Mama Roosa's

Way down yonder in the south of Mississippi,
At the bottom of the Natchez Trace,
There’s a bar and grill where they push boot swill,
And they call it Mama Roosa’s Place.

The starlet of the bar is Sugar Baby Baker,
She’s the sweetest little singer you could choose,
Her specialties are scat-cat and rap-slap and rhythm,
With a side bar rendition of the blues.

She has the Hunker Down Band backing up the singing,
There’s Eighty-Eight Simmons on the keys,
And Rollie Kilpatrick who’s a musical magician,
With his big bass fiddle ‘tween his knees.

Little Sticks Maloney beats the skins like a demon,
Jimmy Jolly plays the plumbing with the slide,
And Slappy Pouquette licks the sweetest cornet,
‘Cause he’s getting some of Sugar on the side.

The crowds always grow when the lights go low,
Leaving Sugar Baby standing in the spot,
The Band starts lowly with soft sweet numbers,
Then they slowly move along to something hot.

As the rhythm gets quicker Mama Roosa pushes liquor,
To the characters who come to hear the sounds,
As their thirst expands to the greatest of the bands,
While the beat of Rollie’s giant fiddle pounds.

When the last call is over and the crowd hits the road,
When the night starts to sounding soft and still,
Then Sugar and the boys split, taking their noise,
Leaving Mama Roosa counting up the till.

But the ghost of jazz and the spirit of the blues,
And the specter of the soul is hanging low,
The rhythm of the bass seems to echo through the Place,
‘Til Mama is the final one to go.

Then the Place gets quiet through the rest of the night,
And it’s silent through the best of the day,
But when the sun goes down all the people gather round,
To hear the Hunker Downs and Sugar Baby play.

Bomba Djin

You may talk o’ gin and bitters,
While the natives bear the litters,
Through the dry and dusty streets of old Bombay,
You may coldly plan the slaughter,
Of the bloke who serves you water,
Or a sissy drink, like crème de menthe frappe,
Now in Inja’s sunny weather,
It was fun to get together,
To hoist a few and contemplate our sin,
And the tales of elbow benders,
Often dwell on great bartenders,
But the greatest of them all was Bomba Djin.

You had never long to linger,
As he mixed the perfect stinger,
He was quick to pour, and quicker yet to stir,
And it seemed to us ironic,
As we guzzled down his tonic,
That he’s the one that always called us “Sir”,
That grizzled native blighter,
With an ever-ready lighter,
To give a flame to anyone’s cigar,
He was slovenly and lowly,
But by everything that’s holy,
He was lord and regal master of the bar.
It was “Djin! Djin! Djin!
You limpin’ lump of sawdust, Bomba Djin,
Mix martinis dryer,
So to get us fellows higher,
You soggy bottle tosser, Bomba Djin.

I shan’t forget the morn,
As we heard the bugler’s horn,
And I thought perhaps that I was doomed to die,
I crawled from ‘neath the table,
And as best as I was able,
I viewed the barroom through a jaundiced eye,
But all that I could see,
Were the signs of revelry,
Of us poor ol’ sods with ne’er a chance to win,
And a’smilin’ through it all,
As he swabbed the Johnny hall,
Was the cause of all our mis’ry, Bomba Djin.
It was Djin! Djin! Djin!
You sweepin’ son o’ Satan, Bomba Djin,
You treated us uncouth,
When you used too much vermouth,
You served us wet martinis, Bomba Djin.

Right then! We strung him up,
‘Fore we had our mornin’ sup,
And we left his carcass rottin’ in the sun,
It seemed the thing to do,
But since then, I tell you true,
Our happy hours haven’t been much fun,
Us misbegotten boozers,
Are a pack of bloody losers,
A new man, name of Khayaam tends the bar,
The drinks are watered down,
By that simple-minded clown,
And it costs too much, forgettin’ who we are.
For it’s Djin! Djin! Djin!
You colossal docile fossil Bomba Djin,
Though you never did deserve us,
You never underserved us,
You’re a better man than Khayaam, Bomba Djin.



With apologies to Mr. Kipling

Doghouse

The doghouse is my residence,
It’s where I spend my time,
It is the place a fellow goes,
When he commits a crime.

I try to do the proper thing,
But sometimes I forget,
It seems I crossed the line the night,
She got her bottom wet.

They say Hell hath no fury,
Like a woman whose been crossed,
And I agree, ‘cause since that night,
My loving life is lost.

I hope I’ve learned my lesson,
I hope I’ll change that frown,
From this day forth that toilet seat,
Will always be left down.

But there remains a puzzle,
I know I’ll never know,
Just why can’t ladies take a peek,
Before they stop and go?

Getting Organized

I made a list of books to read,
I made a list of things I need,
I made a list of chores to do,
I think lists are great, don’t you?

Lists are very useful things,
For who knows what the future brings,
And if intentions are declared,
Then I will always be prepared.

I can plan the days ahead,
I’ll be well clad, I’ll be well fed,
I’ll work and play in harmony,
A master of efficiency.

But there’s a problem, there’s a cost,
What if all my lists are lost?
Confused and hapless I will be,
So I’ll just sit and watch TV.

A New Angel

It rained the day my mother died,
With all her children gathered ‘round,
It seemed that all of heaven cried,
With teardrops puddled on the ground,
But later on the sun came through,
And beamed upon our reveries,
Thus, all our lives began anew,
So grateful for our memories,
It was no time for grief or shrouds,
The angels love a gentle soul,
I know she’s up above the clouds,
Throughout her life she paid the toll,

I see her standing by the Gates,
And smiling down, as one who waits.

Pebbles

In the spring of life I had a plan,
I wished the world to cheer,
I wanted future folks to know,
That I had once been here.

I dreamed of great accomplishments,
Of glories in the field,
I’d outdo all my rivals and,
I simply would not yield.

Today I’m in my autumn years,
And I’ve achieved no fame,
No statue has my visage, nor
A plaque that bears my name.

But through the years my views have changed,
I’ve found a better way,
That simple kindness to someone,
Can build a better day.

The average person has his woes,
And own internal strife,
A kindness will improve his day,
And a day can change a life.

Like a pebble dropped into a pond,
And you watch the ripples flow,
So kindnesses repeat themselves,
And cause good will to grow.

I find great satisfaction now,
In recognizing worth,
And helping other folks to see,
Their value here on earth.

When winter comes, and I am gone,
I hope I’ve sown the seed,
I wish them to remember,
Not the doer, but the deed

Him or Her

God, according to the Bible,
Is considered “Him” or “He,”
He is masculine in nature,
Never called a “Her” or “She.”

This is true throughout the scriptures,
Both the Testaments agree,
Lord’s Prayer doesn’t say “Our Mother,”
Therefore God must be a “He.”

But modern Women’s Liberation,
Want’s to change collective minds,
They say God must be a woman,
They have reasons of all kinds.

They say God is full of nurture,
Treats us all with loving care,
That is feminine in nature,
I can see some logic there.

But I believe that God’s no woman,
I’ll explain why this is true,
He’ll forgive us for our failings,
Something women never do.