Public Interest Guardians, the PIGs care for the poor...
They care so much they often go around the world on tour.
They have to meet in Rio, and in Rome and gay Paree...
Then stop off in Manhattan for their U.N. doh-ray-me...

([Oh] Join the PIGs, son.... and you'll go far.
You'll drink champagne! Eat caviare!)

The Public Interest Guardians are a brave and daring bunch.
Risking bad cholesterol, they're always out to lunch.
While the folk who're taxed to pay them have to scrounge for cat-meat stew,
The Public Interest Guardians, the PIGs eat cordon bleu.

([Oh] Join the PIGs, son.... and you'll go far.
You'll drink champagne! Eat caviare!)

It's 'cos of all the problems that the PIGs can live so high.
That's why they never solve them, though they're paid so much to try.
Oh, the Public Interest Guardians, on problems all depend.
They give them such a good excuse to spend and spend and spend.

([Oh] Join the PIGs, son.... and you'll go far.
You'll drink champagne! Eat caviare!)

Oh, all hail the SuperPigs; long live those folk so fine...
In their version of democracy, they'll always be top swine.
Oh, all hail the SuperPigs — they all achieve their goals.
They lie and cheat and steal so well, you'd think they'd sold their souls.

([Oh] Join the PIGs, son.... and you'll go far.
You'll drink champagne! Eat caviare!)

You'll retire from the dole queue; you'll be lower than the low,
But so you're not dispirited, we thought you ought to know
When the destination's Paradise, the PIG's a frequent flyer,
And Public Interest Guardians, the PIGs retire higher.

([Oh] Join the PIGs, son.... and you'll go far.
You'll drink champagne! Eat caviare!)

The Public Interest Guardians, the PIGs are doing fine.
While poor folk have to beg for water, PIGs are drinking wine.
So, wallow in your misery. Be glad that times are tough.
There's goodness in all badness — yeah — it keeps PIGs at the trough.

([Oh] Join the PIGs, son.... and you'll go far.
You'll drink champagne! Eat caviare!

(Oh Join the PIGs, son.... and you'll go far.
You'll drink champagne until you're sick – and throw up caviare!)

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

I'm gonna win that lottery,
An' oh my Lord, then I'll be free.
The world'll be all mine, there just for me.

I'll be dancin' and romancin'
'Cos the women'll think me handsome,
An' we'll drink champagne an' guzzle caviare.
I'll have anythin' an' then some
An' a chateau there in France an'
A pretty lady chauffeur for my big fat fancy car.

It's so easy pickin' six from forty-nine.
I'll just ignore the losin' forty-three.
The whole damn world'll all be mine
An' every day the sun will shine
An' oh my Lord, at last I will be free.

I'll be dancin' an' romancin'
'Cos the women'll know I'm handsome,
Just as soon as I'm gonna win that lottery.
I'll have anythin' I fancy
An' a chateau there in France an'
A crew of pretty ladies to go sailin' on the sea.

It's so easy pickin' six from forty-nine.
An' then my life'll be so damn sublime.
Oh, the odds against may sicken
But there ain't no problem pickin'
The numbers that'll make my life so fine.

Forty-nine is seven an' seven...
When I pick six I'll be in heaven.
My life is gonna be so damn sublime.

I'll be dancin' and romancin'
'Cos the women'll think me handsome,
An' we'll drink champagne an' guzzle caviare.
I'll have anythin' entrancin'
An' a chateau there in France an'
At closin' time, I'll buy the goddam bar.

It's so easy pickin' six from forty-nine.
An' then my life'll be so damn sublime.
Oh, the odds against may sicken
But there ain't no problem pickin'
The numbers that'll make my life so fine.

I'll be dancin' and romancin'
'Cos the women'll know I'm handsome,
An' we'll drink champagne an' guzzle caviare.
I'll have anythin' entrancin'
An' a chateau there in France an'
At closin' time, I won't go 'way – I'll buy the goddam bar!

Yay....! It's drinks on me! As soon as I win!

© 2000 Alexander Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

It's been the same since time began.
If you should see a lonely man,
If he's not bald, his palms are growin' hair.
It takes two to dance the tango.
Without some hot romance, oh....
A lonely man is far from debonaire.

It was the same with Adam.
Before he had a madam,
He hung around with apes and dug the roots.
He ate turnips and potatoes,
But the only hot tomatoes
Were those red ones that some people say are fruits.

An' then there's poor old Onan.
In the absence of a woman,
He tried to make the scene with Mother Earth.
Oh, God was more than groanin',
Watchin' Onan moanin',
An' ever since he's been the source of mirth.

It takes one to strum the banjo,
But it's two to dance the tango.
An' a man's a joke without a better half.
It takes one to strum the banjo,
But it's two to dance the tango.
Without some hot romance, you have to laugh.

While I'm strummin' on my banjo,
I sure hope I'll dance the tango.
I sure pray some hot romance'll come along.
It takes one to strum the banjo,
But it's two to dance the tango.
Without some hot romance, I ain't King Kong....

© 2000 Alexander Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
The sports results are in.
An' there's a dirty vicar
In a secret bed of sin.

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
Will wonders never cease.
There's nations fightin' nations
An' there's no damn hope for peace.

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
The passion and the pain.
And we've caught some politicians
Tellin' lies again.

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
What's been an' what will be.
An' we've got naked bosoms
For enjoyment with your tea.

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
We've got the latest news.
There's been illegal parkin',
An' the cops still hunt for clues.

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
The UFO's have gone.
They asked to see our leaders
But we couldn't find a one.

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
We've Secrets of the Stars,
Written by a guy who was
A salesman of used cars.

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
The evenin' paper's here.
An' all this sex'll cost you less
Than half a pinta beer.

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
You'll laugh until you cry.
There's politicians screw'n' around,
An' funny ways folk die.

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
You know our paper's best.
An' all this sex'll cost you less
Than canc'rous cigarettes.

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
Learn how to get rich.
Life's too short to spend complainin'
Poverty's a bitch.

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
All kindsa life is news.
We've all this sex t'amuse you
While you're sippin' on your booze.

(Oh.../Yeah...) Read alllll about it!
Our paper sells for less.
Facts cost money — fiction's free.
The secret of success.

