Lyrics - Trippin' Round the Mitten
Trippin'

1. Honk Honk
2. Trippin' Round the Mitten
3. Beach Song
4. Supernude
5. Mr. Bassman
6. My Frigerator Broke
7. Sugar
8. Every Second Counts
9. Jungle

10. Comb Your Ears
11. Cat & Mice
12. Tongue Tied
13. The Komorns
14. Sleeping Dog
15. Mr. Spaceman
16. Bye Bye Baby
17. On the Phone on the Toilet
18. Mommy Love Song

 

 





Honk Honk

(by Randy Kaplan)

Oh, you can squeeze my mushy tushy.
And you can squeeze my drummy tummy.
And you can squeeze my wacky backy.
But please don't squeeze my nose!

Please don't squeeze my — honk, honk!
Please don't squeeze my — honk, honk!
Please don't squeeze my — honk, honk!
Please don't squeeze my nose!

Well, my nose sticks out from my face, no doubt;
and it sniffs and it snorts. let me spell it out:
It's a sniffer and a whiffer and a schnoz and a tool
that senses past tenses; and it doesn't drool.
Yes, past tenses, like Beijing to Peking.
Whatever I'm smelling must have started reeking
sometime in the past, sometime long ago.
Those stink particles don't flash, they flow
real slow through the air in molecules.
And they land, understand, in your nostrils. Cool!
Stenches from trenches and holes in the ground
travel more slowly than light or sound.
Olfactory perceptions require patience.
They're the comas of aromas, the slugs of sensations,
the snails of scent that stick to your cilia.
Y'ain't gonna touch my face, boy, untiliya
Wash your hands with soap or anti-
bacterial BLEEP. I can say BLEEP, can't I?
Why can't you touch me? 'Cause you touched the dog's food,
and the dog licked your hand. Yeah, I saw it, dude.
You're invading my space now, my personal zone.
Your fingers smell like kibble, kid. Leave me alone.

Please don't squeeze my — honk, honk!
Please don't squeeze my — honk, honk!
Please don't squeeze my — honk, honk!
Please don't squeeze my nose!

I know I said that my nose don't drip.
But in the winter it's the vintner of the mucus on my lip.
It drips south to my mouth when it's cold outside.
Your nose tells you when it smells you that there's mold to hide.
Yeah, you're redolent, kid, in the mildew way
'cause your clothes weren't dry when your mom put 'em away.
Get your mind unmixed. Get your dryer fixed.
Get your rocky mountain spotted fever ticks
to learn new tricks, just for kicks, last licks.
The Mets won the Series in '86.
Hey, a bang and a zoom and zing zing zing
went the strings of my nose when my sneeze took wing.
Personification's next, I suppose.
I would quit if I's ahead. I'll continue as a nose.
I'm a pug. I'm a hook. I'm an aquiline.
I'm whatever the clever designer designed:
Upturned, crooked, deviated septum.
Proboscis double doses. To the people who kept 'em:
Cheers! I'm talking 'bout the bumps on their bridges.
Smell the roses. Who proposes we should flatten all the ridges?
My tushy mushes. Such mush my tush is.
Exercise pulls but gravity pushes
all of us around. Now I'm smelling a sound.
Yeah, I'm seeing a smell. Well, you know I'm down
with synesthesia. Yes, I want to please ya.
But by grabbing my nose, boy, you make it no easier.
My belly flops and my abs disappear.
And my back, it can't hack it, every time you're near
you climb aboard for a piggy back ride.
You're like gravity's assistant, boy, I can't abide.
Well, I can abide. I abide with pleasure.
I work hard to appear like a man of leisure.
I know, leisure is the way that I usually say it.
And I say it, I don't spray it. Hey, can you fillet it?
Stop squooshing my nostrils, boy. I can't breathe!
Let me go, do-si-do, squeeze my toes, but Jeez...

Please don't squeeze my — honk, honk!
Please don't squeeze my — honk, honk!
Please don't squeeze my — honk, honk!
Please don't squeeze my nose!

