DON'T QUIT YER DAY JOB

(Vikki-Beat, 1984)

Preformers (sik): Mike O'Brien, Wallace Hammond, Mark Oakley, Craig Squires, Jon Heald, Snotty Slyme.
Recorded at Vikki-Beat Studios, November 1983 to January 1984. "New Cocaine Blues" & "Hare Louie Louie" recorded live at The Admiral's Keg, 20 December 1983.
Produced by Wallace of Hammond.
Cover art and booklet by Mike O'Brien.

Songs:

Cattle Drive in Hyperspace - The Rawhide Riders of the Big Bang
Ode to Joe Roadie - The New Bag of Bog Band
In the Pizza Parlour - Beneato Muscleino
New Cocaine Blues - Blind Jethro DeMille and Cokeamo
Napoleon's Dick - Merde de la Monde
Yodeleddy-hoo - Dr. Cod & the Psychedelic Turbot
Jonestown Cowboy Lament - Rhinestone SAM, The Cabbage Patch Cowpoke
Too Good to be True (The Lottery Song) - The Freeptown Winners' Dircle
Where Have All the Discos Gone? - The Children of the Great Polyester Divide
The Guitar that Ate Chicago - Papa Doc Screech, Blue Floyd & the Memphis Weasel
The Ballad of Richard Nixon - The San Clemente Dirt Band
Bodi Odordovich, Oboeist (The Bodiodo Song) - The Gulag Accapellago Boys Choir & Orchestra
Hare Louie Louie - The Ohm Family

CATTLE DRIVE IN HYPERSPACE

(Words by Mike O'Brien; music by Jon Heald)

Lowing of cattle
in the silence of space
as the final roundup starts
cowboys mumble
cuss and spit in the dust
shakin artificial parts
replacements for the limbs they lost
and cybernetic hearts
beat in tired anticipation
of their promised destination
off into the galaxy
to find the cows a home

Back in the saddle
the starship fuelled up
the cattle tucked safely inside
cowboys gamble
what's left of their luck
in hopes that the cattle survive
leaving the terminal planet they loved
broken to scraps by its pride
engines turning
second gear
escaping from the atmosphere
shifting into hyperspace
they sing a cowboy song

Once there were fields
where the cattle could graze
once there was life in this place
cowboys could ride
in hills fresh and green
the water was sweet to the taste
but then they decided it wasn't enough
so they burned it and laid it to waste
their final chance
they cannot fail
for now they ride that last long trail
searching for a fertile land
away beyond the sky

The cattle are sleeping
the cowboys look back
at the planet they left far behind
one little cowgirl
is singin the blues
for she knows it will be a long time
travelling endlessly
searching in vain
for a pasture they're doomed not to find
while on Earth
so silent
far away
a blossom rises from the clay
as off into the sunset
the last of the cowboys ride.

ODE TO JOE ROADIE

(Words by Mike O'Brien; music by Mike O'Brien& Jon Heald)

Joe was a roadie, down in Newfoundland
he carried equipment for a rock n roll band
he carried the speakers, the amps and the gear
but he still wound up broke at the end of the year
poor old Joe Roadie

Joe would go hungry when the band took a rip
but he still carried on with a stiff upper lip
he never complained, though the times they were tough
Joe gave his all for the music he loved
poor old Joe Roadie

At night, Joe would strum his E1 Degas Les Paul
and dream of being a rock star, with groupies and all
he hoped that someday, he'd break out of the scene
make it big on the mainland and rake in the green
poor old Joe Roadie

Back in November, in the year 84
the band it was touring the Conception Bay shore
they played at the Coach House, the Pirate's Cave too
and then down to Furey's for a week, maybe two
poor old Joe Roadie

Poor old Joe Roadie, he ran out of luck
when a bass bin fell out of the back of the truck
it landed on Joe, flattened him to the floor
now poor old Joe Roadie will roadie no more
poor old Joe Roadie

It's out behind Furey's, Joe's headstone does lie
sayin Here's to Joe Roadie, a hell of a guy
here's to the roadies, the light and sound men
there'd be no rock n roll if it wasn't for them
God bless the roadies.

IN THE PIZZA PARLOUR

(Words by Mike O'Brien)

There is no God in this pizza parlour
(he's dead, he's dead, he's dead)
children run between the tables
playing with the garlic bread

and a tinny cheap jukebox
plays gospel music
Tuesday morning

There is no God in this pizza parlour
(for sure, for sure, for sure)
the black man waiting on tables
"What can I do for you, sir?"

