Popcorn Songs

So, Popcorn Songs is going back to its roots. That is, it's the tribute to Popcorn Lady, in the form of silly rewrites of songs, who makes game nights more enjoyable for those hungry gamers longing for a giant bowl of the best popcorn mix ever.

It's the time of the evening
When the popcorn comes
In this time don't start any big scenes
'Cause you'll never get them done

No don't start any combats
No, no, no
The bowl covers the whole map
It's the time of the evening for popcorn

Labels: songs

This song sends me into fits of giddy joy, I therefore dub it an honorary popcorn song. David Stevenson wrote it. Jonathon Coulton is singing it in this version.

Welcome to my secret lair on skullcrusher mountain
I hope that you've enjoyed your stay so far
I see you've met my assistant scarface
His appearance is quite disturbing
But I assure you he's harmless enough
He's a sweetheart... calls me master
And he has a way of finding pretty things
and bringing them to me

Oh, and i'm so into you
But, I'm way too smart for you
Even my henchmen think I'm evil
I'm not surprised that you'd agree
If you could find some way to be
A little bit less afraid of me
You see, the voices that control me from inside my head
Say I shouldn't kill you, yet

(he's got lots of other good songs on his website
you should check him out)

I made this half-pony half-monkey monster to please you
I get the feeling that you don't like it
what's with all the screaming
you like monkeys, you like ponies
Maybe you don't like monsters so much
Maybe I used too many monkeys
Isn't it enough to know I ruined a pony
making a gift for you?

[Chorus]

Picture the two of us alone inside my golden submarine
While up above the waves my doomsday squad ignites the atmosphere
And all the fools they live their foolish lives and they find it quite explosive
But it won't mean half as much to me if I don't have you here

You know it isn't easy living here on Skullcrusher Mountain
So maybe you should cut me just a little slack
Would it kill you to be civil?
I've been patient, I've been gracious
And this mountain is covered with wolves
Hear them howling... my hungry children
Maybe you should stay and have another drink
And think about me and you

[Chorus]

Labels: rpg, songs

Phooey! Winter! Here's to warmer weather and keeping some artistic expression in what's too fast becoming just an online diary. Ewwwww.

When it's summer over there take care
There's no rooms with air conditioning
No satellites, no costly things

Don't take an icy treat to eat
It will melt all over your hand and stick
And a tongue-depressor's no fun to lick

Now I'm living in this room of aggravation
I can't stand being where there's no dehumidification

So I'll build a boat of ice and float
To where summer's waters never soak
My popsicle

Because density's no bother
For the ice that floats on water
Is my popsicle

Labels: songs

If this is Spain

It's just her eyesight that tells him so
'Cause he's lost in these aisles of ozone
She takes his hand and they both know
This must be Spain

It's her description that sells him for
The image of all its shows
The thought of all she knows
About this Spain

About this electric scenery
They're huddled in the shadow of the CRT
He shows her how he has to feel to read
Never any other shared such ecstasy
Right in front of Spain

The salesmen can't believe
The sight of their audacity
The sound of their viscosity
Must be heard in Spain

And they're basking in the glow
Of the TVs and columns and rows
And they wonder why not everyone goes
To experience Spain

Labels: songs

The parenthetical lines are sung by a 2nd voice.


His mother says it's just a phase
(But his face reads a different way)
It will pass in several days
(Unlike acne's pothole maze)
He took 40 pills today
(Benzol-peroxide tastes like souffle)
He can't make it go away

The kids in school think it's a treat
(He rubs his nose and they all cheat)
But he can't take another week because

He's got the letters
on his face
con his face
dawn his face

He's got the letters
on his face
beyond his face now

The hospital can't make it right
(At least his isn't Mennonite)
The letters change again each night
(Alphabet soup makes him uptight)
Doctors say they'll win the fight
(And the nurses don't cringe at his sight)
Lawyers just file copyrights

There's only two cases in the world
(And one of those is just a squirrel)
Plastic surgeons only give referrals because

He's got the letters
on his face
lawn his face
pawn his face

He's got the letters
on his face
gone his face now

Labels: songs

I doubt this is historically accurate, but then, it wasn't meant to be. It was based on impressions I got from flipping through an American Indian History book in the library. It was one of the songs I wrote while in BBH, but it didn't really fit the personality of the band.


