You can't make whoopie without the word "woo" if you wanna slap her pee-pee, you gotta slap the bass, too. yeah, you gotta woo a woman if you wanna get your wood involved with whoopie and you gotta put some sugar in the batter if you wanna make some cookies. all these hep cats think a new pair of spats is gonna get 'em some poon- but if you look at the stats, it's the singer that scats that gets the ladies to swoon. Take a lesson from the whippoorwill who's got the skill to get the birdie's jumpin' if it's whoopie that you're wantin' then it's woo you pitch to get your uglies bumpin' yeah you can't make whoopie. You can't make whoopie. You can't make whoopie. You can't make whoopie. You gotta woo a woman if you wanna get your wood involved with whoopie.

Well, gather 'round, kids, if you ain't heard the news- we're in a recession that just won't diffuse. it's down to the time when we each get to choose between losin' and failin' to get. Oh, poor men a poets, come one and come all, we'll gather to watch the economy fall- it's like a parade, except everyone crawls because we're all crippled from debt. Like a vagrant, a wayfarer, a derelict doomed to his failure, the market holds us like a jailor, without any way to make bail. I'm on hard luck; I am beaten, with no way to win without cheatin', no money for adequate eatin' and worry the size of a whale. well, thank you, chase bank, for the bills that you sent, I'm down to just pennies, I can't pay my rent. My diet's potatoes and spuds from potatoes, baked, mashed, or heavily stewed. Well, who needs shelter in times like these? except for, I guess, when it's zero degrees; we'd all be happy as dogs without fleas if we didn't need money for food. I'm a pauper from a fable with no goose to lay gold in my stable; I'm the gambler who's broke at the table, a magician who's on his last trick. Like a phoenix unarisen, giving thanks that there's no debtors' prison, I'm one paycheck from hopping a railcar with a handkercheif tied to a stick. Well, here in the midwest, we're feeling the void- no jobs in chicago or all of detroit- it's like we're the punchline of someone's exploit, but nobody told us the joke. Our money's like water that slips down the drain, but I heard on wall street, they're makin' it rain- if they, and the bankers, are what we call brokers, then why is it us who are broke? I'm like flatland with a crater, building debt like a loss inundater; I'm a down-and-out Dickens narrator whose luck hasn't yet turned around. A folk hero left with little, set to solve an impossible riddle: if the bottom's now moved to the middle, how much farther am I to fall down? Oh, fear not, my friends, though dark is the night, I've read the old fables, they turn out all right- this tunnel seems too long to every have light, but we'll make it through, wait and see. There's always an old man who gives magic swords- or a king who needs saving and offers rewards, until then, I'll meet you somewhere out of doors, by a fire, with an old can of beans. We'll be ramblers; we'll be singin' drown our troubles with dancin' and drinkin', though the creditors calls will be ringin', we will soon lose the use of our phones. we'll be rovers, carpetbaggin', set to slay the impossible dragons; if the hard times insist on attackin' then we might as well not fall alone.

Ass and titties, Sailors come aboard. ...repeat several times... All aboard!

Well, listen up, ladies, if your man starts to stray, and you're wonderin' how you can keep him from walkin' away- Oh, and if he's grown distant, never listens to you, my advice is quite plain, I'll explain, for it's easy to do. Well, you gotta give him a dong smooch, marinate the man steak, you gotta carry your mouth down to the south and charm his trouser snake. You gotta kiss the king Cobra, take a toke from his bong, Oh, a girl can't go wrong with a slow, steady smooch on a dong. and if a woman wants wooin' or a night of romance, well it's easy to get if you pet the pole cat in his pants. and if a woman wants roses, she gotta use her two-lips (tulips) she's gotta reach for the schlong-straw and start suckin' in a few sips. Yeah, you gotta give him a dong smooch, blow the steam from his spout, you gotta sing a slow song on his flesh microphone till the speaker blows out. Drink the tea from his china when you mouth-bang his gong- yeah, a girl can't go wrong with a slow, steady smooch on a dong. La, la-da-da dong (repeat) You've got to give him a dong smooch, make it tender, but strong, Oh a girl can't go wrong with a slow, steady smooch on a dong. No a girl can't go wrong with a slow, steady smooch, don't forget 'bout the gooch, or to tickle his fruits, no a girl can't go wrong with a slow, steady smooch on a dong.

People that like war really bum me out; I don't jive well with gunfire- it's hard to dig Hendrix when you're diggin' trenches, yeah people that like war really bum me out. Don't they know instead of shooting or hating, they could be singin' and dancin', start a stamp collection, take unlabeled medicine, make friends with the Russians, or have unprotected sex with strangers at concerts, or give hand-jobs in the back of Winnebagos? Oooooooh, People that like war really bum me out.

he was a sailor from Portsmouth, UK, nautically navigating for the Navy, till he docked his dingy in my sister's port, and now, below deck, there's a baby on board. he knocked her up, so goes the tale, he swizzled his stick in my sister's cocktail, he set a course for fertile seas, and hoisted his mainsail in her ovaries. So come pour the whiskey and light the cigars for he who once lead the ship North by the stars, a pitcher for Simon, a pitcher for me, but keep the booze comin', he's drinkin' for three. he knocked her up, so goes the tale, he swizzled his stick in my sister's cocktail, he set a course for fertile seas, and hoisted his mainsail in her ovaries. Oh, come my boys, all my boys, land or sea-bound, come hear my story, I'll buy you a round- the rumors they tell about sailors are true- they'll marry your sisters and knock them up, too! He knocked her up, this much is true- a toast to the seaman who sojourned his crew- he moored his boat onto her dock and planted a stowaway under her frock. He knocked her up, so goes the claim- and now she's a properly pregnant dame.