Extra.....! Extra.....!
Read alllll about it!
The secrets of the Press.
Facts cost money — fiction's free.
The secret of success.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

According to Saint Alien, the Universe is One.
It started with a great big bang that sounds like lots of fun.
Since then it's all expanded and it's given us the Earth...
Rather like your momma did before she gave you birth.

So the Universe is mother and it's all your sister, too,
And everything's your brother, even monkeys in the zoo.
So, if you gaze up there at night, your ancestors to view...
You'll see rings around Uranus there ... that could've once been you.

According to Saint Alien, there's no such thing as man.
There's just a bunch of molecules that once was only sand.
We're hydrogen and oxygen, some minerals as well,
And when we die we just dissolve; we do not go to Hell.

According to Saint Alien, we're stars' re-incarnation...
In all our very many lives, been every variation.
So, if you gaze up there at night, your ancestors to view...
You'll see rings around Uranus there ... that could've once been you.

According to Saint Alien — no heaven and no hell —
There's just th'eternal circle you go round and round pell-mell.
It's pointless feelin' sadness, or gettin' down an' blue,
'Cos there's rings around Uranus there that could've once been you.

Oh, think when you are gazin' there, away up in the sky...
The next time there's a great big bang, you'll kiss Uranus 'bye...
When there's another great big bang, you won't feel any pain,
An' according to Saint Alien, you will be once again.

Re-combination is the game — the universe's name
For turning us to something new — we won't be quite the same.
No matter if you're famous or you're drunken bums in bars,
Your simple fate's the same as — the rings around Uranus.....

You'll be rings around Uranus.... in the fam-il-y of stars......

© 1999 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

Oh, they heard the thunder rumble and they heard the heavens groan,
And they knew God was unhappy there upon His golden throne.
Oh, the Sinners all had bumbled and they'd given God a pain.
Now they heard the thunder rumble and the skies were filled with rain.

When folk would not repent their ways, the rain cascaded down for days.
The rivers ran, the waters rose above the Sinfuls' parson's nose.
They knew that God had more than frowned. It rained down cats and dogs,
Out there, when all the Sinners drowned...all Noah saw was frogs...

Oh, they heard the thunder rumble and they heard the heavens groan,
And they knew God was unhappy there upon His golden throne.
And they knew they shouldn't grumble and they knew they shouldn't whine,
When they heard the thunder rumble but the Lord said all was fine.

There wasn't any radio and there was no TV...
So the only fun the Noahs got was watching beasties pee.
Oh, they only made more water as around the world they sailed,
And when the Ark took on a list, then all the Noahs bailed.

There was nothing there but water — though sometimes it was snow —
But with all that water all around, there's nowhere dry to go...
...Until, at last, a little dove laid twigs upon his hand,
And Noah knew the little bird had come from new- found land...

Oh, the Noahs were so humble and the Noahs were so glad
That they hadn't tried to grumble so that God would think them bad.

They raised the sails and manned the oars until they ran aground...
They opened up the Ark's great doors. The beasties were unbound...
They all went forth to multiply, in all the world around...
Restoring all the species that The Lord's big flood had drowned.

But Noah didn't plough the wife; no, first he ploughed the soil.
Old Noah tilled like for his life, and never ceased his toil.
When God saw Mrs. Noah sad, He asked old Noah, "Why?"
Old Noah said, "I feel real bad, for now I'm awful dry....

"Oh, I know I mustn't grumble and I know I daren't whine.
I've just made the hard earth crumble so that I can plant a vine.
Oh, I know I shouldn't oughter but for God's sake I want wine.
Oh, good Lord, I'm tired of water...!
Now, for God's - sake! I'll - make - wine....!"

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

She's the girl from Ipanema,
She's the beauty that you dream-ah,
She's Miss World and all the Universe combined.
She's your woman if you're man enough,
Your Jane if you're Tar-zan enough...
...Delilah! And you're gonna lose your mind.

You'll only think of having fun,
Of romping in the sea and sun,
Forgetting there's a heavy price to pay.
While you're trying to romance her,
You could catch a bad skin cancer
And regret forever going mad this day.

But she's Venus, Aphrodite.
She will make you feel so mighty.
She's the goddess of all time, without an end.
You'll forget about your studies.
And abandon your best buddies.
She's so gorgeous, she will drive you round the bend.

This summer, at the beach, your
Eyes'll spy a gorgeous creature,
And your eyes'll pop; your hormones go insane.
You'll adore her every feature;
You'll do anything to reach her,
You'll completely lose control of all your brain.

When you see that great temptation,
When you're awed by that gyration,
And you dream this gorgeous creature dreams of you...
You will want to kiss an' cuddle,
And you'll want to fuddle-duddle,
But to consummate your dreaming, you need two...

You will want to kiss an' cuddle,
And you'll want to fuddle-duddle,
And when it's done, you'll want to start again.
You should stick close to your studies,
You should drink beer with your buddies...
Those dumb ol' things'll help to keep you sane.

But this summer, at the beach, your
Eyes've spied a gorgeous creature,
And your eyes've popped; your hormones gone insane...
You adore her every feature,
You'd do anything to reach her...
You've completely lost control of all your brain.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

It's garbage-in and garbage-out; you know it's all the same.
On paper or in bits and bytes; you know it's all insane.
But using dumb computers lets the fools escape the blame,
So this stupid brand-new dumb machine has now become their brain.

Oh, shout an' scream until you're hoarse to try to ask 'em why
This stupid brand-new dumb machine makes truth and justice cry.
But you never have existed, so why should they reply....?
And if they would, they'd simply say: "Computers never lie."

All my life has been a lie, for I have never been.
I never have existed, 'cos I'm not there on the screen.
Except, of course, for payin' taxes — then they're awful mean.
Why won't they ever listen to their brand-new dumb machine?

It's garbage-in and garbage-out; you know it's all the same.
On paper or in bits and bytes; you know it's all insane.
But using dumb computers lets the fools escape the blame,
So this stupid brand-new dumb machine has now become their brain.

Oh, bureaucrats are lovers of their brand-new dumb machine.
It hums away, works night and day, like nobody they've seen.
It makes the world so simple on its pretty little screen.
Oh, bureaucrats just love 'er and they'd like to crown 'er Queen.

Through practice, we have proven that it's useless to complain.
So, from now and for forever, we will sing a new refrain.........

