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| - (sung; from Shinbone Alley I am only a poor, humble cockroach But creative expression is the need of my soul I'm little and I'm ugly and everybody sneers at me. But I'm a poet, and my heart holds a flame (All spoken) Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to share with you a special talent It ain't so hard to do, it's called time travellin' Well, I woke up this morning feeling quite unpleasant, Found I couldn't enjoy my present. So I sat in my bed and tried to superimpose Things I would have rather saw in front of my head. I was time travelling, Teleporting Darn tootin' Well, I travelled back to a different time When people besides rappers enjoyed the rhyme. One thing I can't comprehend Is why poets nowadays don't call rhymes their friends. Maybe I could be their friends, too. Well, I must have been doin' something right Hung out with the types of people Who wrote, edited and updated Strunk & White I was a travellin' troubador, Village storyteller I'd like to think so. Well, it got a litte bit cold in my old log cabin, So I devised a new mode of time travelling: Instead of visual superimposition I tried my hand at writing fiction About things I ain't did yet, But intended to do And thereby make 'em happen. Well, all of a sudden, my seat felt trembly Found myself on a schoolbus to a school assembly Where my supergroup was performing. Well, you can be in my supergroup on one condition: That you're my best friend, musician, And don't mind unpaid conditions. We was invited to the high school by the Peace Club To fight the Fight Club On their 100-watt light blub radio station. Well, at that station, we met a kid, about 13, Painted our schoolbus green And called it the Joke-A-Minute Brain Machine. He was bipolar, Avant-garde, High roller, savant tard Well, on board that bus--I don't know why-- I got a hankerin' to learn to cry. Now, learning to cry was quite a chore, Just like doing anything you ain't never done before. I was log flumin' Jet streamin', Quite relievin' Well, I could have gone for the rest of the evening, Or perhaps till the world ended, When a moan from my girlfriend did bring me home Next to her pillow. Lookin' so gorgeous (Don't like me to say so-- Thinks it's shallow). (sung; from Shinbone Alley) I will write your stories for you. I don't need any credit or any salary, All I ask is the right to create My immortal poetry.
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