Pumpkins

by Robbie Ellis

supported by
Helen Smith
Helen Smith thumbnail
Helen Smith Robbie knows so much about the forms he uses that the songs are able to be technically superior to all that trash on the radio. Symphony No 1 in Eb, which conveniently is the first track of the album, is a good example of how deliberate choices comprise the album. If you listen to the sensual Book Club, you will be two tracks in to the entire album and not want to stop until you're done with the entire thing in one sitting! (Malort is another fave) Favorite track: Where I'm From.
jlee313
jlee313 thumbnail
jlee313 Robbie Ellis is an insanely gifted genius! Love it!!!!!! :D

Charlotte Crone
Charlotte Crone thumbnail
Charlotte Crone Very clever and funny album with amazing original arrangements and some ridiculous lyrics! Favorite track: Pumpkins.
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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Comes in a Digipak, with artwork and design by Blake Mikol.

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  • T-Shirt/Apparel

    Exactly the T-shirt you see on the album cover. Gildan Ultra Cotton 6oz. T-shirt in Kelly green, screenprinted with white ink. Manufactured by One Hour Tees in Chicago.
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about

A bunch of comedy hits.

credits

released April 2, 2018

Robbie Ellis · vocals, piano, keyboards, bass guitar, double bass, ukulele, percussion
Anthony Ferner · piccolo, flute, alto flute
Yvette Audain · clarinet, alto saxophone
Thomas Eves · trumpets
Chris Petch · trombone
Sarah McCracken · violin
Jiwon Lee · violin
Pippa Mills · viola
Naomi Hnat · cello
Tom Harris · accordion
Andy Knopp · guitars
Jono Sawyer · drum kit
Kira Josephson, Charlotte Elsie Crone, Brendon Bennetts, Kris Finnerty and Michael Bell · crowd vocals
Zach Stinnett and Matt Griffo · Chicago crowd vocals
Jennifer Stuart · whistling

All music, lyrics and arrangements © Robbie Ellis (APRA) 2012-2018

Engineered by Michael Bell and Thom O’Connor at Orange Studios, Christchurch, except:
- Drum kit engineered by Louis Bernstone at Ellamy Studios, Auckland;
- Guitars self-engineered by Andy Knopp;
- Chicago crowd vocals engineered by Matt Griffo.
Edited by Michael Bell and Robbie Ellis.
Mixed by Thom O’Connor.
Mastered by Peter Rattray.
Artwork and design by Blake Mikol and Robbie Ellis.

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Robbie Ellis Chicago, Illinois

Chicago-based New Zealander Robbie Ellis makes comedy songs. He also composes concert music; is a music director for improv and sketch; and presents classical music radio.

contact / help

Contact Robbie Ellis

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Track Name: Symphony No 1 in Eb
Hello, and welcome to my symphony,
And I extend you all my sympathy
Because the form and structure of this music are so intricately complicated;
Sophisticated;
Predicated on a thorough general background knowledge of predominantly eighteenth-century German courtly musical tradition.
It’s a mission
To be fishin’ for a way to let you know politely that you’re gravely misapplying your own instincts vis-à-vis where to applaud and show appreciation. You don’t want to come in prematurely;
Insecurely,
However surely you must feel that you have found the moment to clap.

And even though the audiences composers played for
Talked, played cards, got drunk, did deals, yelled out and made for
Quite a rowdy group of listeners,
Today’s symphonic concerts are a serious and solemn business!
Overture, concerto, symphony.
That is what a concert ought to be.

Hello, and here is the development!
It’s here you start to feel envelopment
Of sleepiness, somniferous sensations sending synapse after synapse into sleepy sleepy slumber with its endless repe-…
Endless repetition of a singular idea into a wide variety of different chords and keys and modes and scales and
This is the boring part of the piece and why did composers write so long and what is the time doo doo doo doo oh how is it only two minutes in and
What’s on Facebook doo dudu doo doo loading loading there it is and [sing about what you see on Facebook]

Hello, you’ll recognise this theme again!
Please do not go to sleep and dream again
For we are in the starting key
And it seems pretty clear to me
That we are now approaching the end etc.
Track Name: Book Club
Yeah, 69 beats per minute.

I pick up ladies in the club with my intellect.
I pick up ladies in the club when our minds connect.
I got my shirt with a collar, I’m a gentleman and a scholar,
You know when I go ‘holla’ Imma follow up with a clever insight.
When I’m relatin’ to ladies I find fascinatin’
We’re deep in conversatin’ academic-like, we’ll be talkin’ all night.
Yeah...

