Kowabunga Mon Amour
Iím not sweating 2012
Or either Friday 13th comet;
Horns I blew in downtown hell
Have sounded my enharmonic.
Hardships started with 9-11
Shook the free world tectonic
Where even safe in stony heaven
Money fell off loosened shelves
And down from all accounts
From numbered to unleven.
Caked in cloud, the waves,
The air, a soul is bound
By dust of a thousand graves,
Nothing will ever wash THAT down.
People looking like beer & loathing
Spaceful, disgraced & oversized,
They supersize their clothing.
Better tug the belt, slim your thighs.
Kowabunga, mon amour
The fated ship is at our door.
Letís get moving, grab your bag
All bets are off for sore losers.
Bamboo boat & burlap flag
Youíll board your cardboard cruiser,
Dress in hairy coats like dogs
And look for caves along the way.
My horns still good in heavy fogs
Deep throat clear, Iím proud to say.
Iíll play the Volga Boatman, honey
Just donít ask for any more money.