© 2000 Alexander Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

We're in her solar system now
And I'm your Guide to tell you how....
....While WhiteStar SpaceLines staff serve lunch....
We will be passing by a bunch
Of planets that may, happenchance,
Deserve a look, or just a glance....

Far from sunshine, cold and small,
Poor Pluto's not got much at all....
Next on Neptune and Uranus....
....Also, near the Sun, on Venus....
There are clouds that come between us
And whatever Nature's done.

Maybe she still works on things
Down there as lovely as the rings
That shine like jewels in the rays
The Sun sends Saturn all her days.

Huge Jupiter's got colored bars
And Mars has lots of strange, straight scars.
Those could be Nature doodling stuff,
Before she said, "Enough's enough,"
And, bored with formless modern art...?
....Unhappy...? Burst some work apart.
For, circling in what would be void's
A mess of dust and asteroids.

We'll never know, so on we go.
Her face, dear Venus still won't show
And, as around the Sun we've turned,
We've seen half Mercury is burned.
The other half's as cold as ice
(Which really can't be very nice).

But the highlight of our Art Tour's near,
The reason for our coming here.
Ahead now, see that bright balloon
The earthlings call their silver Moon.
This is where we slow right down
For Nature's art, her jewelled crown....

Now, light years from our home and hearth....
....WhiteStar SpaceLines gives you....Earth....
She's green and white and azure-blue,
Always changing, always new.
Unique in all the galaxy....
Her beauty's what we've come to see....
Now, light years from our alien hearth,
WhiteStar SpaceLines gives you....Earth....

© 2000 Alexander Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

He walked ten miles to school each day, no shoes upon his feet,
Whether it was hurricanes, or rain or snow or sleet.
He never had the time to play, nor money for a treat.
And at weekends he was prayin' there'd be roadkill there to eat.

He never had a radio, he never had TV,
An' movies were just fantasies that he would never see.
He didn't even dream back then, no slacker-off was he.
At night, beneath the moonlight...he would learn his abc.

He never had vacations and he never went away.
Through Christmas, Easter, summer, he'd be workin' every day.
He'd shovel snow and swat mosquitos, then he'd bundle hay.
He'd give his pennies to his mother ... he had to pay his way.

My old man remembers when he was just a lad.
Oh, things were really tough back then, the times were really bad.
You'd think he'd rather not remember, it would make him sad.
He says that's just the price to pay...to be a good ol' dad.

But now there's my old grand-dad ....

My grand-dad, he remembers when he was my dad's dad.
My father was a wild young guy, oh he was jack-the-lad.
He scored A-plus in kissin' girls and hated doin' chores.
And when he wasn't dreamin', he'd be chasin' thrills outdoors.
He scored A-plus in kissin' girls and hated doin' chores.
And you'd find him at the movies, in the back row, makin' scores.

You'd think that he'd remember that ... that that would make him glad...
But maybe that's the price he pays ... to be a good ol' dad....
You'd think that he'd remember that ... that that would make him glad...
He's just a big ol' lyin' bum – but he's my good ol' dad....

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

I think I'm living in a monkey house,
Then I turn around and it's just my spouse.
Gorilla boy...
I have to question Evolution!
Evolution..? Why did you pass him by?
Maybe this'll skip a generation.
I really wanna know before gestation
Has half a chance...to begin...the baboon...

Who says this town has got no zoo?
When I turn around and I see you.
I've an animal house all of my own,
An' the Lion King there on the throne,
Just a-lyin' there...
Like a grizzily bear...
And why oh why does he have to smell
Like a big fat drunken skunk from hell?

Oh, I leave open the stable door
So the breeze can freshen up mi amor
But the neighbors complain...
An' I'm goin' insane...
I am on my knees...!
Take a shower! Pleeeez...!

A piranha fish's got more grace;
Piranha wash the foodstuff off their face.
Oh, please don't smile. Go floss your fangs.

When it comes to choosing from either or or,
I think I'll trade him for a labrador...
Or a pekinese...or a dachshund...
Or a goldfish... Somethin' less like an animal,
Somethin' clean...
Like an aspidistra!
Somethin' that was born green...

Who says this town has got no zoo?
When I turn around and I see you.
I've an animal house all of my own,
With the Lion King there on the throne,
Just a-lyin' there...
Like a stinkin' thing...
Oh, why oh why does he have to smell...
Like a big fat drunken skunk from hell..?

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

Science says the problem is my sweat and how I smell,
But frankly I don't see myself all slathered in Chanel.
I've tried out almost everything that country stores'll sell...
But The Lord knows what'll save me from that vampire bug from Hell.

I think if she were human she would work for Revenue,
And think that she's a princess, so she wants some blood that's blue.
But whereas Revenu-ers never suck folk on the throne,
That vicious wee MissQuito never leaves me alone.

There's swallows, swifts and dragonflies; I know they do their best.
But, please God, conjure somethin' else, to eat up all the rest.
When MissQuito's in her seasons, oh, my life goes to the dogs.
I never thought I'd say it...what we really need's more frogs...

She seeks me out and sucks my blood to feed her new-born kind.
That vampire's tryin' to kill me.....an' that's why you hear me whine!

I must've fed a million of those suckin' little beasts.
That means there'll be a zillion more come lookin' for their feasts.
My heart an' veins'll be all dry before those suckers cease.
Oh, screw MissQuito's progeny! Oh, please Lord, give me peace!

Oh, I can't escape her suckin', no matter how I try.
She's a nasty girl MissQuito, and I yearn to see her fry!

So, screw MissQuito's progeny! Let's have a barbecue!
The flames are gonna save us all, that's me an' you an' you!
We'll burn that vampire! Stakes an' fire! Burn! Burn! Burn!
We will burn that suckin' vampire! We will burn... Burn... Burrrrn...!

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

For it's in the nation's interest — the pay-triotic way.
Do not do as I do — just do as I say.

I've not been a faithful man — not since my weddin' day.
I don't divorce — I've mistresses, the dirty devil's way.
But such a lyin' cheatin' life is not the way for you.
Before you try to fool the wife, remember that she'll sue.

For it's in the nation's interest — the pay-triotic way.
Do not do as I do — just do as I say.

I wear a trademark halo — I'm the leader of you all,
An' when I speak in public, I will hold the crowd in thrall.
My words are kind of magical — I spin their meaning so
You'll never prove I'm cheatin' on the promises I owe.

