Tombstone Blues

Well, the sweet pretty things are in bed now, of course City fathers they're trying to endorse The reincarnation of Paul Revere's horse But the town has no need to be nervous The ghost of Belle Starr, she hands down her wits To Jezebel the nun, she violently knits A bald wig for Jack the ripper, who sits At the head of the Chamber of Commerce Mama's in the factory She ain't got no shoes Daddy's in the alley lookin' for the fuse I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues The hysterical bride in the penny arcade Screaming, she moans, "I've just been made" Sends for the doctor, who pulls down the shade Say my advice is to not let the boys in Now, the medicine man comes and he shuffles inside He walks with a swagger, and he says to the bride "Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride You won't die, it's not poison" Mama's in the factory She ain't got no shoes Daddy's in the alley lookin' for the fuse I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues John the Baptist, after torturing a thief Looks up at his hero, the Commander-in-Chief Saying, "Tell me, great hero, but please, make it brief Is there a hole for me to get sick in?" The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry" And dropping a barbell, he points to the sky Saying, "The sun's not yellow, it's chicken" Mama's in the factory She ain't got no shoes Daddy's in the alley lookin' for the fuse I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone Causes Galileo's maths book to get thrown At Delilah who's sitting worthlessly alone But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill I've set him in chains at the top of the hill Send them out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille He could die happily ever after Mama's in the factory She ain't got no shoes Daddy's in the alley lookin' for the fuse I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues Where Ba Rainey and Beethoven once unwrapped their bedroll Tuba players now, rehearse around the flagpole And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul To the old folks home and the college I wish I could write you a melody so plain That could hold you dear lady from going insane That can ease you, cool you, and cease the pain Of your useless and pointless knowledge Mama's in the factory She ain't got no shoes Daddy's in the alley lookin' for the fuse I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues