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Boris Godunov
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Portland, OR
Aug 2001
time: 00:32
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Whenever I'm from time to time depressed
As a trauma wells and swells within my breast.
I find some pride deep inside of me.
As I fondly walk the lane of memory.
I see Bonaparte, a mean one if ever I've seen one,
And Nero fiddlin' thru that lovely blaze;
Antoinette, dainty queen, with her quaint guillotine.
Ha, ha, ha, ha
Those were the good old days!
I see Indians draggin'
An empty covered wagon
When scalping the settlers was the latest craze,
And that glorious morn,
Jack the Ripper was born,
Ha, ha, ha, ha
Those were the good old days!
I'd sit on my rocking chair
So peacefully rocking there,
Counting my blessings by the score.
The rack was in fashion,
The plagues were my passion,
Each day held a new joy in store!
I see cannibals munchin' a missionary luncheon
The years may have flown
But the memory stays
Like the hopes that were dashed
When the stock market crashed
Ha, ha, ha, ha,
Those were the good old days!
I'd walk a million miles or more
For some of the gore
Of those good old days!
I was so contented
When prisons were invented
And the ones with gallows
Set my heart ablaze I was burning with pride
The day Bonnie met Clyde
Ha, ha, ha,
Those were the good old days
I'd doze by the fireside
Dreaming of Cyanide,
Never a worry or a care;
And how can one measure,
The infinite pleasure,
Of dreaming of the electric chair.
And in the aisles I'd lay 'em
With arson and with mayhem;
It's a hammy routine but it always plays,
And my fav'rite encore,
Was the hundred year war,
Ha, ha, ha, ha,
Those were the good old days!
I'd gladly sail the seven seas,
For just one reprise
Of those good old days!
(See...musical theater can cheer anyone.)
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30-11-2003 22:32
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