For it's in the nation's interest — the pay-triotic way.
Do not do as I do — just do as I say.

My life is like a farmer's now — I'm always makin' hay.
My politics a cash cow I am milkin' every day.
But don't expect that you'll get yours served on a silver tray.
Be glad that we don't tax you more! Shout hip, hip, hip, hooray!

For it's in the nation's interest — the pay-triotic way.
Do not do as I do — just do as I say.

I wear a trademark halo when I'm in the public eye,
Though I'm fallen as an angel — so far I'm gonna fry.
When confronted by temptation — I advise you all to flee.
You should live as righteous paupers — not sinful rich like me.

For it's in the nation's interest — the pay-triotic way.
Do not do as I do — just do as I say.

For all my riches, I am poor — oh, I am far from whole....
I wear a trademark halo — though I've lost my very soul....
So quit your drinkin'! Leave this bar! And kneel right down and pray!
Do not do as I do — just do as I say!

For it's in the nation's interest — the pay-triotic way.
Do not do as I do — just do as I say.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

They're under-taxed and optimistic — we don't want them here.
We'd rather trade for beaver pelts and drink Canadian beer.

We love Canadian xenophobes deciding what we'll see.
Film Board shadows on the wall are better than TV.
Oh, we all love the CBC and we hate Hollywood...
If not for Wayne and Shuster there'd be nothin' on that's good.

We love Canadian xenophobes deciding what we'll hear —
Like good Canadian-content skoosh... when we open up a beer.

We love Canadian xenophobes deciding what's our culture.
It's hockey and it's girls called Anne .........................
It's hockey teams who move down south and good Canadian beer.
And brilliant folk who make it big! Anywhere but here.

We love Canadian xenophobes deciding what we'll say —
Expressing all our hopes and dreams in a nihilistic way.

We love Canadian xenophobes who call this paradise.
We all wear wings, we never sin, we all have angels' eyes.
We do good things, we never win, we always drink good beer.
Americans in paradise...? When hell's all frozen over — they'll be just like here.

We love Canadian xenophobes deciding what we'll smell —
Like all our wondrous water when the cesspit's near the well.

We love Canadian xenophobes deciding what we'll touch.
With winter mittens on our hands — that's not so very much.

We love Canadian xenophobes deciding what we'll feel....
Like at least they're not damn Yankees, when our politicians steal....

We love Canadian xenophobes deciding what we'll say:
That we love all other nations but we hate the U.S.A.
It's in Canadians' interests — the paytriotic way,
That we love all other nations, but we hate the U.S.A.

We love Canadian xenophobes who say that tax is good.
We know that while we're drawin' water and we're choppin' wood.
If we were not so highly-taxed, and never have a choice....
Our xenophobic bureaucrats would never have a voice.

We love Canadian xenophobes deciding who we are.
We toast 'em with Canadian beer when ever in a bar....
We love Canadian xenophobes — they own our very souls....
An' we hate those goddamned immigrants who call 'em all ass-holes....

We love Canadian xenophobes deciding what we'll say:
That we love all other nations, but we hate the U.S.A.
It's in Canadians' interests — the paytriotic way....
That we love all other nations, but we hate the U.S.A.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

It could be farmers don't have rain...
It could be dentists causing pain,
Or countries want to fight us.
The cure that springs into their brain...
Is called committee-itis.

They'll hide and talk the days away,
Till every idiot's had a say.
It's called committee-itis,
The tried and proven best known way
Of how to deal with crisis.

Committee-itis rots the brain ...
It causes logorrhea...
If that sounds strange, it's just the same
...As verbal diarrhea.

It comes from a bacterium that's found in the posterium
Of equine politicians.
Infested with confusion, they will reach for the illusion...
...That they've got guts and they've worked hard and made some tough decisions.

Committee-itis rots the brain ...
It causes logorrhea...
If that sounds strange, it's just the same
As a word that rhymes with **IT.

If you wonder why things don't get done,
The fault's committee-itis.
Their endless talking's so much fun,
It's how they deal with crisis.

It could be farmers don't have rain...
It could be dentists causing pain,
Or countries want to fight us.
The cure that springs into their brain...
Is called committee-itis.

It comes from a bacterium that's found in the posterium
Of equine politicians.
Infested with confusion, they will reach for the illusion...
...That they've got guts and they've worked hard and made some tough decisions.

Committee-itis rots the brain ...
It causes logorrhea...
If that sounds strange, it's just the same
...As verbal diarrhea.

If you wonder why things don't get done,
The fault's committee-itis.
Their endless talking's so much fun...
It's how they deal with crisis.
If that sounds strange — it's just the same —
As a word that rhymes with **IT.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-Mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

All he ever sees of life, he sees upon a screen.
His job is unemployin' folk; destroyin' lives an' dreams.
He leaves them standin' in the road; their jobs are now computer code.
He powerfully presses keys — he hears the people scream.

All he ever sees of life, he sees upon a screen.
He powerfully presses keys — he hears the people scream.
The Graphic User Interface, his screen is gonna take your place,
An' most of all the human race will beg to his impersonal machine.

Describe yourself in sixteen-bit. Say a prayer an' then submit
Your future and your life to his machine....
If your code don't make a circle, or your code don't make a square....
You won't compute. You're useless. You're not going anywhere....

All he ever sees of life, he sees upon a screen.
He powerfully presses keys — he hears the people scream.
He drives folk from the factories; he drives folk from the land.
The deus ex machina's in the keyboard at his hand.

He changes life to livin' hell, replacin' folk with SQL;
Dumps human problems and the fuss, by doin' work in C-plus-plus.
The Graphic User Interface, his screen is gonna take your place,
An' most of all the human race will beg to his impersonal machine.

All he ever sees of life, he sees upon a screen.
He powerfully presses keys — he hears the people scream.
He drives folk from the factories; he drives folk from the land.
The deus ex machina's in the keyboard at his hand.

He leaves the people standin' in the middle of the road,
All their lives an' all their dreams replaced by lines of code.
All he ever sees of life, he sees upon a screen.
He powerfully presses keys — he hears the people scream.
He drives folk from the factories; he drives folk from the land.
The deus ex machina's in the keyboard at his hand.

© 2000 Alexander Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

No matter where you look in life it's tested, true and tried
That you ain't goin' anywhere unless you take some pride.
You're guaranteed a loser if you're gonna let things slide.
If you're gonna be a winner, you just gotta take some pride.

