In an effort to move more parts of my main site into this journal I’m posting the lyrics to this pun-filled song that I’ve always liked by Kip Addotta.
My favorite line “Her name was Peaches: a soiled but radishing beauty with HUGE goards. My brother had always been a chestnut…”
“Life in the Slaw Lane” by Kip Addotta
available on: Life in the Slaw Lane, Rhino LP/cassette 70826, 1985
It was Cucumber the first; summer was over. I had just spinached a
long day and I was busheled. I’m the kinda guy that works hard for
his celery and I don’t mind telling you I was feeling a bit wilted.
But I didn’t carrot all. ‘Cause, otherwise, things were vine. I try
never to disparagus and I _don’t_ sweat the truffles. I’m
outstanding in my field and I know something good will turnip
eventually. A bunch of things were going grape, and soon, I’d be top
banana. At least, that’s my peeling. But that’s enough corn; lend
me your ear and lettuce continue: After dressing, I stalked on over
to the grain station. I got there just in lime to catch the
nine-elemon as it plowed toward the core of Appleton, a lentil more
than a melon-and-a-half Yeast of Cloveland.
CHORUS
- Life in the slaw lane.
- They say plants can’t feel no pain.
- Life in the slaw lane.
- I’ve got news for you:
- They’re just as frail as you.
No one got off at Zucchini, so we continued on a rotaBega. Passing
my usual stop, I got avoCado. I hailed a passing Yellow Cabbage and
told the driver to cart me off to Broccolyn. I was going to meet my
brother across from the eggplant where he had a job at the Saffron
station pumpkin gas. As soon as I saw his face, I knew he was in a
yam. He told me his wife had been raisin cane. Her name was Peaches:
a soiled but radishing beauty with HUGE goards. My brother had
always been a chestnut, but I could never figured out why she picked
him. He was a skinny little string bean who had always suffered from
cerebral parsley. It was in our roots. Sure, we had tried to weed
it out, but the problem still romained. He was used to having a tough
row to how, but it irrigated me to see Artichoke, and it bothered my
brother to see his marriage going to seed.
CHORUS
Like most mapled couples, they had a lot of grilling to do. Sure,
they’d sown their wild oats, but just barley if you peas. Finally,
Peaches had given him an ultomato. She said, “I’m hip to your chive,
and you don’t stop smoking that herb, I’m gonna leaf ya for Basil, ya
fruit!” He said he didn’t realize it had kumquat so far. Onion other
hand, even though Peaches could be the pits, I knew she’d never call
the fuzz.
CHORUS
So I said, “Hay, we’re not farm from the Mushroom! Let’s walk
over.” He said, “That’s a very rice place. That’s the same little
bar where alfalfa my wife!” When we got there, I pulled up a cherry
and tried to produce small talk. I told him I haven’t seen Olive;
not since I shelled off for a trip to Macadamia when I told her, “We
cantaloupe.” The time just wasn’t ripe. She knew what I mint. When
we left the Mushroom, we were pretty well-juiced. I told Arti to say
hello to the boysenBerry and that I’d orange to see him another
thyme. Well, it all came out in the morning peppers: Arti caught
Peaches that night with Basil, and Arti beat Basil bad, leaving him
with two beautiful acres. Peaches? She was found in the garden;
she’d been pruned.
CHORUS
Well, my little story is okra now. Maybe it’s small potatoes. Me?
Idaho. My name? Wheat. My friends call me “Kernel”. And that’s
life in the slaw lane. Thank you so mulch.
CHORUS
It’s a garden out there!