence and Adoption)

I have seen the domestic abuse and the silent screams
I can tell by his soul bereft, it was all a dream
Ah, fists just like a breeze
Ah, hurt and misery
Who could know, maybe wait and see
How life turns, a life spins to me
Will you be, Cassidy

Vanished far out west to escape the punching bag
Weighing consequence and drama is such a drag
Away from vicious mean
Seek out new pastures green
Honk the horn, leave the current scene
Will she mature and someday turn thirteen
Sweet sixteen, Cassidy

Give birth to a life of art
Paint and draw a beating heart
Can a black hole come apart
Hear her cry

Reach of the newborns
crying with no words
Now it's your turn to fly

Faring thee well now
Let your life proceed by its own design
Nothing to tell now
Let the words be yours, I'm done with mine

Dedicated to Carol and Cassidy

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Cold Rain and Snow

Well I married me a wife, she's been trouble all my life
Run me out in the cold rain and snow
Rain and snow
Run me out in the cold rain and snow

Well she went up to her room and she sang a fateful tune
And I'm going where those chilly winds don't blow
Winds don't blow
And I'm going where those chilly winds don't blow

Well she's coming down the stairs, combing back her yellow hair
And I ain't gonna be treated this-a-way
This-a-way
And I ain't gonna be treated this-a-way



Cocaine and Blow (Scarface)

Well I scored me some blow, caused me trouble I should know
Tune me up with some cocaine and blow
Caine and blow
Tune me up with some cocaine and blow

Well, I went inside the bar and snuck back out to my car
And I'm spending all my money I should know
I should know
And I'm spending all my money I should know

Well, I'm bumping down the line, marching to the beat of time
And I'm gonna treat myself to some yayo
yayo
And I'm gonna treat myself to some yayo

Dedicated to Tony Montana.  
"I always tell the truth.  Even when I lie."

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Cumberland Blues

I can't stay here much longer, Melinda
The sun is getting high
I can't help you with your troubles
If you won't help with mine
I gotta get down
I gotta get down
Gotta get down to the mine

You keep me up just one more night
I can't stop here no more
Little Ben clock says quarter to eight
You kept me up till four
I gotta get down
I gotta get down
Or I can't work there no more

Lotta poor man make a five dollar bill
Will keep him happy all the time
Some other fellow's making nothing at all
And you can hear him cry

Can I go, buddy, can I go down
Take your shift at the mine
Gotta get down to the Cumberland mine
That's where I mainly spend my time

Make good money, five dollars a day
If I made any more I might move away

Lotta poor man got the Cumberland Blues
He can't win for losing
Lotta poor man got to walk the line
Just to pay his union dues

I don't know now, I just don't know
If I'm going back again
I don't know now, I just don't know
If I'm going back again



Cumberland Dues (Speed Traps)

I can't drive here much longer, Maryland
The law I can't abide
Speeding tickets often double
Things aren't gonna be fine
I gotta slow down
I gotta slow down
Get a ticket and a fine

The rules of the road, just ain't right
They're rotten to the core
All of those big rigs and heavy freight
Carryin' more and more
I gotta slow down
I gotta slow down
Or I can't drive there no more

Lotta poor man be looking for a thrill
Cop pulls him over all the time
Some richer drivers paying nothing at all
Listen and heed their cry

Can I pay the judge, can I go pay
Cut that check out on time
Time to pay off that big Cumberland fine
Time to pay off that big Cumberland fine
The court room's where I write my rhymes

It's not funny, money thrown away
I try so hard to make it through the day

Lotta poor man paid his Cumberland Dues
He won't try for doing
Lotta poor man won't get there on time
Just to pay his Maryland dues

I don't know how, I just don't know
If I'm coming back again
I don't know how, I just don't know
If I'm coming back again

 Dedicated to the lady cop who pulled me over on Waddles Run Road in 2000.
"Do you know how fast you were going?" 
Me:  "Oh, I was flying.  Jammin' this new Limp Biscuit shit.  It's fucked up!" (the song "Hot Dog" off Chocolate Starfish).  Then I cranked it so she could hear the lyrics.
Needless to say, she wrote me a ticket.

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Set 3:

Dark Star

Dark star crashes
Pouring its light into ashes
Reason tatters
The forces tear loose from the axis
Searchlight casting
For faults in the clouds of delusion

Shall we go, you and I, while we can?
Through the transitive nightfall of diamonds

Mirror shatters
In formless reflections of matter
Glass hand dissolving
To ice petal flowers revolving
Lady in velvet
Recedes in the nights of goodbye

Shall we go, you and I, while we can
Through the transitive nightfall of diamonds?


Ball Park (Pirates)

Ball Park crashes
Season is turned into ashes
Nutting's fatter
The weight he gained from the molasses
Night lights shining
for errors in the club's foundation

Let's go Bucs, win or lose, doesn't matter
By the adjectives in the Post Gazette

Players matter
Bob's penny pinching a disaster
Fans keep revolving
Monetary plans absolve him
Major League Baseball
Grieves on weeknights and the weekends

Let's go Bucs, win or lose, doesn't matter
By the adjectives in the Post Gazette

Dedicated to hillbilly Bob Nutting.  You should listen to my advice.  
We might both be from West Virginia... but we are not family.
#GoNuttingsWallet

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Deal

Since it cost a lot to win
And even more to lose
You and me bound to spend some time
Wondering what to choose

Goes to show, you don't ever know
Watch each card you play and play it slow
Wait until that deal come round
Don't you let that deal go down, no, no

I've been gambling here abouts
For ten good solid years
If I told you all that went down
It would burn off both of your ears

Since you poured the wine for me
And tightened up my shoes
I hate to leave you sitting there
Composing lonesome blues

Wait until that deal come round
Don't you let that deal go down

Meal (Anorexia)

Been worryin' about stayin' thin
A ton of weight to lose
You and me it's a social crime
Wonder if I'm accused

Jimmy Row, you know it fo sho
Stop that lard intake and take it slow 
Makin' sure that meal stays down
Don't throw up that meal around, yo-yo

I been scrambling omelettes
Bacon, home fries for years
Drink it down with a bottle of crown
Throw it up and go have a beer

Since you gorged and dined with me
And loosened up the news
It's time for me to refund that poultry
ol chicken cordon bleu.

Makin' sure that meal stays down
Don't throw up that meal around, yo-yo 

Dedicated to those who suffer from anorexia.  Hey, it could be worse.  
You could be a 400 lb. hacker sitting on a bed somewhere.

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Don't Ease Me In

Don't ease, don't ease
Don't ease me in
I've been all night long coming home
Don't ease me in

I was standing at the corner
Talking to Miss Brown
Well I turned around, sweet momma
She was way cross town

So I'm walking down the street
With a dollar in my hand
I've been looking for a woman, sweet momma
Ain't got no man

The girl I love
She's sweet and true
You know the dress she wears, sweet momma
It's pink and blue

She brings me coffee
You know she brings me tea
She brings 'bout every damn thing
But the jailhouse key


Don't Eat My Din (Breakfast)

Don't eat, don't eat
Don't eat my din
I missed brunch, lunch, needin' to munch
Don't eat my din

I dine in my pajamas
Egg whites and hash browns
And I'm eatin' breakfast meat baby
Inhaling it down

So I'm looking for my meat
Frying bacon in a pan
Still hoping for a breakfast sausage baby
Just cuz I can

The dinner I love
Too late for you
Breakfast in my pajamas, meat baby
It's what I do

I like my coffee
But I prefer whiskey
I love my god damn breakfast
It's what I believe

Dedicated to the Bob Evans waitress in Woodsdale.  
In hauntingly mesmerizing fashion she doth probe... "and your choice of breakfast meat?"

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Feel Like A Stranger

Inside you're burning
I can see clear through
Your eyes tell more than you mean them to

Lit up and flashing
Like the reds and blues
Out there on the neon avenue

But I feel like a stranger
Feel like a stranger

Well the music's thundering
We're restless and hot
You keep firing glances across the room

And I can't stop wondering
Just what you got
Get the feeling I'm gonna find out real soon

Still I feel like a stranger
Feel like a stranger
Well you know it's gonna get stranger
So let's get on with the show

Yes and the wheel
Gets smoking round midnight
You shoot me a look that said let's go

Yes and it feels
Just like running a red light
There ain't no point in looking behind us, no

But I feel like a stranger
Feel like a stranger
You know it keeps getting stranger and stranger
If it's love then how would I know?

Yes and it's gonna get stranger
Some things you just know

If this were love then how would I know
(Feel like a stranger)
(Feel like a stranger)
Feel like a stranger
(Feel like a stranger)
It's gonna be a long hot crazy night
It's gonna be a long long crazy crazy night
Yeah crazy night
Silky silky, crazy crazy night


Danger (Immigration & Border Crossings)

Outside it's burning
Never know how I feel
Those walls are made of concrete and steel

Checkpoints and sirens
The lights wail and squeal
You will never know how I feel

But I know the danger
I know the danger

Well the sun is murdering
We're paid for and bought
We keep driving trailers across the line

And we're fish floundering
Just can't get caught
In the desert, we're gonna run outta time

Still I know the danger
I know the danger
Well you know there's gonna be danger
But let's just go with flow

It's what I feel
Get detained in darkness
Same as bein' locked up in the light

They make us kneel
Our fate has been deemed much less
They draw guns and point them all around us, no

But I know the danger
I know the danger
You know it's more and more danger
If I'm dead then where would I go?

You know there's gonna be danger
The border of woe

If this was death then where would I go?
(I know the danger)
(I know the danger)
I know the danger
(I know the danger)
It's gonna be a drawn out scary night
It's gonna be a drawn drawn scary scary night
Yeah scary night
Sweaty, sweaty, scary scary night

Dedicated to the tired, the poor, the Mexican masses earning work for a fee, the discarded Spics of our burning border.

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Fire on the Mountain

Long distance runner, what you standing there for?
Get up, get off, get out of the door
You're playing cold music on the bar room floor
Drowned in your laughter and dead to the core
There's a dragon with matches that's loose on the town
Take a whole pail of water just to cool him down

Fire, fire on the mountain
Fire, fire on the mountain
Fire, fire on the mountain
Fire, fire on the mountain

Almost ablaze, still you don't feel the heat
It takes all you got just to stay on the beat
You say it's a living, we all gotta eat
But you're here alone, there's no one to compete
If mercy's in business, I wish it for you
More than just ashes when your dreams come true

Long distance runner, what you holding out for
Caught in slow motion in a dash to the door
The flame from your stage has now spread to the floor
You gave all you had, why you want to give more?
The more that you give, the more it will take
To the thin line beyond which you really can't fake



Floodin' into Dahntahn (Fans & Attendance)

Steel city yinzer, what you heading there for?
Stay put, stay out, stay out of Mon Wharf
You're cruisin' the Southside, it's dangerous turf
She looked like Smurfette or maybe a dwarf
There's a garage with parking, your money withdrawn 
The Penguins take the ice, for a night in dahntahn

Floodin'!  Floodin' into dahntahn!
Floodin'!  Floodin' into dahntahn!
Floodin'!  Floodin' into dahntahn!
Floodin'!  Floodin' into dahntahn!

Pirates got a ball park, it's really neat
Nutting takes your money, but still they get beat
Hot dogs are a launchin', we all gotta eat
But with no spending, you really can't compete
A bean counter business, he'd make a fine Jew
More than just tickets, no wonder fans boo 

Super Bowl Seven, yinzers always want more
Tomlin is coachin', he'll never be shown the door
Rooney's gettin' rich, that's what PSL's for
There's always next year, guess we'll see what's in store
Money for parking, garages and lots
It's all a big racket, if you'd just connect the dots

Dedicated to Scalping Jew.

The most hated Pittsburgh sports fan of 'em all.

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Set 4:

Gimme Some Lovin'

Well my temperature is rising got my feet on the floor
Crazy people rocking 'cause they want to go more
Let me in baby I don't know what you got
But you better take it easy 'cause this place is hot

And I'm so glad you made it, so glad you made it
You got to gimme some lovin', gimme gimme some lovin'

Well I feel so good, everybody's getting high
You better take it easy 'cause the place is on fire
Been a hard day and I don't know what to do
Wait a minute Baby, this could happen to you

Well I feel so good, everybody's getting high
You better take it easy 'cause the place is on fire
Been a hard day nothing went too good
Now we're gonna relax just like everybody should



Gimme Orgasm (Base Sexuality)

Well, my testicles are olives, got my cock in a cunt
One time in Johannesburg, met up with Allen Funt 
My dick needs pussy, I prefer that it be wet
Let me stick it in, I'll be forever in your debt

And I'm so glad you fake it, so glad you fake it
You got to gimme orgasm (gimme, gimme orgasm)
Gimme orgasm (gimme, gimme orgasm) 
Gimme orgasm, everyday

Well, I feel so young, everyone's getting old
That sweater vest you're wearing, has a little bit of mold
Been a rough day, gonna crash out on the couch
Don't give me no lip and don't tell me I'm a slouch

And I'm so glad you fake it, so glad you fake it
You got to gimme orgasm (gimme, gimme orgasm)
Gimme orgasm (gimme, gimme orgasm)
Gimme orgasm, everyday

Well, it feels so good, everyone's getting head
Bob Weir is sounding cheesy, and the meat is on the bread
Had the day off, went upstairs to bed
I'm gonna hold my breath, pretend like I am dead.

And I'm so glad you fake it, so glad you fake it
You got to gimme orgasm (gimme, gimme orgasm)
Gimme orgasm (gimme, gimme orgasm)
Gimme orgasm, everyday

Gimme, gimme, gimme some of your love juice, baby
Ejaculate... secretions...
Gimme some of your love juice, baby 

Dedicated to the purveyors of fake orgasms.  
The breathing, the panting, the moaning, the screaming.  
Fake, fake, fake, fake.

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He's Gone

Rat in a drain ditch, caught on a limb
You know better, but I know him

Like I told you, like I said
Steal your face right off your head

And now he's gone
Now he's gone, Lord he's gone
He's gone
Like a steam locomotive rolling down the track
He's gone, gone, and nothing's gonna bring him back
He's gone

Nine mile skid on a ten mile ride
Hot as a pistol but cool inside

Cat on a tin roof, dogs in a pile
Nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile

Going where the wind don't blow so strange
Maybe off on some high cold mountain range
Lost one round but the price wasn't anything
A knife in the back and more of the same

Same old
Rat in a drain ditch, caught on a limb
You know better, but I know him

Like I told you, like I said
Steal your face right off your head

Ooh, nothing's gonna bring him back
Ooh, nothing's gonna bring him back
Ooh, nothing's gonna bring him back



It's Gone (Abortion)

Pro-life or pro-choice, got no real voice
It might one day, drive a Rolls Royce

Suck out the life, gone instead.
Stole your breath and now you're dead

A-bor-tion,
A bor-tion, Lord bor-tion
bor-tion
A back alley coat hangar scrapin' out the womb
Bor-tion, shun, and nothin's gonna bring it back
Bor-tion

Time denied, on a nine month ride
cells of a baby it's warm inside

Chick in a bathroom, boy in denial
Nothin' left to do but smile, smile, smile

Goin' where the laws don't seem so vain
Maybe some place not as draconian
Doctor time and the cost was small change
It never will know, the fortune or fame

Refrain
Pro-life or pro-choice, got no real voice
it might one day drive a Rolls Royce

Suck out the life, gone instead
Stole your breath and now you're dead

Ooh, nothing's gonna bring it back
Ooh, nothing's gonna bring it back
Ooh, nothing's gonna bring it back

Dedicated to the abortion protestor who stood outside Rax, and currently Tim Horton's, at the corner of Route 88 and National Rd.  He'd hold an "Abortion is Murder" sign every Wednesday without fail... for decades.  Sometimes, I'd give him a thumbs up.  Other times I'd curse the living shit out of him.  All in a twisted effort to keep him inspired.  Just before I moved to Pittsburgh in 2015, he was still out there.  But with a walker.

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Hell in a Bucket

Well I was drinking last night with a biker
And I showed him a picture of you
I said "pal, get to know her, you'll like her"
Seemed like the least I could do

'Cause when he's charging his chopper
Up and down your carpeted halls
You will think me by contrast quite proper
Never mind how I stumble and fall
Never mind how I stumble and fall

You imagine sipping champagne from your boot
For a taste of your elegant pride
I may be going to hell in a bucket
But at least I'm enjoying the ride
At least I'm enjoying the ride
Yeah at least I'm enjoying the ride

Ahh miss sweetie little soft-core pretender
Somehow baby got hard as it gets
With her black leather chrome spiked suspenders
And her chair and her whip and her pets

Well we know you're the reincarnation
Of the ravenous Catherine the Great
And we know how you love your ovations
And the Z-rated scenes you create
And the Z-rated scenes you create

You analyze me, attempt to despise me
And you laugh when I stumble and fall
There may come a day I will dance on your grave
If unable to dance I will crawl across it
Unable to dance I will crawl
Yeah, unable to dance I'll crawl

You must really consider the circus
'Cause it just might be your kind of zoo
I can't think of a place that's more perfect
For a person as perfect as you

And it's not like I'm leaving you lonely
'Cause I wouldn't know where to begin
But I know that you'll think of me only
When the snakes come marching in
When the snakes come marching in

Ride, ride, ride, ride

At least I'm enjoying the ride
Ride, ride, ride, ride
At least I'm enjoying the ride

Ride, ride, ride
At least I'm enjoying the ride



I Wanna Fuck It (Debauchery)

Well, I was sleeping last night with a stripper
And I showed her a pic of my dick
"Would you like to see inside my zipper"
She was a pretty hot chick

Jump in their beds, I'm a hopper
Don't like pubes and carpeted balls
I was accused of being a swapper
White black big fat thin old short and tall
White black big fat thin old short and tall

I imagine you drinking cum shots from my dick
They taste like the jism I cried
I may be singing hell I wanna fuck it, babe
But at least I'm enjoying the ride
At least I'm enjoying the ride
Yeah at least I'm enjoying the ride

Hardcore video tapes I'm a defender
Donkeys, dogs... the porn is hot when there's pets
And your bestial tips to all the bartenders
Your dildo's a cuke no regrets

Well there's your penchant for emulation
Ron Jeremy's dick has sealed his fate
But that thick mustache requires aeration
For his X-rated scenes masturbate
For his X-rated scenes masturbate

You analyze me, and claim you're a she-he.
And you moan when I tongue lap it all
There will come a day I will crave what you shave
If unable to crave, alcohol inside it 
Unable to crave alcohol
Yeah, unable to crave alcohol

You should visit a vomitorium
It could be a strange calling for you
Pretend it's like an auditorium
Those animals all in it for you

I obviously don't think you're homely
It's all relative to my chagrin
When you ask can I eat your baloney
Looks like we'll be dining in
Looks like we'll be dining in

Ride, ride, ride, ride
At least I'm enjoying the ride
Ride, ride, ride, ride
At least I'm enjoying the ride
Ride, ride, ride, ride
At least I'm enjoying the ride

Dedicated to Stormy Daniels.  And the strippers and swappers, porn stars and XXX directors.