Oh, don't you always love it when you're told that life's just so!
And they say you shouldn't covet, 'cos you'll never have the dough.
You can tell 'em they can shove it; they can suck their thumbs 'n' blow.
If you think it's bad to covet, you will end up down below.

It's well-known that the losers have their genes left in the dust,
Like dodos and the dinosaurs whose lines've all gone bust.
So when you're feeling randy, just pretend it's love and trust
That, to preserve the species, your ol' lust is just a must.

Envy makes you green, they say, an' green folk's alien.
An' envy makes you blue, they say; you may as well drink gin.
But mostly folk are envious, seein' people win,
An' envy makes you copy — so go ahead an' sin.

Another name for gluttony is plain ol' simple greed.
But 'less you'd starve in poverty — jus' do the dirty deed
Like millionaires, successful folk, who've much more than they need.
Go sin an' be a winner, an' join this happy breed.

Anger is emotion that politicians hate.
They'd rather we were placid, resign-èd to our fate.
Pay our taxes, vote them in to steal without debate.
Righteous anger's good enough to vote the bastards out!

The sloth unlike the moth'll never die there in the flame.
The sloth unlike the men of cloth'll never damn your name.
The sloth, unlike control freaks, never tries to make us tame.
The sloth just takes it easy — to the sloth all life's a game.

The sinner is a winner in this good ol' human race.
If you're lookin' at a grinner, it'll be a sinner's face.
Those folk who'd force you to be good are never gonna win,
For those who end up happiest are always those who sin.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

It's no... Oh, don't conceive a son on Valentine's....
That festival of I-Love-You....
Means he'll be born a Scorp-i--yeugh....
For ro-mance, that's the worst of starry signs.

Round Christmas and New Year there's Capricorn....
An' that's a better sign to have when born....
An' the broads would not abhor us, if we were born a Taurus
— When we're bulls, the broads are for us....
An' they'll love us though we drink the barley-corn...

It's no..... Oh, don't conceive a son mid-Feb-ru-reee....
All his life will be un-done,
His love songs all be left un-sung....
Because of his damn birthday.... women flee.

The Aries are the Rams an' they do fine....
An' there's never any Pisces
Who will have the love-life crises
That lonely Scorp-i-os have all the time....
An' if I'd been born a Cancer, then I maybe could ro-mance 'er
When a ho-ro-scopic woman asks my sign....
For Scorp-i-os, her answer....
Is written in the stars — she'll just decline.

It's no..... Oh, don't conceive a son on Feb. Fourteen....
Conceived in all that lovin's
Bein' curs-čd by a coven
Of the wickedest of witches you have seen.
Oh, no.... Don't chance conceiving sons mid-Feb-ru-reee.....
Condemning them to love-life..... mis-er-eeee.....
For ro-mance it's the worst of starry signs....
Oh.... don't ever chance a Scorpio.... Valentine's....

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

They/we all wanna be American. They/we all wanna be — The Man....!
They/we all wanna be American, but can't stand Uncle Sam.

They'd/we'd love to have a Green Card an' a California tan.
They/we all wanna be American, but can't stand Uncle Sam.

They/we all wanna be American. They/we all wanna be — The Man....!
They/we all wanna be American, but can't stand Uncle Sam.

They/we love that U.S. dollar, but they/we can't stand Uncle Sam.
They/we demonstrate an' holler from Korea to Iran.
They/we wanna be rich Americans, but can't stand Uncle Sam.

They/we all wanna be American. They/we all wanna be — The Man....!
They/we all wanna be American, but can't stand Uncle Sam.

They/we wanna be New Yorkers an' have mansions in L.A.,
An' send their/our kids to Harvard, though they/we hate the U.S.A.

They/we all wanna be American. They/we all wanna be — The Man....!
They/we all wanna be American, but can't stand Uncle Sam.

It's Hollywood an' Rock'n'Roll an' Nashville Music, too,
An' goin' down the highway, 'cos there's always somethin' new.
It's like no other country in all the world around —
The only place in all the world where freedom can be found.

They/we all wanna be American. They/we all wanna be — The Man....!
They/we all wanna be American, but can't stand Uncle Sam.

It's the same the whole world over in the family of Man.....
They/we love all things American, but can't stand Uncle Sam.
It's the same the whole world over. It's like apple pie and Mom —
They/we all wanna be American, but can't stand Uncle Sam.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

It's simple cause and consequence; they'll never have a conscience when
The mother's job is suin' and she calls her daughter Sue.

All lawyers — who are mothers! — will call their daughters Sue.

Be careful when you're choosin' with whom you will go wooin'.
You'll be cruisin' for a bruisin' if her Christian name is Sue.

All lawyers — who are mothers! — will call their daughters Sue.

You'll be headin' for a doozie if your loved one's name is Suzie
And the mother's an attorney, you'll be served up in the stew.

All lawyers — who are mothers! — will call their daughters Sue.

Oh, Susan may be beautiful and wonderful as well,
But when trouble starts a-brewin', you would rather be in Hell.

All lawyers — who are mothers! — will call their daughters Sue.

Oh, when you part, 's not just your heart; she'll have your assets, too.
If you started out with many, you'll be lucky to have few.

All lawyers — who are mothers! — will call their daughters Sue.

You're gonna pay for kissin' her if mummy's a solicitor.
An' while you may be missin' her, you'll miss your money more.

All lawyers — who are mothers! — will call their daughters Sue.

As well as losin' Susan, you'll lose all your assets, too.
When the witches are a-brewin', you'll be served up in the stew.
So be careful when you're wooin', and never say, "I do."
If the mother's an attorney and the daughter's name is Sue.

It's simple cause and consequence; they'll never have a conscience when
The mother's job is suin' and she calls her daughter Sue.
Cross-examine all the in-laws to avoid this witches' brew...
The caveat's be careful — be very, very careful — who — you — woooo.......

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

You've created somethin' wonderful; you're lookin' for a deal.
Don't be a fool, don't bother, if your e-mail's down@heel.
You may as well just send it to your lovely, lovin' mum,
'Cos culture's not intended ..... for any unknown bum.

You've starved while you've created. Now, you're lookin' for a meal.
But to disappear you're fated if your e-mail's down@heel.
Don't wonder why; don't question why. It's always been the same.
It glorifies; it deifies; this culture worships fame.

