I’ve Got a Pimple on My Face

A lovely little song that came to me in the shower recently. Enjoy!

 

 

I’ve got a pimple on my face

In a real obvious place

And I am in a race

To get it gone (get it gone)

Be gone acne zit! Be gone!

 

I’ve got a pimple on my nose

You ought to see it grow

I can not smell a rose … anymore

(With your nose?) With my nose!

 

There’s a pimple on my butt

Just one, and not a glut

It’s a hard and nasty nut

To crack! (on your back?)

No! Not my back.

By my crack! (By your crack!)

 

But speaking of my back…

There’s a pimple on my back

This bump I wish I’d lack

I really need to whack

With an axe (with an axe)

 

There’s a pimple on me knee

When all the people see

They say “Hey, golly gee

“You know … there’s a pimple on your knee.”

No really (Yes really!)

 

There’s a pimple on my shoulder

And I’m kinda getting older

So I’ve got to get much bolder

And get it gone (get it gone)

Be gone acne zit! Be gone!

Be gone acne zit! Be gone!

 

This zit has got me under my skin [ a la “I've Got You Under Your Skin”]

Wash with soap and water, or acne makes you hide [ a la “Smoke on the Water”]

Zit, you give pus a bad name (bad name) [ a la “You Give Love a Bad Name”]

Come on, baby fight my blemish [ a la “Light My Fire”]

Pop goes the whitehead! [ a la “Pop goes the Weasel”]

And she’s buying some benzoil peroxide [ a la “Stairway to Heaven”]

 

How I Love/Loathe Ya

This little ditty could be titled “How I Loathe Ya” or “How I Love Ya.” Depends on your mood. It was quite a collaborative effort and has been called either. There is a bouncy little melody that goes with this (Oh, it is SO precious). Someday, I may include audio. It’s a song about how you can call people really silly names as sort of a way to vent, but you don’t mean any real harm toward them.

How I Love/Loathe Ya

 

You are …

An infected monkey butt hair with sour applesauce

From the first day that I found you I wish that you’d got lost

 

You are…

Rancid raccoon road kill splattered on my lawn

When you’re in my nightmares I am praying for the dawn

 

How I love ya (x3)

 

You are …

A quart of curdled milk stinking up my fridge

When I get a whiff of you I jump off of the bridge

 

I wish …

You had a porcupine deep inside your pants

It would really hurt when you do your dance

 

How I love ya (x3)

 

You are …

A wacked out piece of poo and a dippy doodle head

If I were a bad man, I’d wish that you were dead

 

You’ve got …

Tapeworms in your gut and chiggers on your scalp

When you hang around, I think that I may Ralph

 

How I love ya (x3)

 

You are …

Stinky slimy sewage in a port-o-pot

You make me want to hurl a phlegm ball full of snot

 

You are …

A sniveling little dillweed who clearly is insane

Every time you speak you show you’ve got no brain

 

I don’t wish you any real harm

Only so you know you lack all of the charm

I hope you become a man instead of staying such a boy

And to call you all these names brings me real joy

 

How I love ya (x6)

Not much

 

By Paul J. Hoffman and Kimberly S. Bush

7/20/2008

I Like Pie

I Like Pie

 

I wrote these lyrics on May 2, 2007. The inspiration for this song came from a church service a few weeks beforehand. We were visiting a friend’s church, and they gave the congregation a chance to make announcements. My buddy, 10-year-old Ethan, raised his hand.

I was told afterward that the pastors had tended not to call on Ethan because he tended to say things that were somewhat inappropriate at the time.

But, being his mother’s birthday was the day before, the pastor must have figured that was what he was going to announce.

When called upon, however, Ethan enthusiastically called out “I like pie!”

This brought an embarrassed eye roll from his mother, who reminded him that that was an inappropriate comment at that time. It also brought a few snickers from the assembled masses. And, of course, me being me, it gave me an idea for a song.

