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Grey Tickles, Black Pressure
par
John Grant
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I did not think I was The one being addressed In hemorrhoid commercials On the TV set I often stand and stare At nothing in the grocery store Because I do not know What to buy to eat any more And parapraxis is The order of the day I never heard that word Until tonight I have to say And I'm supposed to believe that there's some guy Who will take the pain away And there are children who have cancer And so all bets are off Cause I can't compete with that So all bets are off Cause I can't compete with that I've got grey tickles and black pressure And I'd rather lose my arm inside of a corn thresher Just like Uncle Paul Just like Uncle Paul I, I, I They won't be happy til They tear down everything Which looks remotely cool Or is older than two weeks You must be kidding me Except I do know better than to ask I can't believe I missed New York during the 70's I could have gotten a head start In the world of disease I'm sure I would have contracted Every single solitary thing And there are children who have cancer And so all bets are off Cause I can't compete with that So all bets are off Cause I can't compete with that I've got grey tickles and black pressure And I'd rather lose my arm inside of a corn thresher Just like Uncle Paul Just like Uncle Paul I, I, I They say let go let go let go You must learn to let go If I hear that f*cking phrase again This baby's gonna blow Into a million itsy bitsy tiny pieces Don't you know Just like my favorite scene in Scanners Apparently there was an outcry of some sort today Which no-one heard incidentally and by the way I have not had the strength To leave my place in days or weeks And I'll never understand Whats happening in the Middle East And there are children who have cancer And so all bets are off Cause I can't compete with that So all bets are off Cause I can't compete with that I've got grey tickles and black pressure And I'd rather lose my arm inside of a corn thresher Just like Uncle Paul Just like Uncle Paul I, I, I I've got grey tickles and black pressure And I'd rather lose my arm inside of a corn thresher Just like Uncle Paul Just like Uncle Paul I, I, I
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