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Help on the Way

Paradise waits On the crest of a wave her angels in flame
She has no pain
Like a child she is pure, she is not to blame
Poised for flight, wings spread bright
Spring from night into the sun
Don't stop to run
She can fly like a lie, she can't be outdone

Tell me the cost
I can pay, let me go, tell me love is not lost
Sell everything
Without love day to day, insanity's king
I will pay, day by day
Anyway, lock, bolt and key
Crippled but free
I was blind all the time I was learning to see

Help on the way
Well I know only this, I've got you today
Don't fly away
'Cause I love what I love and I want it that way
I will stay, one more day
Like I say, honey, it's you
Making it too
Without love in the dream it'll never come true



Coming Out Gay (Homosexual Liberation)

Gay bar awaits On the shaven chests of the faggots and flames
Met with disdain
An illness without cure, or desire for dames
Fags will fight, all their might
Pillow bite in bed for fun
Don't stop to cum
He will fuck your brains out through the night to the sun

Show me your cock
Have no doubt, lemme lube, up that dick like a glock
Buy all those toys
Thrusting them in and out, guess boys will be boys
I must say, I am gay
Anyway, cock, cuffs and key
Handled by me
I was gay all this time that's all I wanted to say

Coming out gay
Well I don't give a shit, I want it today
Get outta my way
'Cause I need mammoth cock and I wanna get laid
I will pray, I'm not cray
Like I say, honey's, not lube
Taking my cue
Without cock in my ass dreams will never come true

Dedicated to those who make the courageous decision to come out of the closet.  

Or if you will, emanate from the anal armoire.

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Hey Pocky Way

Little bitty boy, with a heart of steel
You know you can't boogie now, but your sister sure will
Feel good music in your soul
Makes your body wanna rock, wanna rock 'n' roll

Hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, Pocky Way
Hey, hey, hey
Hey, Pocky Way

Lie back grooving in your car
Makes no difference who or where you are
Feel good music in your soul
Makes your body wanna, wanna rock 'n' roll

Hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, Pocky Way
Hey, hey, hey
Hey, Pocky Way

Lie back grooving in your car
Makes no difference who or where you are
Feel good music in your soul
Makes your body wanna rock 'n' roll

Hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, Pocky Way
Hey, hey, hey
Hey, Pocky Way
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, Pocky Way
Hey, hey, hey
Hey, Pocky Way



Hey Hockey Day (Penguins)

Jaromir Jagr boy, a mullet of steel
You know he's still scorin' goals, but it's less of a thrill
Penguins hockey takes its toll
At the igloo, time to rock and roll

Play hey hey hey
Hey hockey day
Hey hey hey
Hey, Hockey day

Sid the Kid is back on the ice

Will he win the Cup back to back twice
Penguins hockey takes its toll
PPG Paints, time to rock and roll

Play hey hey hey
Hey hockey day
Hey hey hey
Hey, Hockey day

Sid the Kid is back on the ice

Will he win the Cup back to back twice
Penguins hockey takes its toll
PPG Paints, time to rock and roll

Play hey hey hey
Hey Hockey day
Hey hey hey
Hey, Hockey day

Play, hey hey hey
Hey, Hockey day
Hey, hey hey
Hey, Hockey day

Play hey hey, Hey Hockey day
Hey Hey Hey Hockey day
Play hey hey, Hey Hockey day
Hey Hey Hey Hockey day

 Dedicated to our back to back Stanley Cup Champions.  Dynastical! 

If they three-peat, that's called a "tri-nasty."  Rhymes with dynasty.

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Set 5:


High Time

You told me goodbye, how was I to know
You didn't mean goodbye, you meant please don't let me go?
I was having a high time, living the good life, well I know
The wheels are muddy, got a ton of hay,
Now listen here, Baby, 'cause I mean what I say.

I'm having a hard time, living the good life, well I know.
I was losing time, I had nothing to do,
No one to fight, I came to you.

Wheels broke down, leader won't draw,
The line is busted, the last one I saw.
Tomorrow come trouble, tomorrow come pain,
Now don't think too hard Baby, 'cause I know what I'm saying.

I could show you a high time, living the good life, don't be that way.
Nothing's for certain, it could always go wrong,
Come in when it's raining, go on out when it's gone.
We could have us a high time, living the good life, well I know.



Mai Tai (Alcoholism)

You stole my moonshine, and snorted my blow.
Gimme back my moonshine, line up the shots of ouzo
I was having a mai tai, drinking without strife, gives me that glow
Orange peels and whiskey, the barley and rye,
Don't use my buh-wheat, cause the green beer has dye

I'm having a mai tai, drinking without strife, gives me that glow
It was dinner time, I had nothing to drink
No food to fight, no eyes to blink

Shot of crown, the barkeep won't pour
Beer tap is rusted, I keep wanting more
Days I need a double, days I should refrain
Now don't drink too much, Saffy, end up sticky like taffy

Will you sell me a mai tai, drinking without strife, gives me that glow
Kiss me that cold gin, inhale smoke from that bong
Drink up if you're buying, wake me up, crack of dawn
We could have us some mai thais, drinking without strife, gives me that glow
 

Dedicated to Beldar Conehead.  "Ah, mai tai.  I will enjoy it."

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I Need a Miracle

I need a woman 'bout twice my age
A lady of nobility, gentility and rage
A splendour in the dark, lightning on the draw
Who'll go right through the book and break each and every law

I got a feelin'
And it won't go away, oh no
Just one thing and I'll be OK
I need a miracle every day

I need a woman 'bout twice my height
Statuesque, raven-tressed, a goddess of the night
A secret incantation, candle burning blue
We'll consult the spirits, maybe they'll know what to do

And it's real
And it won't go away, oh no
Can't get around and I can't run away
I need a miracle every day

I need a woman 'bout twice my weight
A ton of fun who packs a gun with all that other freight
Find her in a side-show, leave her in LA
Ride her like a surfer riding on a tidal wave

And it's real
Believe what I say
Just one thing that I gotta say
I need a miracle very day

It takes dynamite to get me up
Too much of everything is just enough
One more thing that I gotta say
I need a miracle every day



I Need a Beer-sickle (Beer)

I need a Miller with twice the hops
A beer of stability, alcohol, mad props
This drunkard loves the dark, drinking's here to stay
Who'll crush cans and break bottles in each and every way

Need to be pee-in'
And it won't go away, oh no
One more beer, instead of O.J.
I need a beer-sickle every day

I need a Heiny, with skunky taste
I drink it to the last drop, beer never goes to waste
Slamming down a Guiness, or maybe a Coors Light
Buy me a Stella Artois, gettin' all fucked up tonight

And it's beer
Got nothing to say
To the god of beer I shall pray
I need a beer-sickle every day

I need a Heiny with skunky taste
Like a big ass fucking turkey you know you gotta baste
Buy it from the market, a small price to pay
Stuff it like a basket filling up with what you crave

And it's beer
Got nothing to say
To the god of beer I shall pray
I need a beer-sickle every day

Gimme Budwesier, and I'll throw up
In their commercials, they all scream Waaazzz-Up
To the god of beer I shall pray
I need a beer-sickle every day
 
Dedicated to the Cicerones.  
Beer drinkers deserve less sissified master taster terminology.

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Jack Straw

We can share the women, we can share the wine
We can share what we got of yours, 'cause we done shared all of mine
Keep on rolling, just a mile to go
Keep on rolling, my old buddy, you're moving much too slow

I just jumped the watchman right outside the fence
Took his rings, four bucks in change, ain't that heaven sent

Hurts my ears to listen, Shannon, burns my eyes to see
Cut down a man in cold blood, Shannon, might as well be me

We used to play for silver now we play for life
And one's for sport, and one's for blood at the point of a knife
And now the die has shaken, now the die must fall
There ain't a winner in the game
He don't go home with all, not with all

Leaving Texas, fourth day of July
Sun so hot, the clouds so low, the eagles filled the sky
Catch the Detroit Lightning out of Santa Fe
The Great Northern out of Cheyenne, from sea to shining sea


Gotta go to Tulsa, first train we can ride
Gotta settle one old score, one small point of pride

There ain't a place a man can hide, Shannon, will keep him from the sun
Ain't a bed can give us rest now, you keep us on the run

Jack Straw from Wichita cut his buddy down
And dug for him a shallow grave, and laid his body down
Half a mile from Tucson, by the morning light
One man gone and another to go
My old buddy you're moving much too slow


We can share the women we can share the wine



Smack Jaw (Misogyny)

We can hate the women, we can hate their kind
We can hate the moops and the moors, boy in the bubble on Sein

Keep on trollin', just some words to tweet
Keep on trollin, feelin' cruddy
You're head down to your feet

I just smacked my woman, shit really was tense
Stole her purse, food stamps and cash, gotta pay the damn rent

Rapper Chris Brown bit Rhiannon, Mike Tyson envy
Feels like The Burning Bed, Rhiannon, maybe you should flee

Ain't got no gold or silver, all we know is strife
Used to maim and used to kill, with a jagged rusty knife
Now the bitch is faking, now the bitch must die
I will never accept the blame
She always screams and cries, always cries

Leaving Pittsburgh, city of steel
smog so dense, the soot so dark, I got behind the wheel

Through the Fort Pitt tunnel, onto the parkway
I'm drivin' seventy nine, to I-seventy, e, e

Gotta get to Wheeling, one helluva ride
Not my fault, it's all asphalt , no need for four wheel drive

Ain't no place for you to hide, Rhiannon, used to call me hun.
Punch you in the tits and chest, Rhiannon, soon your life will be done

Smack Jaw from Squirrel Hill, killed her with a knife
Carved her face, it was god's will, she was a shitty wife
Half a ways to Wheeling, Wash Pa border line
Woman dead, someone you might know
My next victim, they'll be more to follow

We can hate the women, we can hate their kind

Dedicated to those who hate women.  #MeToo

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Last Time

Well I told you once and I told you twice
But you never listened to my advice
You don't try very hard to please me
With what you know it should be easy

Well this could be the last time
This could be the last time
Maybe the last time,
I don't know
Oh no

Well I'm sorry baby that but I can't stay
Feeling like I do today
There's too much pain and too much sorrow
I guess I'll feel the same tomorrow

Well I told you once and I told you twice
Now you'll have to pay the price
Here's a chance to change your mind
'Cause I'll be gone a long long time

This could be the last time, baby
I don't know
This could be the last time, baby
I don't know
Could be the last time, baby
I don't know
Could be the last time, baby
I don't know
 


Fast Times (Movies)

Well I watched it once and rewound it twice
Even way better than Miami Vice
It's tough the high school dating scene
Sports, jobs and bullies, it's just not easy

Well I grew up on Fast Times
I grew up on Fast Times
Movie was Fast Times
She's a ho. 
Damone.

Well, I'm sorry Stacy, but I can't stay
Got you pregnant, walked away
Didn't help pay for your abortion
Called me a prick, now that's extortion

Spicoli's a dunce and a narly dude
Hand's time wasted on za and food
All of that grass it blew his mind
Cuz he was fried a long, long time

I Grew up on Fast Times, babe
She's a ho
I Grew up on Fast Times, babe
She's a ho
Grew up on Fast Times, babe
She's a ho
Grew up on Fast Times, babe
She's a ho

Dedicated to the Superbad of the 80's.

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Let The Good Times Roll

Get in the groove and let the good times roll
We're gonna stay here till we soothe our soul
If it takes all night long
Come on and let the good times roll
We're gonna stay here till we soothe our soul
If it takes all night long

The evening sun is sinking low
The clock on the wall says it's time to go
I got plans, and I got plans for you
I tell you exactly what we're all gonna do

It might be twelve o'clock and it might be three
Time doesn't mean that much to me
Ain't felt this way since I don't know when
Might not feel this way again

It might be six o'clock and it might be eight
It don't matter that it's getting late
We're gonna make the band play one more song
Get in the groove if it takes all night long

All night (all night)
All night (all night)
If it takes all night (all night)
You know it might take all night long (all night)
All night long (all night)
All night long (all night)

Get in the groove and let the good times roll
We're gonna stay here till we soothe our soul
If it takes all night long



Let The Good Kind Roll (Marijuana)

Get in the mood and let the good kind roll
We gonna smoke until we kill that bowl
If the weed's really strong
Come on and let the good kind roll
We gonna smoke until we kill that bowl
If the weed's really strong

The evening blunt is skunking yo
The bong on the floor, says it's time to smoke
I got pots and I got pans for you
Gonna smoke some dope, it's what we're all gonna do

It might be a dug out or maybe a vape
Got the munchies, I'm outta shape
Ain't been this high, since I don't know when
Might not get this high again

It might be the brownies or maybe a pipe
Not gonna bitch, no reason to gripe
Ain't been this fucked up, since i don't when
Might never get this fucked up again

Get high (get high)
Get stoned (get stoned)
You wanna get blown (get blown)
You're gonna be high as a kite (a kite)
As a kite (a kite)
As a kite (a kite)

Get in the mood and let the good kind roll
We're gonna smoke until we kill that bowl
If the weed's really strong

Dedicated to the 50% of college kids who get high on grass.  And still call it grass.

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Set 6:

Little Red Rooster
 
I'm a little red rooster, too lazy to crow for days
Just a little red rooster, too lazy to crow for days
Keep everything in the barnyard people, upset in every way

Dogs begin to bark now and the hounds begin to howl
Dogs begin to bark now and the hounds begin to howl
Watch out stray cat people the little red rooster is on the prowl

If you see the little red rooster, won't you please drive him home
If you see my little red rooster, won't you please drive him home
Been no peace in the barnyard people, since the little red rooster's been gone

Brent Mydland bonus lyric:

Yeah and the little red rooster, well you ain't shit to me
Think you're a stud boy, well I doubt you'll ever be
While your away I'm gonna fuck with your hens, boy
I'm just bein' neighborly


Little Red Corvette (Royalty)

Come drive my little red corvette, around the world in a day
Come drive my little red corvette, around the world in a day
Keep everything on the highway people, it's what I say

The band's at Paisley Park now and Prince starts to play
Band's at Paisley Park now and Prince starts to play

1982 people, the little red corvette is here to stay

If you see my little red corvette, won't you please drive it home
If you see my little red corvette, won't you please drive it home
Ain't got no place on the high way, since my little red corvette's been gone

Brent Mydland bonus lyric:

Yeah and the little red corvette, drives like a Chevrolet
Think you're a bad car, well I don't care what you say
While you're away, I'm gonna fuck with your gas tank
And spit in your damn ash tray
 
Dedicated to neither kings nor queens.  Prince is the true definition of royalty.

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Looks Like Rain

I woke today, and felt your side of bed
The covers were still warm where you'd been layin'
You were gone, my heart was filled with dread
You might not be sleeping here again

It's all right, 'cause I love you
And that's not gonna change
Run me round, make me hurt again and again
But I'll still sing you love songs
Written in the letters of your name
And brave the storm to come
For it surely looks like rain

Did you ever waken to the sound of street cats making love
And guess from their cries you were listening to a fight
Well you know, hate's just the last thing they're thinking of
They're only trying to make it through the night

I only want to hold you, I don't want to tie you down
Or fence you in the lines I might have drawn
It's just that I have gotten used to having you around
My landscape would be empty if you were gone

It's all right, 'cause I love you
And that's not gonna change
Run me round, make me hurt again and again
But I'll still sing you love songs
Written in the letters of your name
And brave the storm to come
For it surely looks like rain



Looks Like Pain (Climate Change)

Earthquake today, hit your side of the state
The churches still stood tall, where you been prayin'
You were trapped, oh trapped, under the rubble I dread
You might never come back here again

It's not alright cause we're flooded
And the basement's in bad shape
Use the dehumidifier again and again
It's time to get the mop out
wrench it in this game of climate change 
A flood is gonna come
Oh it surely looks like pain

Did you ever waken to the sound, the booming sky above
Avalanche of bangs, you were listening amid fright
Oh well you know, weather's the only thing they worry of 
The flat-earthers fight back with all of their might

I only want to save it, I don't wanna let mankind down
Ordinary people are just mere pawns
It's just that I am used to havin' this planet around
The ice caps would be melted, and winter gone

It's not alright, 'cause we're flooded
And the basement's in bad shape
Use the dehumidifier again and again
It's time to get the mop out
Wrench it in this game of climate change 
A flood is gonna come
Oh it surely looks like pain

Dedicated to the foxy scientists who refute all aspects of climate change.

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Loser

If I had a gun for every ace that I had drawn
I could arm a town the size of Abilene
Don't you push me baby, 'cause I'm moaning low
And you know I'm only in it for the gold

All that I am asking for is ten gold dollars
And I could pay you back with one good hand
You can look around at the wide world over
But you'll never find another honest man

Last fair deal in the country, sweet Susie
Last fair deal in the town
Put your gold money where your love is baby
Before you let my deal go down

Don't you push me baby, 'cause I'm moaning low
Well I know a little something you won't ever know
Don't you touch hard liquor, just a cup of cold coffee
Gonna get up in the morning and go

Everybody's bragging and drinking that wine
I can tell the Queen of Diamonds by the way she shines
Come to daddy on an inside straight
Well I got no chance of losing this time
Well I got no chance of losing this time

Loser (Cyber-terrorism)

If I had a cell, for every stampede that I caused
I could blow a town the size of Canonsburg
Don't you crush me baby, cause I'm on the ground
You know it's not about money or the gold.

