2014 Program Notes, Book 10 41
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Fur
My Uncle Murray the furrier was a big worrier
But he’s no hurrier now not today
He’s good and retired now, didn’t get fired now
Fulfills his desires on half of his pay.
He eats in the best of dives
Although he dines alone
He buried two wonderful wives
And he still has the princess phone.
It’s the best of all possible lives
Owning all that he owns on his own.
You see, he never took off a lot,
And used to cough a lot
Fur in his craw from hot days in the store.
Worked his way to the top
Was the steward of the shop.
Has a son who is a cop and he is free!
My Uncle Murray the retiree loves this democracy
And says it very emphatically.
He lives where he wishes, when he wants does the dishes
Eats greasy knishes, yes sirree! He is free!
No guilt, no ghost, no gift for the host,
He goes coast to coast, coughing coughing
My Uncle Murray the furrier no, no worrier he.
Places to Live
Places to live! Give me places to love!
Wonders to wander to places to live!
My feet are dreaming of new dust, new dirt;
My hips want to swing in a cellophane skirt.
Give me my change in a celluloid note
While I buy wooden hats from the factory boat
Places to live! Give me places to live!
Wonders to wander to places to live!
My tonsils are longing to hum a new tune;
I’m dying to dance by the dark of the moon
With mustachioed mounties in deep purple kilts
And me in blue velvet on flaming red stilts
Places to live! Give me places to live!
Give me wonders to wander to places to live!
My soul is keening for new forms of faith!
I need a new God more than Henry the Eighth
To take off my feathers and give me release
And I’ll kneel in the sand and I’ll drown my valise.
Places to live! Give me places to live.
