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Squirt, Rubber Heart

by Al Duvall

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1.
Help me friends I’m in a quandary The gal I’m fond of’s gotten wandery And where she’s gone is way down yondery Where they don’t wear too much laundry Out west in southeast North Dakota Can’t make my car go one iota And even Fargo’s far to go to Much less on down to Sarasota Through a dusty nation I must hasten I boarded at the old bus station It’s crawling slow as a crustacean My lust has rusted in frustration Oh Clara, Clara, that’s her moniker Skin as clear as gin and tonic, her Absence makes my heartache chronic-er How I hope that love will conquer All that distance, with some persistence To Clara in Sarasota I rode for days, my backside tingling With the hoi polloi was mingling When we stop my spurs get jingling To the camp of the Brothers Ringling There she is! And when I smooch her She tells me she’s a hootchy-coocher Without a stitch on or a suture It gives me doubt about our future When I asked her why, she said in This world I need to earn my bread and The circus life I’ve been misled in It takes a body to get ahead in Oh Clara spare a heart, is there a Chance you’ll wear more than mascara If you’re bare I couldn’t bear a Flock of goons to drool and stare a Single instant at your fair skin’s tint Oh Clara, leave Sarasota!
2.
You can save and save for a rainy day But that ain’t gonna help you in a drought Yes, the gravy train has pulled away And we’re all gonna have to do without Oh, I have watched my business die Like the other tradesmen in the town We all rely on passersby With their money jingling up and down the avenues I’ve got the pickpocket blues Not long ago when folks had dough A pickpocket stood to make a mint Now when I make a dip it’s only Cigar butts, pigeon bones and lint They’ve all been robbed by Washington Us small-time hustlers can’t compete Those fat cats made their grab-and-run Now there’s nothing left for my discreet rendezvous I’ve got the pickpocket blues A smart pickpocket dresses well Like a banker and not a common thief We all look like them so you can tell Who is grifting and who is on relief My colleagues ply an honest art We don’t fool you with ticker tape and flash But suckers now are too damn smart They head off to gamble with their cash in their shoes I’ve got the pickpocket blues So I go down to the gospel tent When the gas bill and rent are overdue But the flock’s been sheared, there’s not one cent Cause the preacher’s already hustled through And folks who don’t fall for that rot Are taken by a sales pitch At night I dream about a spot Where there’s no big business only rich kangaroos I’ve got the pickpocket blues
3.
A mermaid swam around the harbor welcoming the fleet She met a handsome sailor and he swept her off her feet She fell hook, line and sinker- she was wet behind the ears He hauled her up and brought her home, a long way from her peers Kentucky mermaid, unlucky mermaid Sits in the bathtub all day Some life that she leads, just smoking seaweed And putting the pound cake away She used to swim around like nothing mattered Now she’s a fishwife and she’ll end up battered Kentucky mermaid, you shoulda sure stayed Back in the Sargasso Sea Folks watch her splashin’, he takes their cash in Life has no porpoise, she sighs Rubs on some lotion, thinks of the ocean And saltwater pours from her eyes With bated breath she waits for him to ship out And tries to pull the fishhook in her lip out Kentucky mermaid, you shoulda sure stayed Back in the Sargasso Sea She went outside to find a creek to sit in She met a catfish and had kid/fish/kittens Then tossed her bag in the water wagon Back to the Sargasso Sea
4.
Here come those four horsemen, green white red and black They grin like horny Norsemen as they pull out from the pack They charge on past the finish to blow the city up I watch them from the clubhouse and I’m yelling giddy-up Oh, men are mean and worthless, they rile me up, by garsh I learned to stare straight through ‘em, now my sermons aren’t so harsh I fought for God and country, but now I understand A dunce cap horn-of-plenty is the emblem of our land This old world’s a shaggy dog and we are just the fleas It can try to scratch us off but we still do what we please But soon its master’s coming to scrub it down with soap That’s why you hear me humming, I’m the Merry Misanthrope I wooed a moody Creole, I got down on my knees And gazed in through her keyhole at her silky BVDs I said Come lie in my arms love and I’ll lie in your ear The night was full of magic, so I made her disappear The people I admire lie dead in dusty books Those rebels under fire, those daring desperate crooks Those busty curvy hustlers, those crusty scurvy salts If they were here beside me, I’d be picking out their faults Folks now just are disappointing and happy as can be Maybe I would like ‘em better if they were more like me They call me a curmudgeon, but I just grin and hope And strum upon my bludgeon, I’m the Merry Misanthrope
5.
Scrapple Man 02:41
