Song Lyrics
David P. Anderson

This song is in 3/4 time and sounded a bit like Arthur Godfrey's famous 1950s hit "Hot-Diggity Dog-Diggity." It is a waltz, a lament on the uncontrollable nature of human attraction, and the changes it puts us through.

"The Pheromone Waltz"

Don't cha know,
That there's something,
In charge 'o me?

And it's eatin',
And beatin',
My Bonaparte.

Don't cha know,
It's a lady,
Named Marjorie.

And she's
Dickin' around
With my heart.

God bless pheromones,
God bless pheromones,
God bless pheromones,
God bless phero-mero-mero-mones.

God bless pheromones,
God bless pheromones,
God bless dickin' around
With my heart.

-- David P. Anderson

Here is a patriotic song I wrote at a soccer game. It is in the style of "country swing" and should be sung by someone like Elvis or better yet Asleep at the Wheel with a do-wah chorus singing the parts in parentheses. We keep coming back for more...

"Cruel and Unusual Punishment"

I was born in Texas,
In a land that's brave and free.

And I know that my daddy fought,
To give this life to me.

So I have read the Con-stee-tu-tion,
And the Bill of Rights.

But they cannot mend this broken heart,
Or end these sleepless nights.


You're so cruel, (you're so cruel)
And un-us-u-al, (un-us-u-al)
You're everything a punishment,
Could be. (couldn't be).

You're so cruel, (you're so cruel)
And un-us-u-al, (un-us-u-al)
And you are surely punishing
To me.


When our founding fathers,
Came into this promised land.

They looked their sweethearts in the eyes
And took them by the hand.

And when they swore in Philadelphia
To build a land that's free,
Well they must-a wrote that Eighth Amendment,
Just for you and me.


You're so cruel, (you're so cruel)
And un-us-u-al, (un-us-u-al)
You're everything a lover,
Shouldn't be. (Now I see).

But I'm a Fool, (such a Tool)
And so a-buse-able (re-use-able)
And you are surely punishment,
Oh baby you are punishment,
Yeah you are Pure-D Punishment,
To me!

(you under arrest. gimme back them handcuffs)

-- David P. Anderson

Written for my wife on the occasion of our first year of marriage, our move to North Carolina, and our eating habits for the first few months of convivial bliss.

Barbara Hodges and the Federal Depositors Insurance Corporation.

My Bunny,
'Tis of thee,
Sweet Bunkins-Bunnery,

Land of Real Mayonaise,
Ice cream and
Day-old glazed,
Doughnuts we stuff
In our face
Little Piggies We.

--David P. Anderson

Stephen and I wrote a this in the early '90s for his fifth-grade history assignment: a creative work concerning the discovery of gold at Sutter's Mill which set off the California gold rush. One could paint a picture, create a collage, make a diorama, compose a piece of music, or whatever. We chose to write a poem.

"Sutter's Mill"

John Sutter was an honest man,
Who wasn't from Afganistan,
He herded ducks along the sand,
And never ate a bit of Spam.

Okay! Okay! he built a mill,
On water running down the hill.
But GOLD was found in Sutter's Stream,
And bad men stole away his dream.

Now even in our modern time,
When tourists pan gold on the hill,
He never got a single dime,
For all the wealth in Sutter's Mill.

So I prefer him in his prime,
(His hair a lovely lemon-lime),
With his dog Sam,
And loads of Spam,
He herds his ducks though Space and Time.

-- Stephen G.H. Anderson and David P. Anderson

Science is dangerous stuff. What can I say? This song is Heavy Metal, in 7/4 time.

Turtle-Taggin' Time

Taggin the Turtle,
Deep in the Green.

Forest full 'o
Rich Men,
Bent on the

German was the
Haus Frau,
(You know
What I mean!)

She had a
Out in Sante Fe.

He had a flat
To himself
For the night
All alone in San Jose.

They're drinkin'
While the
Kraut 'n bard
Are far away.

Turtle-taggin' Days...

She's dreaming
o' the cream 'n
Slipping back into
Her Turtle-Taggin' Ways.

--David P. Anderson

Some reflections on what an idiot I am from time to time, a total bone-head saved only from the horrible consequences of my own foolish actions by providence and blind dumb luck, whistling in the dark when the danger closes in, and crowing in the morning like some imbecilic rooster convinced he is responsible for the sunrise.

Well, maybe that's a bit harsh. Here it is:

"Dark-Whistling Bonehead Man"

Silent footfalls in the twilight,
Night hawks gather in brooding shadow,
Head of Bone,
Bonehead Man,
Whistling tunelessly in the darkness.

"Stop that Noise!" an angry whisper,
Shatters the raptors' restless vigil,
Death and Dread infest the land,
"Arise, Dark-Whistling Bonehead Man."

Carelessly he treads the night,
His aimless wanderings danger-proof,
Aeolian whistles portend his coming,
Stubborn bone wards off their warning.

"Arrgh!" his headlong flight is halted,
By a branches' lowered arbour,
Swells a knot upon his knoggin'
Stills his awful keyless swagger.

"Cowards, All!" his lips are cursing,
While his wounded skull he cradles,
"Darkness' not a time for hiding!"
"Sing and Dance Ye Who are Able!"

But the wiser owls are sheltered,
Neath the blinding moon of harvest,
On their knees the creatures stabled,
Keep their quiet sacred counsel.

Til' wasted from his blind meanders,
To his bed his long feet stumble,
Dawn, the morrow, soon will waver,
Gone the whistles' demi-quaver.

Once again Dumb Luck has Triumphed,
Or'e the treacherous Night of Evil,
Warmth and Sunshine touch his hand,
"Sleep whole, Dark-Whistling Bonehead Man."

-- David P. Anderson

24 August 2002
Dallas, Texas

(c) 1975-2002 David P. Anderson
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