All that I'm asking for is some awareness
I'd even pay you back with one cool grand
The panic and the chaos in this wide wide world
But this could very well be the blackest swan

Dead man in the arena, Aunt Baby*
Dead man in the stadium
Stick that safety warning up your ass (hole) baby
Before you let me hit the floor

Don't you crush me baby, cause I'm on the ground
I know a little something, that you should've found
Don't you grab that smartphone, just some word of mouth will do
Cuz all I ever wanted was the sound

Everybody's screaming and gasping for breath
I saw the face of King Diamond, as I prayed for death
Why did I die, know it must be fate
Well I got no chance of living tonight
Well I got no chance of living tonight
 
Dedicated to the future victims of human stampedes.

* Obscure Seinfeld reference

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Me and My Uncle

Me and my uncle went ridin' down,
South Colorado, West Texas bound.
We stopped over in Santa Fe,
That bein' the point just about half way,
And you know it was the hottest part of the day.

I took the horses up to the stall,
Went to the barroom, ordered drinks for all.
Three days in the saddle, you know my body hurt,
It bein' summer, I took off my shirt,
And I tried to wash off some of that dusty dirt.

West Texas cowboys, they's all around,
With liquor and money, they're loaded down.
So soon after payday, know it seemed a shame;
You know my uncle, he starts a friendly game,
High-low jack and the winner take the hand.

My uncle starts winnin'; cowboys got sore.
One of them called him, and then two more,
Accused him of cheatin'; Oh no, it couldn't be.
I know my uncle, he's as honest as me,
And I'm as honest as a Denver man can be.

One of them cowboys, he starts to draw,
And I shot him down, Lord he never saw.
Shot me another, oh damn he won't grow old.
In the confusion, my uncle grabbed the gold,
And we high-tailed it down to Mexico.

I love those cowboys, I love their gold,
I loved my uncle, God rest his soul,
Taught me good, Lord, Taught me all I know
Taught me so well, I grabbed that gold
And I left his dead ass there by the side of the road.

Me and My Dunkle (Uncle Dunkle)

Me and my Dunkle, went concert bound,
Just east of the city, to Burgettstown.
We stopped over in Steubenville,
Grabbed us a few drinks and a handful of pills,
If you didn't know, Star Lake is the place for thrills.

Drove my Maxima into the lot,
Next to these weirdos, parked and smoked some pot.
Prepared for the battle, we wanted to get in cheap,
Me and my Dunkle, always play for keeps,
Scored some comp tickets and we made it in for free.
 

North Beaver drunkards, they was all around,
Cold beer and some Henny, shots goin' down.
There was this one dude, looked like he was in drag,
You know my Dunkle, he gave him a barf bag,
Guy started pukin' and Dunkle called him a fag.

My Dunkle started takin' Citra cans galore,
The cops they showed up, we asked what for.
Accused him of stealin, fuck you I gotta go pee,
Cola beverages, as far as the eye can see,
And we're as honest as two Wheeling men could be.

One of them sheriffs, pulled out a gun,
Dunkle said, you boys just wanna have fun.
He told those damn cops, how they ain't got no soul,
Sparked up a doobie, and showed them how to roll,
And we hightailed it back to 19th Hole.

Now we love our Starlake, the tales we've told,
I love my Dunkle, the Citra we sold.
Taught my Dunkle. To keep that Citra cold,

Even taught him, 'bout goin' to heaven,
But he left my dead ass down on the side of route seven.
 
Dedicated to the man, the myth, the legend.  
Interviewer:  Do you guys really live the lifestyle that you sing about in your songs?  
Dunkle: Absolutely.

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Might as Well

Great North Special, were you on board?
You can't find a ride like that no more
Night the chariot swung down low
Ninety nine children had a chance to go

One long party from front to end
Tune to the whistle going round the bend
No big hurry, what do you say
Might as well travel the elegant way

Might as well, might as well
(Might as well, might as well)
Might as well, might as well
(Might as well, might as well)
Might as well, might as well
(Might as well, might as well)
Might as well, might as well
(Might as well, might as well)

Ragtime solid for twenty five miles
Then slip over to the Cajun style
Bar car loaded with rhythm and blues
Rock and roll wailing in the old caboose

Long train running from coast to coast
Bringing 'long the party where they need it the most
Whup on the box car, beat on the bell
Nothing else shaking so you might just as well

Never had such a good time
In my life before
I'd like to have it one time more
One good ride from start to end
I'd like to take that ride again

Run out of track and I caught the plane
Back in the county with the blues again
Great North Special been on my mind
Might like to ride it just one more time


Fight like Hell (Asymmetric Warfare)

Cell phone stampede, that you ignored
Can't spill the beans too much of a chore
When the stadiums took that blow
Hundreds dead without the chance to know

Got bad info seems like a trend
Fake news hacking and some shit to send
How'd this happen, why'd they go cray
Fought like hell in a different kinda way

Fight like hell, fight like hell
(Fight like hell, fight like hell)
Fight like hell, fight like hell
(Fight like hell, fight like hell)
Fight like hell, fight like hell
(Fight like hell, fight like hell)
Fight like hell, fight like hell
(Fight like hell, fight like hell)

Shoulda told 'em the truth all the while
Guvmint, bidnith in a state of denial
The path forward and you get to choose
Everyone bitchin' got plenty to lose

Fans start running from coast to coast
People that really hate us gonna brag and boast
Charge to the exits, done tripped and fell
Everyone's clueless when they're runnin' like hell

Never seen such a bad time
Rotten to the core
Overkill blitz me some more
Black swan trip, time to defend
Hope it doesn't happen again

All of my shit I know is in vain
Speak to the people again and again
Cell phone stampede been on my mind
Some day we'll try it, matter of time

Dedicated to the victims of the dominipede.  I must apologize.  Your government failed you. Those entrusted with protecting you failed you.  And I failed you.  I tried hard, but that doesn’t matter.  Because I failed.

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Set 7:

Morning Dew

Walk me out in the morning dew my honey,
Walk me out in the morning dew today.
I can't walk you out in the morning dew my honey,
I can't walk you out in the morning dew today.

I thought I heard a baby cry this morning,
I thought I heard a baby cry this today.
You didn't hear no baby cry this morning,
You didn't hear no baby cry today.

Where have all the people gone my honey,
Where have all the people gone today.
There's no need for you to be worrying about all those people,
You never see those people anyway.

I thought I heard a young man morn this morning,
I thought I heard a young man morn today.
I thought I heard a young man morn this morning,
I can't walk you out in the morning dew today.

Walk me out in the morning dew my honey,
Walk me out in the morning dew today.
I'll walk you out in the morning dew my honey,
I guess it doesn't really matter anyway,
I guess it doesn't matter anyway,
I guess it doesn't matter anyway,
Guess it doesn't matter anyway.


Thrifting Jew (Usury)

Walk me to the bank, Thrifting Jew, your money,
Walk me to the bank, Thrifting Jew, you'll pay.
I can't walk you to the bank, Thrifting Jew, your money,
I can't walk you to the bank, Thrifting Jew, today.

I thought I heard a rabbi pray this morning,
I thought I heard a rabbi pray you will pay.
You didn't hear no rabbi pray this morning,
You didn't hear no rabbi pray today.

Where have all the savings gone my money,
Where have all the savings gone today.
Well there's no need for you to worrying about all those coupons,
You never clip those coupons, anyway.

I thought I heard an old Jew pray this morning,
I thought I heard an old Jew pray today.
I thought I heard an old Jew pray this morning,
I can't walk you to the bank, Thrifting Jew, today.

Walk me to the bank, Thrifting Jew, your money,
Walk me to the bank, Thrifting Jew, you'll pay.
I'll walk you to the bank, Thrifting Jew, your money,
Your money doesn't really matter anyway,
Your money doesn't matter anyway,
Money doesn't matter anyway.

Dedicated to anyone who has ever been jewed a/k/a financially screwed.

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New Minglewood Blues

I was born in a desert
Raised in a lion's den
I was born in a desert
Raised in a lion's den
Well well, my number one occupation
Is stealing women from their men

Well, I'm a wanted man in Texas
Busted jail and I'm gone for good
Yes, I'm a wanted man in Texas
Busted jail and I'm gone for good
Well well, the sheriff couldn't catch me
But his little girl sure wished she would

Now, the doctor call me crazy
Some says I am some says I ain't
Yes and the doctor call me crazy
Some says I am some says I ain’t
Yes and the preacher man call me a sinner
But his little girl call me a saint

Well, a couple of shots of whiskey
Women 'round here start looking good
Yes and a couple of shots of whiskey
Women 'round here start looking good
Couple more shots of whiskey
I'm going down to Minglewood

It's T for Texas
Yes and it's T for Timbuktu
It's T for Texas
Yes and it's T for Timbuktu
Yes and it's T for [insert city name]
Where the little girls know what to do

Yes, I was born in a desert
Raised in a lion's den
I was born in a desert
Raised in a lion's den
Yes and my number one occupation
Is stealing women from their men
And I'll do it, do it again

Yes and my number one occupation
Is stealing women from their men

I was born in a desert
Raised in a lion's den
I was born in a desert
Raised in a lion's den

New Squirrel Hill Jews (Jewish Hold-ups & Hang-ups)
 
I was born in the city
Raised in the Squirrel Hill
I was born in the city
Raised in the Squirrel Hill
Well my number one celebration
Havin' the skills to pay the bills

Well, I'm a wanted Jew in Pittsburgh
Robbed a bank and stayed off the grid
Yes, I'm a wanted Jew in Pittsburgh
robbed a bank, and stayed off the grid
Well well, the mohel never cut me now
But the urologist sure wish he did

Now, the rabbi calls me jew boy
Sometimes I pray, sometimes I don't
Yes and the rabbi calls me jew boy
Sometimes I pray, sometimes I don't
Yes and the cantor man call me singer
But the little shiksas want me alone

Well, a couple shots of Dewars
Well let's start lookin' for a thrill'
Yes and a couple of shots of Dewars
Pittsburgh phillies could use a thrill
Couple more shots of Dewars
I'm heading up to Squirrel Hill

It's T for Temple
Yes and it's S for Synagogue
It's T for Temple
Yes and it's S for Synagogue
Yes it's P right here in Pittsburgh
Where the little shiksas fuck like a dog

Yes, I was born in the city
Raised in the Squirrel Hill
I was born in the city
Raised in the Squirrel Hill
Yes and my number one celebration
Havin' the skills to pay the bills
And I'll do it, do it again

Yes and my number one celebration
Havin' the skills to pay the bills

I was born in the city
Raised in the Squirrel Hill
I was born in the city
Raised in the Squirrel Hill

Dedicated to the Burghers who ride Yamahas.  

As opposed to the yinzers who wear yarmulkes.


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New Speedway Boogie

Please don't dominate the rap, Jack
If you got nothing new to say
If you please, don't back up the track
This train's got to run today

I spent a little time in the mountain
Spent a little time on the hill
I heard some say "better run away"
Others say "better stand still"

Now I don't know but I've been told
It's hard to run with the weight of gold
Other hand I heard it said
It's just as hard with the weight of lead

Who can deny? Who can deny?
It's not just a change in style
One step done and another begun
In I wonder how many miles?

I spent a little time on the mountain
Spent a little time on the hill
Things went down we don't understand
But I think in time we will

Now I don't know but I was told
In the heat of the sun a man died of cold
Do we keep on coming or stand and wait
With the sun so dark and the hour so late?

You can't overlook the lack Jack
Of any other highway to ride
It's got no signs or dividing lines
And very few rules to guide

I spent a little time on the mountain
Spent a little time on the hill
I saw things getting out of hand
I guess they always will

Now, I don't know but I've been told
If the horse don't pull, you got to carry the load
I don't know whose back's that strong
Maybe find out before too long

One way or another
One way or another
One way or another
This darkness got to give


New Speedway Boogie (Road Rage)

Please don't hog all of the road, Joan
When you're drivin in the left lane
Would you please, put down the cell phone
Road rage will leave you insane

I drove a little ways in the city
Drove a little ways in the town
Insurance claim, and they sped away
Others say stick around

Now I don't know who broke my jaw
Hard to know, when you don't know the law
Son of a gun, I won't budge
Take it before the jury and judge

What you infer?  What you imply?
No reason to ever ask why.
One road closed and another open
Doesn't matter how hard I try

I drove a little ways in the city
Drove a little ways in the town
All of that anger in the crowd
Let's turn those frowns upside down

Now I don't know who broke my jaw
But I just know it's gonna stick in my craw
Should we keep drivin' in mornin' an night
When the dark's so black, you can't see light

I've got a bone to pick with Joan
Now maybe it'll turn the tide
I know things are way outta whack
I want the law to come back

I drove a little ways in the city
Drove a little ways in the town
The more I see, the less I'm proud
A king without a crown

Now I don't know who broke my jaw
My lawyer's a joke, like an egg without the yoke
It's called the cycle of life
Turns out that Joan is my wife

One road to uncover
One road to uncover
One road to uncover
The drive has lots to give

Dedicated to those who routinely commit acts of road rage.  Your behavior is all too predictable.  Any attempt to weaponize a vehicle is merely a demonstration of feigned frustration and utter cowardice.  Chill the fuck out.


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Not Fade Away

I wanna tell you how it's gonna be,
you're gonna give your love to me,
I wanna love you night and day,
you know my love not fade away.

You know my love not fade away,
not fade away!

My love is bigger than a Cadillac,
I try to show you but you drive me back,
Your love for me has got to be real,
your gonna know just how I feel.

Our love is real, not fade away,
not fade away!

Columbus Day (Indians)

I'm gonna say that you're no longer free,
You're gonna give your shit to me,
We're gonna fight you'll run away,
Or end up dead, it's a game we play.

You'll end up dead on Columbus Day,
Columbus Day!

My land is bigger than a cul de sac,
Billion acres that's a matter of fact,
Your time is done it was a bad deal,
Go get fed and eat your last meal.

Our land is real, Columbus Day,
Columbus Day!

Dedicated to the tribes and trails, and trials and tribulations, of slaughtered Indians.  
Without reservation.

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One More Saturday Night

I went down to the mountain, I was drinking some wine
I looked up into heaven, lord I saw a mighty sign
Writ in fire across the heaven, plain as black and white
Get prepared, there's gonna be a party tonight

Uh huh, hey, Saturday night
One more Saturday night
Hey, Saturday night

Everybody's dancing down at the local armory
With a basement full of dynamite and live artillery
Temperature keeps rising, everybody getting high
Come the rocking stroke of midnight, the whole place is gonna fly

I turn on Channel Six, the President comes on the news
Says I got no satisfaction, that's why I sing the blues
His wife says don't get crazy, Lord you know what to do
Just crank that old Victrola, put on your rocking shoes

Then God way up in heaven, for whatever it was worth
Thought he'd have a big old party, thought he'd call it planet earth
Don't worry about tomorrow, Lord, you'll know it when it comes
When the rocking, rolling music meets the rising, shining sun


One More Domestic Fight (Battery)

I'm drinking like a fountain, some Mad Dog and some wine
Came from Seven Eleven, ghetto store where I don't dine
Beaten with a left and right, the violence outta sight
Bring it on, it's gonna be one helluva fight
 

Fuckin' A, domestic fight
One more domestic fight
Yay!  Domestic fight

Everybody's fightin' there's no peace or harmony
Worse now than a world war, like Hitler's Germany
No bars on their cell phones, everybody's asking why
A 2-7-3 police call, cops arriving my oh my

Fire up your twitter, The Donald's cryin' bout fake news
You know he is a stupid fuck, that's why he tweets the blues
Wife says "You a piece of shit, but I'm never leavin' you"
Speak up now Melania, you've surely paid your dues

Back at Seven Eleven, all the customers of girth
The men are all as fat as fuck, bitches ready to give birth
The cycle's one of sorrow, what will be done, will be done
In a rocking, rolling prison, there's no place to hide or run

Dedicated to those who acknowledge the correlation between domestic violence and convenience store purchases, 'specially Slurpees 'n Slushies 'n smoked snack sticks 'n such


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Set 8:

Promised Land (Elvis Presley version)

I left my home in Norfolk Virginia
California on my mind
I straddled that Greyhound
And rode into Raleigh and on across Caroline

We had motor trouble that turn into a struggle
Halfway across Alabama
And that hound broke down and left us all stranded
In downtown Birmingham

Right away I brought me a through train ticket
Ridin' across Mississippi clean
I was on that midnight flyer out of Birmingham
Smoking into New Orleans

Somebody help me get out of Louisiana
Just help me get to Houston Town
There are people there, who care a little about me
And they won't let the poor boy down

Sure as you're born brought me a silk suit
Put luggage in my hand
And I woke up high over Albuquerque
On a jet to the promised land

Working on a T-bone steak a la carte
Flying over to the golden state
When the pilot told us in thirteen minutes
He would set us at the terminal gate

Swing low chariot come down easy
Taxi to the terminal zone
Cut your engines and cool your wings
And let me make it to the telephone

Los Angeles give me Norfolk Virginia
Tidewater four ten o nine
Tell the folks back home this is the promised land calling
And the poor boy is on the line 

 

Promised Land (Heaven and Hell)

I went up all the way to heaven
Kingdom cometh on my mind
I straddled that ladder
Cobained into Nirvana with Garcia intertwined

The harmony and bliss left me feeling befuddled
Just like drivin' a Trans Am
But the car sped off and and left us all stranded
in downtown wonderland

Worked the lot and snagged a miracle ticket
No pay to play you know what I mean
Concert ended in the midnight hour, thank you ma'am
Headin' back to Shakedown Street

Satan get me out of this utopia
Help me get to down-under town
I've had it up to here with all this eternity
I'll volunteer to head on down

Might be an angel wearin' red horns
Put evil in my hand
I woke up hoverin' over purgatory
I'm headin' to the promised land

Burnin' on fire, devil wants me out
Went back over to the pearly gates
God said to me, "There's no place for you round here"
You were destined for a much bigger fate

Concert ticket bought, Bob sounds cheesy
We're heading into the Phil zone
Mickey on the drums, Jerry sings
Don't lemme hear you cry or start to moan

Big stadiums or the tiny arenas
Afterlife of space and time
Tell the living and dead it's the promised land calling
Are you the victim or the crime?

