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Handy Dandy
Handy dandy, controversy surrounds him
He been around the world and back again
Something in the moonlight still hounds him
Handy dandy, just like sugar and candy
Handy dandy, if every bone in his body was broken he would never admit it
He got an all girl orchestra and when he says
Strike up the band, they hit it
Handy dandy, handy dandy
Bridge #1:
You say, what are ya made of?
He says, can you repeat what you said?
Youll say, what are you afraid of?
Hell say, nothin neither live nor dead.
Handy dandy, he got a stick in his hand and a pocket full of money
He says, darling, tell me the truth, how much time I got?
She says, you got all the time in the world, honey.
Handy dandy, handy dandy
Bridge #2:
Hes got that clear crystal fountain
Hes got that soft silky skin
Hes got that fortress on the mountain
With no doors, no windows, no thieves can break in
Handy dandy, sitting with a girl named nancy in a garden feelin kind of lazy
He says, ya want a gun? Ill give you one. she says, boy, you talking crazy.
Handy dandy, just like sugar and candy
Handy dandy, pour him another brandy
Handy dandy, he got a basket of flowers and a bag full or sorrow
He finishes his drink, he gets up from the table he says,
Okay, boys, Ill see you tomorrow.
Handy dandy, handy dandy, just like sugar and candy
Handy dandy, just like sugar and candy
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Ole Handy Man
I have to mow the lawn
And i have to wash the car
And i'd just like to know
Just who you think you are
I'm gettin' tired of wagging
That old heavy garbage can
Your woman's gettin' tired
Of being your ole handy man
I have to run your water
And i have to wash your back
And i have to scrub the tub
After you have had your bath
You're as helpless as a baby
But i love you, understand
I'm just gettin' tired
Of being your ole handy man
Your woman's gettin' tired of being your ole handy man
Now i know you've got ten fingers
But where's your helpin' hand
I've just made a decision
I've stood all i'm gonna stand
Your woman's gettin' tired of being your ole handy man
I do everything for you
You never help yourself
An' i think i'd die from shock
If you raised a hand to help
Well, i'm not gonna keep it up
That's what you got planned
Your woman's gettin' tired of being your ole handy man
Your woman's gettin' tired of being your ole handy man
Now i know you got ten fingers
But where's that helpin' hand
I've just made a decision
I've stood all i'm gonna stand
Your woman's gettin' tired of being your ole handy man
Tag:
Your woman's gettin' tired of being your ole handy man
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I like to keep a bottle of stimulant handy in case I see a snake, which I also keep handy.
quote by W.C. Fields
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I always keep a supply of stimulant handy in case I see a snake, which I also keep handy.
quote by W.C. Fields
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I always keep a supply of stimulant handy in case I see a snake--which I also keep handy.
quote by W.C. Fields
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Chambermaid's Second Song
From pleasure of the bed,
Dull as a worm,
His rod and its butting head
Limp as a worm,
His spirit that has fled
Blind as a worm.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Strive Not, Vain Lover
I.
Strive not, vain lover, to be fine;
Thy silk's the silk-worm's, and not thine:
You lessen to a fly your mistriss' thought,
To think it may be in a cobweb caught.
What, though her thin transparent lawn
Thy heart in a strong net hath drawn:
Not all the arms the god of fire ere made
Can the soft bulwarks of nak'd love invade.
II.
Be truly fine, then, and yourself dress
In her fair soul's immac'late glass.
Then by reflection you may have the bliss
Perhaps to see what a true fineness is;
When all your gawderies will fit
Those only that are poor in wit.
She that a clinquant outside doth adore,
Dotes on a gilded statue and no more.
poem by Richard Lovelace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song
I.
Strive not, vain lover, to be fine;
Thy silk's the silk-worm's, and not thine:
You lessen to a fly your mistriss' thought,
To think it may be in a cobweb caught.
What, though her thin transparent lawn
Thy heart in a strong net hath drawn:
Not all the arms the god of fire ere made
Can the soft bulwarks of nak'd love invade.
II.
Be truly fine, then, and yourself dress
In her fair soul's immac'late glass.
Then by reflection you may have the bliss
Perhaps to see what a true fineness is;
When all your gawderies will fit
Those only that are poor in wit.
She that a clinquant outside doth adore,
Dotes on a gilded statue and no more.
poem by Richard Lovelace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dr Worm
They call me Dr. Worm,
Good morning, how are you? I'm Dr. Worm.
I'm interested in things,
I'm not a real doctor but I am a real worm,
I am an actual worm,
I live like a worm.
I like to play the drums.
I think I'm getting good, but I can handle criticism.