Hey, my nose is twitching. Now my nostrils flair.
I'll have a spring in my step when I pluck this hair.
Should I use tweezers or that depilatory, Nair?
(Are you done with the song, Randy?) Oh, au contraire.
Hey, who locked the lock on my rocking chair?
While I rap I really wanted to rock right there.
Hither. I mean thither. Hey, I know. I'll use a thithor.
A scissors? Is it plural? I mean, I can't tell.
However you slice it...if you sliced it, it fell.
Hey, back to my nose, if that hair gets plucked
I would sneeze or maybe quack like a Peking duck
or a monkey's name (Kqxhc!) and my eyes would water.
I can't do such a thing. I wouldn't do it for a quarter
of a million bucks or a zillion shekels.
You're the Harpo to my Chico. You're the Heckel to my Jeckel.
Hey, d'jya uncle ever grab ya by the middle of your face
and show you his thumb sticking out and try to make a case
that he plucked your nose right off of your mug
and it's in between his knuckles? Oy, your uncle's a lug.
He's got a hand like a ham. Does he think it tickles?
No, it hurts! That guy's worse than Joey Nickles.
"Got ya nose! Got ya nose!" he shouts in glee.
Just tell him that I told you to make this plea:

Please don't squeeze my — honk, honk!
Please don't squeeze my — honk, honk!
Please don't squeeze my — honk, honk!
Please don't squeeze my nose!

Oh, you can squeeze my mushy tushy.
And you can squeeze my drummy tummy.
And you can squeeze my wacky backy.
But please don't squeeze my nose!

[BACK TO TOP]


Trippin' Round the Mitten

(by Randy Kaplan, based on the song "Tell Me Twice" by Eleni Mandell)

Well I kept looking for your big green eyes
As my tail lights blinked and I rolled out of sight
Nothing I could do but to be a patient dad
And go trippin' round the mitten singing like I always have

Tell me once, tell me twice, do you love me?
(Ask me one more time and you’ll know)
Tell me twice, tell me three times, who’s my baby?
Are you my baby? (No!)
How much gas is in the car and how far can I go?

I take 18 Mile to Orchard Lake Road
to Pontiac Trail. I'm in traveling mode
Got a show in Ann Arbor and two in Battle Creek
Then I go to St. Jo. I'll be home in a week

Tell me once, tell me twice, do you love me?
(Ask me one more time then you’ll know)
Tell me twice, tell me three times, who’s my darling
Are you my darling? (No!)
How much gas is in the car and how far can I go?

I drive up to Grand Rapids, down to Kalamazoo
East Lansing, Flint, and Troy then it's back home to you
Square Lake to Middlebelt, then, here's the secret code
I turn on 18 Mile, that's Long Lake Road

Tell me once, tell me twice, do you love me?
(Ask me one more time and you’ll know)
Tell me twice, tell me thrice, that’s three times,
who’s my baby
Are you my baby? (No!)
How much gas is in the car and how far can I go?

How much money’s in the jar and how far can I go?
How much lightnin’ is in a star and how far can I go?
How much chocolate is in a chocolate bar
and how far can I go?

[BACK TO TOP]


Beach Song

(by The Dead Milkmen)

[BACK TO TOP]


Supernude

(by Randy Kaplan & Julie May)

Nuder than a reclining nude
More naked than that Beat writer's lunch
Able to moon parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles with the cutest tush
Look, out in the yard
It's a woodchuck!
It's a chipmunk!
It's a clear violation of indecent exposure laws!
It's Supernude!

Yes, it's Supernude, strange child from another city who came to the Midwest with powers and abilities far beyond those of normal kids. Supernude, who can change the course of family dinners, bend minds with his bare butt, and who, disguised as a mild-mannered preschooler living in a suburb of a great American metropolis, fights a never-ending battle for nudity, inappropriateness, and the naturist way.