When we sit down at the book club,
Book Club.
Literary discussion at the book club,
My local book club.

So it’s my turn to bring the snacks and a bottle of wine.
Haloumi, pesto, cracker jacks, Riesling $12.99.
After we’re done summarisin’ we get right down to analysin’
Themes the book is comprisin’, like we’re lookin’ at when and where the settin’ is.
This book is brimmin’ with paradoxes faced by women,
It’s worse for her than him an’ Imma say it now: yes I am a feminist.
Ladies...

Liberal viewpoints at the book club,
Book Club.
Gotta show I’m progressive at the book club,
Feminist book club.
Yeah...

When I say Margaret, you say Atwood.
Margaret! Margaret!
When I say Eleanor, you say Catton.
Eleanor! Eleanor!
When I say Simone, you say de Beauvoir.
Simone! Simone!
When I say Chimamanda, you say Ngozi Adichie.
Chimamanda! Chimamanda!

Okay fellas, she’s a novellist from Nigeria, really hot right now. I recommend you learn how to pronounce her name properly if you wanna pick up ladies at the book club.
Book Club.
All the sexy librarians at the book club.
Your local book club.
Chicks who read books are way more stimulatin’, yeah!
Book Club!
Join a book club.
Your chances of pickin’ up women are surprisingly good at da book club.
About as good as at da regular club.

I hope they’ll sleep with me cause I’m a feminist.
Track Name: Flat White
Now, I am a Kiwi. I’m sure you’ll agree we
Are placid and easy-going folks.
I moved to in Chicago about three years ago
And can be the butt of your jokes.
I don’t so much mind them but you are unkind when
You asked if I’ve romanced a sheep.
You say to this alien, “You must be Australian!”
Well no, my accent’s not that cheap.
“And do you know Lorde? Flight of the Conchords?”
Well I know them, but not the reverse.
And mentioning Tolkien should make me start hulkin’
But no, I shall utter no curse.
These microaggressions are quite a bit less than
What irks me and turns my hair grey.
But there is just one thing you might think a dumb thing
Which every New Zealander has to relay:

Why can’t the Yanks make a decent flat white?
It’s rather basic coffee; it should not be such a fight.
It shouldn’t be so difficult to get my caffeine fix,
But as for the flat white: there’s nix.

Why can’t the Yanks make a decent flat white?
The general coffee culture is a most perverted blight.
Chicago’s a cold city and I do like to warm up,
But not if there’s rubbish in my cup.

You start with a mug or a takeaway cup of just 240mL.
(That translates to eight ounces if you use that system still.)
Add two shots of espresso and you top it up with milk,
No foam or cream. This process should be smooth as bloody silk,

Yet why can’t the Yanks make a decent flat white?
Just let me... come on... look, I’ll do it... Hey! I meant no slight
Against your hipster fair trade ethical artisanal café.
Just let me do it my way.

You meet a lovely girl on Tinder or a lass on OKC.
The conversation’s sparkling, she’s as pretty as can be.
You ask her on a date, she answers, “We can meet at Starbucks!”
Delete her now, it should be clear that she does not give a crap.

Oh why can’t the Yanks make a decent flat white?
I’ll even bloody tip well if you guys can get it right!
(Or you could just institute decent minimum wage laws.)

Forgive me if I’m sounding trite but will somebody hear my plight
And gain a fraction of insight in how to make my ray of light?
Ban the scourge and parasite of Dunkin’ Donuts, all that shite,
And have the US expedite my blessed constitutional right!
Now for you I will recite the 28th Amendment to the Constitution:
“Everyone in the United States is entitled to life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness,
And a decent flat white!”
Track Name: An Icelandic Psychedelic Rock Song About Poland
This is an Icelandic psychedelic rock song about Poland.
And I hope to give a comprehensive summary of that whole land.

It’s quite square in shape with 38 million people,
And predominantly Catholic with many a church steeple.
In the past it was dominated by its neighbours who wanted to crush her,
So many Poles dislike Germany, Austria-Hungary and Russia.
In 1981 the political situation was tenser
Because of the Gdańsk Shipyard, Solidarity and Lech Wałęsa.
The outdated stereotype is that Polacks are dumber
And that every Pole in the United Kingdom works as a plumber.
Famous Polish citizens include Copernicus, Marie Curie and Chopin;
The latter two lived in exile in Paris where they ate chocolat au pain.

