Monday, January 24, 2011

A Grumpus: BALLAD OF A FORMERLY THIN, NOW IMPROBABLY MASSIVE, MAN

A comment from IIH reader A Grumpus:

Ya walk into a locker room
See a hypodermic in his hand
You see somebody else naked
And ya say, "who's that massive meloned man"
You rationalize so hard
But it's so easy to understand
Ain't nobody gonna say anything else about it,
You're all alone

There was something happening there
And we all know what it is
Es tu, Mr. Jones?

So you can raise up yr head
And ask "is this what I think it is?"
And somebody points and says,
"Not mine, it's his"
And another says, "what's that?"
And somebody else says, "what that is?"
And you say, "Holy smokes,
Am I here all alone?"

There was something happening there
And we all know what that is
Es tu, Mr. Jones?

So you hand in yr overpriced ticked
And you go watch these freaks
Who immediately launch tape measure home runs
And don't care what anyone else thinks
And then they say,
"I can't comment on all the
rumors and Mitchell report leaks"
And you cry "foul"
But they won't hand you a bone

There was something happening there
And we all know what it is
Can't you see, Mr. Jones?

You can take yr contacts
Among the press pool hacks
To get yr facts
When someone attacks yr intuition
But these guys have no respect
They don't care what you expect
Just fork over your hard-earned check to
Tax-exempt sports team corporations
You've read the reports
You've observed all these mooks
You're not shocked when lawyers
& agents
Defend all these cheats and crooks
You've even read
Tom Verducci's books
Yr eyes don't deceive you
These hidden facts are well known

There was something happening there
And we all know what it is
Don'tcha, Mr. Jones?

Now you see the two-ton giant
Shouting "Pay me now"
And you say "for what reason"
And he says, "Oh, wow . . ."
And you say, "You're a broken-down has-been"
And he says, "I'm the size of a cow--
Now gimme my guaranteed contract
Before I kick yr skinny ass home"
Well--
There was something happening there
And we all know what it is
How 'bout you, Mr. Jones?

Well, you walk outta a room
Like a lesser mammal, as you frown
You stuff yr common sense in yr pockets
And keep yr nose to the ground
You know there outta be a law
Against these guys coming around
They should be made to wear
Texas Rangers uniforms

There something still happening here
And we all know what it is
Es tu, Mr. Jones?

No comments:

Post a Comment

Members of the blog can comment. To receive an e-mailed invitation, write to johnandsuzyn@gmail.com. And check spam if it doesn't show up. (Google account required.)

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.