by Rick Young | Jun 13, 2020 | Song
Covid’s the canary in the coalmine,
opened up our eyes that things are not fine.
Things got out of hand and paralyzed the land.
Emergency responders were our front line.
Then, of course, we opened way too soon,
to appease this economic goon.
He said throw out your masks, and they do what he asks.
The truth is that the virus didn’t swoon.
And then there came the kneeling of the cop.
The t.v. murder blew the nation’s top.
There’s people in the street who will not take a seat
until they see this racial hatred stop.
We finally got the cause that we deserve,
and now’s perhaps the last chance to show nerve.
We cannot let this settle back into the same old kettle.
America, our path must take a curve.
If people take their message to the street,
things might get really hot in summer heat.
Stay strong and don’t back down, the leader is a clown.
This chance for change may not see a repeat.
by Rick Young | Apr 24, 2020 | Song
FOX says he wasn’t trying to be mean.
He’s just a real big fan of Mister Clean.
So, if you’ll open wide, he’ll pour some shit inside.
And then you will be dead like Orson Bean.
O, the good die young when Trump has fun.
Pandemic’s like a game that has no rules.
We wish his base was deaf, not dumb.
Yet no one else would follow him but fools.
Have you tried the Drano? It comes in cherry flavor.
If you listen to him, you’ll be doing us a favor.
In times of need his m.o.’s greed. He’ll clean you out inside.
And then he won’t care one damn wink when he hears that you’ve died.
Trump continues to insist he’s “like” a scientist.
He knows his pills; it gives one chills. It’s schooling that he missed.
He doesn’t like to read at all, as one can plainly see.
He considers words his invisible enemy.
He’s buying stock in Bab-O, Bon Ami and even Comet.
Just sprinkle it on chicken wings and then try not to vomit.
A little Tide or Ajax could quite help out with the healing.
Don’t worry, for a little while you’ll have that washed out feeling.
If chemicals don’t kill you, it’s a sign you’re getting well.
Go on FOX and tell those wimpy liberals go to hell.
Sure, your breathing’s labored and perhaps you might relapse.
Relax. get to the market. Buy some Lysol ‘fore you collapse.
by Rick Young | Apr 20, 2020 | Song
testing, testing… part TWO…
I’m on joe + and flying low this morning
every button pushed another warning
and seeing guys with rifles
crying ’cause they can’t go out performing
it all seems like screams
from toxic dreams and global warming
the whole damned place diseased
and rich men to be pleased
the goons and brutes appeased
and meanwhile in this shit pile
laws against pollution eased
plus got his liberators cheesed
I will need big joe to get through this week
life accelerates beyond my speed
did I dream of something once called baseball
who’s helming this chariot of greed?
my only goal is stay alive until mayday
and hope the angels scare the ghosts away
by Rick Young | Apr 18, 2020 | Song
The Boogaloo Boys are ready to go,
called to arms by their great orange chief.
The coming reopening, bloody but brief,
will certainly be a shit show.
Reopen our states, the prisoners scream.
Pandemic’s a liberal’s scam.
Rush into the streets and don’t give a damn.
You can’t kill America’s dream.
The stores will sell out, the market lift off.
Let baseball and dancing resume.
Cast off the left wing prophesies of doom.
Don’t worry about that slight cough.
Bring out your reb flags, the south is now free.
No old laws can stand in our way.
The old and the sick have both had their hay day.
Now let them into the woods flee.
Some see the chief’s slant as a new civil war.
Oh, sure there’ll be some it encumbers.
But look at the last one’s great numbers.
The Boogaloo Boys are itching to even the score.
And if the great opening doesn’t work out,
and the country falls into depression,
our leader will turn to a whole new obsession.
Of that there can be no damned doubt.
by Rick Young | Mar 25, 2020 | Song
Been drivin’ all night with a thorn in my side.
Been drivin’ all night with a thorn in my side.
Looked over at the passenger side
and Jesus had died.
What would we do now, I got him too drunk at the dance.
Tried to get him to waltz but he hovered ‘bove the ground in a trance.
The only time that it was fine was when the rowdy fellows yelled for wine.
And then the place was flooded with Merlot as if by happenstance.
I told him I was blitzed at ten, he said, “I’m crucified.”
The bouncer said an hour later he’d looked like he’d died.
“Here, put him on this cross and we can move him through the back outside.”
Now out here in the desert, I’m just hangin’ him like a kite.
Now out here in the desert, I’m just hangin’ him like a kite.
It sure’ll dry him out
but it just does not seem right.
by Rick Young | Mar 6, 2020 | Song
Trump has a hunch about the virus spread.
The sick aren’t really sick and the dead are playing dead.
It’s all a Democratic trick to get inside his head.
They can’t do that, he says, because he’s had it lined with lead.
They’re pumping up the numbers to impair his sure election.
The dead will rise, that’s no surprise, it’s zombie resurrection.
They’ll storm election polls with noses dripping from their face,
and use the virus hoax to try to scare away his base.
“I have a hunch my MAGA people will put up a fight,
they know I am the chosen one. This virus they shall smite.
And good Mike Pence, our plague defense, will keep the numbers low.
The dead will all be buried in his cornfields, row by row.
No virus. No virus. This virus is fake news.
It’s only flu. Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo. You got the fake plague blues.”