These are all the facts that I know about this nice land,
So I’m going to flip the tables and write a Polish polka about Iceland.

Sigur Rós and Björk’ll climb up Eyjafjallajökull.
Sigur Rós and Björk’ll climb up Eyjafjallajökull.
Sigur Rós and Björk’ll climb up Eyjafjallajökull.
Sigur Rós and Björk’ll climb up everybody clap your hands!
Sigur Rós and Björk’ll climb up Eyjafjallajökull.
Sigur Rós and Björk’ll climb up Eyjafjallajökull.
Sigur Rós and Björk’ll climb up Eyjafjallajökull.
Sigur Rós and Björk will climb up Eyjafjallajökull!
Track Name: Malört
I relocated to Chicago early January.
The weather was atrocious and the Red Line kinda scary.
I found a place, I found some work and started getting cheques,
So next I turned to Tinder in the hope of getting sex.

I chatted with a lovely lady by the name of Lauren,
We met up in a North Side bar, she liked that I was foreign.
We got on well, some spark was there, she seemed like a good sort.
It’s at that point she asked me, “Robbie, have you tried Malört?”

I lifted up the shot glass with anxiety and fear.
Den holy craep! My aeccent’s weird! It sounds like I’m frum here!

A shot o’ Malört, a shot o’ Malört will make ya feel new.
A shot o’ Malört, hey! puts Chicago inta you.
With da Bears and da Bulls and da Hawks
And eider da Cubs or da Sox.
Daaa CPL, da CPS, da CTA,
A shot o’ Malört will make everyting okay.
Hey hey!

I’m Lars from Minnesota, and I studied architecture,
But we don’t have tall buildings there, so everything’s conjecture.
I moved to Chi to be exploited as a cheap intern.
But den I haed a shot o’ Malört and now I own da firm!

A shot o’ Malört, a shot o’ Malört will make ya feel new.
A shot o’ Malört, hey! puts Chicago inta you.
With da Hancock, da Sears and da [no thanks].
Daaa Water Tower, Aqua and da shiny Bean,
Malört is da finest drink daet you ever seen.
Go team!

I’m Clint, I ran an improv team at U of Mississippi.
I came here to take classes, A through E at Second City.
Conservatory turned me down, that turned my life to hell.
But Malört got me ta Mainstage and den ta SNL!

A shot o’ Malört, a shot o’ Malört will make ya feel new.
A shot o’ Malört, hey! puts Chicago inta you.
With Revival, iO, CIC,
De Annoyance, LOL, CSz,
Daaa Playground, MCL and Under The Gun,
Malört’ll send you straight to number one.
Well done!

Yo. I was born in Brooklyn in a big Italian home.
I moved here in 1919, hello, I’m Al Capone.
I used to get my way round here with a baseball bat.
But den I learned about Malört and now I use daet!

A shot o’ Malört, a shot o’ Malört will make ya feel new.
A shot o’ Malört, hey! puts Chicago inta you.
With da Green Mill, Colosimo’s Café
and Clark St on Valentine’s Day.
Daaa speakeasies where dey serve you booze,
Malört is a drink you caen’t refuse.
Good news.

One hundred years ago the Poles owned the Near Northwest Side,
But I’m new here, I can’t afford it. Lord knows I have tried.
I live at Harlem and Devon, that makes me really dark.
But Malört let me kick da hipsters outta Wicker Park!

A shot o’ Malört, a shot o’ Malört will make ya feel new.
A shot o’ Malört, hey! puts Chicago inta you.
With da [fast forward].

De Michoacán en México en julio yo salí
Para estudiar la matemática en UIC.
La vida estaba dura con problemas en el norte.
Pero desaparecieron cuando yo bebí Malörte!

Un poco Malört, un poco Malört will make ya feel new.
Un poco Malört, ¡sí! puts Chicago inta you.
Con los Bears y los Bulls y los Hawks
Y cualquiera de los Cubs o los Sox.
Eeel CDOT y el WGN,
Malört’ll make everything todo bien.
Amén!

And if you’re wondering how my Tinder meet-up turned out in the end...
Nothing happened, she said “Let’s be friends.”
Track Name: Bike Lane
When you’re driving in your car,
And I’m riding on my bike,
I’ve got a little message for you.