Supernude, he's a nudist dude.
No clothes, no pose, no attitude.
He goes flying through the house with a towel as a cape
that's damp from the bath and that flows from the nape
of his neck down his bare butt, back, and arms.
His state of undress brings a state of alarm
to the postman and the plumber and the pizza guy.
Hey, those expecting clothes can just avert their eyes

'Cause he's naked, he's in the raw,
he's the nudest boy you ever saw.
You've ever seen? Yeah, you know what I mean.
He's super nude. Is his butt clean?
It'd better be or he'll catch heat
for sitting down in Grammy's seat.
You know her rule 'bout underwear.
She don't let tushies touch her chair.

Supernude, running down the hall,
the dude's been nude since he learned to crawl.
Supernude, you know the rules don't bend,
Stay clothed for a stranger, only naked for a friend.
Being totally nude makes him happy as a lark.
Half naked doesn't count, only butt or buck or stark.
No underwear and socks, no belt, hat, watch, or ring.
He's really wearing nada, not a cotton-picking thing.

He's naked, he's in the buff
From the hip and off the cuff
Supernude is super cute
running around in his birthday suit.
He's a nudie, he's a belooty.
I hope he doesn't make a doody.
Look at his tush, he's such a mush.
Those chubby cheeks I want to smoosh.

Supernude!
Supernude!
Supernude!
Yeah!

And now, another exciting episode in the adventures of Supernude. It's BINGO night at the country club. As always, the dress code is in effect. All shirts must have collars. But no hats of any sort are permitted.

It's confusing, yes. But one thing is certain: total nudity is verboten. That means it's not allowed. Supernude is in disguise. In other words, he's fully clothed. Supernude's family has not given him dominion over his own BINGO card.

"If he just slides the little windows open and closed randomly like he usually does, he'll never win the bicycle!" How can he get himself his own BINGO card? This looks like a job for Supernude! He leaps from the table and bounds toward the master of ceremonies who turns the crank that spins the BINGO balls around in the cage. Supernude begins to strip. He disrobes downstage center, right before everyone's eyes. No telephone booth for this boy.

"Somebody cover up that kid!" a voice peals from the crowd. The MC covers him with a BINGO card, which he grabs and absconds with. Mission Accomplished.

"Supernude!"

Supernude, hey, listen, bub,
you can't be nude at the country club.
There are places in the world you gotta follow the rules—
like a temple or a church or the public pool.
Grammy's losing her marbles, she's pulling her hair out,
all because you got a burning need to air out,
Fellow members and guests, let me try to explain:
This kid is the king and it's the Supernudist reign.

He's naked, he's undressed.
He doesn't mean to make us stressed.
He doesn't know, neither do we,
what's so wrong with being free.
Hey, he looks lonely, and kinda blue.
I think he wants us naked too.
If we relax, we might feel better.
Why don't we join him in the altogether? "Altogether now!"

Supernude!
Supernude!
Supernude!
Yeah!

"Stay tuned for another exciting adventure of Supernude! ... Not now, of course. Maybe on the next record."

[BACK TO TOP]


Mr. Bassman

(by Johnny Cymbal)

[BACK TO TOP]


My Frigerator Broke

(by Dan Bern / Additional lyrics by Randy Kaplan / Lyrics used by permission)

Got tuna fish in my pocket
Butter up my sleeves
Eggs tucked in my dungarees
Socks are full of cheese
You might call me crazy
But this is not a joke
My frigerator, frigerator, frigerator broke
My frigerator, frigerator, frigerator broke

Why should I throw my food away?
Why should it go to waste?
That would not be clever
Would not be in good taste
I’ll stay out in the cold all night
It’s tough but I’ve adjusted
My frigerator, frigerator, frigerator busted
My frigerator, frigerator, frigerator busted

My frigerator busted
But I won’t sing the blues
Carrots are my curlers
Potatoes are my shoes…

—Carrots for curlers?
–You don't need curlers, Randy.
—Yes I do.
—For what? You're practically bald.
—For my wig.
—When do you wear a wig?
—Halloween. And Purim.
—Aren't you always a dust ball for Halloween?
—Not always. But even when I am, wigs are great dust collectors.
—That doesn't make much sense.
—What does? Anyway, next year I'm gonna be food.
—How are you gonna be food?
—I'll dress up exactly like I describe in this song. You see? Times of crisis can lead to great costuming epiphanies and opportunities.