Dedicated to those who associate concert going with eternal salvation.


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Queen Jane

Now when your mother sends back all your invitations
And your father to your sister he explains
That you're tired of yourself and all of your creations
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now the flower lady wants back what she has have lent you
And the smell of her roses does not remain
When all your children start to resent you
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now when all the clowns that you have commissioned
Have all died in battle or in vain
And you find yourself sick of all this repetition
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now when all of your advisers heave their plastic
At your feet to convince you of your pain
Trying to prove that your conclusions should be more drastic
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Now when all the bandits that you turned your other cheek to
All throw down their bandannas and complain
Maybe you want somebody you don't have to speak to
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?
Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?


 

King Trump (The President)

When swing voters, switch their party registrations
When blue voters and red voters they abstain
When you're mired in mistrust, and all your machinations
Won't you vote for me, King Trump?
Won't you vote for me, King Trump?

Now when all of the poorest people give back cash destined for you
And the rich and their accounts get a big bump
And the sycophants, they all support you
Won't you vote for me, King Trump?
Won't you vote for me, King Trump?

Now, when our commander takes a vacation
His staff's desire, to kiss his rump
And you're sick of this administration
Won't you vote for me, King Trump?
Won't you vote for me, King Trump?

When the only words he knows are fantastic
He tweets and whines, resembling a fat lump
Impressing the world with behavior so bombastic
Won't you vote for me, King Trump?
Won't you vote for me, King Trump?

Now, when all of the McDonalds, sell you Big Macs and french fries too
Trip to the bathroom, a necessary dump
And you need a friend, but have no one to speak to
Won't you vote for me, King Trump?
Aren't you glad, you know me, King Trump?

Dedicated to the worst precedent of 'em all... King Trump.

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Ripple

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung
Would you hear my voice come through the music
Would you hold it near as it were your own?

It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be songs to fill the air

Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty
If your cup is full may it be again
Let it be known there is a fountain
That was not made by the hands of men

There is a road, no simple highway
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone

Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow

You who choose to lead must follow
But if you fall you fall alone
If you should stand then who's to guide you?
If I knew the way I would take you home
 


Nipple (Breasts)

If my tits did glow, areola that sparkled
And the milk, pureed, on the tip of tongue
Would you see my boobs, come through the cleavage
Titty fuck them, instead of getting blown

Now don't let me down, those jugs are braless
Perhaps you'd smear them in cow dung
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be nips, may they be bare

Nipple in bikini
When there is no salad tossed
Nor cock to blow

Reach out your hand, and squeeze big ol titties
If your cup is full, then it's the right size
Let it be known they might be implants
Synthetic tits, two big fucking lies

They're just too big, no simple tank top
Between the looks and the peeks of man
But if you stare, there could be blow back
Reaction's for yourself alone

Nipple in bikini
When there is no salad tossed
Nor cock to blow

If you squeeze, the milk will follow
Behold the teats of all sizes
If you're a cow, then who's to milk you?
If I knew the way, I would pasteurize

Dedicated to the men obsessed with fake boobs.  And the women, whose minimal self worth, perpetuates the greater breast enlargement entertainment industry.


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Shakedown Street

You tell me this town ain’t got no heart.
Well, well, well, you can never tell.
The sunny side of the street is dark.
Well, well, well, you can never tell.
Maybe thats cause its midnight, in the dark of the moon besides.

Maybe the dark is from your eyes, maybe the dark is from your eyes,
Maybe the dark is from your eyes, maybe the dark is from your eyes,
Maybe the dark is from your eyes, maybe the dark is from your eyes,
You know you got such dark eyes!

Nothin shaken on shakedown street. Used to be the heart of town.
Don’t tell me this town ain’t got no heart.  You just gotta poke around.

You think you've seen this town clear through.
Well, well, well, you can never tell.
Nothin here that could interest you.
Well, well, well, you can never tell.
Its not because you missed out on the thing that we had to start.

Maybe you had too much too fast. Maybe you had too much too fast.
Maybe you had too much too fast. Maybe you had too much too fast.
Maybe you had too much too fast. Maybe you had too much too fast.
Or just over played your part.

Nothin shakin on shakedown street. used to be the heart of town.
Don’t tell me this town ain’t got no heart. you just gotta poke around.

Since I'm passing your way today.
Well, well, well, you can never tell.
I just stopped in cause I want to say.
Well, well, well, you can never tell.
I recall your darkness when it crackled like a thundercloud.

Don’t tell me this town ain’t got no heart.
Don’t tell me this town ain’t got no heart.
Don’t tell me this town ain’t got no heart.
Don’t tell me this town ain’t got no heart.
Don’t tell me this town ain’t got no heart.
Don’t tell me this town ain’t got no heart.
When I can hear it beat out loud!

Nothin shakin on shakedown street. Used to be the heart of town.
Don’t tell me this town ain’t got no heart. You just gotta poke around.


Toilet Seat (Excretion)

Just ate a big meal and I wanna fart.
Gas, gas, gas, it will surely pass.
Your ass smells like a filthy aardvark.
Gas, gas, gas, it will surely pass.
This ain't a source for delight, oh, the crack of your ass divides.

Maybe that shit is from your ass. Maybe that shit is from your ass.
Maybe that shit is from your ass. Maybe that shit is from your ass.
Maybe that shit is from your ass. Maybe that shit is from your ass.
You know you are such hot shit!

Shakin' the shit, on toilet seat, the color of your shit is brown.
Wanna see more shit, a lot less farts, you just gotta rock around.

You think your shit, that it don't stink.
Gas, gas, gas, it will surely pass.
Pinchin' a loaf and I'm on the brink.
Gas, gas, gas, it will surely pass.
Because of my vegan diet, all I wanna do is fart.

Maybe I had too much too beans. Maybe I had too much too beans.
Maybe I had too much too beans. Maybe I had too much too beans.
Maybe I had too much too beans. Maybe I had too much too beans.
It blew my ass cheeks apart!

Shakin' the shit, on toilet seat, the color of your shit is brown.
Wanna see more shit, a lot less farts, you just gotta rock around.

Still not passing a turd today. 
Gas, gas, gas, it will surely pass.
Just beggin' to poop and I gotta pray. 
Gas, gas, gas, it will surely pass.
I'd prefer diarrhea, instead of being constipated.

Wanna see more shit, a lot less farts. Wanna see more shit, a lot less farts.
Wanna see more shit, a lot less farts. Wanna see more shit, a lot less farts.
Wanna see more shit, a lot less farts. Wanna see more shit, a lot less farts.
When I can hear your ass be loud!
 
Dedicated to anyone who used to have a "Shit Happens" bumper sticker.

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Standing on the Moon

Standing on the moon, I got no cobweb on my shoe
Standing on the moon, I'm feeling so alone and blue
I see the Gulf of Mexico as tiny as a tear
The coast of California must be somewhere over here
Over here

Standing on the moon, I see the battle rage below
Standing on the moon, I see the soldiers come and go
There's a metal flag beside me someone planted long ago
Old glory standing stiffly, crimson, white and indigo
Old glory standing stiffly, crimson, white and indigo
Indigo

I see all of South East Asia; I can see El Salvador
I hear the cries of children and the other songs of war
It's like a mighty melody that rings down from the sky
Standing here upon the moon I watch it all roll by
All roll by
All roll by
All roll by

Standing on the moon, I see a shadow on the sun
Standing on the moon, the stars go fading one by one
I hear a cry of victory, another of defeat
A scrap of age-old lullaby down some forgotten street

Standing on the moon, where talk is cheap and vision true
Standing on the moon, but I would rather be with you
Somewhere in San Francisco on a back porch in July
Just looking up to heaven at this crescent in the sky
In the sky

Standing on the moon with nothing left to do
A lovely view of heaven but I'd rather be with you
A lovely view of heaven but I'd rather be with you
Be with you
I'd rather be with you



Floating on the Mon (Take Me To The River)

Floating on the Mon, I used a kayak from my lawn
Floating on the Mon, I'm boating from dusk to the dawn
I see the point of Point State Park as pointy as a teat
The boats of Just Ducky Tours and the Gateway Clipper Fleet

Clipper Fleet

Floating on the Mon, I see the bridges to and fro
Standing on the Mon, I see the paddlers come and go
There's the muddy banks beside me, Bucco dreams from long ago
Steel stories fading swiftly, colors, black and so yellow
Steel stories fading swiftly, colors, black and so yellow
So yellow

I see all of dahntahn Pittsburgh, I can see the stadium
I hear the screams from concerts, cheap beer and jugs of rum
It's like a Steelers victory, steel rings and apple pie
Floating here upon the Mon, the scores are lullabies
Lullabies
Lullabies
Lullabies

Floating on the Mon, sounds like it would be so much fun
Floating on the Mon, the ships and barges weigh a ton
This song is contradictory, like vegans who eat red meat
And sinners at a church fish fry, agony of defeat

Floating on the Mon, where gas is cheap and fracking new
Floating on the Mon, still reminds me of Wrath of Kahn
Somewhere in Reserve Township, on a back deck with my wine
Just sitting on a lawn chair, in a life without a care
Not a care

Floating on the Mon, could use a port-a jon
A lovely view of Grandview, reminds me of Wrath of Kahn
A lovely view of Grandview, reminds me of Wrath of Kahn
Wrath of Kahn
Kahnnnnn!

Dedicated to the success of the floating Tiki-Bars in the spring of 2018.


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Set 9:

Sugar Magnolia

Sugar Magnolia, blossoms blooming
Heads all empty and I don't care
Saw my baby down by the river
Knew she'd have to come up soon for air

Sweet blossom, come on under the willow
We can have high times if you'll abide
We can discover the wonders of nature
Rolling in the rushes down by the riverside

She's got everything delightful
She's got everything I need
Takes the wheel when I'm seeing double
Pays my ticket when I speed

She comes skimming through rays of violet
She can wade in a drop of dew
She don't come and I don't follow
Waits backstage while I sing to you

She can dance a Cajun rhythm
Jump like a Willys in four wheel drive
She's a summer love in the spring, fall and winter
She can make happy any man alive

Sugar Magnolia
Ringing that bluebell
Caught up in sunlight
Come on out singing and I'll walk you in the sunshine
Come on honey, come along with me

She's got everything delightful
She's got everything I need
A breeze in the pines and the sun and bright moonlight
Lazing in the sunlight, yes indeed

Sometimes when the cuckoo's crying
When the moon is half way down
Sometimes when the night is dying
I take me out and I wander around
I wander round


Sugar and Cola (Obesity)

Sugar and cola, waistline's growing
Mouth's all thirsty, but I won't swear
Grabbed a Mountain Dew from the cooler
Chugged it down god damn do I declare

Sweet soda's tasty, drink Doctor Pepper
Salty sodium I won't be denied
We can unravel the choices of retail
Drinkin' with my dinner I like my chicken fried 

Her gunt's everything delightful
Her gunt's everything I need
Turnin' from single to a double
Rolls of beauty, yes indeed

She is slurping a monster big gulp
She goes swimming in Mountain Dew
She don't share, and I don't wallow
Frig is full, and there's none for you

She can dance the Chubby Checker
Willy Wonka chocolate factory
She's a summer hunk in the spring, mall and deli
She's always hungry anytime with me

Sugar and Cola
Slurping and burping
Hopped up on sucrose
Come on out drinking I'll share you with some moonshine
Squeeze some honey.  Cum all over me

Her gunt's everything delightful
Her gunt's everything I need
Glistens by the ocean, the pool and jacuzzi
Glowing in the moonlight, yes indeed

Sometimes the love handles grabbing
When the skin rolls have no doubt
Sometimes when the gunt is babbling
I take it out and I'm feeling around
I'm feelin' round

Dedicated to the legions of white dumpster trash who chug Mountain Dew and dispose of the bottles and cans sans recycling or receptacle.


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Sugaree

When they come to take you down
When they bring that wagon round
When they come to call on you
And drag your poor body down

Just one thing I ask of you
Just one thing for me
Please forget you knew my name
My darling, Sugaree

Shake it, shake it, Sugaree
Just don't tell them that you know me
Shake it, shake it, Sugaree
Just don't tell them that you know me

You thought you was the cool fool
And never would do no wrong
You had everything sewed up tight
How come you lay awake all night long

Just one thing I ask of you
Just one thing for me
Please forget you knew my name
My darling, Sugaree

Shake it, shake it, Sugaree
Just don't tell them that you know me
Shake it, shake it, Sugaree
Just don't tell them that you know me

Well in spite of all you gained
You still have to stand out in the pouring rain
One last voice is calling you
And I guess it's time you go

Just one thing I ask of you
Just one thing for me
Please forget you knew my name
My darling, Sugaree

Shake it, shake it, Sugaree
Just don't tell them that you know me
Shake it, shake it, Sugaree
Just don't tell them that you know me

Well shake it up now, Sugaree
I'll meet you at the jubilee
And if that jubilee don't come
Maybe I'll meet you on the run

Just one thing I ask of you
Just one thing for me
Please forget you knew my name
My darling, Sugaree

Shake it, shake it, Sugaree
Just don't tell them that you know me
Shake it, shake it, Sugaree
Just don't tell them that you know me


 Shake and Bake (Pork)

It's too cold to grill outside
And I don't want my pork chops fried
Not kosher, I ain't a Jew
So toss that pig meat around

Just one thing, this meat's for you
Bread crumbs for goodness sake
Plastic bag you know my game
My pork chop, shake and bake

Shake it, bake it, Shake and bake
Edible orgasm is a fake
Shake it, bake it, Shake and bake
Edible orgasm's a fake

You thought you could make me drool
Fire it up smoke a bong
Spoiled meat, still I fight
Trichinosis, your ass sings the songs

Just one thing, this meat's for you
Bread crumbs for goodness sake
Plastic bag you know my game
My pork chop, shake and bake

Shake it, bake it, Shake and bake
Edible orgasm is a fake
Shake it, bake it, Shake and bake
Edible orgasm's a fake

You know you're a product of Kraft
Preparing your meat is like pourin' a draft
The last drop is calling you
You know what you gotta do

Just one thing, this meat's for you
Bread crumbs for goodness sake
Plastic bag you know my game
My pork chop, shake and bake

Shake it, bake it, Shake and bake
Edible orgasm is a fake
Shake it, bake it, Shake and bake
Edible orgasm's a fake

Shake it up now Shake and Bake
I'll eat you and git a bellyache
And if that bellyache don't come
Great news, cuz I won't git the runs.

Just one thing, this meat's for you
Bread crumbs for goodness sake
Plastic bag you know my game
My pork chop, shake and bake

Shake it, bake it, Shake and bake
Edible orgasm is a fake
Shake it, bake it, Shake and bake
Edible orgasm's a fake

Dedicated to all you city chicken aficionados and non-kosher, anti-meat, salted bastards.

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The Music Never Stopped

There's mosquitoes on the river
Fish are rising up like birds
It's been hot for seven weeks now
Too hot to even speak now
Did you hear what I just heard?

Say, it might have been a fiddle
Or it could have been the wind
But there seems to be a beat now
I can feel it in my feet now
Listen here it comes again

There's a band out on the highway
They're high-stepping into town
It's a rainbow full of sound
It's fireworks, calliopes and clowns
Everybody's dancing

Come on children, come on children
Come on clap your hands

Sun went down in honey
And the moon came up in wine
You know stars were spinning dizzy
Lord the band kept us so busy
We forgot about the time

They're a band beyond description
Like Jehovah's favorite choir
People joining hand in hand
While the music plays the band
Lord they're setting us on fire

Crazy rooster crowing midnight
Balls of lightning roll along
Old men sing about their dreams
Women laugh and children scream
And the band keeps playing on

Keep on dancing through to daylight
Greet the morning air with song
No one's noticed but the band's all packed and gone
Was it ever here at all?
But they kept on dancing

Come on children, come on children
Come on clap your hands

Well the cool breeze came on Tuesday
And the corn's a bumper crop
And the fields are full of dancing
Full of singing and romancing
The music never stopped



The Bullshit Never Stops (Drama)

There's alcohol in your liver
Urine pissing just like words
I've been shitting out meat of cow
Hot shit straight from a meat cow
Did you know tofu is curd.

Some hot dogs are on the griddle
The meat of a priest that sinned
I can't seem to find a bun now
I can feel it in my bum now
That priest is cumin' again

There's a dildo in the dresser
Some use strap-ons when they're down
In an ass hole well renowned
It's anal and vaginal and mouth
Everybody's fuckin'

Cum on children, cum on children
Cum all over them

The slut went down for money
Sucked my dick and made her mine
She said call me Thin Lizzy
The sound of her gas was fizzy
Split up come summer time

I stole her doctor prescription
Got some money on the wire
Pills a poppin' for a grand while
Like fallin' in quicksand
No time to wallow in the mire*

Zany bitch is blowin' dick right
Balls are fightin' through a thong
Russians spam all of those memes
Facebook laughs and twitter creams
And it's all just one big con

Keep on fuckin' twats they're airtight
Meet the morning queef with dong
No one's noticed but the contraception's gone
Sperm cums from both 'dem balls
But they keep on fuckin'

Cum on children, cum on children
Cum all over them

Well, the weekend comes on Friday
And the strip bar jism mopped
And the dancers are all dancin'
Loads of cuming and romancing
The bullshit never stops

Dedicated to the skillful flirters and those who got game.  Like Ponch... of Chrisagis fame.
* Jim Morrison voice
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 The Other One

Spanish lady come to me, she lays on me this rose
It rainbow spirals round and round, it trembles and explodes
It left a smoking crater of my mind I like to blow away
But the heat came round and busted me for smiling on a cloudy day

Coming, coming, coming around
Coming around, coming around, in a circle
Coming, coming, coming around
Coming around, coming around, in a circle

Escaping through the lily fields, I came across an empty space
It trembled and exploded, left a bus stop in its place
The bus came by and I got on, that's when it all began
There was Cowboy Neal at the wheel of the bus to never ever land

Coming, coming, coming around
Coming around, coming around, in a circle
Coming, coming, coming around
Coming around, coming around, in a circle



The Other Bum (Cigarettes)

Marlboro man looked at me, what is it you propose
The mental signals pound for pound, it feels like morose code
It leaves a craving aching in my heart, I need a smoke today
Praise the nicotine for taking that physical imbalance away

Bumming, bumming, bumming around
Bumming around, bumming around, got tobacco
Bumming, bumming, bumming around
Bumming around, bumming around, got tobacco

Addiction on the battlefields, will always plague the human race
We're punished and exploited, it's the ultimate disgrace
The drugs don't stop but we plod on, a marathon we've ran
Now Donald Trump's the kingpin of this pharmaceutical nightmare jam

Bumming, bumming, bumming around
Bumming around, bumming around, got tobacco
Bumming, bumming, bumming around
Bumming around, bumming around, got tobacco

Dedicated to anyone who has ever uttered the words, "Can I bum a smoke?"


