Performers: Mike O'Brien, Craig Squires, Jeremy Squires, Denise
Brake.
Recorded at Vikki-Beat Studios, January 1986.
Produced by Wallace Hammond. Cover art and
Booklet by Mike O'Brien.
I was there the night you broke the jukebox
I was on the beer
You was dancin with a - pearly queen
Your shirt was damp
With fresh-made puke stains
She didn't care - retarded at sixteen
Shootin Elvis
Shootin Elvis
You ain't nothin but a hound dog with a gun
Shootin Elvis
In the pelvis
You got en in the gizzard, better run
47 pints of Old Milwaulkie
And a bottle of pills
You was feelin - ornery
The jukebox was moanin
The jukebox was groanin
Someone strange was wailin in a sinful harmony
CHORUS
They was playin Elvis on the jukebox
Sinin Love My Febder
And you shouted - who's that yam?
Elvis didn't care
Dead seven years now
Shot his record anyway - shot it with a blam
CHORUS
Police came and dragged you from that bar room
Good ole boys was makin bets
How long you was - gonna last
Elvis imitators
Out to get you in that jailhouse
But I bet shootin that there jukebox was a blast
Here's the moral
Here's the moral
When you're drinkin Old Milwualkie and feelin mean
Here's the moral
Here's the moral
Don't shoot at the King when you're dancin with a queen
(Words by Mike O'Brien & Wallace Hammond; music by Mike
O'Brien)
Cabbage Patch Hell
Cabbage Patch Hell
Bad little kiddies go to Cabbage Patch Hell
Awful smell
Burning smell
There's a terrible smell down in Cabbage Patch Hell
It ain't like armpits
And it ain't like feet
And it ain't like shreddies left out all week
CHORUS
Your Cabbage Patch doll
It works real fine
It watches you from five till nine
Your Cabbage Patch doll
Cost 29 bucks
But in Cabbage Patch Hell you're shit outs luck
CHORUS
In Cabbage Patch Hell
There ain't no line
That says they're gonna fix you every time
From Cabbage Patch kids
To G.I. Joe
We all know where they gonna go
CHORUS
Poor little kiddies
Got no I.Q.
Buy everything that they pitch to you
Dance to Madonna
And Prince as well
Then boogie with the devil down in Cabbage Patch Hell
Sunny Bee bread, bacon and eggs
Anchovies and chicken legs
A couple of TV dinners and a bag of sprouts
Deep brown beans, tangerines
Apricot syrup and Mr. Clean
Catelli macaroni and sauerkraut
First you looked like one of the bunch
Then you made my heart go Crispy Crunch
I'm goin out to Parliamentary lunch over you
Quaker Oats, Ivory Soap
A liter of milk and a case of Coke
A bucket of salt beef that's mostly fat
Crispy Critters and Fruit Loops
Campbell's cream of mushroom soup
And 57 kinds of dog food for my cat
CHORUS
Gator Ade, dairy cream
National Enquirer magazine
I picked you up in the supermarket line
Sugar and spice, Minute Rice
Paid your bill to break the ice
My banana fit your donut mighty fine
First you looked like one of the bunch
Then you made my heart go Crispy Crunch
Now I'm out to Parliamentary lunch over you
There ain't no use a cryin
You could drown in a river of your tears
There ain't no use a sayin
You wish you could just turn back the years
You know that television
Won't ever be the same now that he's gone
Poor old Sgt. Bilko
We miss you, you're a hero in this song
We see you in the reruns
Sgt. Bilko, and it all comes back again
We laugh at the jokes you tell
But reruns, they really ain't the same
Watchin you in black and white
On my 24 inch colour console set
I watch the old Phil Silvers Show
There really ain't been nothin like it yet
Leave It To Beaver's pretty good
But it doesn't do the trick
Lucy or the Honeymooners
Lassie or some Ronald Reaagan flick
I watch all the old shows
But Sgt. Bilko, buddy, you're the best
Or maybe McHale's Navy
But I really can't be bothered with the rest
You and Ron were buddies
But I know he always envied your success
He brought you to the White House
But what the wine was spiked with I can't guess
You're gone now Sgt. Bilko
We miss you ever since you've been away
You'll live on in the reruns
And Ron will get what he deserves someday
Well I joined up with something
That I thought was the Ku Klux Klan
They let me in on a secret
That I didn't quite understand
They gave to me such logic
It burned a hole right through my head
Said if I ever poened my big fat mouth
I might as well be dead
If I knew the secret I'd gab it
Open my Feemason mouth and blab it
You can see what Freemasonry has done to me
There was a little initiation
And it smelled like something feebasin
A little bit of incantation
Someone said, son, you're a Freemason
Afterwards I got a little tipsy
Guess I let a little something slip
They hauled on off and cut out my tongue
And buttoned up my lip
CHORUS
Funny about the whole damn thing
I didn't really hear
Just what was so important then
I didn't really care
I really do regret it now
Cause my brother's got to sing this song
I wish I'd learned the secret
So that I could sing along
I'm a gettin tired and weary
of this hard old road I'm on
seems like every town I pass through
looks like every other one
I was stayin at a Ramada Inn
in a place called Bangor, Maine
I was feelin mighty lonely
the pills didn't ease my pain
I turned on the television
Oral Roberts was speakin the truth
sayin Give your love to Jesus
and give those Ruskies the boot
well I dug what he was sayin
I knelt down and prayed awhile
then I hollered out the window
to the people passin by
I told them of my new-found faith
how I was born again
how Jesus was my saviour
my brother and my friend
but they didn't seem to hear me
so I stepped out on the ledge
I yelled out louder and louder
till I sorta slipped off the edge
It was thirty stories to the ground
the sidewalk was comin up fast
before my startled eyes
flashed my entire miserable past
but Jesus didn't save me
though I prayed and prayed and prayed
a passing spaceship beamed me aboard
and carried me away
Now I'm flyin through the cosmos
on a cruiser from Cylon 5
their god's a jar of peanut butter
and I'm thankin him I'm alive
so if you're lookin for a saviour
one who shines above the rest
Jesus may be just alright
but Skippy is the best.