I'll show you what I know and you can
Tell me if you think I'm getting better on the drums
I'll leave the front unlocked 'cause I can't
Hear the doorbell...
When I get into it, I can't tell if you are
Watching me twirling the stick.
When I give the signal, my friend
Rabbi Vole will play the solo...
Someday, somebody else besides me will
Call me by my stage name, they will
Call me Dr. Worm,
Good morning, how are you? I'm Dr. Worm.
I'm interested in things.
I'm not a real doctor but I am a real worm,
I am an actual worm,
I live like a worm.
And I like to play the drums,
I think I'm getting good, but I can handle criticism.
I'll show you what I know and you can
Tell me if you think I'm getting better on the drums.
I'm not a real doctor, but they call me
Dr. Worm!
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Doctor Worm
They call me dr. worm.
Good morning. how are you? Im dr. worm.
Im interested in things.
Im not a real doctor,
But I am a real worm;
I am an actual worm.
I live like a worm.
I like to play the drums.
I think Im getting good,
But I can handle criticism.
Ill show you what I know,
And you can tell me if you think Im getting better on the drums.
Ill leave the front un-locked cause I cant
Hear the doorbell
When I get into it I cant tell if you are
Watching me twirling the stick.
When I give the signal, my friend
Rabbi vole will play the solo
Some day somebody else besides me will
Call me by my stage name, they will
Call me dr worm.
Good morning how are you, Im dr worm
Im interested in things.
Im not a real doctor,
But I am a real worm;
I am an actual worm.
I live like a worm.
I like to play the drums.
I think Im getting good,
But I can handle criticism.
Ill show you what I know,
And you can tell me if you think Im getting better on the drums.
Im not a real doctor,
But they call me dr. worm.
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The (f) Rying Woman....
to pry upon his weakness and to discover
some artifacts from his house is her past time
and every hour when there is a break from the
wanton hours and the monotonous menu of the day
she opens the usual window and watch what the
worm is doing inside the terrarium
she records the possibility that this can be a landmark
of history and significant for what others say as a phenomenon
other people's lives matter
and sometimes the worm that looks at her too asks: why?
the worm, and she does not know this, is also prying upon her
her shrinking breasts, her skin that looks like dry tobacco leaf
her life that to the worm has become more of a raisin
stuffed inside a boxed, with a history of having been dried by the sun
the worm is fair though, in its latest description
she is still sweet though neutral in smell, and deserves still to be liked to be eaten someday
p.s. the worm remarks, kids will like her.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ant Worm Story...
shall i finish the story of the ant
and the worm?
at the cliff the worm jumps
landing on the arms of the grounded worm
and there and then
willfully, euphoniously, they both lived
happily ever-after
if you only write it yourself
i could have read a better ending than what i have
lazily imagined.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Handy Man
Hey girls, gather round
Listen to what Im putting down
Hey babe, Im your handy man
Im not the kind to use a pencil or rule
Im handy with love and Im no fool
I fix broken hearts, I know that I truly can
If your broken heart should need repair
Then Im the man to see
I whisper sweet things, you tell all your friends
Theyll come runnin to me
Here is the main thing I want to say
Im busy 24 hours a day
I fix broken hearts, I know that I truly can
Come, come, come
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Come, come, come
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Theyll come runnin to me
Thats me
Im your handy man
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories My Mother Told Me
Did I know
the ladies
cocooned the worm
between their breasts
for so many days
keeping the little blighter warm
and as the caterpillar
grew big and strong
it was placed
in a box
with Mulberry leaves
where it spun its magic
and silk was born.
poem by Vince Gullaci
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spider Silk
Its lining is that of silk,
Like a from a spider,
For it their spiders are webbing
To determine for the workers to liven their salary.
To test an exam for the student,
Who lightens the silk for the dress he was given
By the tailor.
He exchanged the silk of a spider for its spit.
Spit has venom.
Student is dead from silk.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Worm Either Way
If you live along with all the other people
and are just like them, and conform, and are nice
you're just a worm --
and if you live with all the other people
and you don't like them and won't be like them and won't conform
then you're just the worm that has turned,
in either case, a worm.
The conforming worm stays just inside the skin
respectably unseen, and cheerfully gnaws away at the heart of life,
making it all rotten inside.
The unconforming worm -- that is, the worm that has turned --
gnaws just the same, gnawing the substance out of life,
but he insists on gnawing a little hole in the social epidermis
and poking his head out and waving himself
and saying: Look at me, I am not respectable,
I do all the things the bourgeois daren't do,
I booze and fornicate and use foul language and despise your honest man.--
But why should the worm that has turned protest so much?