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  The Wheel

The wheel is turning and you can't slow down
You can't let go and you can't hold on
You can't go back and you can't stand still
If the thunder don't get you then the lightning will

Won't you try just a little bit harder
Couldn't you try just a little bit more
Won't you try just a little bit harder
Couldn't you try just a little bit more

Round, round, Robin run around
Gotta get back where you belong
Little bit harder, just a little bit more
Little bit further than you gone before

Small wheel turning by the fire and rod
Big wheel turning by the grace of God
Every time that wheel turn round
Bound to cover just a little more ground

The Steel (Steelworkers)

The steel is meltin' and the plant shut down
The plant is dead and workers laid off
You can't go back to the ol' steel mill
If the taxes don't get you then the tariffs will

Won't you spend just a little more money
Couldn't you spend just a little bit more
Won't you spend just a little more money
Couldn't you spend just a little bit more

Sound, sound, industry sound
gotta get back to makin' that song
Little bit money, just a little bit more
Government spending that we've seen before

Small steel made from the iron and ore
Big steel smelts and you can't ignore
Every time that steel makes sound
Bound to add coke when the lime comes around

Dedicated to all the steel workers who've lot their jobs.  
And to those gullible enough to believe Trump's claim of an industry resurgence.

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Set 10:
They Love Each Other

Merry run around
Sailing up and down
Looking for a shove in some direction
Got it from the top
It's nothing you can stop
Lord, you know they made a fine connection

They love each other
Lord, you can see it's true
Lord, you can see it's true
Lord, you can see it's true

He could pass his time
Around some other line
But you know he chose this place beside her
Don't get in the way
There's nothing you can say
Nothing that you need to add or do

It's nothing, they explain
It's like a diesel train
Better not be there when it rolls over
And when that train rolls in
You won't know where it's been
You gotta try to see a little further

Though you'll make a noise
They just can't hear your voice
They're on a dizzy ride and you're cold sober

Hope you will believe, what I say is true
Everything I did, I heard it first from you

Heard your news report

You know you're falling short
Pretty soon won't trust you for the weather
When that ship comes in
You won't know where it's been
You got to try to see a little further


They Hate Each Other (The Art of Trolling)

Tech is all around
Nothing in the town
Paying for that internet connection
Giga-bytes won't stop
Technology sweatshop
Time is right for digital aggression

They hate each other. 
Troll you know it's not true
Troll you know it's not true 
Troll you know it's not true

He floods the net with spam
It put him in a jam
Got dropped by his internet provider
Nowhere left to play
Favorite sites were gay
Lashing out with paste jobs, hash tags too

It gives me so much pain
such a tireless refrain
Truth is in the eye of the beholder
The fake news and the sin
Notify next of kin
This computer trash keeps on growing bolder

Comment on a thread
It's better left unsaid
Impacts everyone both young and older

Still I will deceive, shit I spew trends new
Some will think I kid, but surely not you

Now ye shall abort
Off switch the last resort
Wish I'd spent my time a little better
Time to jump offline
and I'll be feelin' fine
Turns out my mind was like a prison debtor

Dedicated to the trolls and spammers, moles and scammers.


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Touch of Grey

It must be getting early
Clocks are running late
Paint by numbers morning sky
Looks so phony

Dawn is breaking everywhere
Light a candle, curse the glare
Draw the curtains, I don't care
'Cause it's alright

I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive

I see you got your list out
Say your piece and get out
Yes I got the gist of it
But it's alright

Sorry that you feel that way
The only thing there is to say
Every silver lining's got a
Touch of grey

It's a lesson to me
The Ables and the Bakers and the C's
The A B C's, we all must face
And try to keep a little grace

I know the rent is in arrears
The dog has not been fed in years
It's even worse than it appears
But it's alright

Cows are giving kerosene
The kid can't read at seventeen
The words he knows are all obscene
But it's alright

I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive

It's a lesson to me
The Deltas and the East and the Freeze
The A B C's
We all think of
And try to keep a little love

The shoe is on the hand it fits
There's really nothing much to it
Whistle through your teeth and split
'Cause it's alright

Oh well a touch of grey
Kind of suits you anyway
That was all I had to say
And it's alright

I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive

We will get by
We will get by
We will get by
We will survive

Touch of Gay (Gayness)

Must be getting horny
ain't no time to bate
Dream for cock and morning wood
it's so bony

Dicks are aching everywhere
use a strap on, has no hair
Turn the lights on, I don't care
cuz fags are tight

I will get fucked
I will get fucked
I will get fucked
I will get sucked

I see you've got your dong out
let me suck the sperm out
Gimme the jism from it
Cuz fags are tight

Sorry that there is no way
To avoid the cum I spray
Every meaty dick has got a
Touch of gay

It's a lesson to me
The fashion and the haircuts and big D's
The ass hole pleasures that we chase
Ends when you cum straight on my face

I know what I want in the rear
Schlong has not been jacked in a year
Thank thy god we're all fucking queer
Cuz fags are tight

How 'bout dem vas deferens
praise the lord it's raining men
Hallelujah, let's be friends
Cuz fags are tight

I will get fucked
I will get fucked
I will get fucked
I will get sucked

It's a cock ring for me
the dildos and the wine and the cheese
The loads we crave
Ooze down your face
Hard to speak with any grace

Condom's on the dick that fits
Bout to invade an ass that shits
Toss a salad with your tongue and spit
Cuz fags are tight

Oh well a touch of gay
Anytime night or day
Play me some Spandau Ballet
Cuz fags are tight

I will get fucked
I will get fucked
I will get fucked
I will get sucked

We will get fucked
We will get fucked
We will get fucked
We will get sucked

Dedicated to the stick bundlers, as well as others trending homo.

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Truckin'

Truckin' got my chips cashed in
Keep truckin' like the doodah man
Together, more or less in line
Just keep truckin' on

Arrows of neon and flashing marquees out on Main Street
Chicago, New York, Detroit and it’s all the same street
Your typical city involved in a typical daydream
Hang it up and see what tomorrow brings

Dallas got a soft machine
Houston too close to New Orleans
New York got the ways and means
But just won't let you be

Most of the cats that you meet on the street speak of true love
Most of the time they're sitting and crying at home
One of these days they know they gotta get going
Out of the door and into the street all alone

Truckin' like the doodah man
Once told me "Gotta play your hand
Sometimes the cards ain't worth a dime
If you don't lay them down"

Sometimes the lights all shining on me
Other times I can barely see
Lately it occurs to me
What a long strange trip it's been

What in the world ever became of sweet Jane?
She lost her sparkle you know she isn't the same
Living on reds and vitamin C and cocaine
All her friends can say is ain't it a shame

Truckin' up to Buffalo
Been thinking you got to mellow slow
Takes time, you pick a place to go
Just keep truckin' on

Sitting and staring out of the hotel window
Got a tip they're gonna kick the door in again
Like to get some sleep before I travel
But if you got a warrant I guess you're gonna come in

Busted down on Bourbon Street
Set up like a bowling pin
Knocked down, it gets to wearing thin
They just won't let you be

You're sick of hanging around, you'd like to travel
Get tired of traveling you want to settle down
I guess they can't revoke your soul for trying
Get out of the door, light out and look all around

Sometimes the lights all shining on me
Other times I can barely see
Lately it occurs to me
What a long strange trip it's been

Truckin' I'm a going home
Whoa, whoa, baby, back where I belong
Back home, sit down and patch my bones
And get back truckin' on


Fuckin' (Pittsburgh Hoes & Gigolos)

Fuckin', got my balls, ass deep
Keep Fuckin, gonna make you weep
Together, we sow what we reap
Just keep fuckin deep

Condoms of colors, pimps and hookers out in Pittsburgh
Carnegie, Crafton, Green Tree and it's all in the same Burgh
Your steel city dreams end up in a steel city morgue
Hack it up and see what the internet brings

Duquesne, is a fenced in pen
Houston, too close to Washington
Oakland's got the wilding teens
They just want to have fun, oh no

Most of the chicks that you meet in the bars want to fuck you
Most of the drunks, they're sittin' and drinking at home
One of these days, they better check into rehab
Off of the junk and out on the town feelin' fab

Fuckin', gonna make you weep
Ladies tell me to use my own hand
Sometimes, your dick ain't worth a buck
if it's limp come crunch time

Sometimes, the traffic's all opposite me
Still at least the parkway is free
Lately it occurs to me
what a weird, strange town it be

What in the world ever became of Jagr?
He lost his mullet, you know he's not at the bar
Livin' on dope, heroin H and black tar,
He used to be one helluva superstar

Fuckin', up to Brighton Heights
Been suckin', about to blow your load
Takes time, when you pick a new ho
and just keep fuckin' on

Clicking and scrolling all over the internet
Big brother will monitor, that's a good bet
I'd like to get some sleep after I jack it
But if you got a fetish, you might work up a good sweat (nice beads)

Sexed up, from your head to feet
Tied up and living in sin
Jizzed up, don't know where to begin
The cum won't let me see

Your dick is hanging around, king of the castle
Not tired of traveling, hit the gas pedal down
I guess you can't remote your soul controlling
Get out of the house, close the lights, and hit the town

Sometimes the cum's all loaded on me
Many times I can barely see
Lately it occurs to me,
What a long, big dick it is

Fuckin, I'm goin' to Mars
Hey hey baby, right near Cranberry
Bath room, shower and wash my dick
and get back fuckin' on

Hey get back to fuckin' Mars

Dedicated to the truculent aggressors and sexual conquistadors of the Burgh.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

U.S. Blues

Red and white, blue suede shoes
I'm Uncle Sam, how do you do
Gimme five, still alive
Ain't no luck, I learned to duck

Check my pulse, it don't change
Stay seventy two, come shine or rain
Wave the flag, pop the bag
Rock the boat, skin the goat

Wave that flag, wave it wide and high
Summertime done come and gone, my oh my

I'm Uncle Sam, that's who I am
Been hiding out, in a rock and roll band
Shake the hand that shook the hand
Of P. T. Barnum and Charlie Chan

Shine your shoes, light your fuse
Can you use them old U.S. Blues
I'll drink your health, share your wealth
Run your life, steal your wife

Back to back, chicken shack
Son of a gun, better change your act
We're all confused, what's to lose
You can call this song the United States Blues



U.S. Jews (Donald Trump)

Red and gold, feelin' old
I'm Donald Trump, my blood is cold
Gimme cash, still white trash
ain't that fit, I look like shit

Check my weight, it don't change
Two thirty nine, stupid and strange
Pray to god, total fraud
Got no sense, love Mike Pence

Tie that tie, way down to your thigh
'lection's won ain't no fun, why oh why

I'm Donald Trump, a fat orange chump
I lie and cheat, and got some shriveled meat
I'm the dick, that sucked the dick
Of Robert Mueller and Vince McMahon

Heard the news, paid my dues
Money to use, from U.S. Jews?
I never drink, care what you think

Don't do drugs, need a hug

Kids are whack, they're on crack
Sons of an ass, should be smokin' grass
Right to choose, it's yours to lose
You can call this song the United States Jews

Dedicated to the friends of Trump.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Woman Smarter

Let us put men and women together
See which one is smarter
Some say men, but I say no
The women got the men like a puppet show

Believe me, it's the people that say
That the men are leading the women astray
But I say that the women today
Are smarter than the men in every way

That's right, the women are smarter
That's right, the women are smarter
That's right, the women are smarter
The women are smarter than the men today

Little boy sit on the corner and cry
Big man come and he ask him why
Says I can't do what the big boys do
Man sat down and he cried too

It ain't me, but the people who say
That the men are leading the women astray
But I say that the women today
Are smarter than the men in every way

Ever since the world began
Women been imitating the ways of men
But listen cause I've got a plan
Give it up, just don't try to understand



Women are Farters (Flatulence)

Let's put men and women in a restroom
See which ones are farters
Some say men, I say gastro
Women are a major intestinal show

Shit ain't free - it's the assholes that say
Your shit stinks far worse than a dirty ash tray
I'm not cray, it's the women today
A baker's dozen farts, throughout the day

All night, the women are farters
All night, the women are farters
All night, the women are farters
The women are farters, all night and day

Little shit sat on the corner and shat
Big man ask him "wazzup wit dat?"
Said I can't shit like big boys do
Man sat down, made number two

Shit ain't free - it's the assholes that say
Your shit stinks far worse than a dirty ash tray
I'm not cray, it's the women today
A baker's dozen farts, throughout the day

Ever since the farting began
Women been blowing away the farts of man
Make a face, look like Vince McMahon
Hold it in, will make you a fine young man

Dedicated to the weirdo subculture who try to light their farts on fire. 
Resulting in burns and scarring.  Seriously, wtf.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

EPILOGUE:

Below you will see a comprehensive listing of my Grateful Dead concerts.  From a logistical perspective, I only consider the Dead to be the Dead, if and only if, Jerry Garcia was on stage.  I’ve been to plenty of the other post-fatman shows.  Seen plenty of Ratcat and Mousecrap.  Not to mention The Further Ones and Other Goons.  Simply stated, those shows do not count.



My best advice for any future Dead-related endeavors?  Just enjoy yourself and try not take everything so seriously.  Even if you’ve lost your mind, you need to accept reality.  Lemme be blunt.  The band folded on a pretty sour note in 1995.  Instead of desperately trying to relive distant memories, create some new ones.  My only request performance-wise?  Please pick up the tempo.



In the late 80’s and early 90’s, the musical scene, both large and small, was filled with flyers.  Everywhere you looked there were these 8 1/2” by 11” xeroxed pieces of paper.  Stapled to a telephone pole.  Taped above a urinal.  Sometimes handed out by a renegade promoter.



Well, the internet came along and changed all that.  There’s little need for International Paper when you can search for the information on your phone.



I miss these flyers.  So much so, that I created a new term.  Flyres.  That’s right.  Correctly misspelled and referred to as “flyres.”  These aren’t distributed beforehand.  They’re specifically tailored for the post-concert aftermath.  Makes sense to me.  Just switch up the “r” and the “e.”  Think about it.  A pyre is a wood heap used to burn a dead body.  So where does paper come from?  Yes, paper comes from the root.  Roots are part of trees.  Paper comes from trees.  How you make a pyre?  You put the wood on it.  Now paper can burn.  And what's it used for.  Yes, to gratefully burn the dead.  Flyers + Pyre = Flyres.  There you go.  (spoken like the paternal caregiver, Gus Portokalos in My Big Fat Greek Wedding).



Scanning the Dupree’s Diamonds might seem a bit obsessive.  But some of my favorite moments on tour were the result of those free hand-outs.  No, not the ads for a Madame hippie psychic 900 number.  Or the legalization of the whales Greenpeace schtick.  It was the set lists.  And the informed discussion, speculation and debate that followed.  It was a lot like trick-or-treating on Halloween.  Did you see what they pulled out in Hotlanta?  Don’t you wish you coulda hit the West Coast for that Greek Theatre stretch?  Looks like we could be due… for a Dew.  These spontaneous conversations happened all the time.  At a highway rest stop or while relaxing around a campfire.  Distinctive moments that sparked a unique brand of camaraderie.  For those who never experienced it, my condolences.



Hopefully, these 45 flyres will usher in a new era of strategic rock concert analysts.  But I won’t be holding my breath.  Fortunately, there are exactly 45 topics which Dead fans engage upon.  Who knew?  Unconventionally convenient to say the least.  Fahgettaboudit.

License Plates:


My most prized GD possession isn’t my ticket stub collection.  Everyone has some stubs.  But nobody, and I mean nobody, has a vast collection of personalized Dead plates.  I used to wander the lots and snap pictures with my pocket 110 Fuji Instamatic Camera.  While I’ve seen a few “plate collage” posters online, I’ve never remotely encountered anything that approaches the volume, scope and depth of my personal collection.  Consider it freely available for inspired replication.  Do with it what you will.  If you want, credit me accordingly.  If not, I really don’t give a damn.  Hell, sell the shit for all I care.  These days I’ve got other things on my mind.  However, if you do crop it up, in an effort to make a poster or t-shirt, please consider sending me your finished product.  I’d be profoundly appreciative.  Witness the understatement of the century.  You’d absolutely blow my fucking mind.  (Eric Saferstein, 822 Geyer Rd., Pittsburgh, PA 15212)

The Dead gave us inspiration.  Memorable moments and unforgettable experiences.  The Dead gave us music.  Wandering jams and punchy refrains.  The Dead brought me significant joy.  I realize that I’m supposed to be the hateful head and all.  But if you sifted through my entire book and found yourself on the receiving end of any joy whatsoever… heretofore, I’ll consider it an existential victory.  See, I ain’t that bad after all.

All the plates are in meticulous alphabetical order.  A few might seem out of place, but I assure you, they are not.  But first, the shows.

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TICKETS:


RISK

Cincinnati, OH
Riverfront Coliseum
4-8-89

Everyone has a story about their first show.  I have about a dozen.  Did you know I bought 16 tickets to the sold out concert?  And scalped them all on the University of Dayton campus.  Did you know I used an unripped ticket from Christian singer Amy Grant?  Yep.  One day at a time, sweet Valerie Bertinelli.  Back in the day, we'd just hand them any cheapo Ticketron ticket.  We even had a pet name for the ticket takers.  We called ‘em rippers.  Ooh, that old geezer looks like a ripper.  We choo-choo-choose you!   