Now breakfast is my favorite time, from my pallet I will climb I push my woman out the way and in the kitchen I will stay I don't like biscuits, eggs and ham, orange juice or toast and jam That’s not a waffle on my plate, it’s made of offal but I think it’s great It’s like the gals in Quaker Town- the inside’s soft, the outside’s brown I’m a scrapple man, I’m a scrapple man All brains and ears and hearts and feet, they grind it up and make ends meat Get the Crisco can, I’m a scrapple man Just cut a slab off of the loaf- it’s a real square meal And fry it in the frying pan until you hear it squeal Then flip that scrapple- like a dime, it’s heads or tails every time I’m a scrapple man, I’m a scrapple man The landlord’s put me on a diet- my belly’s getting smaller And I’m in debt way up to here- if only I was taller But scrapple's always got me by, though no one knows what’s in it I've figured out the recipe- I’ll tell you right this minute: You must be brave to eat it, so I know it's got some cheek And I know they throw the eyes in, cause it sees me through the week There’s snout because it smells so good and it makes me snore at work And the part that’s farthest from the trough is why I’m such a jerk I don’t need a fork, I grab it up and dunk it in my coffee cup I’m a scrapple man, I’m a scrapple man Oh bacon, sausage, they’re OK as long as someone else can pay But I’m a scrapple man, I’m a scrapple man I save a slice each morning and I add it to the stack And when I’ve built my scrapple house I’m never moving back Oh, ash to ashes, dust to dust, they’ll lay me flat beneath the crust I’m a scrapple man, I’m a scrapple man
6.
In The Woods 03:25
Spring is in the air, air is in the mattress Camping in a spot so picturesque Just a hidden square somewhere on the atlas At last we meet beyond the office desk Can our passions be intense as they seem? I wonder if it’s only just a dream If we fall in love in the woods and no one hears us Are we really making love? How can I know this is real without a witness To our lewd displays of physical fitness? For I’ve seen this scene in my imagination From all angles and above Is this just a case of déjà vu? Can’t tell if your dress is beige or blue It’s too dark- is this fantasia true? How I wish a boy scout was snapping with his Brownie If we fall in love in the woods and no one hears us- Are we really making love? I’m as giddy as- as an alcoholic Opening his second fifth of rye Like the fit he has, our bucolic frolic Lying in the wood, has made me high It must be the wafting scent of turpentine Oh my wood nymph, please be naughty and I’ll pine If we fall in love in the woods and no one hears us Are we really making love? Not a soul to view our ardor in the arbor Though I guess it would be harder in the harbor There is no one to corroborate my story But the hare and turtledove If there’s no one banging on the wall If your ma’s not sobbing in her shawl How can I tell I’ve done well at all? If we fall in love in the woods and no one hears us- Are we really making love?
7.
I travel the land of the free, boys Well, maybe not free but it’s cheap I don’t have the American dream, though I can’t sleep when I count all those sheep I’m a sepia creep but good people I was born with a song in my heart But when I was fifteen it moved down to my spleen now the doctors can’t tell ‘em apart I’m a minstrel of lies, I’ve got wandering eyes See the bags that they carry below But after the laughter the rope on your rafter Reminds me to get up and go One morning the donkey went bonkers Broke a window and chewed up the glass It bled to death right in the parlor It was truly a pane in the ass In a billiard hall I gave a concert The acoustics were good as they get But after the ball I engaged in a small game of pool and they soaked me, you bet I attended a charity dinner The mission was dishin’ out stew If you wonder why sinners are thinner Try chewing a spoon of that spew Then a minister made with the sermon “The Lord helps those who help themselves” And desiring His grace I broke into a place And I grabbed all I could off the shelves I ordered a glass of refreshment The bartender closed up the till He said “Sir, your money’s no good here” And he gave back my $8 bill A ventriloquist back in a corner Sat nursing an invalid stout He’s a man of good cheer for he never buys beer It is always another man’s shout By a crypt a mysterious miss cried When I kissed her she hissed “You’re a beast!” But the case was dismissed for a cease and desist How could I know her sister’s deceased? As a postscript I learned a statistic In a leap year the suicides drop I’ll tell you some more if you walk out the door But if you come back I will stop
8.
