I distinguish a ditty from a song by its intentions. A ditty is meant to be light, humorous and a little catchy; it often tells a story and lends itself easily to stage sketches. A ditty is often satirical and, perhaps, bawdy. It is not intended to swallow your soul or to necessarily inspire and it shouldn’t be expected to sweep you off your feet unless, of course, you fall in love with the witty balladeer. Without further ado, here are some ditties.
Hands
There is no “me” in this because I don’t exist
and neither do these hands, these delicious hands
Although with them I’ve held me near
there’s still no “me” in here
So that doesn’t make any sense
to me or these delicious hands
I wonder what else they may have touched
was it wonder or mayhem, was it a gun?
Last I remember it was the cooking oil
they doused each other as the leeks were coming to a boil
before they put themselves into the sauce
with the scallions and the curry and the blanched almonds
I wish I would’ve been there
The invitation must be lost in the mail
So please, please save me some I miss all of the fun
For the last fucking time!
If I was a “me” I’d have been early
first to unfold a napkin, first to breathe the Chablis
I’d have been a dream to stir jealousy
in all the other hosts who didn’t have me
Tongue of beef, brain of bird, loin of Samson served neat
Angel’s eye merengue sprinkled with chimera teeth
I can elegantly eat any of these
so to dine on my own hands seemed a triviality
Did I not think I had the tact to keep a company of class
Nobody can pass the carrots
this party of one has eaten both of his hands
He ate them off the wrists like barbecue from a rib
or a man-cream-cone held aloft for a cannibal to lick
Oh, please, please save me some I miss all of the fun
For last fucking time!
Death
Death was too busy to notice we went missing
If we see him again I swear he’ll say we owe him something
We drew a bath, I dipped my hat, you watched the feather dance
Then we ran away so fast I burned off half of my moustache
Mr. Death won’t snatch us up again
He’ll be too busy with new souls that we send him
For when his shadow’s near we’ll wring somebody’s neck
and while he stops to collect
I’ll be holding the door for you out back
Then you’ll pass me the bottle and that’ll be that
We ran all the way to Paris wearing wine stained lips
I was in the suit they buried me in
Weren’t the stars bigger when our eyes too them in, dear?
And, though from our smiles a few teeth were gone
we still held on to the sexy ones
Mr. Death won’t snatch us up again
He’ll be too busy with new souls that we send him
For when his shadow’s near we’ll wring somebody’s neck
and while he stops to collect
I’ll be holding the door for you out back
Then you’ll pass me the bottle and that’ll be that
Death was too busy to notice we went missing
Now the world is ours to burn
Let’s start with our coffins
they’ll never get us back in
We’ll drink all the wine
and burn holes in the floor
’till China sees Nevada
and they Cantonese the callgirls
We’ll get so switched we’ll spill the sea
and all the salty sailors will be astronauts orbiting
Any palaces that please us
will be our little dreamhouse
to raise our darling ghostlings
and every kind of odd thing
When we get old
we’ll fly around the world
and put an end to the centuries
its been since you kissed on me
Then one last go before we go back to the dirt…
Wait a minute, what am I saying…
(Knock, knock)
Oh, it’s Death!
“Come on outta there you two. I think you have something that belongs to me.”
Oh well, how about one last go before we go!
(A frenzied kazoo solo takes the song out. It represents the two poltergeists passionately doing it in a closed room.)
I’ve Noticed a Few Things
Put your hand in a bag
full of spiders and butterflies
Chances are you’ll be bitten before you’re kissed
Walk into a cage
full of tigers and puppy dogs
Chances are you’ll be eaten before you’re licked
I’m just saying
I was walking by and I noticed a few things
Like this…
Walk into a bank
wearing a mask with a knock-knock joke on a note
Chances are the teller won’t laugh, she’ll call the cops on your ass
Chew on a bullet, I dare you to do it
A big one with lots of bite
Chances are you’ll chip a tooth before you blow your brains out
I’m just saying
I was passing by and I noticed a few things
the Gin Timbler
Oh, you sly thing, I know what you do
Aim those conniving eyes at another fool
You painted up pastry, ain’t the icing a little thick
Try another batter, I know what’s in the batter
Saltpeter and arsenic
It ain’t like it’s a new thing, I’ve been to the circus
and the tattoos to prove it still sting
In all the whole world there ain’t enough gin
to get me to pay for that again
I can’t deny you charm me
that smile could stop a heartbeat,
many an old man’s happy demise
But in the end we both know
a skirt can only be lifted so high
You can keep fishin’ but I’m not biting what’s on the end of your string
Back it up, baby, you reek like a distillery
but darned if don’t turn me on
To a drunk like me whiskey breath acts
like an aphrodisiac
Okay, I’ll have a drink
just one to help me think
You know I don’t mean to be a cad
But once you get a grip
you swing me to an fro like a dope on a rope
Why not another, it makes the bar lights duller
and brings out the gap in your smile
The dark rings around your eyes
become penumbras cast by dice
in a game where the winner takes the sky
Sure, (hiccup) a third will give me courage
to tell you you’re a scourge
a blight on the human race
But I know it isn’t true
how could I say those mean things to you
and the pretty flowers on your dress (hiccup)
This has to be the last one
my resolve is going fast, hon
like a caged lion finally released
Why don’t I carry you up that tower
rent a room for the hour
and show you what beasts do to other beasts
Keep on fishin’ I’ll bite anything on the end of your string
The ocean is dark but your kisses light it up
and this bottle is the lighthouse to guide us through the reef
More to come…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
ratty scurvics 