Wednesday, August 05, 2009

DNA song, recap.

Late last night about to have a fit
Trying to write a new musical hit
Early in the morning, about a quarter to three
Picking on my guitar till my fingers bleed
I couldn't think of what it could be
Till I finally decided I could write about me
So, by golly, I've written an ode
Here it is my own genetic code

Chanted behind and between.....Adenine, Cytocine, Taurine, Guanine,etc

It's a big long string of chemical goo
All mooshed together in a sticky brew
It makes my nose and it makes my toes
And all that gooey stuff inside, I suppose
It makes my head, up under my hat
My brains too, I'm not sure about that
It's what puts my foot in front of my heel
It's what gives me my sex appeal

Chant A,C,T,G, etc

Four basic lumps that come in pairs
Making the hip and making the squares
About a billion or so making you and me
Just a couple more than a chimpanzee
All twisted up in a great long rope
Making the mailman, making the pope
You've got some too, don't feel slighted
Just remember now mine's copyrighted.


I'm running out of new material here.

It's pathetic.

28 Comments:

Blogger Lane Savant said...

There is something wrong with this song that I have never been able to figure out.

10:17 PM  
Blogger Lane Savant said...

Don Van Vliet

Also known as Captain Beefheart

10:30 PM  
Blogger Mariana Soffer said...

Came on man you CAN NEVER get bored of that, do you know how many base pairs there are?3.2 billion base pairs on the human genome. You will probably die before being able to play a significant part.

11:55 PM  
Blogger Glenn Buttkus said...

Yes, yes, oh yeah--
poetry pours from your
spout, rolling out of your
snout, and it makes me
want to shout, hip, hip,
and three cheers
for one of the three
mouseketeers--I love it
when you wind up and roll
it out, always laced with wit,
dripping with rancor and
quite able to spank her.
Thanks, hell, what a nice
way to start the day,
reading some Palmer poetry
along with my breakfast!
I hope that some day
preventative medicine includes
being able to do a geno chart,
to map the DNA in a person,
and tell where the imbalances,
the weaknesses are--like with
my immune system breakdown
at 48 years old; and possibly
see the trouble before it
occurs, and inject, or replace
the notch, the twist, the color
that is the offender, and
keep the old machine tip top.
Why can clone a person from
a gob of goo in a petrie
dish now, and we are fooling
around with stem cell research--
so where will it end? 200 year
life spans? The kiss off to
cancer, to diabetes, to strokes,
fix the shit before it
implodes. Dig it.
Slunk off last night, since
Melva is in Maine, and saw
the powerful new film, the
controversial independent
sleeper, THE HURT LOCKER;
using the title from a
Brian Turner poem, from
his book, HERE, BULLET.
The film is about the Iraq
War, circa 2002. Ebert feels
it should get some Oscar
nominations. So do I. But it
probably won't. A newcomer,
Jeremy Renner, is the unknown
star, with a performance
reminescent of a young Russell
Crowe, of Colin Farrell in
TIGERLAND. Do yourselves a
favor and seek this film out.
It will fry your mind,
entertain, shock, mesmerize
you. I give it two thumbs
and a leg up.

Glenn

6:19 AM  
Blogger Jannie Funster said...

Really? Just a couple more than a chimpanzee? Eeerily close.

Close to a pig too, I think, our hearts or something. Yuck kinda tho.

It is NUTS!! I love it. Very Zappa to me.

10:00 AM  
Blogger Glenn Buttkus said...

New material? Is there really
such a thing? There are those
out here that do not believe
it; nothing "new" under the
sun, just different perspectives
on old stuff. Woody Allen once
said," Why does man kill? He
kills for food. And not only
for food; frequently there
must be a beverage."
It is TGIF all over the
globe this fine morning;
cool, cool, with no chance
of even 80 degrees in the
late afternoon--the perfect
long cool summer in the
Northwest--and rain showers
expected on Sunday. Dig it,
dude, everything is every
thing. Tonight is our first
screening for TFC following
the July summer hiatus and
vacation. We watch THE LAST
PICTURE SHOW, which still
haunts me after all these
decades, Ben Johnson with
that faraway look in his
eye, slumped there in B&W,
worn down by life, the
last gasps of Sam the Lion.
Word is that John Ford,
a friend of Bogdanovich's,
had to talk ole Ben into
doing the role. Tex Ritter
auditioned for it. That
would have been different.
Like Albert Finney, as a
young man, or Alan Bates,
doing the lead in LAWRENCE OF
ARABIA. Or Doug Palmer doing
the lead in THE BUDDY HOLLY STORY.
Or Lane Savant doing the lead
in MAN OF LA MANCHA. Or
Glenn Buttkus taking the
lead in LION IN WINTER, the
second remake. Something
to ponder, enit?
For some reason on the drive
to work this AM, I got to
thinking about John Belushi
and Dan Aykroyd in THE BLUES
BROTHERS; one outrageous film!
Might have to do a tribute
over on FFTR. Sure was cool
to have a FFTR tip of the hat
done by Cortney Bledsoe on
his blog site, MURDER YOUR
DARLINGS. How nice of you
to place your comment over
there on my poem, THE WAITING
ROOM. I had not sent a copy
to you or Alex, yet you are
the only two to make comments.
Go figure. For September, in
the Film Club, we are going
to do a Paul Newman tribute,
screening COOL HAND LUKE,
THE HUSTLER, and MR. AND MRS.
BRIDGE. I would have preferred
THE VERDICT, or NOBODY'S FOOL
as an example of his later
years, but got voted down;
that's democracy for you!
Got a phone call from Melva
in Maine. She and her sister
were just pulling into Bangor
I think, 80 degrees and blue
skies there, she said. Hope
she has a corker of good time
with her older sister. Nothing
like family time as we age,
and mellow, and get a lot
more sentimental. Really, dude,
you have to get out and see
THE HURT LOCKER. It is staying
with me like hot sauce burbs,
days later; a damned fine flick.

