La La's Guthriecrucian Songbook, A Bildungsroman

Why O why O why O?
Why O why O why?
Because because because because.
Goodbye goodbye goodbye.

Why can’t the clock eat the sandwich?
Why O why O why?
Because the sandwich has too much cheese.
Goodbye goodbye goodbye.

Why can’t a garden use toothpaste?
Why O why O why?
Because the toothpaste lives in the bathroom.
Goodbye goodbye goodbye.

Won’t love me without it, but wants to rub it off.
Spends money thinking ‘bout it, but what’s left for my coif?
I'm the girl that lives here, lets his hands on me run,
And that's about the meanest thing that Man has ever done.

I wake up each morning, those are pearls that were my eyes,
With careful persuading, the bags shrink down in size.
In war I’ll pack some polish, who needs a gun?
And that's about the meanest thing that Man has ever done.

Now get my boots and my old songs and an advance allowance
I’ll get the pills, the killing meals, rid my belly’s contrivance,
Rid my belly’s contrivance.

To leave this man, the rotten hand, who asks another lady
To help for him, retrieve the thin', to make his gal more purdy,
Make his gal more purdy.

But this gal, she has a plan, she’ll outdo his dealin,
She’ll go out and gad about and fix herself a stealin,
Fix herself a steal.

If she has one then she has two, Kansas City leanings
To get her there, she’ll dye her hair, and use up all his earnings.
Use his hard got earns.

It's a book from life's other side,
Someone who fell by the way;
A life has gone out with the tide
That may have been happy one day;
Some poor old mother at home
Is watching and waiting alone,
Just longing to hear from her loved ones so dear,
It's a book from life's other side.

This book is that of a farmer
Who spilled all his beans to the girl.
Digested and making her shiver,
The beans from her belly must hurl.
His last earthly treasure, he stakes it
In the window it gleams with rawhide,
When he saw what it was, it stirred him a buzz,
It's a book from life's other side.

This book will bring him the girl,
Who’s lying in bed with the quakes,
She calls him in, says they blow like sin,
She cradles her belly of flakes.
He takes the book from the window;
The one that will cure her of ails,
It is hard, she sighs, the rules you abide;
But the human he must have his Grail,
It's a book from life's other side.

But I know the hours, the frequent showers,
The smell you bring and hide.
Honky tonk skronk don't make that funk,
I got your woman on my mind.

I got your woman on my mind.
I caught you in your crime.
I know your gaming ways.

You talk to me of studies, think I'm some fuddy-duddy.
But I know anthropology from dating.
You think you're smart, talking art.
But I know the chippy you're bating.

Eight rules there are to win me, to assuage my losing game,
Eight years there were you hid me in some synapse in your brain,
Eight principles I have for you, adopt them if you like,
Eight reasons I won't let you in my heart to hike.

Smiling was your first sin and the father of the rest,
And the hee-haw that came after weren't even second best,
But the third thing you need to quit is lying all the time,
To chippies and daughters and girls who blow your mind.

Your little singer lover, Me La is her name,
She could rope a cowboy and ride the road to fame.
She ain't no La La, but you want her just the same,
And that's the fourth error in your heart's poor aim.

You'll take this little chippy to your mother's home and bed.
You'll drink too much soymilk to quiet voices in your head.
But number five's more serious than these petty whines.
The fifth principle I have for Ren is to keep better time.

There is a little something you can do to win me back,
It's called six, seven, and eight things that Ren sorely lacks.
But even if he does this, acquires manly charm,
He'll have to make the loops each day to make up for the harm.

If all this is okay with you, I'll tell you number six
It requires an end to your habit to girly match and mix.
Number seven and number eight, they are intertwined
And have to do with Ren's poor taste in women all the time.

Listen to the grumble and the rumble and the groan,
Not from her belly, these sounds of Patsy Clone.
It's a long time she's been waitin', she's been maturin' ripe and round,
Roll into San Francisco on a Ren to stardom bound.
[BELLY RUMBLING SOUNDS]

There's other gals and other songs and mermaids from the sea,
There's farmin' Pets from Texas and the hills of Italy,
There's soyabeans from Hong Kong, there's beans from Missouri,
But every bean in her country, sings her belly's key.

There's Betsey Johnson gals and gals who lack that sense,
Gals that sing for dinner, and gals that sing for rent,
Through the smoky open-mics, they're sung for allowance.
These songs of Ren, these songs she sung
All to force his penance.
[BELLY RUMBLING SOUNDS]

Now the seats they are a crowded, in front of Patsy's stage,
All to hear her rumble, with her belly, churn and ache.
Listen to the grumble and the rumble and the roar,
She's rollin' through Missouri to the West Pacific shore.
It's a long time she's been waitin', she's been maturin' ripe and round,
Roll into San Francisco on a Ren to stardom bound.
[BELLY RUMBLING SOUNDS]

There's gals of every shape and size, gals of every height,
There's gals with black and brown hair, and gals with blonde highlights.
From the vineyards and the orchards and the Napa Valley rain,
They're rolling into nightclubs for Patsy's eyes of pain.