What was it like
To be who I was
Before I became
Who I am now?
You want to know
The old, old story
All about the tale
Of when and how?

You know I was not
A member of nobility.
That is not a part
Of my ignoble history.
You know I was not rich
Because I have no gold.
So, what was I after all
In my days of old?

As I was no hero
Heralded in legend songs.
I was but a normal person.
Any praise would be wrong.
There are no carvings,
Friezes on marble walls.
No horde of loyal soldiers
Rally at my urgent call.

But I can leave life
Proud to say what is true.
I died without a penny
To any other person due.
I achieved most of my dreams.
I will say that with my last breath
Between my humble life
And my inglorious death.

I worry for a creature
One that calls itself wise
That needs to believe
Some ancient pack of lies
About timeless people,
Gods that can never die,
Though they are preposterous,
They fail to ask why.

I worry for a people who
In an age that conquers disease
Where we can educate ourselves
To do almost whatever we please;
Can turn night into the day
And speak across the many miles
Still chant their superstitious tales
About magic arts all the while.

It seems they are trained monkeys
Who push buttons for rewards
When spiritual independence
Could be their permanent award.
They thank the wrong saviors
For pulling us out of the slime
That has punished our people
Back since ancient times.

It was not ritual witchery
That gave our people freedom.
Instead it was seeing clearly,
Analysis, research and wisdom.
No blathering high priestess
With winged dragons to fight
Brought us medical cures, or
Radio and electric light.

I’ve been a busboy, a waiter,
A salesman for road crews
A cook and a soda ****.
The American market is
Not set up that well for
Kids who want to work.
Before I was twenty five
I’d had eighty different jobs
Some of them at the same time.
Some parents think their kids
Are a good source of income.
Others think that is a crime.

I suppose it’s one thing
If the kid picks his own job;
Does what he wants with money.
But robbing his stash
When he is out working
Is not even close to being funny.
And keeping a youngster
Both working and schooling
And no social or playtime is sad.
It robs him of childhood
And rips off all his ambition.
The child has to somehow turn bad.

Maybe it only trusting
That the kid learns not to do.
Maybe that dreams don’t come true.
Maybe the kid learns
His hard work and dedication
Only gets him blisters when he’s through.
That was all true of me;
I did what I was told and
I learned that joy and accomplishment
Earned no praise for the doing
Only produced, if I didn’t work hard
A tremendous amount of admonishment.

So, when I left home
I had no direction in mind;
I looked ahead to sixty more years
Of working and being robbed
By people I wanted to trust
And not even being capable of tears.
This may sound like a whine
Blaming and much worse
A griper that’s totally out of line.
But what it really means
Is your kids aren’t your slaves
To be put to work in some coal mine.

Over the river
And through Grant Woods
Through Hallmark scenes we go.
Through colors of white
That are not quite right
Not even for ******-on snow.

If Currier and Ives
Tends to give you the hives
You really might not want to go.
By now we have cars
And thank your stars
No shoes for the horse to throw.

Old men in jeans
In bucolic scenes
From a hundred years ago.
Don’t be in a rush
As driving through slush
Can cause accidents, you know.

Turkey and dressing
And Parker rolls
May suit the day just fine,
But a warning here
I’ll make it clear
You might not like mulled wine.

When you have eaten
While women work
The men can go off and drink.
The men getting *******
A seasonal disgrace,
The gals keep their minds on the sink.

Later while driving back ,
The men passed out,
The women behind the wheel.
They women all try
To figure out why
They go through this yearly ordeal.

I once dated a ******
And I loaned him money.
I laughed out loud in church.
Well! I found it all so funny.
I bought a used Chevy van
Without the proper paperwork.
I tried to get my money back
And the guy called ME a ****.

A friend told me I could buy ****
From a guy on the edge of Watts.
Eleven o’clock at night on his porch
Me, a stranger, waiting. Stupid ****.
Once I knew another guy, not well.
He wanted some dope from me.
I agreed to sell it, then realized
The fellow worked for the FCC.

I let a gal move in with me
A hippie from Haight Ashbury.
She drank my *****, ate my food
Then stole all she could carry.
It was just the kind of thing,
The sixties games we played.
Free love, open heart and then
After all that, I didn’t get laid.

A guy was selling hot TVs
From my place of employ.
A fool and money, you know
Is all about a gullible boy.
And, since the crook was a gal
I fell for it, because naturally,
A nice lady would never, ever
Try to swindle the sweet young me.