I tell the waiter
I want human flesh
on my pizza

There is no God in this pizza parlour
(In God We Trust, In God We Trust)
the cook sighs and scratches his armpits
patrons scream "Fuck this crust"

the hours tick by
I am feeling hungry
I eat the napkin

There is no God in this pizza parlour
(disgrace, disgrace, disgrace)
I finish my pizza silently
the sauce runs down my face

they have poisoned my pizza
so I leave
I refuse to pay.

NEW COCAINE BLUES

(New words by Mike O'Brien)

This here's a story bout tinsel town
A little white powder makes the world go round
Cocaine - the key to Hollywood fame

Flying from Colombia to Beverly Hills
Got a bag of cocaine to cure your ills
Cocaine - the key to Hollywood fame

If you want some producer to read your script
Just bring along some cocaine and get him ripped
Cocaine - the key to Hollywood fame

Pretty little starlet, sugar sweet
Can't make it in the movies, gotta hit the street
For cocaine - the key to Hollywood fame

Yonder's John Belushi, lyin stiff
That old cocaine packs a mighty kick
Cocaine - the key to Hollywood fame

They got John DeLorean locked up tight
Good thing Christina got the movie rights
Cocaine - the key to Hollywood fame

Down at the Disneyland studio
Mickey and Bambi are a snortin the snow
Cocaine - the key to Hollywood fame

You bag of cocaine better be good
If you think you're gonna make it down in Hollywood
Cocaine - the key to Hollywood fame

NAPOLEON'S DICK

(Words by Mike O'Brien; music arranged by Jon Heald & Mark Oakley)

Napoleon's dick
sits pickled
on the shelf
the bone
apart
from Bonaparte
small and coiled
shrunken and brown
a mute testimony
to world conquest

Napoleon's dick
the joy of Josephine
envy of empires
struck down
the end of an emperor
beneath the auction block
going once
going twice
what do I hear
for Napoleon's dick?

Napoleon's dick
the little corporal's lad
that screwed all of Europe
for years
forging an empire
a new renaissance
thrusting royally
across the continent
and into
Mother Russia

Napoleon's dick
succumbed
to industrial strength
Russian dose
and fell flaccid
on the plains of Waterloo
oh, such sorrow
the fate of empires
dreams of conquest end
looking into
your can of Spam
and seeing
Napoleon's dick.

YODELEDDYHOO

(Words & music by Mike O'Brien)

I had a dog
his name was Fred
he was a good old dog
but now he's dead
yodeleddyhoo
yodeleddyhoo
yodeleddyhoo
yodeleddyhoo

I had a wife
her name was June
she ran away
on our honeymoon
yodeleddyhoo
yodeleddyhoo
yodeleddyhoo
yodeleddyhoo

I had a job
and lots of dough
but I got laid off
ten years ago
yodeleddyhoo
yodeleddyhoo
yodeleddyhoo
yodeleddyhoo

So here I sit
with a jug of plunk
and I'll drink my plunk
till I'm piss eyed drunk
yodeleddyhoo
yodeleddyhoo
yodeleddyhoo
yodeleddyhoo

JONESTOWN COWBOY

(Words & music by Wallace Hammond)

Jim Jones, the preacher man
Went ridin out along the trail
He had enough baked beands and cyanide
To be a bona fide born again
Roy Rodgers and Trigger
Were pluggin on along at his side
Slim Pickens was drivin a bomb
And the three of them beamed with pride
They rode up toward the White House gate
And they hollered over the fence
They hollered for Jesus, they hollered for God
And for Ron the cowboy pres

And you might think this is crazy
And you might think this is weird
But if you spent as much time in Hollywood as Ron
You'd sure the fuck be scared

Roy Rodgers loved the old west
He used to camp out by the new freeway
And take pot shots at all the truckers
After Trigger had passed away
When Dale wasn't there to restrain him
He'd molest little boys and girls
And he'd bury the odd hitch-hiker there
In Big Mac styrofoam urns
Roy loved the American way
And the freedom of the press
Till they caught him stuffin trigger one day
With one lost little schoolgirl's dress