Combining a love of pie with a taste for outright silliness, I penned the following lyrics. I have to thank (or blame as the case may be) some friends and relatives for contributing to the “Bubba Gump Pie” rap at the end.

 

I like pie

 

I like pie

 

Gimme some pie, it’s wonderful stuff

It’s flaky, sweet and tasty … sho’ nuff

 

My mouth craves pie every day

Why do you think they call it a pie hole anyway?

 

I wanna throw some pie right down my gullet

Does Billy Ray Cyrus still have a mullet?

 

I like pie when it comes in a wedge

You start at the point and eat toward the edge

 

I like pie

 

Curly, Moe and Larry threw pie in unsuspecting faces

When I was in junior high, my mommy made me wear braces

 

I wish I could get a pie in the face right now

Lick the whipped cream right from my brow

 

Simple Simon met a pie man going to the fair

If you eat a lot of pie then you must be a square

Aw, who cares

 

Serve it hot with a scoop of ice cream

One crust, two crust, oh I can only dream

Of beautiful, wonderful pie. My oh my oh my, I like pie.

 

Spoken (“I like pie” looped underneath):

You got yer cherry pie, strawberry pie, lemon meringue pie.

Key lime pie, peanut butter pie, pecan pie

There’s peach pie, punkin’ pie, French silk pie

Rhubarb custard pie. All other pies cower in its presence.

Mincemeat pie, apple pie, steak and kidney pie

Boston cream pie, pie à la mode

Pizza pie, Shepherd’s pie, pot pie, pork pie hat

Eskimo pie, RC and a moon pie

Pie in the sky

Pi r squared. That’s pi for the radii

Cow pie. That stinks. Put some stank on it. I already did. Ewww, I can smell it.

Cutie pie, honey pie

Easy as pie

The butter wouldn’t melt, so I poured it in the pie

Bye bye Miss American Pie

 

I’m not a smart man, but I know what pie is.

 

Rock Musicians

I wrote this as a response to a letter someone wrote to Gerald Kloss (the Slightly Kloss-eyed guy) of the Milwaukee Journal’s Green Sheet back in 1986 about how lousy stinking rotten all rock and roll musicians were. I think it holds up well.

Rock Musicians

 

We’ve got IQs of a ragweed plant

We try to reason but we just can’t

Just look at our dopey expressions

Mere manifestations of retardation

We don’t know anything ‘bout real life

I can’t even balance my checkbook right

 

We’re rock musicians, just lousy rock musicians.

Got brain damage from playing this stuff.

We’re rock musicians, good-for-nothing rock musicians.

Ain’t that enough?

 

We bang our heads against your wall

These college degrees mean nothing at all

We’ve dropped a rung on Darwin’s ladder

Just to make Mr. Berman madder

Today’s kids worse than Neanderthals

Weird gyrations to our guitar calls.

 

We’re rock musicians, just lousy rock musicians.

Got brain damage from playing this stuff.

We’re rock musicians, good-for-nothing rock musicians.

Ain’t that enough?

 

We’ve come a short way baby from the start

Inane sounds are what Billboard charts

We’re evolving into cretins today

Insulting the eyes and ears of the USA

We promote sex and drugs and suicide

Wait! I’m still living. I guess I lied.

 

We’re rock musicians, just lousy rock musicians.

Got brain damage from playing this stuff.

We’re rock musicians, good-for-nothing rock musicians.

Ain’t that enough?

 

Long live rock ‘n’ roll (x2)

 

We’re rock musicians, just lousy rock musicians.

Got brain damage from playing this stuff.

We’re rock musicians, good-for-nothing rock musicians.

Got hearing loss from playing this stuff (huh? what did you say?)

I said …

We’re rock musicians, just lousy rock musicians.

Got brain damage from playing this stuff.

We’re rock musicians, good-for-nothing rock musicians.

And that is all.

Long live rock ‘n’ roll!

 

Is there really anything more to life than rock ‘n’ roll?

 

Paul J. Hoffman

2/6/1986