Whiskey Girl

Don’t my baby look good in them blue jeans?
Tight on the top with a belly button ring
A little tattoo somewhere in between she only shows to me
Hey, we’re going out dancin’ she’s ready tonight
So damn good-lookin’, boys, it ain’t even right
And when the bartender says, “For the lady, what’s it gonna be?”
I tell him, man . . .
She ain’t into wine and roses
Bear just makes her turn up her nose
And she can’t stand the thought of sippin’ champagne
No Cuervo Gold Margaritas
Just ain’t enough good burn in tequila
She needs somethin’ with a little more edge and a little more pain
She’s my little whiskey girl
She’s my little whiskey girl
My ragged-on-the-edges girl
But I like ‘em rough
Baby got a ’69 Mustang
Four on the floor, and you oughta hear the pipes ring
I jump behind the wheel and it’s away we go
Hey, I drive too fast, but she don’t care
Blue bandana tied all up in her hair
Just sittin’ there, singin’ every song on the radio . . .
She ain’t into wine and roses
Bear just makes her turn up her nose
And she can’t stand the thought of sippin’ champagne
No Cuervo Gold Margaritas
Just ain’t enough good burn in tequila
She needs somethin’ with a little more edge and a little more pain
She’s my little whiskey girl
She’s my little whiskey girl
My ragged-on-the-edges girl
But I like ‘em rough
No Cuervo Gold Margaritas
Just ain’t enough good burn in tequila
She needs somethin’ with a little more edge and a little more pain
She’s my little whiskey girl
She’s my little whiskey girl
My ragged-on-the-edges girl
But I like ‘em rough
Yeah, I like ‘em rough
I like ‘em rough

***

So of course, it needed to be parodied . . .

Just a Gatchaman

Don’t my leader look good in them white jeans?
Flared down the leg, belt with a big “G”
And a butt so tight it’s just obscene!
But that’s ok with me
When Galactor calls, he’s ready to fight
So damn efficient, man, it ain’t even right
And when Hakase says, “’bout your pay, it got lost again,”
I tell him, Ken,
This life just ain’t no easy road
Makin’ all those bases explode, and
It’d sure be nice to get a decent wage
Galactor mechs all the damn time
Then you bring the mail so late it’s a crime
You want a job with a little less hazard and a little more pay
You’re just a Gatchaman
A pathetic li’l moocher-man
You ain’t got no money, man
Boy, you got it rough!
Can’t afford a ’69 Mustang
Haulin’ a trailer, tryin’ to make the races pay,
Guess the beat up ol’ number two’ll have to do
Yeah, I drive too fast, he gives me a glare
Blue eyes snapping and it just isn’t fair
‘Cause I gotta take orders from him in bed, too!

(Ken: *blush* Joe!)

This life just ain’t no easy road
Makin’ all those bases explode, and
It’d sure be nice to get a decent wage
Galactor mechs all the damn time
If I can’t make the race, I gotta pay a fine
I want a job with a little less hazard and a little more pay
I’m just a Gatchaman
A pathetic li’l moocher-man
I ain’t got no money, man
Boy, we got it rough!
The plane’s fuel tank took your last dime
Now Jun’s screamin’, sayin’ it’s the last time
You’re out on your ass if your tab don’t get paid
Oh, we’re just the Gatchaman
We’re pathetic moocher-men
“Joe, please pay my tab for me, man”
Boy, we got it rough!
So, Jun, is that enough?
I hope it’s enough . . .

***

June 27, 2004