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Silly Philosophy

[Verse 1]


Sewer rats and alley cats sleepin' on doormats

while the bureaucrats eat bacon fats sippin' on sazeracs

A penny for your thoughts, not regurgitated words,

can a thought be bought? The notion's absurd,

but a dollar for your thoughts, now we're in business,

runnin' mouth, sellin wits, but bought thoughts are counterfits,

contrived shits for the nitwits

and common sense illiterates,



But the irrationally rebellious blunder just the same,

buffeted by fortune and fame, gotta find yourself to be sane,



Simon says stop,

simon says go,

simon says, simon says,

no simon, simon

I know



fuck the rules except for the one,

the old, the simple, the golden, that's my religion,

he say – well you stole it from mine

good then, now follow the rule, and steal it back anytime


[Chorus A]


Does the filly have a silly philosophy, or is she

possibly in capable of sophistry? Does she

tail-slap the fly as it buzzes by

to protect her eye (to the bug a pie);

or when it alights on her thigh does its bite make her cry;

or is she simply shy, and thus the fly

should die when it's nigh ? Is it to pry

to even ask why?



[Verse 2]


Just because the tucan can can-can

doesn't mean he's incapable of a new plan,

Stand, step, clap, flap, rap


Some say that's nonsense

and maybe so

but there's sense in nonse

a sense of flow


Does the corpus have a purpose?

Is it simply to pose,

this question to the circus?

Is there anyone that knows?



There's sight to the blind,

Nutriments to the rind,

an allure to the hind,

a joy to the grind,

of no lesser kind.


Violence is venomous no matter the varnish, and

A silver tongue is swell but even that'll tarnish, but

if yuh take the sting of a bee placed just right

it can be the remedy to the odd plight


Pliable opinions are more powerful than fixed ones

slip shift and dissolve, flux fresh into new ones

the solid idea has limits, no matter how engrossing

while the liquid idea is all encompassing

[Chorus B]

Does the frog on the log in the bog think it's rad

to hop from pad to pad; is he glad

to snatch a snack from the air – does he care

that he didn't ask for the life to share?

Does he wonder of the pollywog? Does he know what he was?

Does he think of 'because?' When he croaks in the night

does he think of the mate?  Can he relate?

Can he dictate? or is it fate?

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