Lyrics

Talking F-Word Blues
4/22/03
It all took place in a small café
In a time of war with Saddam Hussein
It was a true American sort of a place
Had a signed photograph of George Bush’s face
Hanging up right next to the rebel flag
Equipped with a guarantee of authenticity…a misspelled word: Sin-celery yours, GW.

Back in the corner was an old jukebox
It only cost a dime so I dug in my pocket
I was in a weird mood, I thought what the hell
So I hooked it up with some Patti Labelle
Talking about “vous-lez vous coucher avec moi, ce soir”
I didn’t see many happy face though – mean looks
I figured that like me, they too must’ve been upset with where the R&B industry had taken the music in the last three decades and hearing the classic tune “Lady Marmalade” on the jukebox functioned merely as a painful reminder of the pathetic quality of today’s so-called R&B as compared to the glory days of true rhythm and blues…or maybe they were just pissed because I didn’t play God Bless America for the 30th time in a row.

I sat right down in a little old booth
I was hungry as a bear in a low-budget zoo
Waitress asked, “What’ll it be fella?”
I said, “hot coffee – do you have French Vanilla?”
She looked at me funny – one of them no you didn’t sorta stares
She said, “If you mean Victory Vanilla, then yes, we do.”

Next I ordered a plate of French fries
And French toast sticks on the side
I said, “Start me off with a bowl of French bread”
And I don’t like soup; I’ll take salad instead
She asked, “What kind of dressing do you want with that?”
I could tell it was an interrogation…I looked her straight in the eye and said “French – on the side”

The waitress looked a little je ne sais quoi
She couldn’t speak, was in shock and awe
She whispered to the cook quite smuggly
Lock the doors, this could get ugly
I said, “Uh, what seems to be the trouble ma’am? I don’t want to offend anyone or sound un-American or anything. If it bothers you so much, just go ahead and put the dressing right on top.”

The bus boy run and grabbed the phone
And dialed up 9-1-1
The operator said, “what’s the trouble”
Bus boy said, “We need help on the double”
He said we have a terrorist sitting in our store
The operator asked, “Are you for sure?”
The bus boy screamed, “He ordered Freedom Fries, Liberty Toast, Justice Bread, and a salad with God Bless America dressing, but he used the “F” word!”
The operator had to catch his breath, “We’ll send the squat team immediately – God help you all.”

Before I had a chance to explain
Down the street the swat team came
They had oozies, riot gear, and hand grenades
They had choppers, K-9s and barricades
Booby traps and land mines, rocket propelled grenades, they brought napalm and biological weapons, they duck-taped the windows, they had night goggles even though it was the middle of the day, they had snipers in the no-smoking section who were clearly violating the requirements of that section by holding smoking, semiautomatic rifles, they located my position with outer-space telescopes, they increased the national threat level to Red (which just so happens to be the color of my hair, coincidence?), they received intelligence that I was harboring weapons of mass destruction in my shoes – turned out it was just my socks. Then they brought in their secret weapon¬—Jack Slade.

They hauled me down to the police station
Hog-tied me like a pound of bacon
Threw me into a barb-wired cellar
I was joined by two more hog-tied fellas
Three little pigs. They gave us a blanket – pigs in a blanket.

The first guy looked like an upscale type
Wore a black tuxedo, looked real nice
I asked him, “what’d they put you in here for?”
He said, “I’m in the symphony, I play French horn”
I think it was the tuba player that ratted me out – he walked in on me in the bathroom sitting on a bidet playing Frere Jacques I was eating a croissant.


The other guy laying there was a teenage kid
I said, “Son, what was it that you gone and did”
He said, “it’s bad, I’m ashamed to say
I threw my entire life away”
I said, “it’s okay, son, you can tell us. Hell, we’re all outlaws, bad men, menaces to society, communists, traitors,

He said okay, what I did was this,
I gave my girl a big French Kiss
I said, “well what’s the matter with that!
That don’t sound all that bad
He said, “there’s more…we French, I mean Freedom Kissed during the National Anthem at a baseball game, and they caught us on the Jumbo Tron.” Me and the F-word horn player took two steps back. I said, “kid, THAT is just sick!” Completely UN-American. Son, you NEVER EVER waste a good ticket to a ballgame on your girlfriend. I was repulsed.

Next, they poured us full of truth syrum
I tried to resist but it tasted like beer and
I like beer and I like the truth too
So I couldn’t see no harm in combing the two
‘till I started telling about all the bed-wetting and pants-pooping I’d done in my pre-teens. I even told’em about my pent-up passion for Martha Stewart cookware, MS gardening, Holiday Collection by MS, MS Kids, MS pre-pubescent teens, MS Sexually deviant adolescents and a few littler known MS periodicals such MS hog-calling and Banjo Breaks with MS . Before long, I was begging for a cup of liars coffee. Had to brew it with an electric percolator though; they confiscated my Emancipation Proclamation Press.

After hours and hours of inquiry drama
They finally realized I wasn’t no red-head Osama
So I picked up my dignity right off the floor
Put it in my pocket and walked out the door

So Ladies and Gentlemen, listen what I say
If you’re hungry for lunch in the United States
You’d better watch what you eat cuz you might get huge
And you’d better watch what you say cuz you might get accused
And you’d better watch what you say you eat, cuz you might be a francophone.