I separate my clothes into different loads, I fill my cap to the brim with detergent that's how it usually goes- but an occasional break in my monotony, I have never turned down- it's a dirty world, but there is something clean that I have finally found. perhaps it was the heat and the soap-smelling fumes, but I found love in the laundry room. So lay me flat or hang me out to dry or let me shrink in the heat- You laugh like water and it's lifting my stains that I didn't have to pre-treat. So fold me up and put me away- just let me do my laundry with you everyday. You are permanent press and I am delicate- what'd'ya say we share a gentle cycle and make a night of it. You could guard my colors you could spin my cycle you could soften my fabric- I saved up all my quarters 'cause doin' my laundry is now my favorite habit. My clothes have been much cleaner since I met you- I think I lost my heart and a sock or two. So lay me flat or hang me out to dry or let me shrink in the heat- You laugh like water and it's lifting my stains that I didn't have to pre-treat. So fold me up and put me aside- just let me do my laundry with you all my life. I wanna do my laundry with you. woooh-oooh. with you... well I think my load is almost done, but I could do another one- yes I think my load is almost done, but I could always wash another one with you. wooh-ooh. with you. Spin cycle around..... You are A-L-L I need.

Come, me lassies, me lads, be ye rovers or cads, raise your glasses of stout or of ale- lend an ear if you can, every broad, every man, and I'll tell ye a wondorous tale- of a sesquipedalian who resides in fair Dayton, Ohio, deep in the midwest- and his name was Mike Colvin- if you haven't heard of him, then sit back and I'll tell you the rest. Oh, Mike Colvin was a legend (woah, easy does it) his beard was so big (well how big was it?) he could defeat any villain with it (even the right-wing bigots) such might in his hands (well that's what I heard) he could high-five a man (and send him back three zip codes) Oh a toast to the mighty Mike Colvin! Oh, this hero revered for his Barbarossa beard makes the girls swoon in the county Montgomery. For in the times he’s morose he’s still grandly verbose so that even his brooding is lovely. Oh—Mike Colvin was a legend (Whoa, easy does it) His dong was so long (well how long was it?) He could lasso in a dame with just one pivot (I heard he could even ribbon dance with it) His love was so potent (He had to kiss in segments) He could chest bump a friend (and make the friend’s wife pregnant) Oh, a toast to the mighty Mike Colvin! Oh, Mike Colvin, it’s said, Has a space in his bed That the women compete to get laid in. So all ye drinkers in town, Let us have one more round For Mike Colvin, the legend of Dayton. Oh—Mike Colvin was a legend (Whoa, easy does it) His brain was so big (Well, how big was it?) He could recite the Oxford dictionary (I heard he could do verbal karate) He could kick a man’s ass (Oh, that’s alarming) Then make the same man laugh (Well, that’s quite charming) Oh, a toast to the mighty Mike Colvin! Oh, a toast to the mighty Mike Colvin!

(yeah, turn up the bass- that's what I'm talking about) Stripe shirt, jagoff haircut, Eastern Europe, Latvia- Time for party? almost always. having love make in a car seat. doing dances at the disco when the lights are having flashes tight pants, drinking liquor, be at work by 7:30. I'm from the other side of the Berlin Wall- We love hairless dogs with no collars, y'all. I keep my mayonnaise in a plastic bag- and don't refridgerate so it makes me gag. I drive a green fiat with my boyfriend Jan- we pledge loyalty to the motherland- and we always kill at the disco-tech- Oh, oh, oh, with a mullet and sideburns. Gray skies, muddy sidewalks, girls wear skirts with fishnet leggings, bird-chests, hairy armpits, even they are getting tongue-kissed- Young people bumping sex-parts as they move to techno rhythms- there's no rations on to party- we can't wait to build MacDonalds. I'm from the other side of the Berlin Wall- We love hairless dogs with no collars, y'all. I keep my mayonnaise in a plastic bag- and don't refridgerate so it makes me gag. I drive a green fiat with my boyfriend Jan- we pledge loyalty to the motherland- and we always kill at the disco-tech- Oh, oh, oh, with a mullet and sideburns. (Repeat and overlap verses and chorus)

Dearest Consumer, Thank you for purchasing my album. I’m going to use the money you send me for essentials such as food, shelter and medicine for cholera. Oh, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that cholera medicine is just a code name I give to booze. But how’s a 100 pound girl supposed to make it through winter without hot toddies? I’d like to say that all the proceeds of this album would go to cockney orphans with typhus. But I’m going to be selfish, buy myself a tomato, slice in over the nickels I’ve poured into a bathtub and roll around in it naked till I’ve gone blind from nickel poisoning. You see, I suffer from a condition known as "the American dream”—the idea that any ragamuffin with a song can make tens of dollars, just enough money to stave off a panic attack for about two weeks. Thank you for staving off mine.