In New York Harbor stands a statue A big green doctor that you See greeting the world’s refugees She holds charts beneath her arm And her flashlight’s an alarm When she spots an infectious disease Now I’m all for immigration, it built this crummy nation The railroads, the lakes, the canals! Every country on the map’s Sent its fine, hard-working saps Thanks a bundle, now how ‘bout some gals? You can keep your wretched refuse Your uncles and your nephews Give me poor, tired, huddled masses of love The inspectors out on Ellis Can just send back all the fellas Give me poor, tired, huddled masses of love Women here are full of morals, decency and pride They’ve been resting on their laurels And their laurels are getting wide They could use some competition From someone with ambition Give me poor, tired, huddled masses of love Now when I watch them disembark I’m like a wolf at Noah’s Ark Those poor, tired, huddled masses of love Such a strange exotic style She must have been abroad awhile Those poor, tired, huddled masses of love She goes through without a passport Those customs men aren’t fools Britannia rules the waves But America waives the rules When we find we’re at a loss For gals who come across Those poor, tired, huddled masses of love If I meet a sexy exile who’s trying to work in textile Like those poor, tired, huddled masses of love Then strictly out of pity, I’ll escort her ‘round the city Ah, those poor, tired, huddled masses of love If she’s poor, I’ll buy her dinner And take her to a show If she’s tired, I’ll fix the guest room And off to bed she’ll go But I won’t be quite as subtle when I get in a huddle With those poor, tired huddled masses Those sweet, young, lonesome masses Those poor, tired, huddled masses of love
9.
My father sure neglected me All he gave me was just a trust fund So I wouldn’t stay on his country estate In the manor to which I’m accustomed I left with just some pocket change Seven million, maybe less Would you like to hear my tragic tale? Would you like to hear it? Yes. Oh, what fine spirits I’m in I’m singing in the bathtub gin I’m slumming round in old New York And I black up with a champagne cork Oh unemployment suits me fine And I know why no winos whine Just boozing up and blacking out In the town that I call mine The city’s skyline looks to me like bottles on a rack I drink my way from north to south then somehow I get back Oh New York really has it all From Sammy’s to Paresis Hall Driven on by rum demonical Here’s an alcoholic chronicle Seen through my shotglass monocle On Lushington Avenue A chilly room up in an attic Oh honey isn’t it rheumatic Just a window shade to greet the dawn And a floor to hang my clothes upon Though comforts I don’t have as such I’ve got loads of money I can’t touch And the sweet milk of amnesia Prevents me from regretting much I know I must grow up and drink in social clubs one day When father dies, but then where there’s a will there is a way The world revolves around this town That’s how it seems when I lie down And my stomach’s raw and racked with pain Battered by the amber waves of grain But I rise and hit the skids again On Lushington Avenue
10.
Inside a pie it’s blueberry Inside a whale it’s blubbery And you may view a shrew buried Down deep inside the shrubbery And if you look inside this fool’s head You’ll find more vices than a tool shed With vises I’ll hold you, but if you get cold you Can soak inside the tub or we could just Tiptoe through the turnips And let my lips rub on your lips And we’ll cross the rows of green to A lean-to I’ve been to Barely big enough to screen two When the chill of November nips And we won’t need any permits We can live on love and turmits Just a pair of happy hermits we’ll be I used to be an optimistic person But things do not improve they only worsen Just grief and woe and sadness And misery and madness The kind of life a gypsy slips a curse in I’m glad you find society deplorable Oh, your agoraphobia’s adorable My lust had lost its luster Nobody passed my muster But you’re as bad as me, perhaps more horrible Oh, love to some is a daffodil or rose But they are only fit for sunny weather The roots and tubers underneath our toes Symbolize the way we are together So let’s burrow down like gophers With no chaperones or chauffeurs It will be too damp for loafers but you’ll Tiptoe on your boot tips ‘neath the root tips of the turnips with me
11.
I'm picking cotton, I’m picking cotton From a bottle of aspirin I feel rotten after all that cognac at the ball I’m from the school of Fort Knox I wasn’t born not to win If it weren’t for badminton I’d have nothing bad at all I'm picking cotton, I’m picking cotton Over linen, silk or tweed Something simple to go with my old sharecropper shoes And my shares keep going up I’ve got everything I need Except that lowdown feeling I’ve got the bluesless blues I’ve got the bluesless blues The thrill of being broke and all alone Is the only thing that I don’t own The thing I’m bound to lose And since I get to choose Which kind of misery I get to sing The imitation or the real thing I’ll take the blues-less blues My woman left me, my woman left me A million dollars when she died She took an ocean cruise but the yacht left her behind Down in the river she was found And at the bank I nearly cried I went home to my wife to ease my troubled mind Woke up this morning, woke up this morning Sipping cappuccino foam On a nudist beach, oh will a matchbox hold my clothes? I’m so far away from home Why did I leave to roam? ‘Cause Rome in spring is where all the smart set goes

credits

released June 1, 2011

Recorded by Al Duvall at Electric Lagerland, Brooklyn, N.Y.
Mixed by Meg Reichardt, Soapbox Studios, Brooklyn, N.Y.

Portrait by Cuss Baxter

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