The secret's never been unknown; the secret's seekin' fame.
It never matters what you do; it's so they know your name.
Until your name is famous, you can pour it out to mum,
'Cos culture vultures' aim is to ignore an unknown bum.

You really are so brilliant. You're a genius, for real,
But you better be resilient if your e-mail's down@heel.
Don't wonder why; don't question why. It's always been the same.
It glorifies; it deifies; this culture worships fame.

The secret's get some gimmick, or the secret's be a whore.
The secret's just be famous — they'll come knockin' at your door.
You'll have everything you've written there on TV, film and stage.
You'll have critics say they're smitten by an icon of the age.

Ask any of the famous greats. Just ask 'em how they feel.
Their e-mail's @the_pearly_gates — it's never down@heel.
Don't wonder why; don't question why. It's always been the same.
It glorifies; it deifies; this culture worships fame.

Respect the game's vernacular — don't be an unknown bum,
Your creations un-solicited, your life forever numb.
Don't stay a dumb old unknown bum — go make yourself a name!
The secret's be spectacular! And e-mail chance@fame!

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

We've tales from Area Fifty-one — from there to Timbuctoo.
The President's an alien's son — our strangest story's true.
Our news-beat's inter-stellar — that means between the stars .
Our evenin' leadin' feature is the newest strangest creature —
And our weatherman's got pictures of the storms on planet Mars.

On double-U-U-F-O-T-V! — You're gonna be surprised.
They're weird at U-F-O-H-Q — you won't believe your eyes.
On double-U-U-F-O-T-V! — We've U-F-O-H-Q.
If you love weird, tune in and see — what aliens can do.

On double-U-U-F-O-T-V! — You're gonna be surprised.
They're weird at U-F-O-H-Q — you won't believe your eyes.
On double-U-U-F-O-T-V! — You don't adjust your screen.
Don't blink twice; they're really nice — just aliens, an' green.

On double-U-U-F-O-T-V! — We're beamin' down to you
The galaxee's de-pra-vi-tee — from U-F-O-H-Q.
On double-U-U-F-O-T-V! — We've aliens from space.
They're on a special mission here — to love the human race.

On double-U-U-F-O-T-V! — They're on a special mission.
They crossed the whole damn galaxee — to pose on television.
They like our females' lingerie — so flew here in a saucer.
They wanna probe some abductees — no lovin' could be grosser.

On double-U-U-F-O-T-V! — They're cruisin' round above.
Soon they're gonna come on down — an' grab some blondes to love.
Their passion's inter-stellar — forget the singles' bars.
Their leadin' fornicator's a U-ranian alligator —
And their spanker is a feller who was born on planet Mars.

On double-U-U-F-O-T-V! — We've an alien surprise.
They're weird at U-F-O-H-Q — you'll see we don't tell lies.
On double-U-U-F-O-T-V! — They wanna forge some bonds.
They're on a special mission here — to love some gorgeous blondes.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

You wouldn't have to cook for me — you wouldn't have to clean.
Oh, I would be so generous — I never would be mean.
Oh, Lady Luck, I love you — why won't you love me?
My love would be so tender — your love would set me free.

Of all the ladies in the world — the loveliest I've known,
And though you hardly smile at me — my love has only grown.
Oh, Lady Luck, I love you — I'll love you night and day.
I'll open doors an' buy you flowers — if you'll love me and stay.

Oh, Lady Luck, I love you — your love I'd love to win.
Oh, Lady Luck, please love me, too — would that be such a sin?
Your love is flawless diamonds — your love is solid gold.
Oh, Lady Luck, be warm for me — and never leave me cold.

Oh, Lady Luck, I love you — my love for you's so true.
Oh, Lady Luck, if you'll love me — I'll never more be blue.
Your love is flawless diamonds — your love is solid gold.
Oh, Lady Luck, be warm for me — and never leave me cold.

Oh, Lady Luck, I love you — my love's no schoolboy crush.
Oh, Lady Luck, I love you — you'd Queen my Royal Flush.
Oh, Lady Luck, I love you — you're my peaches and my cream......
Oh, Lady Luck, I love you so....... of only you I dream...........

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

Anyone's elected — if you're really well connected!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as long as you got dough!

With the truth you can be toyin' — if you gotta lotta coin!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as long as you got dough!

You can fool around at leisure — if you gotta lotta treasure!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as long as you got dough!

You'll never be arrested — if you gotta lot invested!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as long as you got dough!

You'll be wilder in your teens — if your dad's a man o' means!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as long as you got dough!

You'll be busy in romancin' — if you're big in bank financin'!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as long as you got dough!

All your dates'll know you're posh — when they know you got the dosh!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as long as you got dough!

You'll be lovin' till you're really old — with credit cards of solid gold!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as long as you got dough!

When you find yourself in heck! — you can easy write a check!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as long as you got dough!

They'll never take your stash — when they know you got the cash!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as long as you got dough!

An' you never will be hustled — when it's money that's your muscle!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as long as you got dough!

(It's a freeeee country!) — if you gotta lotta treasure!
(It's a freeeee country!) — if you gotta lotta coin!
(It's a freeeee country!) — if your dad's a man o' means!
(It's a freeeee country!) — if your big in bank financin'!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as long as you got money!
(It's a freeeee country!) — as - long - as - you - got - dough.....!

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

I would drive a Jaguar, a Beemer or Ferrari.
But now that's just a crazy dream, for I am gonna marry.

Some dumb ol' rusty useless car's the price of wedded bliss.
So, if you'd drive a Jaguar, be careful when you kiss.
Remember — never go too far — ignore that special ting-le.
'Cos Beemers an' Ferraris are for folks who're stayin' sing-le.

I would drive a Jaguar, a Beemer or Ferrari.
But now that's just a crazy dream, for I am gonna marry.

I would've drove a sports car — that's testosterone that's talkin'.
But my libido for marriage means that I'll just go on walkin'.
I would've drove a Jaguar, a Beemer or Ferrari,
But now I'll have to buy a car from Curly, Moe or Larry.

I would drive a Jaguar, a Beemer or Ferrari.
But now that's just a crazy dream, for I am gonna marry.

I would've drove a Beemer — I'd've drove it really fast.
But now I'll just be dreamin' as I watch 'em all go past.
I'll try real hard an' never nag — with a mortgage there to carry.
I'll never mention Jaguars or a really red Ferrari.