The bonnie bonnie bourgeois goes a-whoring up back streets just the same.
The busy busy bourgeois imbibes his little share
just the same
if not more.
The pretty pretty bourgeois pinks his language just as pink
if not pinker,
and in private boasts his exploits even louder, if you ask me,
than the other.
While as to honesty, Oh look where the money lies!
So I can't see where the worm that has turned puts anything over
the worm that is too cunning to turn.
On the contrary, he merely gives himself away.
The turned worm shouts. I bravely booze!
the other says. Have one with me!
The turned worm boasts: I copulate!
the unturned says: You look it.
You're a d----- b----- b----- p----- bb-----, says the worm that's turned.
Quite! says the other. Cuckoo!
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Flowering Orchard
Silk Embroidery.
Lo silken my garden,
and silken my sky,
And silken my apple-boughs
hanging on high;
All wrought by the Worm
in the peasant carle’s cot
On the Mulberry leafage
when summer was hot!
poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Part 4: The fish saves the worm
The big-mouth fish, snatched the worm.
As the worm was afraid; a small piece of him,
was left, on the sharp object.
The fish cuddle him, in his mouth.
Swimming as fast as he can;
to make it, close to the shore.
The fish, spit him out, on the land.
As the worm landed, he look toward the fish.
And said, ' thank you for not eating me? '
I wish you well, the fish said. Take care!
As the worm grind his way, toward a new place.
Knowing this ain't his home, the ground was moist.
He drilled a hole, and discover a new home.
The End....
poem by Derrick Clark
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Professor Nutbutters House Of Treats
Cmon kiddies gather round. whos your foremost friend in town?
From main to maple the name resounds, professor nutbutter.
Hes the one, the humble one, the barkley county prodigal son.
Here to serve only you, professor nutbutter.
At old nutbutters house of treats from jellied jams to sacks of
Sweets,
Theres creamy and nutatious spreads for all.
Chemist, master of entomology the professor for a modest fee
Will cure what ails you, guaranteed professor nutbutter.
Its alright, dont fear the worm.
Cmon kiddies dont be shy be youthful til the day you die.
The man the myth, the magic of professor nutbutter.
Hes the one the only one the meeklybville prodigal son.
Here to help us with ourselves, professor nutbutter
Its alright to fear the worm.
[its all right to fear the worm. the worm, the worm is our friend.
Um, but not all of the properties of the worm can be, uh, fully,
Fully, well, appreciated by the, uh, the human body itself, but, um
Its, its, its, its ok to, to fear the worm. um, i, myself, have
Had no, uh, problems with the worm but in a certain situation, uh, i
Would feel like, what, what, uh, ramifications, um, could occur? uh,
Theres, theres really no need to, uh, to fear much of anything, you
Know. fear of the, fear of the temptation is a, more, probably, more,
More, appropriate word in this particular scenario. um, the, uh,
Well, it, depends on what you want, I suppose. it really depends on,
On what you want.]
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Handy Man
Well on a Monday I'll be slingin' hash Tuesday I'll be collectin' trash
And on a Wednesday I might be tendin' bar
Thursday I'll be the guy who parks your car
On a Friday I might be teachin' school a Saturday finds me hustlin' pool
I got a whole lotta talents in demand that's why they call me Handy Man
Pow-pow-pow-hum all the neighborhood girls and boys
Pow-pow-pow-pow they come to me to mend their toys
Ta-ra-ra-ra their daddys call me to mow their lawn
And their mama's all horny when their daddys are gone
I can drive a tractor or wheel a truck I can deal a hand at poker with exceptional luck
And I can chop down a redwood usin' just one hand
That's why they call me Handy Man
Pow-pow-pow-pow-hum yeah you know if you need me for emergencies
I can come round you know work around the house
Or the backyards or somethin' not too taxin' no
Yeah on six in the morning I'm out pickin' fruits 8:45 I'm back pressin' suits
Twelve o'clock you'll see me shinin' shoes the coctail hour I'll be a servin' booze
I can wash your windows or walk your pet
Get your color reception and on a black and white set
Yeah I can play concerto on your baby grand cause I'm a huh Handy Man
Pow-pow-pow-hum all the neighborhood girls and boys
Pow-pow-pow-pow they come to me to mend their toys
Ta-ra-ra-ra their daddys call me to mow their lawn
And their mama's all horny when their daddy's not at home
I save my evenings for a brand new faces
Weekends are reserved for a emergency cases
I tell you babe you gotta understand that I'm a handy man
I mean a handy man you know what I am I mean a handy man
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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