Got one under my bed this mornin
There was two out on the lawn
Got one just after breakfast
That makes 25 this fall
If I keep on gettin lucky
Sure gonna have my fill
Skeets they sure look funny
Tits up at the foot of the hill
Shootin skeets
No matter where they meets
Shootin skeets
Even under the mistletoe
Shootin skeets
up and down
left and right
forward and back
So many goddamn skeets
I think I'm gonna crack
There's a sucker born each minute
And another one born again
A loser born every five minutes gone
And a skeet born every ten
Between my life savings, piggy banks
Every last nickel and dime
I suree enough seen a few too many
Skeets in my time
I sang my songs
All night for you
When you was there
And Cec was too
I thought that you'd
Be good to me
But Rosie dear
You cheated me
Rose, Rose, why did you cheat me last night
You told me that
You wanted me
To sing for you
But not for free
I saw you go
Out back with Cec
I knew our love
Would soon decease
Rose, Rose, why did you cheat me last night
I thought at two that it was fine
But they when I got up at nine
The cash was short, the numbers off
You and Cec had ripped me off
Now all I can afford this year
Is a half-crocked Christmas in Carbonear
A half-crocked Christmas in Carbonear
I think that I will go insane
I Know I'm not
Above the law
But what you did
Was the last straw
I put rat poison
In your beer
I won't be in the red
Next year
In the foothills out in Oregon
Where the mighty cedars grow
Lived a badman called the Bagwan
Who was rakin in the dough
With a commune full of followers
Brown rice and sacred cows
He took his vow of poverty
In his Rolls Royce Silver Cloud
Hare Krishna, Hare Uzi
Hare ram it up your arse
The great Bagwan Ranjeeshie
Just a transcendental farce
In the foothills out in Oregon
Where the people don't take shit
They brought in the federal agents
Hopin they could make a hit
With modern day hocus pocus
To pull the wool over his eyes
Abscam, batscam, bagscam damn
They even tried dirty lies
In the foothills out in Oregon
The Bagwan took his stand
Singin Hare Hare Krishna
With his Uzi in his hand
The feds they up and caught him
With illegals on his land
They booted out the Bagwan
And all his merry band
In the foothills out in Oregon
Uncle Sam had won the day
The Bagwan split for India
Or so the people say
Now him and Sun Myung Moonie
Are hidin out in Nepal
They've opened a casino there
Called the Club Med Shangri-La
(Wallace Hammond & Mike O'Brien)
I don't eat that Star Kist tunie
I don't dress up like a moonie
You might think that I'm some kind of loonie
But I never voted for Brian Mulroney
I don't hang out with Pat Carney
I don't swallow Ronnie's blarney
I don't strip for Robert Coates
I don't fib to get the votes
I don't live like Marcel Masse
I could never be that crass
Here's a toast to Blais-Grenier
I have no delusions of Grand Marinier
I don't loan no dough to Sinc
Do you think that I'm a dink
I don't disco with no Dick
It's enough to make ya sick
I was on a tear on Wednesday
took an overdose
I was on a tear on Wednesday
took an overdose
Now it's almost Tuesday
and I'm still comatose
My fingers they are shakin
my face it is all green
My fingers they are shakin
my face it is all green
Feel like I snorted Aqua Velva
and I mainlined kerosene
My brain is burnt and melted
I'm a total wreck
My brain is burnt and melted
I'm a total wreck
Feel like I stuck my head into a rat trap
and it broke my fuckin neck
God's mercy, baby
God's mercy on you
I say God's mercy, baby
God's mercy on you
God's mercy on your doomed ass
when you got them strung out blues
