My Seattle friend Abby’s having a party this weekend, and the theme is hillbillies and hicks. I was commissioned to write some songs for the occasion, and they follow (not for the easily offended or bemulleted):

Oh, Bandana
[ To the tune of Oh, Susanna, available here ]

My hair’s a wreck from the bed last night,
but in my drunken stupor I know,
It’s short on top, and long in back,
and it’s swingin’ to and fro’.

Oh bandana, oh please hear what I’ve said,
for I come from Alabama with a mullet on my head.

I woke up this morn’, hungover true,
my bedfellow I did spy,
At first I’s lost, then I recognized,
my longlost cousin Fry.


Now before you think this wrong my friend,
let me assure you that it’s not,
since the last time we met, my cousin Fry’s
becomin’ rather hot.


The moral of the story I guess,
is don’t get drunk and screw,
‘cause if you do, you never know,
your cousin could end up with you.



Smalltown Faces
[ To the tune of Camptown Races, available here ]

Smalltown faces look like me, doo-da, doo-da
all’s the people’s my family, oh, doo-da day.

Grandpa Paul he married his kid, doo-da, doo-da
Now his family tree’s inbred, oh, doo-da day.

Paul’s an uncle now,
he’s their cousin too,
He’s got lots of mouths to feed,
and we live in a shoe.

My sister’s got eyes like mine, doo-da, doo-da
And it’s true, she’s lookin’ fine, oh, doo-da day.

I’ll ask for her hand one day, doo-da, doo-da
Assumin’ I can beat my brother Jay, oh, doo-da day.

He’s only got nine toes,
the tenth got lost somewhere,
I’d be a sure bet to marry her,
‘cept I got no hair.

My other brother’s named Andrew, doo-da, doo-da
But he’s no worry ‘cause he’s 3-foot-2, oh, doo-da day.

And if to her I can’t be wed, doo-da, doo-da
it’s for sure I’ll end up dead, oh, doo-da day.

Gonna go away,
I’ll be wearin’ a frown,
leavin’ the holler is hard to do,
Podunk’s my kind of town.

posted September 16, 2002 – 8:30 pm
Old News
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