WHY ARE YOU IN THE BIKE LANE?!!
IT’S NOT A FREAKIN’ TAXI STAND!!!
IT’S MY BIKE LANE!!!
IT’S NOT FOR PICKING UP PASSENGERS!!!

If your Uber driver does it, GIVE ‘EM ONE STAR!
If your Lyft driver does it, GIVE ‘EM ONE STAR!
If your friend waits there when they’re picking you up,
DISOWN THEM! DISOWN THEM! DISOWN THEM

Cause they shouldn’t be sitting in the BIKE LANE!!!
IT’S NOT YOUR FREAKIN’ VEHICLE LANE!!!
IT’S MY MY MY MY MY BIKE LANE!!!!!!

Please leave it clear for bikes.
Track Name: Ukulele Comedy Song
I’m a guy and I started doing stand-up
And I thought it’d be a fun idea to start a band up.
So I went along to the music shop and paid like $30,
And now I’m strumming my ukulele.

It’s the ukulele comedy song,
It’s the ukulele comedy song,
It’s the ukulele comedy song.
It’s the ukulele comedy song,
If you play ukulele you can’t go wrong,
And it also sounds really good if you do harmonies.

Your first chord uses just one finger, your second chord uses two,
Back to the first, and your third chord uses three.
Then if you wanna get tricky, you play some chords using sevenths,
Then you go back to the chords you actually know.

It’s the ukulele comedy song,
It’s the ukulele comedy song,
It’s the ukulele comedy song.
It’s the ukulele comedy song,
If you play ukulele you can’t go wrong,
And it also sounds really good if you do harmonies.
And it also sounds really good if you do harmonies, harmonies, harmonies.
Track Name: Flying Monkeys
Flying monkeys!
Welcome to the circus that has flying monkeys!
Flying monkeys!
Welcome to the circus that has flying monkeys!

Watch them as they tumble through the breeze.
Watch them as they swing on the trapeze.
They are the most amazing thing you ever sees.
Flying monkeys! Flying monkeys!

Jumping ponies!
Welcome to the circus that has jumping ponies!
Jumping ponies!
Welcome to the circus that has jumping ponies!

Watch them as they saunter and they prance.
We import them all the way from France.
They even know the samba and the ballroom dance.
Jumping ponies! Jumping ponies!

Ladies and gentlemen, this is the swing intermission bit. I’m gonna use my ultra-pleasant voiceover voice to convince of the merits of buying stuff. Sure, you paid $85 for your ticket to this circus, but reckon we can sting you for just a little bit more!
A small box of popcorn, roughly the size of an iPhone box, is just $6.50. An American hot dog with your choice of ketchup or mustard is just $10. And a range of our branded merchandise – T-shirts, hoodies, baseball caps, cuddly toys, tea towels and stickers – starting at just $24.95.
Now back to the show.

Magic penguins!
Welcome to the circus that has magic penguins!
Magic penguins!
Welcome to the circus that has magic penguins!

They can make the monkeys disappear.
Where’d the monkeys go? They are not here.
[Seriously, where’d the monkeys go?]
Magic penguins!
Jumping ponies!
Flying monkeys!
Magic penguins! Jumping ponies! Flying monkeys!
Circus!!!
Track Name: How Many Legs
When I went on my OE
I paid a visit to Paris.
Off the train at Gare du Nord
I had no clue what was in store.
Brandishing my touriste-carte,
I made my way up to Montmartre.
I heard determined stamps of shoes
Inside a place called Moulin Rouge.

“Twenty euros! See some lovely dancing girls.
Twenty euros! From all corners of ze world.”
Oh well, why not. Paid the money as agreed.
Oh my goodness!
There upon the stage there was a dancing centipede!

Oh how many legs is far too many legs is far too many legs and I stopped counting after forty-two
Many legs is far too many legs is far far far too many legs too many legs?

Astonishment is what I felt
At several dozen garter belts.
The line of shoes upon her feet
Appeared to stretch a hundred feet.
The sheer amount of hosiery
Would stretch a haberdashery.
An awesome sight before my eyes
Was several dozen shapely thighs.

Oh my goodness! Then I started to perspire.
Oh my goodness! I caught the bug of raw desire.
I’m confused now, got to face reality.
Does that mean that
Lusting after centipedes is bestiality?

Oh how many legs is far too many legs is far too many legs and I stopped counting after sixty-two
Many legs is far too many legs is far far far too many legs too many legs?

