2ndAmendmentville

A song dedicated to this genius who just blew the shit out of himself.

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Second Amendmentville

Fondlin my pistol
nibblin meth crystal
holdin my weapons all covered with oil 

strokin my six gun
sippin a cold one
suddenly felt a loud noise and recoil


Chorus: wasted today here in 2nd amendmentville  
   not really sure if I committed assault 
  some people claim there's a red neck to blame
 but I know, it's nobody's fault


Don't know the reason
I find guns so pleasin
Here let me show you this Ruger Mark II

It's this one I favor
though it shot my neighbor
how it went off I haven't a clue


                    wasted right here in 2nd Amendmentville
  victim of an inadvertent assault
  some people claim there's a red neck to blame
 Now I think, Hell it could be my fault


Blew away someone
while cleaning my shotgun
round in the chamber but I didn't know

But I got a permit
that lets me do dumb shit
with lethal contraptions that boost my ego

        wasted by a responsible gun owner      

        victim of an inadvertent assault

     Some people claim that there's a redneck to blame

    but I know it's my own damn fault

Yes and some people claim that there's a redneck to blame

And I know it's my own damn fault 

Bound to blaspheme

(apologies to George Thorogood)

On the day I was raptured
Angels all gathered 'round
And they gazed in wide wonder
At the soul they had found
Saint Peter spoke up
Said "this one's not what it seems"
He could tell right away
I was bound to blaspheme

Bound to blaspheme
Bound to blaspheme
B-B-B-B-Bound
B-B-B-B-Bound
B-B-B-B-Bound
Bound to blaspheme

I cursed a thousand gods
I curse this one too
I'll curse a thousand more, baby
Before I am through
I wanna be secular baby
not believe in a dream
I'm here to tell ya honey
That I'm bound to blaspheme

(ch-ch-ch-ch-chorus)

I make a Baptist cuss
I'll make a Catholic screw
I'll make a Jew go astray
And a Protestant too
I'll be an atheist baby
Y'know I'm just what I seem
I'm here to tell ya honey
That I'm bound to blaspheme
B-B-B-B-Bound
B-B-B-B-Bound
B-B-B-B-Bound
Bound to blaspheme

And when I walk the streets
Nuns and Priests step aside
Every preacher I meet
They all seem horrified
I wanna tell ya pretty baby
ain't got nuthin to redeem
I'm here to tell ya honey
that I'm bound to blaspheme

(ch-ch-ch-ch-chorus)

the Bible before Solstice

'Twas around winter solstice, alone in the house


I was reading the Bible, as quiet as a mouse.


The stories were thrown in the book without care;


contradictions abounded, mistakes everywhere.


I could not understand, or believe what it said,


its tall tales of people come back from the dead;


original sin, which was such a bum rap,


blood sacrifice, curses, and other such crap.


When deep down inside I knew something's the matter


I sprang to the web to make sense of such chatter.


Away to the Google I flew like a flash,


to try and make out heads or tails of this trash.


The search engine gave me back millions of hits;


molesters, and con men, and other such shits.


When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,


but hundreds of gods from the earliest year.


With a little old edit, the story of Horus


I knew in a moment it must be the sou-rce.


More numerous than seagulls, gods and goddesses came,


and I whistled, and marveled, and called out their name;


Osiris! Adonis! Dionysus! Mithra!


There's Attis and Ishtar! And Baldr and Krishna!


To the land of the dead! Down to hell they all went,


to the underworld, after their lives were all spent.


Like fertility symbols these gods they all die,


and then get resurrected, back up in the sky.


So back up to heaven these deities flew,


to start new religions, and Jesus did too.


Right there in the gospels, just like you would guess,


a brand new Messiah turned up in this mess.


As I willingly tried to suspend disbelief


from the pages this Jesus guy came like a thief.


He was beat all to shit, from his head to his foot,


and put onto a cross just like Horus was put;


His birth in a manger, and marked by a star,


that's a detail he stole from the Goddess Ishtar.


His magic trick changing his water to wine,


was a ripoff of Bacchus who used to brew 'shine.


He claims to have brought people back from the dead,


that's just like the other gods—what they all said.


And in some of his stories he acts like a cad:


“Hate your mother and father! Don't bury your dad!”


Sends his guys to steal donkeys, and kills farmer's pigs,


and cusses a tree out for not giving figs.


He's a crazy old preacher, who just seems kind of silly


though I had to admit that his book was a dilly,


that tried hard to steal those old stories by stealth,


and I laughed when I read it, in spite of myself.


A shift of my eyes and a twist of my head,


to the headlines, told me I had nothing to dread:


all the Pope's rules have been shown not to work,


evangelicals picket, and act like a jerk;


they cry “war on Christmas” and make silly fusses,


when we put up billboards, or signs on our buses.


But to all the fanatics I give this epistle,


away from your church people fly like a missile,


and I have to exclaim, on this solsticey night,


that millions of us, without gods, are alright.

Begatterwocky

(because I'm up to Luke 3)

`Twas boring, and the slimy tome
Did gyrate and shimmer in my sight;
all measly was its boring poem,
And the tone wrong outright.

"Beware the Begats, by God!
The names will bore, the clause not match!
A pair gave birth with holy rod
and spurious virgin snatch.

He took his gospel text in hand:
Long time to stay awake he sought --
So bored he by redundancy,
And grammar not so hot.

And, as the ancient words he lipped,
The Begat, a noun archaic,
Came whiffling from the manuscript,
And made his eyeballs ache!

One, two! Three, Four! And more and more
The gospel text got snickered at!
He skipped ahead, left it unread
and ne'er regretted that.

"And, has thou read all the Begats?
No damns or drats, and done so soon!
Jaysus to ya! Halla! Looya!'
He chortled like a loon.

`Twas boring, and the slimy tome
Did gyrate and shimmer in my sight;
Atrocious were its boring poems,
I threw the tome out right.

(with apologies to Lewis Carroll)