CHORUS

Slim Pickins rode the big ones
From Joisy to Santa Fe
And he went on the wildest benders
As he drove his truck all day
Though Slim was just a lunchcase
Slim never was afraid
Of payloads, pills, or double the weight
For a thrill, he knew he'd make the grade
They cast him in a movie
And he rode the big one down
And he ended up on a billboard
His face splashed all over town

CHORUS

Jim Jones was a chosen man
He led a chosen few
And like any chosen leader worth his salt
He showed his chosen few what to do
When Ron say Roy and Trigger
And Slim and old Jim Jones
You know it thrilled him to his asshole
And it shook
And it shook
And it shook his aging bones
They bade him match what they had done
Their stories they did tell
So Ron went to the Oval elevator
And he pushed the button to hell

CHORUS

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE

(Words & music by Mark Oakley, Wallace Hammond & Mike O'Brien)

Let the bells ring out and the banners fly
It's too good to be true...

I hit it big in the lottery
I got ten million bucks tax free
I ran right on down to the Admiral's Keg
And said, boys, the drinks are on me
The bouncer said thet I was barred
So I bought the place on my new credit card
Whoopee - I'm on a spree
Tee hee - look at me
Bein interviewed on the TV

I bought me a condo and a sixty foot yacht
And I ran around with movie stars
But the condo's in Gambo and the yacht's in Flatrock
And the stars were just girls in the bars
I bought me a brewery, sat down and got smashed
With the new friends I made since I won all the cash

Let the bells ring out and the banners fly
It's too good to be true
Big bucks for me in the lottery
Goodbye to MacDonalds and you

I went out the next day and I got me a phone
Cause I never had one before
The phone it was ringin and telegrams singin
They was knockin down my new front door
Well I fell for every hair-brained scheme
Each stock fraud scam and speculator's dream
I bought me a boot factory
A used oil refinery

I told social assistance to go take a leap
And I paid off the money I owed
To school tax and Avco and HFC
And my tab at that bar down the road
And if that weren't enough, I gave to the church
And to all of the mothers I left in the lurch

Let the bells ring out and the banners fly
It's too good to be true
Big bucks for me in the lottery
Goodbye to MacDonalds and you

Hunted by those who would spend my last dime
I decided to make my escape
So I hopped my Lear jet to a farm on the Rhine
And a doctor I'll never forget
But I found halfway through, no money to do
The doctor said buddy, that's it for you
Boo hoo, boo hoo, what am I gonna do
My facelift is only halfway through
I wanted to look like Tom Cruise
Wound up lookin like Fearless Freap
I think I'll take a high dive
Off the fire escape

You might think it's hard on the pogey
You might find it rough on the dole
You might spend your last dime on the 6-49
Just to get your ass outa the hole
Fearless Freap is the name, big spendin's the game
After half of a facelift you're never the same

Let the bells ring out and the banners fly
It's too good to be true
Big bucks for me in the lottery
Goodbye to MacDonalds and you
I said goodbye to MacDonalds and you
I said goodbye to MacDonalds - and you

WHERE HAVE ALL THE DISCOS GONE?

(New words by Mike O'Brien)

Where have all the Discos gone
Long time passin
Where have all the Discos gone
Long long time ago
Where have all the Discos gone
Warheads schmucked 'em every one
When will we ever learn?
When will we ever learn?

THE GUITAR THAT ATE CHICAGO

(Words by Mike O'Brien; Music by Wallace Hammond & Craig Squires)

This is a story about the birth of the blues...

The blues was born
in a little pine log mud wall shack in Mississippi
steeped in chitlins
cotton and gumbo vapours up from the bayou
cooked by slaves
under brown delta sun
it grew and it grew and it grew and they called it the blues

The banjo played
old neo-African rhythmic swingin string thing
as bluesman wailed
ole time gospel work song with a feelin
the blues evolved
picked up the guitar
and hopped a midnight freight train to Chicago

The blues wound up
in a smoky South Side sleazepit in Chicago
and then hooked up
with electric circuits and part of the neck of a bottle
plugged into the wall
blues rose like a wave
and tore out into the heart of Chicago nighttime

The guitar
the guitar
the guitar that ate Chicago
oh yeah

Guitar went wild
and chewed up chunks of pavement all down Main Street
the ghetto bared
it swallowed all the projects on the south side
ate churches and bars
blues wanted more
hell, it took out the Sears Tower in just three bites

CHORUS

Blues matured
feedin on American dream world, finger lickin
juiced up good
it rips out the soul of the country in its rhythm
sound levels rise
guitar conquers all
I can hear it comin up behind me now

