Cab City Combo: Aqualounge



Words can be tough, you're never sure
If what you say is too obscure
But here is a song, the lyrics are dumber
Instead of words it's just got a number
   This is all you will hear from me

It might be the number of the tears I cried
Or the days a week or the knocks you tried
Or the ways to leave or the stars above
Or the number of chapters in the book of love
   The loneliest number that you'll ever see

It could be the number of a telephone
In the secret vault of Al Capone
It could be the total that died in the war
Or Imelda's bill at the Florsheim store
   Madonna's Social Security

It might even be your weight on Saturn's moon
Or the number of twists in a moth's cocoon
It might be base twelve for the speed of sound
It might have no meaning that can be found
   908-4-6553 - The license plate on a Mercury
   908-4-6553 - Rolls off the tongue so easily
   908-4-6553 - The world's largest late library fee
   908-4-6553 - What does it mean to you and me
   908-4-6553 - The number of waves in the deep blue sea
   908-4-6553 - Tell me where the decimal point should be
   908-4-6553 - The year they set Charlie Manson free



   I want a Needle Girl who's tops with shots
   Some sweet girl who can't eat sweets
   I need a Needle Girl - We'll make some tots
   Guaranteed to have the diabeets

The sugar really can distract
From moments you would like to share
But we could share hypoglycemic attacks

   Needle Girl - No pump or jet
   Disposable needles by the cart
   I need a Needle Girl and I'll be set
   If she knows every food exchange by heart

We'll eat right, and Walk For The Cure
Sell raffle tickets for a cheesy cruise
Get Medic-Alert tags in His & Hers

   Needle Girl - One who's sick
   Alcohol towelettes by her bed
   Give me that Needle Girl and I won't kick
   If she uses Eli Lilly or Squibb instead

We'll do the daily diabetic dance
She'll take the insult out of insulin
We'll swim to the Isles Of Langerhans

   Needle Girl - For intensive care
   Blood sugar's rising when she's kissed
   And she can needle me and I can needle her
   About how we've made up for desserts we missed



Prancer coughed a hairball and Blitzen has the mange
And then there's Chuck and Marty - The rental reindeer he arranged
His sleigh is small and tacky - His suit is ragged too
But still he'll get those toys out - Jeez, what else does he do?
   What's that sound like a demonic attack
   A fat man wedged in the chimney stack
   He's screaming because the soot's in his cuts
   Ho Ho Dammit - It's Santa Klutz
   Ho Ho Dammit - It's Santa Klutz

He's really out of practice - It's tough just to survive
But that's what comes of working one day in three sixty-five
Imagine what a monday - What a schedule he keeps
He's worked to death on one day and drunk for forty weeks
   At the North Pole behind his back
   The elves agree he's a tired hack
   His heart's afloat in a sea of guts
   Ho Ho Dammit - It's Santa Klutz
   Ho Ho Dammit - It's Santa Klutz

That time you got a sweater when you'd asked for a toy
Was just because he'd lost the list he'd made for every girl and boy
Sometimes he knocks off shingles or sets off an alarm
One time he flew into a lake and nearly bought the farm
   What's St. Knucklehead gonna do
   If you forget to open the flue
   Stuck there thinking he must be nuts
   Ho Ho Dammit - It's Santa Klutz
   Ho Ho Dammit - It's Santa Klutz
   "Once I crushed some native huts"
   Ho Ho Dammit - It's Santa Klutz



Last night I had the strangest dream - It seemed so real to me
I dreamt that I was on a bus alone as far as I could see
Except the seat in front of me - Where, looking dapper at age 55
Sat Joseph 'Buster' Keaton - We were going for a drive

   I was on a bus with Buster - I still can't tell you why
   I was sitting right behind him and trying to catch his eye

I asked how he was doing - I know I called him sir
We talked about his silent films and how much fun they were
But when I mentioned Big Joe Roberts - He took my arm to say
"Joe grabbed so hard with his big hands that it still hurts today"

   I was on a bus with Buster - I still can't tell you why
   I was sitting talking to him as the miles rolled on by

What could it mean, this stupid dream - What was my mind trying to say
The busride seemed completely real but it's meaning just drifts away
But I can still remember all of my meeting with the man
And so I'm thankful for the time I heard about Joe Robert's hands

   I was on that bus with Buster - I still can't tell you why
   On a dark green nauga bus seat as we rode into the sky




I'm not a lover - I'm sure not a hunk
But I get lonely and all of that junk
I hope for romance - I'd like things to click
I got a little problem
Love makes me sick

My stomach's twitchin' - Composure goes out
I lose my reason and I'm full of doubt
I sweat my shirt through - My tongue's getting thick
I got a little problem
Love makes me sick - Love makes me sick

   Love makes me sick - Love's making me tense
   Love makes me sick - I'm on the defense
   Love makes me sick - It's true
   And I'm so sick of lovin you

I don't know why my adrenaline flows
I'm such a jerk when I'm led by the nose
I'm acting suave when my neck gets a crick
You know my little problem
Love makes me sick - Love makes me sick - Love makes me sick

Though I'm excited I wish that I weren't
I play with fire and know I'll get burnt
Then I'll stop trying and that does the trick
It's just that little problem
Love makes me sick - Love makes me sick
Love makes me sick - Love makes me sick



After you - after you - after you Alphonse
After you - after you - after you Alphonse

No, be my guest I must insist
My courtesy you can't resist
I'll stand back as you pass on through
Then rush to get ahead of you