Cream cheese in my cowboy boots
In my hat root beer
Pickles tucked behind my ears
A roast strapped to my rear
Might I raise my armpit
And offer you a Coke
My frigerator, frigerator, frigerator broke
My frigerator, frigerator, frigerator broke
My frigerator, frigerator, frigerator broke

[BACK TO TOP]


Sugar

(by Maroon 5 / Parody lyrics by Randy Kaplan & Julie May)

When I was a kid I used to eat Cookie Crisp, Apple Jacks, Fruity Pebbles, all that junk. Now that I have my own kid, I try to steer him away from that stuff. I don't want him rotting his brain at this age. So I got him eating oranges and apples and plums instead of cookies and ice cream and candy. But something happened. I think somewhere along the line...maybe it was too much birthday cake (he goes to a lot of parties)...he doesn't eat fruit anymore. My wife offered him a peach the other day. And he said, "Pee-yuch" and then he started singing this crazy song about what he wanted instead of a peach...

I'm hurting, Mama
I'm broken down
I need some sugar, sugar
I need some now

When I'm without it
I'm something weak
You got me begging, begging
I'm on my knees

I don't wanna be needing that stuff
I just wanna be eating that stuff
So please don't take it away
Oh, Mama

'Cause I really don't care where it's from
I just wanna be there to eat some
And I gotta get one little taste

of sugar (sugar)
Yes, please (yes, please)
I'm a super duper sugar freak

I'm right here (right here)
'Cause I need (I need)
a little sweet and crazy sugar treat

Yeah, you bake me some cookies
Your baking's alright
I need a little sweetness in my life

Yeah, sugar (sugar)
Yes, please (yes, please)
I'm a super duper sugar freak... hey

Those broken pieces
I pick them up
You know I'll eat them, eat them
Can't get enough

When I'm all finished, uh
I still want more
I'll eat those cookie crumbs
off the dirty floor

I don't wanna be needing that stuff
I just wanna be eating that stuff
So please don't take it away
Oh, Mommy

'Cause I really don't care where it's from
I just wanna be there to eat some
And I gotta get one little taste

Of sugar (sugar)
Yes, please (yes, please)
I'm a super duper sugar freak

I'm right here (right here)
'Cause I need (I need)
a sickly sticky sugar treat

Yeah, you scoop me some ice cream
Your scooping's alright
I need a little sweetness in my life

Oh, sugar (sugar)
Yes, please (yes, please)
I'm a super duper sugar freak

Yeah
I want that red velvet
I want that sugar sweet
Don't let nobody touch it
unless that somebody's me

Gotta find the ice cream man
He just passed by this way
His ice cream's colder than
a Michigan winter's day

Don't wanna play no games
Don't wanna hear no tooth decay
Don't give me fruits and veggies, Ma
No fructose stuff. No, give me

Sugar (sugar)
Yes, please (yes, please)
I'm a super duper sugar freak

I'm right here (right here)
'Cause I need (I need)
a candy-coated chocolate treat

So, Mom, if you buy me some candy
I'll eat it all night
I need a little sweetness in my life

Oh, sugar (sugar)
Yes, please (yes, please)
I'm a super duper sugar freak!

–C'mon, sugar this thing up for me, boys...gals...ha, ha, ha
–Mmmm.
–You're gonna go into insulin shock, God forbid. Cut it out.
¬–I love it.
–No more refined sugar! That's it!
–What? Find sugar? I wanna find sugar!
–No. I said refined sugar. Not find sugar.
–I gotta find it!
–Stop!
–I gotta search everywhere!
–Don't go through those— You're like Jack Lemmon in Days of Wine and Roses.
–Who's Jack Lemmon? Hey, you got any lemon drops or lemon Chuckles?
–(Sigh!)