Glenn

5:40 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

That would probably be, "hot sauce burps," big fella.

..........Emily

9:51 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dat science takk is two hard to folloe, even in dat poim. I do dig dat youse writ poims, but der weren't no flowers in dat one der.

.........Vinnie

9:53 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

There might be a song somewhere in the midst of those lines, dude.

............Eddie Emerald

9:54 AM  
Anonymous Jannie Funster said...

I am everywhere they say, like the mist, like wedgies. I agree with Eddie that I tapped my toe several times while reading this poetic apex. Perhaps there will be a Lane Savant musical in the offing, and it will be called, DNA 'R ME.

........JF

9:57 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Actually, if you want some help with the music, either I, or Sir Paul could kick in some time, and collaborate with you. How would that be?

......Elton's John

9:59 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

What would Bernie say, Alice?

............Mikil Jack'son

10:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Screw Bernie.

...........EJ

10:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Love to.


...........Tiny Tim

10:01 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Jannie's got a point. This is the perfect set of lyrics for my comeback album!

.........Franck Zapppa

10:03 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hey, nobody asked my opinion!

.........Bob Dylin

10:03 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Whatever you do, Doug, just keep the Jew jokes to a minimum.

..........Woodie Alanus

10:04 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Actually I was just going to say that with a few more Jew jokes, this song could be as popular a hit as SPRINGTIME FOR HITLER.

........Melvin Brooks

10:05 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

If this tripe is a poem, I will slap myself on national TV at 6pm if CNN will have me.

..........General George Patton

10:06 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

They did not call you Blood And Guts for nothing, sir. You wouldn't know poetry if it bit you on the ass.

.............Billy Blake

10:08 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hey, I resemble that remark! Actually I write little dittys all the time, like:

Hitler had sex
with his dogs,
and did not know
what to do with Eva.
All historians agree,
even Hitler loved dogs,
but as another poet
pointed out, it is
doubtful that he ever
satisfied one.

G. Patton

10:10 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Not bad, GP. Maybe we will have a poetry slam right here on FFTL.

once upon a midnight dreary
i was feeling kind of
queerie. there was a raven
on my head, even though
I am dead, and the blackbird
said, "Eat me, I'm your
huckleberry."

........Edgar Al Poo

10:12 AM  
Blogger Lane Savant said...

It is a song already. It was written to be accompanied by blue riffs on a guitar. I'm starting to feel that I know what is wrong with it.
May have to rewrite.

10:14 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I am a closet poet too.

Riding my hog flat out,
no one knew what I
was about
to do that night;
and what a sight
it was as I launched
the Harley off the viaduct
at 140mph, shot it off
like a Roman candle,
right there over the
Ivar's sign, and then
Elliott Bay opened its
gray-green cold arms
for me, and I hugged
the darkness.

Eddie Emerald

10:17 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hell, we can all dew dat.

i once brocke a mug's toes
and den hiz noze, cuz
da prick was late,
so even befour I ate
I had to give dis dude
a knuckle sammich.

...........Vinnie

10:19 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

May I join in?

Roses are dead,
And Indians are still red,
As the worms whip up
a feast on my rump.
I am taller than Alan Ladd,
and will prove it too;
meet me over at the 7-11
and that will be rad
as I show you
how tall I really am.

......Georgie A. Custus

10:22 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

If Savant sez it is a song already, I guess we can back off for the moment, and let him work out the rewrites, enit?

..........Lester FallsApart

10:25 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Work on the riffs, man, bang those strings, and do you use a slide?

.........B.B. Queen

10:26 AM  

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