Tan Wrestler and I took a bus from Dayton to Cincinnati.  At the time, he was seeing a girl who went to UC.  After the show ended, we trudged through a steady downpour of biting rain.  The hill in front of us was a daunting one.  Without warning, a large black man came sprinting down the hill directly toward us, yelling unintelligible curses at the top of his lungs.  My buddy brandished his Swiss army knife and prepared to defend us.  Without warning, the guy stopped suddenly and began violently puking in a metal garbage can.  We just looked at each other with these frozen expressions of bewilderment.  What the fuck was this?  What kind of hospitality parade are they runnin’ 'round here. 

The man finished vomiting, ran across the road and continued unimpeded down the hill.  He was a big dude, likely in excess of 375 lbs.  Arms flailing wildly, maybe he was part of the Cincy welcoming committee?  I do not know.

We finally made it to the dorm room of Tan Wrestler's girlfriend.  She asked what took us so long.  We told her it was a lengthy walk in the cold rain and biting wind.  Both she and her roommate were incredulous.  They couldn’t believe we walked through the hood in the middle of the night.  Apparently, the university had made repeated public service warnings regarding the "2 mile danger zone."

Ed rifled through his pockets and produced his knife and a handful of Taco Bell hot sauce packets.  "Oh, it wasn't that bad.  Except for the monster puker."  He showed the girls his blade and assuringly said, "Don't worry, me and Eric had everything under control."






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BREAKDOWN

Charlotte, NC
Charlotte Coliseum
10-22-89

A crew of us made the trek from Dayton to Charlotte in an old school VW bus.  It felt like a vintage toaster oven bouncing down the highway.  And we were a discombobulated assemblage of white bread.  Toasted, baked and burnt.  One of the guys had a relative that lived near the coliseum.  We shacked up at his place.  The next day, a group of really young, unchaperoned kids knocked on the door.  They had flowers in their hair.  But they were neither flower children nor proponents of freedom rock.  They were predictably preaching the gospel of Christ.  Just for the record, stuff like this truly sickens me.  I have enough contempt for the televangelism circuit.  But do not, I repeat do NOT, send little kids to do God's bidding.

The next day our journey continued on Billy Graham Parkway.  What the fuck is wrong with this town?  Who the fuck names a highway after Billy Graham.  Ironic that as I write this, he died just a few days ago at age 100.  An even century.  Fare thee well, I suppose.  I guess everything comes full circle.

We made it all the way back to Dayton.  7 hours each way.  Roughly 1,000 miles.  And the transmission blew just 3 blocks from our house.  True story.  Our dirty hippie asses had to push it down the street the rest of the way.  I don't know, maybe it needed a new Johnson rod.







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TERRORISM

Pittsburgh, PA
Three Rivers Stadium
7-8-90

During a first set Row Jimmy, a Goodyear blimp invaded the stadium's airspace.  It crept along at the slowest pace imaginable.  Everyone looked up and admired the awesome spectacle.  But these days, people only look downward.  Staring deeply into their cell phones for self-gratification and reassurance.  How times have changed.  Not sure if anyone has ever seen the 1977 movie Black Sunday.  Now that's my kinda movie!  Strange coincidence that the movie featured both my favorite and despised teams (Steelers vs. Cowboys).  Maybe they could do a 2018 remake and name it "Black Saffy."  In a post 9/11, apocalyptic world, blimps do not hover above stadiums and ballparks.  Current FAA restrictions ban all aircraft, including blimps from flying within 3 miles and less than 3,000 feet above large public gatherings.

Also during the first set, some scraggly hippie grabbed a Pennsylvania state trooper's hat and threw it in the air, like a soaring frisbee.  This numskull ended up running for his life all over the field.  He got tangled up in a twisted mess of folding chairs right in front of us.  I'm not going to speculate, but on the off-chance that he was of the Jewish persuasion, I'd term this phenomenon Tangled up in Jew.



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BUSTED

Richfield, OH
Richfield Coliseum
9-7-90

Our crew was running dangerously late.  Five of us crammed into a Nissan Sentra and took off for the Cleveland area.  Italian Stud mistakenly thought it was a 90 minute drive from the University of Dayton.  Try closer to the three hour mark.  But our driver was up to the task, mostly cruising in the 85mph range.  We were flying down the road, doing bong hits and crushing beers left and right.  Ahh, Goebels (correctly pronounced Go-Bulls).

All of a sudden, a Lamborghini, weaved around us.  This guy, with sunglasses and driving gloves, had to be going over a 100mph.  Slamming on his brakes, cutting people off, even using the burm.  Exactly who the fuck was this Miami Vice Don Johnson mother fucker?  We conversationally assailed him for a few minutes and then returned to our alcohol and dope.

Suddenly, a state trooper was coming up behind us.  Fast.  In the fast lane.  Flashing lights and siren blaring.  Stud was like, "Oh fuck, oh god no, fuck, fuck!”  “There's a cop behind us.  My life’s over.  Hide all that shit!”  We quickly threw our beers under the seat and stashed the bong under a blanket.  Beer and bong water spilled everywhere.  Followed by another round of fuck this, fuck that, and how he didn't deserve this.

Much to everyone's chagrin, the cop proceeded to fly right by us.  Everyone in the car breathed a collective sigh of extreme relief.  "Oh thank god.  Thank god.  I thought I was dead.  I thought we were all totally fucked."  This was followed by utter jubilation, like we had just won the Super Bowl on a game winning field goal.  You'd never seen such a display of immense relief followed by crazed celebration.  

Everyone needed to piss, so we hit up a rest stop on I-71 N.  As we approached the building, Lamborghini man, in a white sport jacket no less, was up against his car, being patted down by a state trooper.  Totally indifferent to the presence of law enforcement, we rolled down the windows and hurled insults.  Plumes of smoke surely funneled out the window.  "Thank you officer, that guy is a menace to society.  He needs to spend the night in jail.  Yeah, lock him up and throw away the key!"  Keep in mind, we were a bunch of totally stoned, tye-dyed college kids who had just shot-gunned a round of beers.  On our way back to the car, it got even worse.  One of our crew called him an asshole.  Another piped up, "Yeah, you ain't fat, you ain't nothin!  This was a popular Weird Al expression at the time.  "Yeah, you're just a Don Johnson wanna-be bitch.  Stupid mutha fucka!"  I even threw out an obligatory, "Go to hell."   

Then we all just busted out laughing.  When our last buddy returned, we jumped in and sped away.  For the remainder of the drive, all of us laughed so hard.  I think it was a combination of exasperation and stupidity (heckling the guy in plain view of a cop).  Not to mention the obvious presence of our own illegal contraband and the fact that the Ferrari douchebag thought he was some kind of ever-gladed, coked-up version of Sonny Crockett.  Tears streamed down our faces the rest of the way.  We couldn't stop yammering back and forth.  An unusual prelude to Vince Welnick's first show. 

Would we have gotten away with these antics in the here and now?  No fucking way!  The cop would have surely called for back up, tossed the car, arrested us and thrown everyone in jail.  Hence, we would have missed the show altogether.  Of this, I am quite certain.


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FUNERALS

Richfield, OH
Richfield Coliseum
9-8-90

While attending the University of Dayton, I mentioned to my Statistics professor that I wouldn't be in town for an exam.  There was a funeral I needed to attend.  He expressed his condolences and we arranged an alternative time for me to take the test.

Of course, there was no funeral.  However, I was going to see the Dead. 

Decades later, I wonder how many other college students used such similarly styled strategies.

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THEFT

Landover, MD
Capital Centre
3-18-91

During a week/weak stretch of shows at the Cap Center in Landover, Maryland, we stayed 10 minutes up the road at Greenbelt Park.  As we paid the campground entry fee, I read the rules, but thought little of them.  No alcohol or weapons permitted.  A little after midnight, we were sitting around the fire.  A park ranger and his two henchman walked over to our picnic table.  He sharply informed us that beer was not permitted and we'd have to empty our containers.  Then, he gave us two choices.  Either open our cars to be searched or exit the park.

Seeking out a new place to stay in the middle of the night?  Well, that wasn't a credible option.  So we complied.  We really didn't have much of a choice.  I opened my hatch and there was 4 cases of beer (Beck's, Moosehead, Heineken and St. Pauli).  Back then, we'd swing imports to double our money.  The prick stared us down.  "We'll have to confiscate the beer."  It became apparent that these ass holes were basically going from site to site, stealing beer and committing a modified version of strong arm robbery.  I sized him up, "Well, it's our beer.  We'd rather dump it."  The mother fucker condescendingly laughed and said "fine by me."  They watched as we individually opened 96 non-twist off, premium glass bottles.  Pouring them into the dirt.  One by one.  It took us about 5 minutes.

I was 22 years old and this was possibly the most humiliating and frustrating, yet at the same time, empowering moment of my life.







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WEED

Landover, MD
Capital Centre
3-20-91

Marijuana is definitely a moral issue.  It's a values issue as well.

Is an 80 year old retired grandmother of 10, suffering from stage 4 cancer, after multiple rounds of chemo, seeking a pot brownie to help accelerate her appetite... is she an actual threat to U.S. national security?  Does she play a significant role in the war on drugs?

Is a 3 year old child who experiences dozens of daily seizures, requiring a specific strain of cannabis, really a threat to the government and the pharmaceutical biz?

Is it wise to bankrupt and excoriate the entire hemp industry in an attempt to ingratiate yourself with the petrochemical industry and the myriad of alcohol and tobacco lobbyists?

If a member of Congress jokingly confesses to having smoked marijuana, should there be legal consequences?

Is it reasonable to incarcerate a human being for the crime of smoking grass?

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PARKING

Landover, MD
Capital Centre
3-21-91

My father had a saying, "Hmm, where can I fark the car?"  I'm not quite sure when or where he conceived of the alliterative combination of fart'n'park.  My best hunch is maybe one of those Inspector Jacques Clouseau Pink Panther movies. 

I've always felt a little sympathy for parking lot attendants.  No, not the workers in the booths who take your money.  God no.  I used to be one of those dudes.  We'd rob the city lots blind.

I'm referring to the young employees who wave cars into their designated spaces.  There’s always someone who needs to flout the rules.  It's either the nimrod who wildly disregards their unenforceable demands and takes off like Ricky Booby at Talladega.  Or it's the guy who needs to execute an unnecessary reverse 5-point turn in a pointless effort to back it in.  Yeahh boy!










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OPENERS

Hebron, Ohio
Buckeye Lake Music Center
6-9-91

Definitely one of the more introspective summer concerts.  After the show, Quark and I wandered the hillside parking lots.  We'd approach a makeshift fire or line of people waiting to purchase grilled cheese sandwiches and utter two words.  In a prodding, curiously unified approach...

"Bob?"  "Buckeye?"  And then make these faces of inquisitive consternation as if we needed them to complete the declaration.  The third word, the correct answer if you will... was "Bucket."  Why didn't Bob open with Bucket?  With the collective fate of central Ohio in play, what could he have possibly been thinking with this celestial Picasso Moonsense? 

"Moooon" we'd stammer back with absolute incredulity.

His actions laid the foundation for a haiku.

Bob
Bob Bucket
Bob Bucket Buckeye
Buckeye Lake Music Center
Moon?





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CHECKPOINTS

Washington, D.C.
RFK Stadium
6-14-91

Everyone leaving RFK Stadium remembers the giant orange road signs on the interstate.  DRUG CHECKPOINT AHEAD.  Of course, no such checkpoints existed.  The police were just trying to terrify the hippies and get them to make an illegal u-turn on the 495 beltway.  Then, they'd pull you over, toss the vehicle, find a doobie, and destroy everyone's life.

I remember hitting a nearby rest stop after the show.  Fans were in hysterics.  Women crying.  Children screaming.  Men complaining.  Dogs abandoned.  All because a driver panicked and decided to flip a bitch.

The checkpoint strategy, as a means to extract money, still exists to this very day.  Whether it's drugs, drinking, even illegal immigrants.  It's one blatant, never ending con job.  Characteristic of how the entire government operates.  Is it any wonder this policy of manipulative entrapment originated in Washington, D.C.?  Brings new meaning to the term "police state."







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TYE DYES
Chicago, IL
Soldier Field
6-22-91

Never cared much for the fake tye dye crowd.  It mostly consisted of college girls who bought their dyes off the rack.  From a defunct mall shop like Limited Too or Sam Goody.  Goody!  You could see them coming from a mile away.  Kinda this spiral cascade of bright colors, culminating in a centered dancing skeleton.  Have no doubt, they'd always make a big splash.  The girls, not the dyes.

If you ever encountered a t-shirt with a WV/PA/OH college or university and a list of 50 phrases on the back (similar to the Top 100 list in High Times), well, those were mine.  I swung them through the dorms like a militant Jehovah's Witness.  Knockin' on freshman's door.  On the front was one of a few different logos: a dancing bear, the yin yang symbol, or a stick figure man displaying a peace sign.  I'd wear them all the time.  Hey, it's called guerrilla marketing. Although my strategy was less gorilla, more Koko the Monkey.  Several classmates assumed I was wearing the exact same t-shirt every day.  Not true.  However, I was often wearing the exact same t-shirt design every day.  At the time, it never really dawned on me that many thought I was a total dirtbag.  This is two decades before twitter hashtags.  #oblivious #dumbshit.


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IMPORTS

Bonner Springs, KS
Sandstone Amphitheater
6-24-91

A question that beleaguers us all:  Why do the vast majority of broke ass hippies drink expensive premium beer?  Grolsch and Guinness.  Becks and Bass. 

How can you beg for spare change while drinking a Heiny?  Or request a miracle ticket while downing a Newcastle?  Something in the pilsner does not compute!

My best explanation is this.  Dead shows were always about seizing the moment.  Carpe Diem.  If I'm going to overdose, or get arrested, or step on broken glass... well, I might as well go out in style.  Grasping a Beast Light at the moment of truth?  That's just not going to cut it.




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FIRE

Richfield, OH
Richfield Coliseum
9-4-91

Trump once tried to patent the motto, "You're fired!"  In West Virginia, we have a similar phrase... "Yer Fahrd!"  But rather than focus on the hostility and negativity, here's an uplifting song I wrote.  It's called "Git the Skids."  The theme is relatively straightforward.  When your life goes to shit and you're totally down and out.  When you're broke, your woman is a cheatin' and you got a warrant out.  Gather up as many skids as you can, from a variety of locations if necessary.  Head out the crick or affiliated creek, holler or relevant hollow.  Throw those palettes on the ground in a big pile and torch the living fuck out of them.  When the fire is totally raging, it's customary to perform the sacred skid dance around the fire and pay homage to the circular gods of despair.

The refrain employs a mind-numbingly sophisticated double entendre.  Dual meanings of the word "bud" and "jack."

When you hit the skids
You gotta git the skids 

When your truck blows a tire and you ain't gotta a jack
When the Bud runs dry, but the Jack comes back


The other parts of the song outline the adventure in obtaining said skids.  It's designed to invoke themes of patriotism, military service, God, girls and fisticuffs.  All of them critical elements to the country experience.  The melody is akin to a rockin' Toby Keith meets AC/DC.

Went down to the Texaco station
Cuz I'm proud of this damn nation

Found a few here, found a few there

Stopped behind the Piggly Wiggly
Where the girls all get giggly

Found a few here, found a few there

We're part of the rank and file
We're doin' it country style
And if you think that no one cares
Just give a shout-out to the man upstairs

Did you see what god done did?
Yeahhhh, he gave us that big 'ol skid.

Found a few here, found a few there.

Sip it through a straw, Yee-haw!
Shotgun, Shotgun.  Bang, Bang! 
Shotgun, Shotgun.  Bang, Bang!

Was a hot damn big 'ol scuffle
Turned into a country kerfuffle.



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FUCKED UP

Richfield, Ohio
Richfield Coliseum
9-5-91

This was the show where I totally bit the dust.  Or more accurately, concrete.  I had been on a "bender" of sorts.  Plenty of drugs, an insane amount of alcohol and a healthy dose of sleep deprivation.  I ran into Big Boy Bridgeport during the set break on the arena floor.  He discreetly sparked up a doobie and I wolfed down some hits in rapid succession.  Moments later, I was seeing a tic-tac-toe grid.  I was out of it, barely conscious.  During the collapse, I lost my ball cap and glasses.  Fortunately, one of the event staff grabbed them for safekeeping.  A crew shuffled me off to the indoor emergency medical room. 

I was basically laid out on a cot.  Half-asleep, half-unconscious, for the first part of the second set.  But I heard the faint sound of drums in the distance.  As I finally regained consciousness, a woman was hovering over me, offering me cookies and orange juice.  Then, I was peppered with questions --- name, address, had I ingested any illegal substances, and so on?  Gaining coherence and sitting up, I came to the realization that these were mandatory questions being asked for potential litigation and insurance reasons. 

I asked them pointedly, "Am I free to go?"  A police officer fired back, "You need to take it easy."  I scowled in defiance.  The nurse added, "Maybe it would be best if you took a few moments to gather yourself."  Okay.  I gradually stood to my feet, stretched and walked around the room.  When they were momentarily distracted, I walked over to the door and briskly skipped out.  Stumbling through the lower level concourse, deciphering the sounds of space, and doing a little people watching, I slowly got back into the swing of things.  Miracle > Black Peter > Sugar Magnolia really hit the spot as I danced, and more accurately thrashed about with a steaming cauldron of hippies outside the open black curtain.  My fellow concert goers had on tye-dyes and rasta garb.  On the other hand there was me, sporting a pharmaceutical polo shirt.  If memory serves me correct, the company was Merck.  Reflecting back on that hallucinatory showdown, my journey with the band took a brief detour.  I became the embodiment of Merck the Jerk.



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SPACE

Richfield, OH
Richfield Coliseum
9-6-91

We've all seen it.  Someone freaking out during space.  Uncontrollably dancing to the erratic electronic sounds for no apparent reason.  But this one guy took it to a different level.  He started doing these imaginary sexual gyrations.  Like he was humping a gyro (doggie style). 

Keep in mind, the whole section is seated, so this freakzilla kinda became our de facto representative.  Then, he turned around to face the crowd and continued with the pelvic thrusts.  But his routine was growing stale.  I think he knew a change up was necessary.  So he started doing this half Chewbacca, half gorilla thing, itching his armpits violently.  Crooning every howl, miming every whimper. 

He definitely had everyone's attention.  A few people started hollering "yeah" and "woooh."  This guy had it goin' on!  But he required even greater levels of adulation.  And then, it, happened.  He launched into a half YMCA, half Jump Around.  A painful, homo-erotic experience of unparalleled noncomformity.