[BACK TO TOP]


Every Second Counts

(by Randy Kaplan & Julie May)

We don't got one cuckoo clock,
no we got two times two.
One is your mother and I'll tell you who the other
ones are: V, me, and you

V is Virginia, me is me,
you is you, and that makes three
cuckoos in addition to
your mother. Now I got another question for you:

Can you put on your socks?
We gotta get to school and work.
Being late ain't a good trait,
you're driving me berserk.
Your mom'll have to take over soon.
Then you'll be whistling a different tune
She might not be as patient, boy.
She might get wound up like a wind up toy.

Every second counts
Every second counts
Tic-toc bok-bok. Where's that other cuckoo clock?
Every second counts

—Time is money! Might as well learn an idiom while I'm waiting.

Every dollar counts
Every dollar counts
Ching-ching bling-bling. I'm calling in the second string.
Every dollar counts

—Mommy! We gotta tag team this!
—I'll be right down!

Every cookie counts
Every cookie counts
Chip-chip chop-chop keep 'em coming don'tchya stop
Every cookie counts

—Drop the bag right now, mister. You can't have cookies for breakfast!
—You said you had Cookie Crisp.
—I know what I said. But Cookie Crisp is a cereal, and Mema didn't know any better.
—It's exactly the same thing as a cookie. It's just called a cereal.

Listen, mister, it's a double twister,
I'm gonna count to one from ten,
And if you don't listen, I'll reboot my mission
and do the countdown once again. 10...9...8...7...

—Okay! I promise I'll put the cookies away!

Every promise counts
Every promise counts
Tut Tut Tsk Tsk. Ya gotta keep your word on this
Every promise counts

—Put the lunch box inside the backpack.
—Huh?
—And the thermos in that thing with elastic.
—Why can't I do it like this?
—Why? Because...

Every detail counts
Every detail counts
cross your eyes and dot your teas
pretty pretty pretty please
Every detail counts.

—No, not those eyes! Uncross your actual eyes. Mema says if someone hits you on the back while you're crossing your eyes, they'll stick like that forever. Yeah, no, it was a figure of speech, figurative language. C'mon we gotta get outta here!

Every second counts
Every second counts
Tic-toc bok-bok where's the other cuckoo clock?
Every second counts

[BACK TO TOP]


Jungle

(by E.L.O.)

[BACK TO TOP]


Comb Your Ears

(by Randy Kaplan)

I've driven through every state of this country, except Hawaii and Alaska. Not that I didn't try. My car sunk in the Santa Monica Bay on the way to Honolulu and it froze just north of Saskatchewan on the way to Fairbanks. One time, I visited a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend in Albuquerque, New Mexico. As soon as I arrived, my newest friend warned me about her ratty-eared dog who was missing his tail. She said he wouldn't like me 'cause I was a stranger and he didn't like strangers at all. Well, was she ever wrong. After a tense initial moment or two, we got along swimmingly. We even went swimming together in the Jemez Hot Springs. Well, if not swimming then at least simmering. Yeah, we simmered and cooked together just short of a boil. I began to think my new friend was the witch from Hansel and Gretel. Lucky for me, and for her dog, she turned out to be more like the witch in the Wizard of Oz, not the one with the flying monkeys, the one in the soap bubble. Anyway, I liked the little tailless, ratty-eared dog so much, I wrote a song to him. I hope that dog is listening, wherever he is today:

They say you bit that stranger's finger
And you wouldn't let it go
You tried to bite my finger also
When I got to New Mexico
But I petted you very gently
And so you were gentle too
Now you won't get off my blanket
And I can't get rid of you

Just comb your ears
Comb your ears
Comb your ears
Wish you'd comb your ears
They say that you've been misbehaving
You muddied up the kitchen floor
Your paw prints are on the windows
The food you're eating isn't yours
You stick your tongue out when you're sleeping
And you cry when you're awake
You disappeared for one whole weekend
Because they didn't lock the gate

Just comb your ears
Comb your ears
Comb your ears
Wish you'd comb your ears

They say you don't treat strangers kindly
I'm an exception to the rule
I guess you see I'm sympathetic
While other strangers can be cruel
So you shake your thing and wiggle
To make up for missing parts
You know I never would have noticed
You're almost perfect as you are