Those jokers who are so polite
Pretending that you're always right
Would stab you in the heart so long
As they could show it's you that's wrong

It's deeds not words that I respect
So don't try that politeness drek
Just say up front who is a jerk
And you can save us both some work



When we last left the Monkey, he was journeying to the west
On the road with the Holy Priest - Listen now, I'll tell you the rest
Born from a stone - 500 years old - He learned 72 transformations
He fights off demons to help the Priest as they travel across the nation

   Long live the Monkey King
   Hear his monkey laugh
   With his fiery eyes and his iron staff
   The Emperor of Heaven fears his wrath

He has two friends who aren't much help when demons are defiant
Pig, a liar who likes to snooze and Sand, a glum blue giant
But if a mountain looms ahead and spirits cause delay
Monkey, Pig and Friar Sand are there to save the day

The White Bone Lady and Red Boy too - They think that they can win
By eating the flesh of the priest although he's the chosen of KUAN-YIN
But Monkey's more than a match for them - We knew it all along
He'll save the land and end up a god - But that is another song



Your nuts roasting on the subway seat
All the people looking grim
Rushing about, putting merchants to rout
These folks would trample Tiny Tim (So don't slip as)
You go rushing on the grimy ice
Don't let slush get in your shoe
And don't forget, when you're tired and you're wet
   Merry Christmas - Fuck You

See the windows with the sales displays
Stuff that flashes through the night
Been up so long, since the seasons were wrong
And sickly trees bound up with lights (Everybody)
Knows that people just don't give a damn
What each other think or do
So let me say, in a big city way
   Merry Christmas - Fuck You



Don't say a word against science and expect me to agree
I would have checked out in '88 without the thing that set me free
   It's the juice that gives a boost - Insulin
   It's the thing that makes me sing - Insulin

The best hormone I've ever known - It makes me feel secure
I used to make it myself, but now I buy it at the store
   It's the mix, the morning fix - Insulin
   It's the fact my islets lacked - Insulin

   It's the goo I need to do - Insulin
   It's alright when I'm a sight - Insulin

A bottle of throttle - I shoot it in the gut
Produced by some E. coli and there to save my butt
   It's the way I play today - Insulin
   In the end a trusted friend - Insulin
   It's the drink I need to think - Insulin
   The sauce it took once my goose was cooked - Insulin



If there's one thing that pisses me off it's BIG UMBRELLAS. You know when you're walking down the street on a rainy day and the sidewalk's crowded and some urban suit-wearing scumbag comes walking towards you with one of those BIG UMBRELLAS. I mean a BIG UMBRELLA. It might have brightly colored panels, or a wood handle or a corporate product logo or even a strap that wraps around the end, but mostly it's a BIG UMBRELLA. We're talking 3 to 4 feet wide.

And this rat-bastard idiot - this moron who hasn't yet worked out the mathematics of a city sidewalk is happily taking up half the available space and crowding the remaining people into the street or the shopfront.

I mean, maybe you can use a BIG UMBRELLA at the beach, or on a golf course. I wouldn't mind if a BIG UMBRELLA was providing shade for a one-piece chipped circular white table complete with Cinzano ashtray. Hell, maybe in Indiana people can use an umbrella that keeps not only their shoulders dry, but also a foot on either side of them, but this here -- this is a city.

A city with a population, all trying to walk on the sidewalk. Is it because they have such fat heads that these people need umbrellas large enough to protect a combination washer/dryer, or is it some obscure form of personality-envy? Who in their right mind would choose to look like a Dr. Seuss character? These BIG UMBRELLA people are probably responsible for colorization and everything else that's bad in the world!

Can't we pass a law to ban these BIG UMBRELLAS? We need a BIG-UMBRELLA-AMENDMENT so that offenders can be jailed and beaten savagely. Torquemada had the right idea -- Stuff those umbrellas down their throats and OPEN THEM UP



Sitting on a park bench - Eyeing little girls with bad intent
   Hey Aqualung
Snot is running down his nose - Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
   Hey Hey Hey Aqualung
Drying in the cold sun - Watching as the frilly panties run
   Chill out Aqualung
Feeling like a dead duck - Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
   Hey Aqualunger

   Feeling alone - The army's way up the road
   Flamenco a la mode and a cup of tea
   Aqualung my friend - Don't you start away uneasy
   You poor old sock, you see it's only me
   Do you still remember - December's frosti-freeze
   When the ice that clings onto your beard
   With itsy bitsy teeny weeny screaming agony
   And you swatch your rattling last breaths
   With dipsy doodle sounds
   And the flowers bloom like magnets on the fridge

Sitting on a park bench - Eyeing little girls with bad intent
   Hey Aqualung
Snot is running down his nose - KFC fingers smearing shabby clothes
   Shop the Gap Aqualung
Drying in the cold sun - Watching as the frilly panties run
   Hey - Pedophilia's not funny Aqualung
Feeling like some cold duck - Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
    Have a nice day Aqualung

Oh oh oh - that's Aqualounge

Words & Music: Paul Rubin, except "Pinball Wizard" (Townshend), "Another Christmas Song" (Torme/Wells & Rubin), "Big Umbrella" (Music: the Combo) and "Aqualounge" (Anderson/Anderson & Rubin). All arrangements: Paul Rubin & the Combo. Engineer: Jim Fourniadis. Recorded: Sep 94-Mar 95 at Waterworks. Thanks to: Greg Talenfeld and Tom Cassar. Copyright 1995 Rubin Brothers Audio