I would drive a Jaguar, a Beemer or Ferrari.
But now that's just a crazy dream, for I am gonna marry.

I would drive a Jaguar, a Beemer or Ferrari
Except I've just succumbed to love and promised I will marry.
Remember, folks, it's simple; it's the price of love and marriage.
The only place there's racin' stripes is on the baby carriage.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

I grow older, I grow wiser. Never live life like a miser.
You should live life to the full's The Golden Rule.
You can spend your life like crazy; just don't spend it bein' lazy.
You should live life to the full's The Golden Rule.

The Golden Rule..... The Golden Rule.....
You should live life to the full's The Golden Rule.

I grow older; I grow bolder. Although my blood runs colder,
I should live life to the full's The Golden Rule.
Sometimes it's hot, sometimes it's cool,
But live life to the full's The Golden Rule.

The Golden Rule..... The Golden Rule.....
You should live life to the full's The Golden Rule.

I wish I'd known it younger that sweet life has one great hunger
For experience, for love, and to achieve.
I don't wanna sit an' linger, just a-waitin' for the finger,
An' with nothin' done, I'm gonna have to leave.

The Golden Rule..... The Golden Rule.....
You should live life to the full's The Golden Rule.

Even squanderin' is wiser than to hoard it like a miser.
To live life to the full's The Golden Rule.
You can spend your life like crazy; just don't spend it bein' lazy.
You should live life to the full's The Golden Rule.

The Golden Rule..... The Golden Rule.....
You should live life to the full's The Golden Rule.

An' please quit sayin' you would've when you know so well you could've.
You should live life to the full's The Golden Rule.
You can spend your life like crazy; just don't spend it bein' lazy.
You should live life to the full's The Golden Rule.
The Golden Rule..... The Golden Rule.....
You should live life to the full's The Golden Rule.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

Religions and philosophies have all had lots to say,
But now there's clever scientists who'd re-write Nature's play.
They'd change tragedy to comedy — make illness go away —
And they'll give you many brand-new scenes — so on the stage you'll stay.

If you've got means. Buy brand-new genes!
A great new life with time to pay! Get brand-new DNA!

New genes'll change your character — to super-guy from louse.
There's just a few genes difference 'tween men an' Minnie Mouse.
You'll never die from cancer an' your life'll be so thrillin'.
You can always be romancin' an' you'll never pay for sinnin'.

If you've got means. Buy brand-new genes!
A great new life with time to pay! Get brand-new DNA!

From weakling to Olympic star is just new genes away.
You'll pick an' choose from many parts with brand-new DNA.
What once was pre-determined is now for you to say.
As producer an' director, your life's your Broadway play.

If you've got means. Buy brand-new genes!
A great new life with time to pay! Get brand-new DNA!

From dinosaurs to Darwin, it's been Nature's DNA.
It's been pre-determination just how long you'd get to stay.
But now we know your genome an' we say it's fine an' dandy
To pick an' choose some real good genes — if you've got money handy.

If you've got means. Buy brand-new genes.
A great new life with time to pay. Get brand-new DNA.

What money means.... is brand-new genes!
A great new life with time to pay! Get brand-new DNA!

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

Oh, please make me a number, so I'm registered as able.
I'm tired of fightin' bugs down here for crumbs from off the table.
Oh, I was so damn dumb before — said two plus two is four.
Now I believe — to stay alive — that two plus two is five.

Oh, turn me to a number, so computers know I'm able.
There's cock-a-roaches treatin' me as crumbs from off the table.
Oh, hire me for some dumb ol' job. Oh, please give me a chance.
An' when you give me orders, I won't just jump — I'll dance.

I've got four straight sides on me to fill a hole that's square.
It don't matter what you're payin', for any pay is fair.
I can twist myself in circles if you want me to be round.
I'll touch my forelock, an' I'll bow — my head'll touch the ground.

I wanna be resources now. I won't be so damn human.
I won't be individual. With corp'rate love I'm swoonin'.
I promise I'm no problem — I'm confessin' I was wrong.
There's economic forces, an' I'll sing the corp'rate song.

I wanna be a number. To be human is a fable.
I prefer computers to a dame like Betty Grable.
Oh, please make me a number, an' take away my name.
There's cock-a-roaches beatin' me in playin' the corp'rate game.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

We're gonna take it all away. We're gonna make you happy.
We're gonna make you bright an' gay. No broads. No booze. No baccy.

More tax on cigarettes an' booze, an' everythin' that's tacky.
An' when we tax the sex, you'll lose your broads an' booze an' baccy.

We're gonna make you healthy when you're payin' for your sinnin'.
You'll quit an' you'll be wealthy men — no baccy, booze, or women.

You won't escape the laws we pass, though you may think we're sods.
They're written there to save your ass from baccy, booze an' broads.

Sinnin' sends all men to Hell. Your souls you'll all be losin'.
Forget The Pearly Gates as well as baccy, broads, an' boozin'.

The Devil tempts you now to sell your soul for simple pleasure.
For baccy, broads an' booze you fell. Repent there at your leisure.

All that sin's no good for you; it's gonna drive you wacky.
You're gonna waste your life — it's true — on broads an' booze an' baccy.

We're gonna take it all away. We're gonna make you happy.
We're gonna make you bright an' gay. No broads. No booze. No baccy.

More tax on cigarettes an' booze, an' everythin' that's tacky.
An' when we tax the sex, you'll lose your broads an' booze an' baccy.

We're gonna make you healthy when you're payin' for your sinnin'.
You'll quit an' you'll be wealthy men — no baccy, booze, or women.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

There's nothin' wrong with water-fowl; you'll never hear them growl.
And even when you shoot them down, you'll never hear 'em howl.
It's true their voice is kinda like a movement of your bowel,
But the simple only problem is they can't pronounce a vowel.

My songs are like an angel's; please hear them and rejoice.
They'll tug upon your heartstrings; they'll make your eyes go moist.
I have to sing to sell them, 'cos I don't have any choice,
Though I know I'm doomed to failure, because of my damn voice.

Water-fowl are colorful; we love canard l'orange.
My songs are so damn wonderful; j'ecris them comme une ange.
Oh, buy my works so lyrical, 'cos I have gotta mange.
Forget that I'm a water-fowl; please listen to my songs.