CHORUS

THE BALLAD OF RICHARD NIXON

(Words by Mike O'Brien; Music by Wallace Hammond)

Come listen to my story
bout an outlaw long ago
his name was Richard Nixon
a name that we all know
from down in San Clemente
this desperado came
and he blazed a trail for Washington
in search of power and fame

Richard Nixon, Richard Nixon
you were sleazy as could be
Richard Nixon, Richard Nixon
when we saw you on TV
we knew you were to blame
but we loved you just the same
Richard Nixon

They called him Tricky Dicky
he was a desperate man
he raped and robbed and plundered
way down in Vietnam
with his faithful wonder dog Checkers
he rode the open trail
he swore that he was not a crook
he wouldn't go to jail

CHORUS

He rode up to the White House
with Spiro by his side
he swindled and he cheated
he weaseled and he lied
he made his reputation
as a man we loved to hate
and he left a trail of bodies
from My Lai to Kent State

CHORUS

Twas at the Watergate Hilton
old Dicky met his match
the night watchman discovered
how they buggered up the latch
they locked up all his plumbers
and forced him to resign
he swore that he was not a crook
and everything was fine

CHORUS

Way down in San Clemente
in Californ-i-a
tis there you'll find old Dicky
gettin royalty cheques today
a presidential pardon
it got him off the hook
he'll soon be gone to heaven
saying "I am not a crook."

CHORUS

THE BALLAD OF BODI ODORDOVICH, OBOEIST

(Wallace Hammond & Craig Squires)

Bodiodo, I broke my oboe
Bodiodo, I fell on the cello
Bodiodo, said the KGB
Catch that clumsy impudent fellow

I picked up my oboe to play my part
The Internationale was about to start
Deutchesland Deutchesland I began to play
The orchestra leader exclaimed in dismay
The party bosses began to shout
I gathered my music to hurry on out

CHORUS

I danced with the tuba on the first violin
I softshoed the timpani, they called it a sin
I squashed the French horns in the key of E
Clarinetted the flutes and piccolos with glee
I decimated the whole works in three seconds flat
I was arrested for treason as I picked up my hat

CHORUS

The judge said goohaw, how do you plead
The nature of the charge made me weak in the knees
The verdict came in, it was short and sweet
We'll have no fascists, bodiodo Bolsheviks
The court said we'll send you where the goohaws go
Out to the Gulag to shovel some snow

CHORUS

I'm here in the Gulag where the goohaws go
Here in the Gulag, shovellin snow

HARE LOUIE LOUIE

(Mike O'Brien, Wallace Hammond, Mark Oakley, and several other people, but not George Harrison)

Hare Hare Hare
I bring you blossoms of transcendental joy
From the supreme lord Krishna
For in Krishna is truth
And the truth is the light
And the light is love
And love is a song
And the song is LOUIE LOUIE

Hare Hare - oh baby - Hare Krishna
Hare Hare - oh baby - Hare Rama

Come to us, oh Krishna
Deliver us from the clutches of the contamination of the material
world
Let us cast aside our worldly wealth and renounce our carnal
desires
Let us bathe in the transcendental joy of Krishna
Let us abide in the light of the ways of Krishna
Let us shave our heads
And dress in rags
And dance like fags in the streets of America for Krishna
Oh, the love of Krishna
Oh, the joy of Krishna
Oh, the utter insanity of it all

Hare Krishna
Hare Krishna
Hare Rama
Hare Rama
Hare Belafonte
Hare Truman
Hare Steele
Hare armpits
Hare up, bye, it's suppertime

Hare Krishna - Hare Krishna - Hare Hare - Krishna Krishna
Hare Rama - Hare Rama - Hare Hare - Rama Rama

Ohm Ohm Ohm Ohm

Sun Myung Moonie
Loonie Tunie

Don't mistake me for a moonie
I think the reverend's loonie
I think he's gonna sue me, lord
If he hears me sing this song

That Boy George
Ooh that George

Don't give your money to a moonie
Spend it on chop suey
You might think I'm goonie, lord
When you hear me sing this song

Groovie Groovie
Loonie Tunie

Supercalafragilistic
Michael Jackson think's he's mystic
But I think I'll get sadistic, lord
If he sings it one more time

Eat chop suey
Loonie tunie
Brian Mulrooney
Blooie blooie

Return to the Dog Meat BBQ Home Page