There are the soldiers
Intolerant of their foes
Correcting our opinions
On what we think we know

They teach the children
Cowboys and Indians
Learn to shoot a guy, boy
And wear our uniform

They are accepting donations
To the general's war fund
For protection of children
From the native pagans

There is the federal marshall
Telling Indians have slaughtered
Fathers, wives, sons and daughters
As they tried to run

And he swears he saw Cochise

There are Apache
Strong on hunting bows
It's only where they point them
That the general can't condone

But when the reserves of land fell
To muskets of men
Crying eminent domain
He raised his spear to battle
Turned his hatchet to scalping
Painted lines upon his face

But there are no pictures of Cochise
Only generals' right-hands
Only sepia white men
Put to black and white

There are uniformed soldiers
With their feet upon barrels
Bearing wounds made with arrows
Who stole from the fight

To claim they killed Cochise

There are the bodies
Strewn about cacti
Wondering whether they'll die
With prickers in their sides

Then are the generals
Dividing what they've won
Deciding what the people
Should know about what's been done

So there are no pictures of Cochise
Only general's right-hands
Only sepia white men
Put to black and white

There are uniformed soldiers
With their feet upon barrels
Bearing wounds made with arrows
Who stole from the fight

To claim they killed Cochise

Labels: songs

Sandy says, "There's lines in the middle.
You go too fast. There's the brakes. Won't you hit them?"
I asked, "Would I get caught if I sped?"
She said, "I can't tell you the future if I'm dead!"

Sandy says there's stars in the sunshine
They write words and tell things to her
I'd swear if I weren't mad
I'd tell everyone they'd been had

She displays her disinterest
As I try to uncover this
Complex incongruity
Of why she still stays here with me

Sandy says, "There's little icebergs in the ocean.
They're my friends and I love their crazy motions.
But how I hate to hear them cry.
Oh me, oh me, oh my.

If they could raise their consciousness,
That would be their best defense."
But I just watch them melt away
Searching for something to say

Sandy says, "Cassandra had it comin'.
They only listen when you don't know nothin'."
The sun is settling down
As we run from another town

Labels: songs

I think this is the first song I ever finished. Prior to this, I'd only writting jingles and sections of songs. Carnivals and tragedy are recurring themes in my songwriting...


Minnie's a mime and she smiles for the words she knows
Back to the alley she goes
She loves her family
She knows they're all she's got

She walked against the wind again today
But sometimes those crowds don't ever pay

There's the juggler and the one man band
The bearded lady and the three-handed man
The arcade owners and the friendly whores
The slippery children who can picklock doors

And everyone's an owner of everything
Cover your pockets while they sing,
"We are the children of God"

She meets her Mickey by the bumper cars
They're in the back, he wants to go real far
She says, "Mickey, aren't you moving fast?"
He doesn't want it, but he knows she'll ask

And he says, "But, what have we got to lose?
Only some names that we didn't choose.
Still we are the children of God."

Nine months later, Minnie didn't live
She died in labor but the twins made it
He drops them off at the orphanage
Rings the bell and hides behind the garbage

"I'll see them next time I come around,"
He says to himself as the trucks leave town

Now they are the children of God


I was very influenced by folk singer-songwriters during the time I wrote this. As John Gorka put it, "You write sad songs because when you're happy, who wants to sit around and write songs?"

Labels: songs

I wrote this song in '92 or 3 for Bernie Bernie Headflap's first fanboy. Harry, wherever you are, man, thanks.


Harry spun in circles on the floor
Slid glasses down wet nose
With eyelids almost closed

He'd see it all much more clearly
Than we could prophesy* in frequencies
Sounding syllables from black boxes
We'd thought we'd never heard before

Rubbed at eyes since coming in
Scraped lid-skin much too thin
With fingers trembling

Like they've not known this note before
Straining to reach the next semaphore
Lost in smoke from the atmosphere
Worse his antihistimine's kicked in again

Set his mind toward turbulence
Ushered up the mosh-cockpit
The ground's around here isn't it

Like flying some concord jet
Eyes closed to up-rushing wet pavement
Lost in smoke from the atmosphere
Thick with sounds only he could hear



* It was Al who pointed out my original lyric "prophecize" wasn't a word and that "prophesy" was correct.

Labels: songs

http://www.geocities.com/cmcgrath7/poplady.html

Labels: songs

One night every week
My friends and I go totally geek
And play boardgames and other stuff
But it's the popcorn mix I can't get enough of

I need your popcorn, please
Not some chocolate candies, cookies or sweets
I need your popcorn next to me
If I've got to reach for it, it'll get messy

Sometimes there's conflicts
And the night's pushed back or totally nix'd
When this happens I'm in fits
'Cause I can't get my popcorn fix

And I need your popcorn, please
Not some chocolate candies, cookies or sweets
I need your popcorn every week
When I miss it I'm incomplete

Labels: songs