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PEACE

Orchard Park, NY
Rich Stadium
6-6-92

My high school English teacher, Birdman, was a former United States Marine.  He spoke with a soft, calm inflection and chose his words very carefully.  When he did speak, many students would physically lean forward in their desks.  I can't recall the exact context of the conversation, but I'll never forget his claim.  "As long as mankind has existed, there has always been war.  And as long as mankind exists, there will always be war."  Not the most uplifting sentiment, but it seemed pretty spot-on.  The hippie faithful would surely dispute his assertion.  But if given the choice between the idealistic beatnik duo of Sunshine and her common-law husband Moonshine, I'll stick with the words of Mr. Pidgeon.







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TICKET STUBS

Richfield, OH
Richfield Coliseum
6-8-92

I spoke to the leading curator at the Rock'n'Roll hall of fame museum in Cleveland.  My suggestion was strong.  All around the United States, there are concert devotees who've kept and maintained extensive ticket stub collections.

Wouldn't it be cool to configure a mammoth, searchable database of the ticket stubs from just about every concert, from say 1950 to the present?  The premise for obtaining them is simple.  Have people mail in their entire collections.  All tickets would be scanned, catalogued and returned.  This way, anyone, anywhere could access the database and relive their experience.  For participating, you'd receive a one-time free admission pass to the Hall of Fame.

Keep in mind, many fans often have life-altering experiences at concerts.  Maybe they meet their future spouse.  Maybe they get arrested for public urination.  Maybe they get alcohol poisoning and die.  Just sayin', shit goes down.  This ticket anthology would make for an indelible trip down memory lane.



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ENCORES

Richfield, OH
Richfield Coliseum
6-9-92

Say what you will about the Dead.  Jerry’s missed lyrics, Bobby’s alternating susurrating and squawking, Vince’s disruptive caterwauling.  Say what you must.  But the encore selection always played a pivotal role in how the crowd felt as it exited the venue.  Borderline sexual in nature.

The mellow ballads (Knockin’, Ripple, Black Muddy River).  I always thought Liberty was underrated, but that’s just me.  Especially to my liking, was the concept of closing out any multiple night stand with Brokedown.  Any of these tunes projected this rosy glow and all-encompassing calm.  Synonymous with a church-like, contemplative feel. 

The mid-tempo songs (Box of Rain, Baby Blue, Touch of Grey) would give fans this sense of feel-good inspiration.  Like a deep massage or hot jacuzzi.

The rocker encores (US Blues, Johnny B. Goode, Saturday Night).  Straight orgasm.  Quivering labia or champagne popping cumshot.  Time to get back to the parking lot and party, hotel or campground and rage.

Over the years, I’ve often wondered if there was some kind of “Dead algorithm.”  A mathematically enhanced method of accurately predicting what song, or in very rare cases, songs, the band would play.  After a thorough analysis, I’ve come to realize that it was all a big mystery.  I don’t even think the band really knew.  That is, until Jerry struck a sole note or strummed a few chords.  Like KC (not Casey) says, that’s the way, uh-huh, uh-huh, I like it.



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LIKE, YOU KNOW

Albany, NY
Knickerbocker Arena
6-11-92

My father had three distinct pet peeves: 

1.  "Get your shoes out of the middle of the floor.  I almost tripped and broke my neck!" 
2.  "You left the lights on.  When you leave a room, turn off the lights."
3.  In response to someone repeatedly saying "yeah like, well like, you know"... he'd fire back, "No, I don't know!"

I've seen the "you know" people emerge from all walks of life.  Physicians, bankers, even lawyers and teachers.  It's annoying.  It's frustrating.  And it's all too common.

I had a brief conversation with a hippie chick after the show.  "That was like, the greatest show ever, ya know?  I scored a miracle ticket, ya know, and then Bobby played Miracle.  And Jerry ya know, was like on fire.  Ya know?”  I grimaced at her and glibly responded, "No, I don't know."

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MIRACLES

Albany, NY
Knickerbocker Arena
6-12-92

Nobody showed up for an event ticketless... quite like the Deadheads.  Their daylong behavior seemed to mirror the evening's eventual themes of comraderie and exploration.  Every show was an adventure.  A stark contrast to the little trained minions who dutifully order their tickets online and gleefully pay the service charge.  Hell, some even have their tickets electronically stashed inside their cell phones.  It's the equivalent of a drag show performance, minus the wigs, makeup, nails, jewelry and techno music.  How strikingly unhomo!

I wish to live in an entertainment world where people just randomly materialize and enjoy the moment.  Ticketless.  I seek a bizarre bazaar of shadowy characters and sketchy solicitors.

Did you book the limo?  Did you buy the backstage meet'n'greet passes?  Did you have your tailgate properly catered?  Are you a VIP?

Why not just show up and let the chips fall where they may?

Speaking of chips, Mason and I have conceived of the ultimate flavor.  Spicy Bloody Mary.

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SHAKEDOWN

East Rutherford, NJ
Giants Stadium
6-14-92

Ah yes, the capitalistic epicenter of every Dead show.  The endless queries, "Where's Shakedown?  Have you seen Shakedown?  Is there a Shakedown?"  Well, I dunno, you grilled cheese eatin', skunk beer drinkin', dose buyin', nitrous suckin', dog walkin', stone throwin', shroom laden mother fucker. 

Here's a thought.  Before you ask me for that miracle.  Before you ask me for some spare change.  Before you ask me to trade a Charlotte for a Deer Creek.  How about you take a moment and consider the prospect of silence?  Why?  Because it doesn't matter you say.  It doesn't matter what you think. 

Know your role and shut your mouth.



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LOVE

East Rutherford, NJ
Giants Stadium
6-15-92

I witnessed plenty of NFA chants during my 6 year stint with the Dead.  But the one that stands out — the echoing in the rotunda of cavernous Giants Stadium.  As the herd filtered out of the stadium, the moos of the cows and baas of the sheep suddenly transformed into a Not Fade Away chant for the ages.  Six levels later, we reached the parking lot.  And it seamlessly segued into a parking lot disco parade.

The Dead really didn't have a whole lot of crowd rallying interaction moments.  Save Wharf Rat, when Jerry said, "some other fucker's crime" and the crowd, myself included, would go off.  But there’s little in common with Phish’s booming echo of Wilson or the synchronized claps in Stash.

Now you see chants of a different nature.  Lock her up!  Build the wall!  Drain the swamp!  And the all too familiar U.S.A.! U.S.A.!  Very antagonistic, almost anachronistic. 

It brings back the 1992 memories of Bush Senior.  Read my lips!  No new taxes!

Nowadays, the social dinner table in set.  The political silverware in place.  The soundbytes are quite biting.  Every meme is designed for maximum impact.  Every ad hominem attack is in CAPS.  A quarter century later, I cannot envision any scenario where there’d be a meaningful return to rational discourse and informed debate.  The love conquers hate pendulum swings hard and fast.



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ADAM KATZ

Charlotte, NC
Charlotte Coliseum
6-17-92

My 1989 introduction to the Dead coincided with the death of Adam Katz.  A college kid the same age as me.  He was likely removed from the arena and beaten to death by yellow jacket security thugs at the Meadowlands complex in New Jersey.  His crime?  Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

You’d think that out of 20,000 people, someone would have seen something.  Apparently not.  In a court of law, nine security guards pled not guilty to assaulting fans during the band’s October shows at Brendan Byrne Arena.  Not one, not two.  Nine. 

Occam’s razor is the theory that when solving a problem, make the fewest assumptions.  Let the most obvious considerations serve as guidelines.  In other words, follow your gut instincts and choose the path of least resistance. 

Murder has no statute of limitations.  And thirty years is a long time.  Maybe not in the history of the universe, but certainly in the historical confines of northern Jersey.  As I approach the half century mark, I’ve often wondered, could this have been me?   Please know that it’s never too late to come forward and simply speak the truth.



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JOBS

Charlotte, NC
Charlotte Coliseum
6-18-92

During my time spent with the Dead, I was occasionally heckled.  “Git a job, ya goddamn hippie!”  Kind of ironic, because I worked a lot harder back in the day. 

Now considering the plethora of sporting events and concerts I’ve attended (likely over a thousand, but who’s counting), I find it peculair that the “ticket taker” doesn’t have a more official title.  Through the years, there seems to have been this politically correct surge to reclassify menial labor.  Think about it.  A paperboy is now called a “media distribution officer.”  A lunch lady?  She’s referred to as an “educational nourishment consultant.”  Even the dishwasher has a glorified title… “gastronomical hygiene technician.”  My new favorite is all the trinket dispensers, or if you will, “brand ambassadors.”  They hover around the venues, promoting vacation getaways.  But to the best of my knowledge, not a single person, in the history of mankind, has ever won that all-expenses paid Caribbean cruise.  

Still, I think mankind needs a professional occupational title for the lowly ticket taker.  They really aren’t ushers.  And these days, they don’t physically seize your ticket.  They scan it.  Hell, sometimes there isn’t even a ticket.  It’s an image on your phone, a bar code on a flimsy receipt, or an 8.5 x 11 piece of paper.  Nobody rips shit.

So allow me to propose the title “venue guardian.”  Works for me.  Just the right amount of dramatic enhancement without going overboard.  Some of the names that didn’t make the cut — “arena warden,” stadium steward,” and “ballpark defender.”   I like the last one because it emits a subtle, yet confident aura of testicular protection.

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WAR

Washington, D.C.
RFK Stadium
6-20-92

As the self-professed founder of 5th generation warfare (agsaf.org), I feel uniquely qualified to discuss the concept of mass, indiscriminate killing without conventional weapons.  My concerns surround an asymmetric cyberthreat, that by its very nature, is undiscussable.  Nobody's allowed to talk about it. 

When it comes to the wireless equivalent of shouting "fire" in a crowded theater, it appears that I'm the only person on the planet willing to address the issue head-on.  The paradoxical nature of threat makes this quite apparent.  If you wanna play ball, it's the ultimate catch (22).  Acknowledge a hypothetical security threat... and you own it.  And if there's ever a bad outcome, you're totally fucked because you didn't do enough to prevent it.  With a discernible inevitability in play, you either identify the threat or dismiss it.  There is no wiggle room.  No time or place, drumz or space, for moral relativism. 

So here's the zillion dollar question.  What's the contingency plan for when the artificially generated stampede, or worst case scenario "dominipede" (multiple, simultaneous stadium stampedes) is attempted?  Where do we go from there?

Not to sound all Nostradmus and shit.  But on 9/11 everyone tilted their heads to the skies.  With the next 9/11, mark my words, the collective necks of a nation will stare downward into those ubiquitous, tiny screens.  Then, they'll all look up.  But by then, it will be too late.






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HYGIENE

Burgettstown, PA
Star Lake Amphitheatre
6-22-92

It's a subject that Deadheads traditionally eschew.  But we've all seen a truly dirty hippie.  Booger encrusted snot in their mustaches.  Faces smeared with blotches of dirt, some mud.  Bugs actually taking up residence inside their flies.  Wingless head lice scurrying about, feasting on cranial blood. 

Let it be known.  I have zero tolerance for infestation.  And then there's the B.O.  An entity unto itself. 

During the summer of 1992, I had a run in with filth.  I wore the same stench infused sandals every day.  My heels slowly turned from a healthy, fleshy skin color into something else.  I researched the modern day Home Depot paint equivalent.  The closest approximation seems to be a blend of "smoked truffle" and "burnt ember."  At the time, I asked my girlfriend C-Mac, "How do I get rid of this discoloration?"  She looked at me and uttered a single word.  Scrub.



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EXPRESSIONS

Burgettstown, PA
Star Lake Amphitheater
6-23-92

I'm not normally one for canned expressions.  I can' t stand it when people condescendingly blab, "you have way too much time on your hands."  A little bit worse is the “sing like nobody’s listening” or ”dance like no one’s watching.”

One of the rare occasions where I “let it all hang out” was during a first set rendition of Big Railroad Blues. 

So be sporadic when you’re shrooming.  Think acidic when you're tripping.  And act ecstatic when pursuing your MDMA.

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THE BAND

Chicago, IL
Soldier Field
6-25-92

Bruce Hornsby --- Seriously, if I wanted an accordionist, I'd seek out Weird Al or an Oktoberfest beer tent.  That's just the way it is.

Vince Welnick --- His tinny sounding keys and screeching heckling ruined many a Dead tune.

Jerry Garcia --- Understated majesty.

Phil Lesh --- Possibly the coolest, but at the same time, dorkiest bass player of them all.

Bob Weir --- Authentically aged, polyunsaturated white cheddar

Mickey Hart ---  percussionist visionary.

Bill Kreutzman --- steady, unflinching.

Donna Godchaux --- For the love of God.  Not to sound misogynistic, but take your twirling clutter back to a futuristic episode of Dance Party USA.



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THE WORLD

Chicago, IL
Soldier Field
6-26-92

Liberals think the world hates us.  The greed, the arrogance, our collective narcissism.  Conservatives think the world loves us.  Our freedom, our liberty, the amber waves of grain.  The truth: the vast majority of people on the planet don't give a fuck about the United States or its citizens.  They have their own countries, their own families, their own worries, their own successes and failures.  They have their own lives to live.  I'd be just as unlikely to take a passionate interest in the Angolans, Bahrainians and Chileans.  It really is the ABC's.  The language we all must face, to best discover our inner love and grace.

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VENUES

Hebron, OH
Buckeye Lake Music Center
6-11-93

Here's my Dead show venue breakdown.

45 concerts:
10 Stadiums, 10 amphitheaters, 25 arenas

For reference purposes, I designated Buckeye Lake (Legend Valley) as an amphitheater. 

To anyone who actually prefers the synchronized, predictable indoor experience as opposed to the outdoor journey, I give fair warning.  It could be grounds for having you declared legally insane.  But a thunderstorm ripped through.  We got drenched and nearly froze to death.  Someone next to us was smoking a cigar.  It was disgusting and I’m allergic.  Gimme a break, nobody cares.  Live a little.

The biggest problem with arenas is obviously the cramped setting.  Packed in like a can of sardines.  Some deranged moron is always swinging their elbows.  Might be your conventional hippie.  Could be a rick-rolling deviant.  Aspiring Solid Gold dancers?  Fly girls?  Does it really matter?  The issue of dealing with a coat is also a bit cumbersome (much like the song).  This goes for all concerts, not just Dead shows.

Superior arena positioning option: lower level on the side of the stage.  Offers a close up view of the band and a unique perspective of the entire crowd.

Preferred amphitheater location: just above the lower walkway where the pavilion ends and the lawn begins.  Offers a non-stop parade of the faces and people.

The best stadium spot: anywhere inside.

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CANCELLED

Richfield, Ohio
Richfield Coliseum
3-14-93

Everyone who attended "the day after" Cleveland blizzard show will never forget the sheer disappointment of the cancellation.  Quickly followed by the realization that the hotel would soon explode.  Drum circles in the lobby.  Random weirdos venturing room to room with zero consideration for who was inside.  The hallways reeking of pot.  A lone Asian manager named "Chong" trying his best to restore order.

This night of pure chaos sparked my enthusiasm for what I believed would be the best Dead show ever.  I pontificated about the band pulling out classics.  Instead, I was on the receiving end of the worst, most uninspired Dead show I ever attended.  That's out of the entire 45.  Still, I had a great time.

Concerts are celebrations.  It's all about managing expectations.  I wish people would treat each day with the same level of vigor.  Rather than artificially generating false enthusiasm for birthdays, holidays, anniversaries and so on.  The lone exception... Groundhog Day of course.  In honor of Aussie Appalachian Man.









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NAMES

Landover, MD
Capital Centre
3-17-93


Everyone has a name.  True.  Everyone is special.  Untrue.

One of the better names ever conceived is actually McLovin'.

The Dead have a number of songs which feature individuals names.  Jimmy, Jack, Jed and I don't care.  Rose, Peggy, Corinna and others.     

But Loose Lucy & Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds?  One song should have never been resurrected.  The other one should have never been covered.  Both were atrocious.  How fortunate that we were rewarded with both in a relatively weak show.

Remember the good ol days when everyone had traditional names?  In sixth grade, I recall a couple had twin girls named Hope and Destiny.  The consensus reaction in 1982 --- how peculiar.  Why would parents do such a thing?  Didn't they know the heartache and bullying that would surely ensue.  A few decades later, things have gotten dramatically worse.  If you require evidence, tune into Maury Povich for some hotly contested paternity tests.  Names like Cupcake, U-neek, LaSquisha?  And these are the parents!  The most disturbing scenario is when an infant girl is named after the alleged baby daddy.  All of a sudden, Bob becomes Bobbetta.  Joe magically transforms into Jo-Mischa.  Mark?  Marquinta. 

We live in an era where everyone must be presumed special.  This runs in opposition to my theory that roughly 15% of Americans are absolutely worthless.  Their lifetime contribution?  Zilch.  Fundamentally detrimental to the human race, they live their lives, customarily engaging in reckless procreation.  In the majority of cases, they unknowingly add to the societal denigration of the country.  Alas, their zygotic intentions could have been prevented.  But nobody had the courage to inform them of their designated status.  It’s not entirely their fault.

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SET LISTS

Landover, MD
Capital Centre
3-18-93

My favorite aspect of an actual Dead concert was not knowing what song they'd play next.  When asked about my favorite tune, I’d often respond, “It’s usually the song I least expect to hear.”  The band would take you on a ride of heavenly bumps and hellish bruises.  A musical journey.  Every show was different.  The adventure was a microcosm of life itself. 

It's all about choices.  Similar to cuisine.  Unless of course, you're on a hunger strike in Guantanamo, being forcibly held down and fed liquid nutrition, via a flexible tube, directly inserted through your abdominal wall.  Much like a Dead show, each meal can be different.  Whether you're sampling a steak and baked potato, the apple pie or a blenderized combination of all three.  Now that's a little slice of Americana.

I have an acquaintence, O.M.P.  He wrongfully equates great grub with immeasurable quantity.  More hot dogs, more pop and a monster tub of macaroni salad.  That's his master plan for a good time to be had.  Quantity over quality with money being the overriding concern.  Every. Single. Time.  Other than the predictable monthly trip to Golden Chopsticks, he'll never branch out.  Aside from the General Tso's, he'll never experience Asian cuisine.  He'll never try the fish taco.  Only ones with meat and cheese.  That's his secret strategy for maximizing the amount of ground beef and shredded cheddar.  Brilliant!

