Cab City Combo: Cabbie Road Pt. 1



An old cowpoke went riding out
One dark and windy day,
He had a tickle in his throat
That wouldn't go away,
And then he started sniffling
His eyes were tearing too
His head was like to burst apart
It was so full of goo.

He'd popped the echinacea
And he'd gargled with the salt
His buddies at the bunkhouse
Acted like it was his fault
A bolt of fear shot through him as
He knew what this must mean,
For he felt the riders comin' hard
And he knew that they were green

   Drippee-yi-ya, drippee-yi-yo,
   Ghost riders up the nose.

The ghostly riders keeping herd
On steers all made of mulch
They had to get their mucus doggies
Down his nasal gulch
To meet the phlegm that's drivin' north
From deep within his lung
And as they pass they'll leave their mark
Like hoofprints on his tongue

His crumpled tissue tumbleweeds
Went rolling down the street
Then he remembered words he'd heard
From ole Post-nasal Pete:
"You starve a cold now bucko,
But a fever you should feed,
Get rest, drink plenty of fluids,
Or you'll have a snot stampede."



Look there in your rear-view mirror
Trying to make you feel inferior
Is it mini-bus or hippopotamus
A surrealistic design
They sit high with windows tinted
Gleaming chrome at which you squinted
Tires that by their size seem to jeopardise
Both your safety and mine

   SUVs, they S-U-C-K
   SUVs, they S-U-C-K
   At a frightening clip
   When their tires strip
   Watch as they swerve and tip

In the Showroom, big and Glossy
On the Road, those pigs are Bossy
With their heavy load, think they own the road
Think that they are The One

They were made for rougher terrain
In the city they're a huge pain
And their drivers all feel so powerful
As they give it the gun

They're all owned by new-aged yuppies
Baby bankers, X-Game puppies
And they drive around, screwing up our town
Much too wide for the street

Let's outlaw them with a referendum
It'd be easy, who'd defend them?
We'd take back the roads from those SU Toads
Wouldn't that be a treat?

Now, the Sports Utility vehicle is fine in it's proper setting, but what are these oversized plushy hummer wannabees doing on the streets of New York City? Is Fifth Avenue a steep grade? Need your kayak when you're going to Central Park? Why remind people of cars from puppet animation shows? Why cross the line between vehicular and testicular? Just buy a station wagon.

When you're cut off once too often
By those four-wheel-driving coffins
With their sporty names, and their bogus claims
You will know the drill

Find a SUV and tail it
At a red light, go and nail it
They'll call you a jerk, they'll need bodywork
You will just have the thrill



My cabbie is a madman
A lunatic who drives a car
My cabbie is a madman
Has no idea of where we are

   He seemed alright to me at first
   How could I know I'd meet the worst
   His cab was nice and fairly clean
   Then we drove off in his death machine

My cabbie is a madman
I'm sorry that we ever talked
My cabbie is a madman
I'm wishing now that I had walked

   He's hard to understand at best
   Discussing why he feels depressed
   Deodorizers make me gag
   He wipes the window with an old rag

My cabbie is a madman
He hits a bump, I lose some coin
My cabbie is a madman
My knee is smashed into my groin

   He stopped to yell at another hack
   I tried to shrink down in the back
   He drove his car just like Ben-Hur
   The streets went flashing by in a blur

My cabbie is a madman
I'm forced to do the pothole dance
My cabbie is a madman
His last name is all consonants
My cabbie is a madman
He's cursing in his native tongue
My cabbie is a madman
He's coughing like he's lost a lung
My cabbie is a madman
He's swerving, veering, stopping cold
My cabbie is a madman
The white ones, 70 years old
My cabbie is a madman
If he's too fast, he's just insane
My cabbie is a madman
But if he's slow, I'll call him lame



Moanday's child is moaning low
Tombsday's child is soon to go
Winceday's child will shy away
Thugsday's child is mean today
Fraudday's child will run a scam
Satyrday's, too soon a man
Sinday's child profanes the word
As all the days give you the bird



I have a problem
It concerns the way my thinking works
I'm musically suggestible
It's just one of my many quirks
I hear a note or two, and that song's in my head

   It just takes a phrase
   And I hum for days
   I can't clear my mind
   My head's full of song
   And before long
   I start to unwind

I usually can track down
The source of what I'm humming
But every now and then
There's one I don't see coming
I've found there's one song that just lives inside my mind

   Hey Bungalow Bill
   What did you kill
   It plays in my head
   When there's no song to fill
   There's Bungalow Bill
   And I wish I were dead

It's quite a pleasant song
I'm not complaining any
But why does this one song
Reside instead of many
Why not some hardcore rock or classical refrain

   Hey Bungalow Bill
   Until I feel ill
   And I start to twitch
   Then what can I do
   But let it play through
   Now ain't that a bitch

Since I can't get my mind
To stop from humming Bungalow
I'll try the next best thing
And set my sights somewhat below
I'll just get all of you to hum along with me

   Hey Bungalow Bill
   What did you kill
   Come sing it with me
   And, once we are through
   You'll be miserable too
   And I'll have company



So we got this email from a record label
From a small record company located in Messina, Italy
They said they liked our style and they sent along a song
And asked if we would learn it and play it and send it back to them
And then they would put it onto their new compilation CD
And we'd be pop stars in Italy

   So guess what we did - I think you can guess
   She sings of love - or she sings of lunch
   But it's italian - authentic italian
   They'll love it in Italy - they'll cheer it in Roma
   Not that I understand a single word

It's an odd experience really, doing this foreign song
Me, I blame the internet for getting us out to Italy
Do these italians even understand that what we're doing here is novelty music?
I mean, humor is extremely culture-specific
I've been thinking, maybe they think we're some famous band
Is the word "combo" italian for "pearl jam"? Aren't computers wonderful?

   So here we go - with the italian again
   Vic Damone take note - it's all very continental
   Next we'll try oriental - or maybe esperanto
   As long as its on a CD - basically, we'll do anything
   Look, we'll do disco - or christian rock
   So give us a call - ciao for now



   I'm a little teapot short and stout
   Here is my handle here is my spout
   When I get all steamed up then I shout
   Tip me over and pour me out

Are you a Metalhead or a serious Rock & Roller with a family of your own? Have you had your fill of Barney, and those insipid songs that every child is taught to sing? What chance does your little rock god have to learn the songs that have ruled an entire planet? Haven't you wished you could listen to all your favorite songs with your child now, before they're all grown up? WELL NOW YOU CAN!

   The itsy bitsy spider went up the waterspout
   Down came the rain and washed the spider out
   Out came the sun and dried up all the rain
   And the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again

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   Ee I ee I oh! Old MacDonald had a farm,
   And on his farm he had some chicks, Ee i ee i oh!
   With a cluck-cluck here, And a cluck-cluck there
   Here a cluck, there a cluck, Everywhere a cluck-cluck-cluck

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   'Round and 'round the mulberry bush
   The monkey chased the weasel,
   The monkey thought 'twas all in fun
   Pop! Goes the weasel.

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   Lord, Mary had a rambling lamb
   Had a little lamb whose fleece was white as snow
   And everywhere that Mary went
   That lamb was sure to go

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   John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, his name is my name, too!
   Whenever we go out, the people always shout
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WORDS AND MUSIC by Paul Rubin except Ghostriders Up The Nose (Jones), Bungalow Bill Ad Nauseam (Lennon, McCartney) & The Italian Song (Mogol, Testa, Ferreri) ARRANGEMENTS by Rubin & the Combo RECORDED: July '00 at 6/8 by Perkin Barnes & March '02 at The Batcave by Gary Dorfman