Oh how many legs is far too many legs is far too many legs and I stopped counting after ninety-two
Many legs is far too many legs is far far far too many legs too many legs?
Track Name: I am a Cat
I am a cat.
I am a cat and I roam ze apartment all day.
Okay.
I roam ze apartment all day.

I am a cat.
I am a cat and I lie on my side in ze sun.
For fun.
I like to lie in ze sun.

I am a cat.
I am a cat and my mother will feed me ze food.
I like food :-)
I lie in ze sun and I roam ze apartment, drink water and eat food all day.

I am a cat.
I am a cat and from time to time I make a merde.
That’s a word
That means shit.

By now you’ve noticed I speak in an accent français –
Cliché –
Because French accents are associated with a disdainful demeanour and existential ennui.

Je suis un chat.
Je suis un chat et tu ne comprends pas ce que je dis.
Mais oui.
HON HON HON you don’t speak French.

I am a cat.
I was just roaming when Mother came home with a man.
Ugh, zis man.
She likes him but I never can.

I meet zis man.
He touches me and immediately I attack.
I fight back.
Now his right hand has a puncture wound HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON.

I hate zis man.
Don’t want to know him so I turn and show him my butt.
Yes, I raise my tail at him and give him a nice good view
And fart in his general direction.

(Ze key change shows ze passage of time.)

Why’s he still here?
Why’s he still here on ze couch with his beer? It’s not just.
So I must
Jump on his lap and claw his left thigh through his jeans HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON HON.

One day zis man
One day zis man fills my bowl up with food...
Oh! He might prove useful.
I will tolerate him
And I’ll try not to stab him in ze leg.
Track Name: Pumpkins
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins everywhere!

Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins everywhere!

‘Pumpkin’ is a difficult word to repeat that many times
But it’s what the United States looks like when we get into autumnal climes,

Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins everywhere!

The overabundance of pumpkins is a thing that doth perplex.
Is the United States in the grip of the Pumpkin-Industrial Complex?

Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins everywhere.

Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins everywhere!

Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins,
Pumpkins everywhere!
Track Name: Root Vegetable Opera
Here I step into the kitchen, telling rather than showing what I intend to do.
Here I gaze into my pantry – what options have I for preparation of my meal?
I shall make the best dish I am able –
I shall utilise every root vegetáble.

Tonight my dinner will contain a tuber,
Tonight my dinner will contain a kumara.
As I set my oven dial to “Bake”,
My deeply troubled soul begins to ache.

As I chop the parsnip and the carrot,
I pour myself a generous glass of claret.
My chicken stock, it weighs two hundred grams
Before I drizzle it upon the yams.

Mesdames, messieurs, raise a toast
To my tragic Sunday roast!
Of the flavours I shall boast
In my tragic Sunday roast,
In my tragic Sunday roast.

My culinary skills will make a splash,
I ponder as I squash and turn the mash.
I lay it on a bed of mince and peas
And top it with some grated cheddar cheese.

Raise your glasses to the sky
For my tragic shepherd’s pie!
This unexplainèd sadness makes me cry
Into my tragic shepherd’s pie,
Into my tragic shepherd’s pie.

Potato, potahto,
Tomayto, tomato,
Let’s call the whole thing off!

Hear my operatic ballad
Of my overblown potato salad.
I trust my singing voice alleges
Profound distress in Wattie’s crispy wedges.
The top end of my vocal range comes closer
As I sing of my vegetable samosa.
I continue this absurd harmonic pattern
With a further change of key onto the words “potato gratin”!

Now my vocal cords prepare to die
Referencing that fatal shepherd’s pie.
(Told you that it was a tragedye.)
So please, raise one final toast
To my tragic Sunday roast.
Track Name: Where I'm From
You can ask me what I think about incessant driving rain;
You can ask how many minutes to the nearest Blue Line train;
You can say in idle conversation “How about dose Bears?”;
You can mention Kim and Kanye and assert nobody cares;
You can squee in joy because the Zoo just got a new giraffe;
You can mention Sarah Palin, haha haha haha, laugh;
You can idly start a chat by praising Amazon dot com,
But please don’t let the first thing be to ask me where I’m from.

Now I’m quite aware my vowels are not native to these shores
And it’s obvious you consider mine more interesting than yours,
But I’ll tell you when you tell me “Oh my god, you have an accent!”:
Literally everybody has a freakin’ accent.
General American is what comes from your mouth,
Maybe with a slight inflection from the Midwest or the South.
And I won’t prejudge your character, I’ll treat you with aplomb,
Until you have to know right now exactly where I’m from.