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VEGETARIANS

Hebron, OH
Buckeye Lake Music Center
6-11-93

For the love of lentil!  And for that matter, Yentl.  Oh, the edible sacrifices made by ye Catholics.  What makes temporarily refraining from red meat such a noble endeavor?

While it's tough to beat a marinated, medium rare rib eye, if forced to abdicate the food chain throne, I'd have minimal difficulty consuming only fish and poultry. 

Most people can't seem to comprehend the existence of overweight vegetarians.  Hey, it's not complicated.  I can sum it up in two words: french fries.  I swore off all of McDonald's after the pink slime ammonium hydroxide video went viral.  A lone exception being the yearly pilgrimage when I embrace my drive thru freedom. 

"Welcome to McDonald's.  Can I help you?"

"Yeah, can I get a large fry?" 

"Will that be all?"

"For the love of Christ, yes!  No synthetic animal shall be sacrificed for my gluttonous temptations.  The sins of my freedom fries will suffice."

But still, in matters vegetable, animal, and edible, I am the very model of a McDonald's drive thru customer.

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DRUMZ

Chicago, IL
Soldier Field
6-18-93

Butthole Surfer was an odd guy.  A gregarious loner.  I ran into him at frat party.  He was bemoaning the lack of marijuana.  "Where's the fucking ganga, dude?  We got nuthin' for the bong."  He lamented and menacingly shook his finger at a 3 foot blue Graphix in the corner of the room.  He complained, "Nothing's sadder than an empty bong."  I agreed, "Yeah, with the obvious exceptions of war, starvation and Hardee's.”

An electronically frenetic, jigsaw drumz was playing in the background.  As he spoke, a caterpillar emerged upon the light green, vomit colored carpet, slowly making its way into the center of the living room.  I had this narco-epiphany, "You should smoke Carl the Caterpillar.  Pack that mother fucker up!" 

Surfer snatched up Carl and violently smooshed him into the bowl.  Grabbed a Bic and fired it up.  I chimed in, "Work the carb, man. Work that carb."  He simultaneously inhaled and flashed me a look of sour, cringing contempt.  For him, this was straight business.  He then exhaled and blew out the tiniest puff of smoke you'd ever seen.  The burning stench of caterpillar furry hair crushed right through the existing cigarette smoke.  Disgusting.





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PHILOSOPHY

Noblesville, IN
Deer Creek Music Center
6-21-93

Everyone who hit up a Deer Creek Dead show in Noblesville surely remembers the wicked scene at Pine Lakes Campground in nearby Pendleton.  We shared a communal campfire with several other groups.  About five or six cars worth of people. 

To this day, I have no idea why, but a few of us took a hit of acid when the sun came up.  This one crew (two guys and a girl) peaked my interest.  I think everyone has had that campground experience where some trippy hippie takes over.  They willfully monopolize the conversation and start pestering people about the meaning of life, its purpose and how the universe came to be.  Generally speaking, I can't stand these people.  They make for quite the annoying douche bag/baguette. 

But as the day progressed, it was me.  I became that deplorable dumbshit.  I became the Big Bang fuck.

The more I spoke to this threesome, the more I became absolutely convinced that none of them were capable of operating a motor vehicle.  I kept asking inane questions.  At this moment in time, how did you come to be here?  They replied, we drove and pointed to a maroon minivan.  Well, what about if you're low on gasoline?  How do you go about filling up the tank?  I was convinced that none of them had the mental acuity skills to physically pump gas, let alone get from point A to point B.  I probed further.  Where are you guys from?  Cleveland?  No way you're from Cleveland.  That's like 5 hours away!  I still don't understand how you guys got here.  Again, they pointed to the van.  This went on for a good bit.  Others listening in flashed me looks of disdain.

But I was totally committed.  I was all in.  Adamant and obsessed.  Just couldn't let it go.  How on earth did they get here?

Shortly after the interrogation, I locked my keys in my Nissan Maxima... with the car running.  One of them looked at me and said, "Dude, we might be from another planet and all, but you're the guy who needs Triple A."

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LIES

Noblesville, IN
Deer Creek Music Center
6-22-93

Wheeling, West Virginia was a relatively small town.  Most of the hippies knew each other and frequented a cramped, smoky bar up route 2 in Warwood.  Capone's.  The owner was a Dead fan and would play bootlegs every Thursday night.  It was also ladies night where the underage girls could drink for free.  Cranberry juice and bottom shelf vodka a/k/a "cran-vod."  Needless to say, this was the hangout during my early 20's. 

To the best of my knowledge, Blockhead, was one of only two residents to have crossed the cherished 100 show threshold.  He often spent time at Capone’s.  He was a likable character with a gruff voice.  In stark contrast to this other guy, Weenie.  I ran into Weenie at the 1992 Star Lake show.  He was sporting a curious piece of paper, a diamond shaped index card which read "100."  It was like this little flag pole sticking out of his floppy hat.  I inquired, "What's the hundred stand for?"  His recently married wife confidently interjected, "This is Weenie's hundredth show!"  Alright, I hate to call bullshit on someone, but this claim was patently absurd.  I'd say, with absolute certainty, that at the time, he had attended maybe 5 Dead concerts tops.  I busted out laughing, "Oh for the love of Christ, the only thing Weenie's done a hundred times is whack it in the DiCarlo's parking lot.  (DiCarlo's is the destination pizza joint in the WV Northern panhandle).  This one comment set up a "long-term, low level intensity feud" that still exists to this very day.  Ironically, Weenie also has a personalized West Virginia "RIPPLE" license plate.  I've never obtained a picture of it for my collection.  Then again, he also has a "JOLMAN" license plate.  When I asked him, "What the fuck does that stand for," he condescendingly replied, “It means Jolly Man, Saf.  You probably didn’t know but I'm a Parrothead."  And I cringed… for the next quarter century.  Forgive the tangent.

I asked Blockhead for his opinion of the Deer Creek concert.  I thought the drawn out, lethargic second set was a bit of a let down.  He countered, "Absolutely not.  They had no choice but to grind it out after such an over-the-top first set."  The more I thought about it, the more I knew he was spot on.  As for Weenie?  Eh, not so much.

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BENEVOLENCE

Richfield, Ohio
Richfield Coliseum
9-9-93

My buddy Quark was always fascinated by the "biblical devotion" of the band's most ardent followers.  He wasn't a huge Dead fan.  But he sure enjoyed engaging the hippies.  The more spaced out, the better.  He'd ask nonsensical questions about searching for the best lot cuisine.  Have you seen this guy in a tye dye on the shakedown?  I'm under the impression he has ganga goo balls for sale.  I require supplemental goo, damn-it!"  Or maybe he'd feign naïveté.  "What's up with all these balloons?  Is it Jerry's birthday?  Wait a minute, that one girl is sucking the helium.  I think she's going to say something funny in a squeaky voice.  Oh, I see.  Ha-ha-ha.  Now that's a humdinger."

But his go-to line was all about the manner in which the Dead choose to bequeath special songs at significant moments.  "Last night, they gave us a hot Wang Dang.  And tonight they gave us a most generous Dew."  Then he'd pause, reflect and bait them further, "I wonder what awaits.  Will we get a Boston Bertha or a Tennessee Jed in Memphis?  Did you know the band's roadies refer to that phenomenon as a Memphis Jed?"  He'd execute all this gibberish nonsense in a curious voice.  Boldly approaching the tipping point of mockery, but without recklessly stepping over the line.  Watching him work the crowd was hysterical.  Yeah, he liked the music enough.  But he was mainly there for the party.



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WAVES

Richfield, Ohio
Richfield Coliseum
9-10-93

Towards the end of the intermission, an elderly usher overheard me talking to my buddies about the prospect of starting a wave.  He chuckled, "I've been working here since the Coliseum opened.  In my twenty years, I don't think there's ever been a wave."  I countered, "Well, there's also never been a three night Dead stand.  This place is about to go berserker."  Keep in mind, this was a full year before Silent Bob's Russian cousin Olaf coined the phrase, "My love for you is ticking clock berserker.  Would you like to suck my cock berserker?"

I looked over at my buddy Mommy (Maumee) Nurse.  Let's do this.  I yelled at my entire lower level section, "Alright, we're gonna do a wave.  On the count of three, I want everyone out of their seats.  Ready: one, two, three!"  My friends and a scattering of others stepped up to the challenge.  Again, "One, two, three!"  A few more participated.  Someone mockingly yelled at me from a few rows up, "Sit down, ya grunger!  I was wearing a flannel.  His remark actually galvanized my supporters.  On the fifth try, the wave took off.  It made about a dozen rotations.  Suddenly, the lights went out and the arena roared in ecstasy.  I glanced over at the usher with a subtle smirk and blurted, "How 'bout 'dem apples?"  To this day, why on earth I chose those specific words, I have absolutely no idea.

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PHISH

Richfield, OH
Richfield Coliseum
3-20-94

Oh, to be a fly on the wall.  Or the camera on a laptop for any of the online jam band arguments between the two heavyweights, Phish and the Dead.  Trey isn’t fit to wear Jerry’s jock.  Page is way better than Vince, but neither of them could touch Brent.  Just like all other aspects of the internet, there’s this fire and fury when it comes to the message boards.  Newsflash:  Hey, this isn’t a conversation about abortion or the 2nd Amendment.  There’s no reason to take the insults so personally.  Amusing how even the most ardent hippie lunatics are just as predictable as the far right, ultra-conservative fanatics.  Let’s just say, the internet is here to stay.

I saw Phish for the first time at Kent State University in 1994.  Didn’t know any of the music but was immediately blown away.  All it took was the opener.  A song that I referred to as (Whoa, oh, oh, oh) My Name is Jim.  I quickly concluded that these guys from Vermont were the new and improved version of a jam band. 

In all honesty, when I think of jam, I don’t think of Phish.  My mind ventures back to the Bears Against Drug program.  Affiliated with the West Virginia Troopers Association and a Tennessee outfit of ill-repute, Smoky Mountain Secrets.  Our semi-legal, early 90’s telemarketing organization sold overpriced jars of jam throughout the northern panhandle of West Virginia and East Ohio.  A portion of the proceeds was used to stock trooper vehicles with teddy bears.  This way, if they came upon an accident where a child had been traumatized, a state pig could give the kid a “Teddy Hug-a-Bear.”  In theory, it would help calm them down until a psychiatric professional or grief counselor arrived on the scene.  The irony — if you really believe that tripe, you’re likely the one who was hooked on drugs. 



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TAPERS

Richfield, OH
Richfield Coliseum
3-21-94

Nothing embodies the true spirit of rock'n'roll like allowing fans to freely record a live performance.  It's the ultimate way to prioritize music over money.  Showcasing spirit and substance over greed.  The Dead were way ahead of the curve on this one.  Visionaries, if you will.  I think they somehow conceived of a future where music would be free.  Well before the internet existed.

I never cared much for the term "tapeheads."  It evokes images of a 450 ft. TDK tapeworm being extracted from a North Korean hippie's stomach.  A defective, defector I suppose.

Salutations to the small crew of individuals who'd hang out behind the soundboard, always shushing the inadvertent loud mouth.  Even worse, were the excessive clappers and decibel-pitched whistlers.  Tapers sacrificed their personal enjoyment of the show for the greater good.  An admirable position.

My buddy, son of a state senator, was a taper.  We had a chance encounter on I-77 after the final '94 Richfield show.  He handed me his master copies from the concert he had recorded just two hours earlier.  "Just don't lose 'em.  Those are first generation masters."  There was something inherently magical about cruising down the highway in the darkness of night, listening to the concert we had just attended.


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PATCHOULI

Hebron, OH
Buckeye Lake Music Center
7-29-94

Patchouli oil, eh?  Let's be honest here.  Its sole purpose is to mask the pernicious, unrelenting stench of body odor.  What bothers me isn't so much the scent, but rather, the utter reliance.  It's like those women who bathe in perfume or the men who gargle with aftershave.  It's not a solution.  Merely a temporary fix.   

In my mind, all venues should have a B.O. squad on multiple golf carts.  They'd patrol the lot like a "Smell Gestapo."  To sniff 'em out, strip 'em down, and wash 'em with a big, soapy brush.





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LSD

Philadelphia, PA
The Spectrum
3-17-95

If you've never tried it, that's okay.  I'm neither a proponent nor an opponent.  Let's be honest.  Certain people just shouldn't be ingesting mind-altering substances.  They have poor coping skills and enough problems in the here and now. 

I've never subscribed to the urban myth about the "crazy guy who jumped out the window because he thought he was a bird."  But I do think acid's an intriguing way to level the playing field.  You can turn an offensive lineman into a sniveling coward... with just a tiny piece of paper measuring a few square millimeters. 

It's interesting how people and their physical features seem larger than life.  I'm sure we've all seen the occasional, flagrant unibrow or the wispy nose hairs that could, if instigated, reach out and strangle an enemy's throat.  It borders on the outrageous.  Peculiar how 25 years later, I'm staring at the haircuts of Trump and Kim Jong Un.  Aren't these two comic book characters supposed to be the most dangerous people on the planet.  Not a lot of people know this, but back in the day, I championed Gorbachev's cranial birth mark.  It brought new meaning to the term glasnost.  But nowadays, it goes way beyond the color purple.  It's all about the plastic surgery.  And even more prevalent, the soft parade of ear lobe discs.  And the migration of the lizard people and their jailhouse tats.  But the most disturbing of it all?  The multi-tiered, meat curtain piercings.  Cunt rings are for coo coo schmucks.

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WEATHER

Pittsburgh, PA
Three Rivers Stadium
6-30-95

The final summer tour was marred by tragedy.  Countless fans were injured in a pavilion roof collapse at a campground near St. Louis.  A lighting strike at RFK resulting in a heart attack.  Someone plummeted from an upper deck, somewhere.  Overdoses?  Get over it!  And of course Jerry's untimely death after the famed Deer Creek gate crash (yes, I was a culprit... and proud of it).  The band just seemed exhausted.  Like they were going through the motions.  But my hometown show was an exception, a fistful of diamonds in the North Shore rough.

The "rain songs" opened the second set.  Even Zeppelin was envious of the timing.  A torrential downpour ensued right on the downbeat.  Some roadie surely cued the band.  Nowadays, everything is so scripted.  I don't think any band would have the temerity or vision to try and pull this off.  As if spontaneous choreography is a crime of some kind.

Mason works for a local news station.  The most frequent complaints from the desk are directed toward the meteorologists.  How do they always seem to get it wrong?  One of the more respected weather personalities has a ritual.  He steps outside the building to get an actual feel for the weather.  As opposed to just sitting in a cubicle reading the computer models and simulations.  Hey, what a novel idea.  Actually observing and embracing the outdoors.  Seems like a step in the right direction.  After all, how can any human being effectively weather a storm, if you refuse to acknowledge its pending existence?

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MAIL ORDER

Noblesville, IN
Deer Creek Music Center
7-2-95

I had 4 mail order tickets for the cancelled 1995 Deer Creek show.  I sent them back for a refund.  Let's just say the $80 meant more to me back then.  It's one my few regrets.  Definitely would have framed them.

There was just something special, and a little bit anal, about the pomp and circumstance of the mail order process.  Personally speaking, I loved the attention to detail.  Two #10 legal-size business envelopes.  One outer, one inner (this is the envelope that your tickets will be mailed back to you in).  Legible, printed information.  NO CURSIVE.  A 3x5 index card, NOT PAPER!  No exceptions.   

Please specify: general admission, reserved seating, taper or anything available.  And the most important consideration of all: the official postmark.

There was a certain giddiness you felt when sending off the request to San Rafael, California.  And then, weeks later, the mail would come.  I'm not one to embellish, but the mere site of that envelope would send shivers down my spine.  Much like estimating the number of Bobby's shreiks.

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Songs:






















Band








Jerry





Bob & Phil




Pigpen






Tour




 Drugs





Misc.





Extras




Adam Katz





Steal Your Face



Since the last book:

Pittsburgh Steelers vs.

Minnesota Vikings, 9-17-17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA
Jacksonville Jaguars, 10-8-17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA
Cincinnati Bengals, 10-22-17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA
Tennessee Titans, 11-16, 17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA
Green Bay Packers, 11-26-17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA
Baltimore Ravens, 12-10-17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA
Cleveland Browns, 12-31-17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA
Jacksonville Jaguars, 1-14-18, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA

Pittsburgh Pirates vs.

St. Louis Cardinals, 9-22-17, PNC Park, Pittsburgh, PA
Baltimore Orioles, 9-26-17, PNC Park, Pittsburgh, PA

Colorado Rockies, 4-18-18, PNC Park, Pittsburgh, PA

Pitt Panthers vs.

Oklahoma State University, 9-16-17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA
Rice University, 9-30-17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA
North Carolina State University, 10-14-17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA
University of Virginia, 10-28-17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA
University of North Carolina, 11-09-17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA
University of Miami, 11-24-17, Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, PA

Pittsburgh Penguins vs.

St. Louis Blues, 10-4-17, PPG Paints Arena, Pittsburgh, PA
Tampa Bay Lightning, 11-25-17, PPG Paints Arena, Pittsburgh, PA

Ring of Honor Wrestling, 4-14-18, Stage AE, Pittsburgh, PA

Concerts:

Queens of the Stone Age, 9-13-17, Stage AE, Pittsburgh, PA
Farm Aid, 9-16-17, Keybank Pavilion, Burgettstown, PA
Roger Waters, 9-19-17, PPG Paints Arena, Pittsburgh, PA
Primus, 11-2-17, Goodyear Theater, Akron, OH
Brit Floyd, 4-12-17, Benedum Center, Pittsburgh, PA

Lost & Found:

Sting, 6-15-93, Star Lake Amphitheater, Burgettstown, PA
Lollapalooza, 7-21-93, Star Lake Amphitheater, Burgettstown, PA
Pink Floyd, 5-26-94, Cleveland Stadium, Cleveland, OH
Saturday Night Feverfest, 5-28-94, Star Lake Amphitheater, Burgettstown, PA