A guy was plunking his guitar
With a sign that said he was blind.
I gave him my last buck and
Figured I was just being kind.
At five o’clock, he got up to go
And I thanked my lucky star
That I was not blind like he was
Then I saw him drive away in his car.

Doing stupid things does not mean
That a person it a certifiable idiot.
It can mean that we trust too much
Or that we’re greedy and don’t admit it.
We see a chance to get a profit
Or even to do something nice
Then get stupid, do what we know
Is contrary to all good advice.

I recorded this years ago, but it's still funny today.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMpjsFkALLM

A small single apartment
That is all I really need.
The result of low ambition
And a paucity of greed.
A kitchen for cooking
A comfy place to sleep
Just great for meditation for
Thoughts that don’t go deep.

It was close to my buddies
That good old gang of mine
I go there, they come here,
As long as there was wine.
I was serving jug wine
And vintage it was not.
I had to switch to *** when
My stomach started to rot.

I also served cheap beer,
The cheapest I could find.
Between the wine and beer
It’s lucky today I’m not blind.
And food was also frugal
Mostly chips and salsa hot.
Stoners aren’t that choosy.
Gourmands we were not.

Of course we all had our own
Personal marijuana stash.
Its quality depended on
The amount of available cash.
But one of us was a dealer
Or sometimes there were two.
They always brought a supply
To sell, that’s what they do.

We laughed and roared and
Someone always had a guitar
It is nineteen seventy two
And that’s how conditions are.
Some of us had jobs back then
But most were floating around.
It’s hard to be a stable soul
With no feet on the ground.

Falling for hyper-fit gym rats.
Salivating over straight guys
Dating guys who never once
Looked me right in the eyes.
Much too easy to be picked up,
It’s almost like they know I am
The perfect dupe for one-night stands;
The sucker for the guys that scam.

I’ve had my wallet lifted once
My car stolen one time, too.
I have lots of phone numbers
Nobody is connected to.
I laughed at all their jokes and
I bought all of the drinks,
And never once did he seem
To want to know what I think.

It was all so very mellow, then.
I told him my name when we met.
But within a half hour after that
He forgot it, I would place a bet.
He never introduced me to
Any of the guys who said hi.
There might be other reasons
But I think he forgot is why.

Once I thought my problem was
That I was being much so easy.
That good guys weren’t attracted
To someone that was too ******.
But age and wisdom taught me
Being needy is dating poison.
So, I’m slowly but surely learning
An extremely humiliating lesson.

I don’t want anything for Christmas
Nothing you can put under the tree.
What I want cannot be purchased.
It can’t be wrapped up expensively;
It’s not about ribbons and silk bows
Or fancy paper laced with gold.
It’s all about what the world needs
And has needed since days of old.

It has to do with people crying
And begging for what they need.
It has to do with children starving
The victims of our nation’s greed.
Drive the streets and look around
And who has got and who has not.
Look at all the rich decorations
And at all the empty urban lots.

Ask yourself how this can happen
In the richest country in the world.
Shouldn’t there be food enough
For every single boy and girl?
And shouldn’t there be jobs enough
For every one who chose to toil?
What happened to good will to men?
Has that concept been left to spoil?

What I want for Christmas can
Be stated in a very simple way.
We should learn to pull together
To chase the imbalances away.
We have enough of our resources
To abolish hunger and poverty.
We can be a nation of compassion.
That is what I truly want to see.

It’s time for yet another session
To inform you about depression.
You may want to say “Just stop!”
Like a psychological traffic cop.
But as any of us who suffer say
“Pal, it just doesn’t work that way.”
This is not some social craze
And it certainly is not a phase.

It is something we suffer through
And you’re lucky if it isn’t you.
It’s worse than any story you read
To have a ***** fight in your head.
There are no praises you can sing.
Something is wrong with everything.
Even the sunniest day looks gray
And you can’t see it another way.

For many of us, it’s a long sad story,
And maybe cerebral instead of gory.
Something has made our life tough.
Maybe we were never good enough,
Or that was the way it all seemed
Before our dreams began to scream.
We can seldom remember back so far
To discover where lie the scars.

There are times when things go well,
But most times it’s a personal hell.
You can’t take joy in the normal things
That might make other’s heart sing.
You find that you have given up hope
You feel you are at the end of your rope.
Sadly, while you sit and pull your hair.
You see you have gotten used to despair.

I know some of you that don’t suffer
This illness want to help a brother
Or sister come beyond this trauma.
But you can’t label our pain as drama.
What you can do to lend a hand to us
Is to listen to us and not abandon us.
What often works is a true confessional
In the hands of a well-trained professional.