You can ask me my opinion of the pizza in this town;
You can ask me if this elevator’s going up or down;
You can ask about my music taste, your favourite band’s The Cure;
You can state that those who use emojis simply aren’t mature;
You can lead with nearly anything from A to Z or Zee,
But for god’s sake don’t you treat me like a bloody novelty
Cause you wouldn’t tell a black person “Your hair’s da bomb!”
So similarly don’t you start with asking where I’m from.

Now I know that’s quite a claim with the ethnicity I am:
Put it this way. I’d have been okay in 60s Birmingham.
I’m aware I have more privilege than most migrants to this nation;
Perhaps I can’t complain. Regardless, back to that conflation
Of my accent and black follicles. You’re actually fetishising
When that’s the thing you latch upon. Also I’m advising
You don’t ask Asian-Americans “but where’re you really from?”
That’s worse than but still comparable to asking where I’m from.

Now I don’t object to getting round eventually to that
Cause it’s natural to touch on where we grew up when we chat
But it’s rude to leap straight to my accent. Now are you seeing
That I’m more than just a foreigner, I am a human being?
I cycle, I play music, I present on radio,
I like history and exercise and drinking nice Bordeaux.
We could talk about all that or more but god I get so glum
When you go “OMG your accent! Tell me where you’re from!”

You don’t recognise it makes you look incredibly small-minded
Like you’ve never met a foreigner before; it’s like you’re blinded
To the fact the USA was built on waves of immigration.
Yes I’m not a magic unicorn, despite your fascination!
I’m a normal breathing human, I’ll assume you’re much the same.
God, instead of leaping to my accent, ask me what’s my name.
My name’s Robbie, from Chicago, and I swear I’ll bloody vom
The next time someone starts a convo with “Where are you from”.
Track Name: Love is a Four-Letter Word
When you left me, I really felt it.
When you left me, you made me feel like spit.
When you left me, I was out of luck.
It was clear to me that you didn’t give a truck.

And despite all the love songs I’ve heard,
Everything on the dial is absurd.
This whole situation smells like a dog turd
Cause love is a four-letter word.

I thought we had a future, I thought we might get hitched,
But I don’t want that any more cause you’re a total itch.
When you walked out on me I thought it was a stunt,
But I knew that you were for real when you called me James Blunt.

And despite all the love songs I’ve heard,
Everything on the dial is absurd.
This whole situation smells like a dog turd
Cause love is a four-letter word.

Now it’s the bridge, I can explain what I meant when I said that you didn’t give a truck
And I can see this’ll be a messy separation and boy, do I feel like a schmuck.
When I incorporated my freight haulage business, I made you a signatory partner
And although at the time it seemed like a sensible business decision, in retrospect I could have been smarter
Because you have the authority to sell chattels of the firm under the terms of the partnership agreement,
And although I was dimly aware that that clause was in there, I really didn’t think that you’d seen it,
Even though at the time I signed the contract my lawyer warned me that it was not watertight, it was porous.
But enough of this case study of companies and contracts law, it’s time to go back to the chorus!

And despite all the love songs I’ve heard,
Everything on the dial is absurd.
This whole situation smells like a dog turd
Cause love, love, L.O.V.E. is a four-letter word.
Track Name: Dry July
I have given myself a challenge to not have a drink for the month of July.
Though I know it is bon for my constitution, the stress and the strain make me cry.
They have led me to fashion this most Belgian waltz to inform you of how mad I am.
I’m so angry that I want to smash this piano in the manner of Jean-Claude Van Damme.

Oh aï aï aï aï étc.

Well at first it was fine to avoid buying alcohol when at the supermarché,
But being offered a drink at a dinner party has a much greater difficulté.
I feel awkward and strange when I order a Coke or a lemon & lime at a bar,
But the worst is [seven custom syllables] sober, so everyone chante avec moi!

Oh aï aï aï aï étc.

Maybe, just maybe, I’m doing myself a good deed.
Maybe, just maybe, not having a drink is valide.
I’m more energetic, I’m much more alert,
I’m far less pathetic, my head doesn’t hurt.
I think I now get it, I am a convert!
This life change is just what I need.

But then I crack. I remember what fun
I derived from a bière or a bottle of vin.
I see no earthly way to fight my DNA.
At the end of the day, je suis néozélandais!

Oh aï aï aï aï étc.

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