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12 Aug 13 - 09:22 PM (#3548381) Subject: Lyr Req: Vonnegut's Song From: GUEST,zippyfusenet In _Slaughterhouse Five_, Kurt Vonnegut quotes one verse of a very filthy song: In my prison cell I sit with my britches full of shit, And my balls are flopping naked on the floor, And I see the bloody snag where she bit me in the bag, Oh, I'll never fuck a Polak any more! I've never heard this one sung, but it seems this verse would fit well to the The Rambles of Spring, or possibly Tramp, Tramp, Tramp Our Boys Are Marching. Does anyone know the rest of the lyrics to this song? The preferred tune? The title? Anything? |
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12 Aug 13 - 10:21 PM (#3548405) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Vonnegut's Song From: Joe_F Cf. Ball of Yarn. Oscar Brand is not quite so filthy: In a prison cell I sit, with my coattails in the shade, And the shadow of my nose upon the walls, And the ladies, as they pass, thrust their hatpins up my coat, While the little mice play hopscotch on my shoes. His tune is not quite the same as that of "Tramp! tramp! tramp!", but note that the latter *begins* with the words "In the prison cell I sit, Thinking Mother dear, of you". The IWW had a song TTTO "Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!" beginning with a stanza (missing from the version in The Big Red Songbook) that went something like In a prison cell we sit. Are we broken-hearted? Nit! We're as happy and as cheerful as can be, For we know that every Wob will be busy on the job Till they swing the prison gates and set us free. |
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12 Aug 13 - 11:49 PM (#3548422) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Vonnegut's Song From: Mark Ross Pat Sky had a different version; In the draftboard here I sit, Covered o'er with Nixon's shit, And our sweat is turning Agnew's filthy mill, And the people as they pass, Shove Westmorland up our ass, I guess we've had our goddamn, fucking fill. Chorus; Fight, Fight, Fight for Liberation..... Mark Ross |
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13 Aug 13 - 08:57 AM (#3548545) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Vonnegut's Song From: GUEST That's what it made me think of, too, Mark. In the draft board here we sit Covered o'er with Nixon's shit While our sweat is turning Agnew's filthy mill And the people, as they pass They jam Melvin up our ass [reference to Melvin Laird] Well I guess we've had our goddam fucking fill Fight, fight, fight for liberation Break, break, break the social scheme We will drag the bastards down And we'll grind 'em in the ground And replace them with a working class regime Then we'll send a firing squad After Cardinal Spellman's God McNamara he will be the next in line Then we'll pump some LSD Into Jackie Kennedy And we'll make her fuck the workers overtime Then we'll get a bloody rope And we'll hang the fuckin' pope And we'll burn the Sistine Chapel to the ground Then we'll turn our Tommy-guns On the screaming, ravished nuns And the peoples' voice will be the only sound So if you hate the Working Class, But you'd like to save your ass Then you better give your money to the poor! Or we'll sell your mother's twat To a sailor on your yacht And we'll turn your favorite daughter to a whore! |