Corduroy Blues

When I was a boy
There was no limit to what I could eat
Shake after shake after shake after shake
Followed by all kinds of red meat
Metabolism runnin' around so fast
My body never gained to weight
That pissed off all my Momma's friends
And made my big-boned sister irate
But now I'm a man
And all that frolicking has caused my ego to hurt
'Cause even when I'm in the shower alone
I'm to embarrassed to remove my shirt
What made a millionaire out of Mr. Frito-Lay
Made a fat mother fucker outta me
What made a millionaire out of Mr. Frito-Lay
Made a fat mother fucker outta me
And all them cookies I been munching lately
My feet are becoming difficult to see
I believe it was my Daddy
Who led me to this eating disease
By calling me "The Little Candy Ass"
When I couldn't finish a burger with cheese
Or maybe it was my Momma
Who got me addicted to all the wrong foods
Only when I gobbled down every chicken cutlet
Would I get to see Momma's good moods
They said eat this, they said eat that
To stay skinny there was no chance
And now when I walk I hear corduroy
Even though I ain't wearing pants
What made a millionaire out of Mr. Frito-Lay
You fat fuck, You fat fuck
Made a fat mother fucker outta me
What made a millionaire out of Mr. Frito-Lay
You fat fuck, You fat fuck
Made a fat mother fucker outta me
And all that ice cream I been eating lately
My chins alone weight 203
The diet starts tomorrow!
I have a grapefruit for breakfast
For lunch a brown of white rice
Dinnertime it's a saltless potato
I ain't allowed no spice
If this diet's gonna work
Tonight I can't eat no more
"Just go to sleep," I say to myself
As I close the bedroom door
Two in the morning, I wake up to piss
My belly's hungry and achin'
Tiptoe to the kitchen, fuck the diet
Bring on the chips flavored with bacon
What made a millionaire out of Mr. Frito-Lay
Made a fat mother fucker outta me
What made a millionaire out of Mr. Frito-Lay
Made a fat mother fucker outta me
And all them crumb-cakes I been eating lately

We recommend: The Distance (Cd Version)

by Steve Goodman

Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

CHORUS:
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone


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