Stupid Questions By White Trash Folk There was a man lived on my road, cancer was eating at his throat And his insides and he lived in pain each day and every night Hospice made him comfortable for a few months then disposable He became just because he wouldn’t die on time So they took his 02 machine, and pain meds, and said goodbye If we lived in Great Britain, or Canada, or Sweden Universal health care would take care (Of him) But we live in the good ol’ US of A Where you don’t get to live if you can’t pay It’s survival of the richest and their heirs Should having good health be a human right? Should we all pay to help our neighbors fight for their lives? In the face of logic, tragedy and crimes… How are these still questions in our times? How are these still questions in our times? My friend Heather wanted the right to influence her health and life And to choose whether or not to create on, and at what time She got pregnant anyway her Doctor said, “If you carry all the way To term, it’s certain you or the child will die,” “But doing anything to save you is illegal,” he sighed. If she lived in Belgium, or Tunisia, or Sweden A woman’s choice would find her still walking this Earth But Rich white men all have a book whose words’ foundation won’t be shook So both Heather and her baby died while she gave birth When it comes to their body and life, should women have a voice? Should powerful men get to stand between every female and her choice? In the face of logic, tragedy, and crimes… How are these still questions in our times? HOW are these still questions in our times?

White Trash Folk: Alone The chair it squeaks in protest Saying “I’ll move for no man” And the dust that’s settled on surfaces adds “Hey I’m good where I am” Peering out into the twilight The window lets go of a sigh Feeling its age and cracking its neck The faucet feels ready to cry And they’re all alone, They’re all alone This house ain’t no home, when they’re all alone Yeah they’re all alone Magazines piled in tribute To a childhood left out in the rain All muddied and tracked with yesterday’s prints Dried into forgettable stains And they’re all alone Nick-nacks and paddy-whacks and dog bones And other cluttered forget-me-nots In the back room are congregating in mourning Past air balls and missed big shots Saying this house ain’t no home And we’re all alone Another failed intervention By the shirts hanging over the door Leads to a blood orgy of wrinkled old fragments Of closet spilled out on the floor ‘Cause he just can’t take it no more And he’s all alone Photograph albums turned yellow A tomb of a tome of regret For his mother, his father, his sons and his daughters It shoots a look he’ll not forget From the pages all snotty and wet Sobbing we’re all alone, we’re all alone This house ain’t no home, when we’re all alone We’re all alone Yeah, we’re all alone

White Trash Folk: A Stream of Consciousness is Always Better Than a Death Wish (And Lengthy Song Titles Are Overrated) A wise chick once told me, “it’s Futile to search for the Logic in illogical People and their words” and I Thought how profound yet so Simple a statement to not Dawn on a punk like me in the Depths of debasement it was Around that time I bought my First decent six string and I named him Johnny for the Memories that he brings and Even to this day I don’t Really write our songs I just Let him do his thing and I try to sing along about Nothing but the random ass Thoughts in my head because Free association beats Wanting to be dead but for now I’ll keep my thoughts between my Notebook and the moonlight good Thing it’s full tonight or I Couldn’t see to write the Note that I taped with a Ramshackle Glory sticker to your door it said “Thanks for the good times but you Won’t see me no more. I’ll be Vacant and vagrant and Fragrant and all-knowing and I’ll Miss and remember you but don’t Follow where I’m going.” So I’ll Leave the wrong address and a Fake telephone number and sign “If you want to find me, you just Have to look under the Obituaries or the Work wanted adds in some Small town news paper in a Made-up, distant land where People aren’t valued by the Size of their bank rolls and You can cross bridges without Paying unfair tolls and Nobody cares if your Black or republican or Gay, straight, transsexual, Jew, Atheist or Christian and Laws aren’t created to strip People of their rights & words like Science and opinion don’t Cause stupid fights and the only Governing bodies are Benevolent organizations and Children aren’t robbed daily Of their imaginations.” Knowing Me I’ll spend all my time Under a lamp post Screaming out ballads of Yesterday’s ghosts and how I Wish I was back there with All of my friends I Always wanted to get out now I Feel sucked back into my Days when I thought I had All the solutions and a Purpose and a goal: Global revolution! Then Apathy struck and I Lost motivation for Fighting and failure and Winning and celebration of the Things that I stood for the Things I believed before My tree of knowledge Shook off all its leaves and so I Cried for seven days and I Wept seven nights then I Got up and locked all the doors and Killed all the lights & even Though I didn’t make my bed I still Had to lie in it Dreaming of some way that I could begin it all Over again so I could Rewrite my dumb luck instead I Pulled a Rip Van Winkle and I Never, no I never woke up

Barbara By Jugglin’ Bunnies They're coming to get you barbara Don't look but here comes one now Oh Ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba-ba-bara Anne, I know We'll get out somehow From the Dawn of the Evil Dead Alive To the Fright Night of the Living Dead we'll survive ‘Cause Damnit, Janette, I love you I know That's not your name, but we'll get through Oh ba-ba ba-ba ba-Barbara Ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba ba-Barbara They're coming to get you Barbara The news man on the TV said That we better go see our loved ones 'Cause pretty soon they will all be dead Reanimated corpses or remains Slowly chasing after our big ol' tasty brains I'll gladly do what you want me to 'Cause in the end I've just gotta run faster than you Oh my ba-ba ba-ba ba-Barbara Ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba ba-Barbara Beep beep bop bo Ba-ba ba-ba ba-Barbara Ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba ba-Barbara I'll miss you

Battle Hymn of the Undead By Jugglin’ Bunnies My eyes have seen the horror Of the zombie holocaust We fought and prayed to save our lives That in the end were lost We barred our doors against the hoards And Still our world was tossed The undead marches on Zombie, zombie, hallelujah Zombie, zombie, hallelujah Zombie, zombie, hallelujah The undead marches on Tell your kids, your folks and friends And parents your goodbyes Give your love and say that they are Everything in your eyes For in short time you're sure to find That everybody dies And the undead marches on Zombie, zombie, hallelujah Zombie, zombie, hallelujah Zombie, zombie, hallelujah The undead marches on Survivors fled from the undead They'd run and hide and fight The sickness spread and blood was shed All morning and all night Til one remained in all his pain To find no soul in sight The survivor marches on Zombie, zombie, hallelujah Zombie, zombie, hallelujah Zombie, zombie, hallelujah The survivor marches on

The JBABCs By Jugglin’ Bunnies A is for apple and B for banana C is for the Copa the Copa Cabana D’s for dog and E’s for everyone here is my very best friend YEAH! F is for fun and for getting’ down on Friday G and H are for God and Having sex the right way I is for I love you all and that is no JK YEAH! L is for liberals and all their silly politics M is for the master race and N is for No fat chicks O is for Obeying like a God-Fearing American should Break it down now! P is for Partying but in moderation Q is for the Queers not belonging in my nation R is for Ricky hey that’s me you silly gooses S is for some slaves swinging silently from nooses YEAH! T is for tomorrow when I’ll probably be in jail U is for YOU who will come and post my bail V is for Venereal the disease that I got from Matty Till Dawn YEAH! W is for the greatest American leader If X is a double chromosome, that means you are inferior [Ladies;)] Y is for Yarmulke that’s kindling in Deutschland And Z is for Zoophelia, that’s when you give your dog a hand Job. So give your dog a hand job. Let’s give our dogs some hand jobs. I love giving dogs hand jobs.