If you'd comb your ears
Comb your ears
Comb your ears
We should comb your ears

[BACK TO TOP]


Cat & Mice

(by Randy Kaplan)

I grew up around the corner from the Coltrane house. That's where John Coltrane wrote A Love Supreme. I'm more of a Sun Ship guy myself. That's why I asked Colby Earlywine here to play like Elvin Jones for this tune. Anyway, I never met John Coltrane, but I knew this kid who lived down the block from me. I would pass his house every time I went to look at Coltrane's house. This kid was a bit confused. You see, his dad was much more permissive than his mom. It's not that his mom was a martinetish overlord or an overlordish martinet. It's just that compared to his mom's rules, his dad's were...well, nonexistent. His folks weren't on the same page. They were not a united front. He and his dad, when left to their own devices, made mischief. This kid's dad acted more like a brother. His mom didn't like that at all. And he and his dad had a song they liked to sing as soon as the mom walked out the door. I would never sing anything like this myself. Nor would I teach my son such inappropriate lunacy. The song went like this:

When the cat is away, the mice will play! X4

You're my son, mouse number one
Mouse number two is me, and it's true
that when your mom hears this song she's gonna say it's wrong
No doubt about that, (why?) 'cause she's the cat

And when the cat is away, the mice will play! X4

Hiss, hiss, hiss, purr
That's my impersonation of her
The ratio is one to three
one part ptrtrtrtr to three parts hshshsheeeee

When the cat is away, the mice will play! X4

The cat says stuff but all we hear
is meow, meow, meow. We've trained our ears
to ignore her pleas and to just appease
the cat 'cause the fact is she can't be pleased

And when the cat is away, the mice will play! X4

Don't eat that, it'll make you sick
Don't do that, I don't like that shtick
Don't wear that, I can see your butt
Don't drink that, it'll rot your gut
Don't watch that, you'll be brain dead
Don't say that, who put that in your head?
Don't play with that, it's ages 8 and up
Don't rap like that, oh, I give up

And when the cat is away, the mice will play! X4

We're gonna play soccer in the living room
and splash in the bath like we're on the log flume
We're gonna watch ten TV shows in a row
and scream all kinds of words, even ones we don't know
We'll sit on the counter, eat cake on the floor
We'll watch Stardust Memories, Star Trek, Star Wars,
My Night at Maude's and Anything Goes,
8 1/2, 8 Mile, The 400 Blows,
5 Easy Pieces, Seven Samurai, Pi
A Night at the Opera, Fast Times at Ridgemont High,
Duck Soup, Rashomon, You Only Live Twice.
Why would we do this? Because we're mice!

And when the cat is away, the mice will play! X4

[BACK TO TOP]


Tongue Tied

(by Mike West / Lyrics used by permission)

I know I don't say what I mean,
but I hope that you know what I mean when I say,
"You don't know what you mean to me, baby,"
and I want you to know that I mean what I say.

Sometimes I get mean and say things I don't mean,
and I want you to know that they don't mean a thing.
'Cause when I get mean I don't know what I'm saying,
and I know that you know what I mean.

Tongue tied with rhymes,
don't even know what i'm saying half the time.
There's nothing simpler than saying you're sorry
and there's nothing simple about it.

You know what I'm saying, you know what I mean.
You know I don't mean what I say when I'm mean.
I know that you know there's no need to say
any more about it.

Words and their meanings can be confusing.
A word like mean can mean many things
like miserly, cruel, average or poor.
So what do we mean when we say it?

Dictionaries don't define us,
don't even know what we mean most the time.
There's nothing simpler than saying you're sorry
and there's nothing simple about it

Tongue tied with rhymes,
don't even know what we mean half the time.
There's nothing simpler than saying you're sorry
and there's nothing simple about it.

I don't say that I–
If I'm mean I don't mean that I–
I don't mean what I say when I say that–
Okay, you know what I mean to say...