If I sang them like an angel, then I know I'd make a buck.
But my rotten voice'll change 'em, so now my songs'll suck.
In marriage of my words an' voice, I never have much luck.
I can't change. I've got no choice. I sound just like a duck.

Water-fowl are very strong; they sleep on just one leg.
So, pay attention. Hear my song. Don't make me have to beg.
It won't be so damn painful if you drink another keg.
But now I've sung....and you've all gone....I've laid another egg.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

There's so many folk are nasty; they're more cruel than they're kind.
And when it comes to human rights, their eyes are closed; they're blind.
Oh, in the Final Judgement, we must pray their plea's declined.
Rather than they're human, they're a horse's big behind.

You're lookin' for Humanity when bad luck you're assigned.
But for every Saint Theresa, it's for sure you're gonna find
A couple of thousand others who'll demand that you're confined.
Wake up and smell the roses on a horse's big behind.

You'll find that politicians have all their minds aligned.
As the big behinds of horses they are perfectly defined.
Political correctness is a clue I'm sure you'll find
Identifying many who're a horse's big behind.

Some say that Mankind's triumph thru' a million years of grind
Ain't politics nor money; it's developing the mind.
But when you look around you'll see success is all defined
By powerful wealthy fat-cats who're a horse's big behind.

But maybe you have found romance. We know that love is blind.
Oh, everything is perfect and the stars are all aligned.
Well grab it now; get what you can; when you're agein' you will find
That nobody comes a-callin' on a horse's big behind.

When you're fat-heads, it don't matter if you have the finest mind,
'Cos nobody comes a-callin' on a horse's big behind.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

I'm a dangerous romantic!
I drive all the women frantic!
I am Scor-pi-o! The Martian passion!

I'm the one and the original!
The Martian aboriginal!
Scor-pi-o! I am Scor-pi-oh....! Real man from Mars!

The women know the Gemini!
An' Aries never satisfy!
Like Scor-pi-o! The Martian passion!

An' women don't want fishes!
All they're good for's doin' dishes!
Scor-pi-o! I am Scor-pi-oh....! Romance from Mars!

An' who wants Sagittarian!
Or some old auntie-'Quarian!
I am Scor-pi-o! The Martian passion!

Capricorn an' Taurus!
Are a boys soprano chorus!
Scor-pi-o! I am Scor-pi-oh....! I give you stars!

An' who wants Crabs an' Leo!
The broads want Martian me-oh!
I am Scor-pi-o! The Martian passion!

All the women came from Venus!
So there'd be no space between us!
Scor-pi-o! I am Scor-pi-oh....! The Martian passion!

The one and the original! The Martian aboriginal!
I am Scor-pi-oh......! The Martian passion!
I am Scor-pi-oh....! I am women's Martian passion from the stars!

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

I sit there doin’ codin’ all day long,
While she beeps an’ buzzes; sings her little song.
She’s so cute, an’ she’s so pretty — but the plain ol’ nitty gritty:
There’s a la-a-amb’s worth of RAM in my machine.

She’ll never do those big fat Windows lingos;
She can’t figure where this thing goes on the screen.
I am trying to defend her, but she never can remember.
There’s a la-a-amb’s worth of RAM in my machine.

I simply have to calculate in DOS.
I really have no choice in this because
When she gets there she’s forgotten where she’s been.
There’s a la-a-amb’s worth of RAM in my machine.

All day long, she’s beep, beep, beepin’ buzzin’.
Pretendin’ that she’s fussin’; she’s so keen.
The answer I could tell ‘er; I could go ahead an’ yell ‘er,
But she just gives me question marks in green.

She just loves to give me question marks in green
When she’s got there but forgotten where she’s been.
Oh, those question marks are bitin’. They cause my nerves to tighten.
There’s a la-a-amb’s worth of RAM in my machine.

There’s a la-a-amb’s worth of RAM in my machine.
She’s so slow — she’s gotta grow! Just as soon as I got dough
For windows-smashin’, big-fat-cachein’,
Lightnin’ fast ol’ RA-A-AM in my machine.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

I’m young and I’m pretty and see how I pity
Those men who will not know my charms.
I’ll bear you an heir and a spare for the pair,
Then I’ll pray that you’ll stay in my arms.

I’ve really strong bonies and firm young polonies.
I’ll exercise hard to stay trim.
I’m your Cinderella; you’re my princely fella.
As long as you’re royal, you’re him.

I’ll be your Regina, your sweet young Regina.
A prince has no need to be shy.
I’ll always be loyal as long as you’re royal.
So come and be mine, make me sigh.

I’m young and I’m pretty. The real nitty-gritty
Is only God knows of my charms.
I’ll bear you an heir and a spare for the pair,
Then I’ll pray that you’ll stay in my arms.

I’m still in my teens and I never have been
With a man or a boy all alone.
I’ll come to the boil for someone who’s royal,
But never bring shame on the throne.

I’ll be your Regina, your sweet young Regina
And you’ll be my sweet turtle dove.
I always will care for our right royal pair
When our love will be blessed from above.

I’m young and I’m pretty. The real nitty-gritty
Is only God knows of my charms.
I’ll be your Regina, your sweet young Regina,
Then pray that you’ll stay in my arms.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com

If the price was just a smarmy little smile,
Then I’d squirm an’ I would charm ‘em by the mile.
But their price is nothin’ less than really suckin’ cess,
An’ my head’s a healthy place I can’t defile.

I’m not too proud to start by bein’ a go-fer,
Though they’d treat me like a dog an’ call me Rover.
Some’ll protest it’s a sin; some’ll do it with a grin,
But the price of gettin’ in is bendin’ over.

If the price was bein’ young an’ bein’ dumb,
I’d dye my hair an’ even suck my thumb.
I would rock to gang’sta rap, an’ I’d turn my baseball cap,
An’ I’d never ever cover up my bum.

If the price was just a little bit of grovel,
I would love to leave my dirty little hovel.
But they want to own my mind; leave my humor all behind.
They may as well just brain me with a shovel.

The price of gettin’ in is bytes an’ bits.
They’re turning us to boring little twits.
They’re unloadin’ human finery, an’ codin’ us in binary.
We’ve gotta be conforming little gits.

© 2000 Alex Dryden
E-mail: alexanderdryden@hotmail.com