[BACK TO TOP]


The Komorns

(by Randy Kaplan)

Lucy Komorn and Lila Komorn,
they've been Komorns since before they were born
Their favorite food is cob on the corn...
They eat cob on the corn all night and in the mornin'

Lucy Komorn and Lila Komorn
Lucy's in the middle and Lila's firstborn,
They helped Nate remove a paw from his thorn...
That's their little brother; he's the newest acorn

Lila is athletical, and first in alphabetical
order and her brother and her sister turn toward her
for advice and she's so nice, she even gives them head lice
when she brings it home from school, no exception to that rule

—Randy, Lila spells her name with a Y
—L-I-L-Y? That's Lily.
—No. L-Y-L-A. Lyla.
—Really? That means she's not first in alphabetical order. I'll have to rewrite the whole bridge...Ah, no one'll notice.

Lucy Komorn and Lyla Komorn
from their playbook this page is torn
And if this melody's a little bit shopworn...
Well then how about this solo from the flugelhorn?

Lucy Komorn and Lyla Komorn,
they've been Komorns since before they were born
Their favorite food is cob on the corn...
And their little brother Nathan is the newest Komorn

[BACK TO TOP]


Sleeping Dog

(by Pete Townshend)

[BACK TO TOP]


Mr. Spaceman

(by Johnny Cymbal and The Holy Modal Rounders / Additional lyrics by Randy Kaplan)

In the race to the stars, next stop is Mars

Oh, Mr. Spaceman
You sure have started something
Oh, Mr. spaceman
Don't you know you got his heart thumpin'?
Oh, Mr. spaceman
My kid, he wants to be a spaceman too
B-b-b-b-b. My boy...

Oh, Mr. Spaceman
Mars is the new norm
But it's gonna be terrible
Until it's terraformed
Oh, Mr. Spaceman
I heard Venus ain't half bad

—Sure, we'd have to float 30 miles high so that the atmospheric pressure wouldn't crush us. And then there's the sulfuric acid rain and the complete absence of molecular oxygen. A bit closer to home, though, isn't it? 25,000,000 miles? That's nothing. That's half the distance to Mars.

That giant Jupiter's
Got more moons than it needs
Callisto, Europa, Io, and Ganymede
And like 65 other ones
How come they don't all collide?

—I'd ask Carl Sagan if I could. He was my best friend's grandmother's cousin, by marriage. We can't live on a gas giant anyway, you know that, everyone does, especially one that's 400,000,000 miles away. Hey, how about Mercury? Its axis has no tilt. I understand it's not too hot in the polar regions. What? 57,000,000 miles away? That's further than Mars. Forget it. Cross it off the list!

My kid talks about space, man
From dawn to dusk
I say, Get off my case, man, go talk to Elon Musk
He's Mr. Spaceman
Just click the CAREERS link on the SpaceX site

—You could be an intern there. One small step for a boy, one giant leap for a boy's mind.

—Houston, I forgot my cookie,

Oh, Mr. Spaceman
You sure have started something
Oh, Mr. Spaceman
Certainly got my heart a-thumpin'
Oh, Mr. spaceman
My boy wants to be a spaceman too
Yodel-ley-eeh, yodel-ley-ooh, yodel-ley-ooh, yodel-ley-mmm

—Stick around down here, son. We can yodel together. Listen to Jimmie Rogers and stuff. I'd be pretty broken up if you left for the red planet. My mom, your Mema, she was upset enough when I left for California. And you shoulda seen her mom, my Nana, when uncle Bruce left for Japan! Oh, she nearly lost her marbles.

Oh, Mr. Spaceman
He hates his car seat so
When we go anywhere
—I don't wanna go
He doesn't want to go
Oh, Mr. Spaceman
50 million miles is too far.

—Okay, boy, you know how we drive up state to Charlevoix every summer? That's 250 miles. It takes about 4 hours. Right?
—Yeah, Daddy.
—So 500 miles. 8 hours round trip, without stops. Right? You following me?
—Yeah, I'm following you.
—Going to Mars would be like going back and forth to Charlevoix 100,000 times. That's one round trip every day for about 275 years. Alright, I know, the spaceship goes a little bit faster than my car. But even so, unless they got some sort of cryogenic freeze available, I can't imagine you sitting there for that long. And even if they did have cryogenic suspension, I'm not sure that would appeal to you either. We have enough trouble with you at bedtime now. I can just imagine you. You and the commander. Commander saying, "Okay, it's time to go into cryogenic sleep, and you, "I don't want to go to hypersleep!"
—Waaaah!
—Right? Well, he may not be as lenient as Mommy and me. You never know.

—Mission Control, we're cookieless up here.

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Bye Bye Baby (from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes)

(by Jule Styne & Leo Robin)

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On the Phone on the Toilet

(by Randy Kaplan)

My mom is always on her cell phone
That's no hyperbole at all
You can almost always reach her
With an email, text, or call

You can follow her on Twitter
You can like her Facebook page
You can go ahead and friend her
Even if you're half her age

Sometimes she's sitting there for hours
She's like a bump on a log
She's either Tweeting who knows what to whom
Or else she's updating her blog

She's a Bitmoji expert
She's the queen of Instagram
They say she can't be beat at Words with Friends
Does she know who I even am?

Last week she watched me playing baseball
Well, she mostly watched her phone
Don't think she saw me hit that double
Don't think she caught me stealing home

Too busy playing with that WhatsApp app
Sometimes it's FaceTime or IM
She doesn't comment on the poems I write
Does she even look at them?

Sometimes I don't know where she's hiding
So I'll go searching for a sound
That's when I'll hear her muffled voice from
Where the water flushes down

She's on the phone on the toilet
She's on the toilet on the phone
She's never incommunicado
Sometimes I feel so all alone
All alone

Last month she took me to a Broadway play!
They said, "Please turn off your phones"
It felt so good to know I had her
That she was mine and mine alone

I couldn't wait for her reaction
To the first act at its end
But when everyone was clapping
She was already pushing send

She talked and yapped and then she gossiped
She even laughed and chewed the fat
We didn't have one conversation
After either of the acts

And on the way back to Long Island
She was taking all these calls
Like fifty times I had to listen
To those few bars of the Gran Valse

That's the song her ring is set to
Now I can't chase it from my head
I can't stand that old Nokia ring.
I wish it rang like this instead:

(instrumental)

Today somehow she lost her cell phone
She was frantic and distressed
She was dumping drawers out on the kitchen floor
And she was rifling through the mess

She ran outside in a whirlwind
Disconnected from the world
"I'm going out to check the car!"
Screeching like a boy or girl

But soon's she left I heard that ringtone
It sounded like a bleating goat
I followed it into the laundry room
Right to the pocket of her coat!

I let it ring 'cause if I picked it up
I'd get her make-up on my ear
And so I waited till the ringing stopped
Then with a modicum of fear

I pressed down on the photo icon
Yeah, I went snooping just to see
What my mom was snapping pictures of
Well, there were thousands there of me

One photograph of me on second base
And one of me stealing home
I read her blog and she'd been bragging
That I'd written her a poem!

Her Tweets and blogs and texts and emails
Were as sweet as sweet can be
Her friends must be so sick and tired
Of hearing all about ME!

She's on the phone on the toilet
She's on the toilet on the phone
She's never incommunicado
I used to feel so alone

She's on the phone on the toilet
She's on the toilet on the phone
She's never incommunicado
And now I know I'm not alone
I'm not alone

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Mommy Love Song

(by Ryland Kaplan)

I can never be when anyone decides
The candy in the world is protein for you
When anyone today could be the nice to way
And I can never do in the middle of the way!

I can never be in the way to other beach
Oh yeah, oh yeah I can never be, today is the way
Every day is the way that no one can be
The candy in the world is protein for you

O yeah!
I can't do anything in the middle of the night!
'Cause bad guys be careful cause anyone decides
No one in the world does anything
Robbing a back is anyone to sing

I, I, I, I, I, I, Ah!

—Ha, ha. I thought this was Mommy Love Song.

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