Pop Country Blues – The Girl From New York City

Editor’s Note: There are only so many stories you can tell, and sometimes, the same stories get told different ways. Blind John Ellsworth would occasionally recycle his basic stories, and assume since the target audiences were different, nobody would ever know. For example, what happens if some poor boy meets the same girl in a pop song, a country song and a blues song? These are the stories of the girl from New York City.


Pop

I met a girl
In New York City.
Her friends were loud,
But she was pretty.

We fell in love
All summer long.
When autumn came,
Our love was strong.

We married in Spring,
Our lives were linked.
The years flew by,
As if we blinked.

We grew old together,
We were always in love.
My girl and I, forever,
Are in heaven above.


Country

I met a girl
From New York City.
Her friends were loud,
But she sure was pretty.

They were Florida-bound,
Spring Break and such.
I tried to go with them,
I loved her that much.

We moved back home
To Tennessee.
I loved her madly.
She said she loved me.

One day, I awoke,
And found she was gone.
My New York queen,
Had sacrificed her pawn.

I still miss her badly,
I’ll dream of her tonight.
My New York City girl,
With her eyes shinin’ bright.

I hope she’ll come back.
I hope someday she’ll miss me.
I’m still waiting and hoping,
In the hills of Tennessee.


Blues

I met a girl
In New York City.
Her friends were loud,
But she was pretty.

Moved her to Dallas,
To start a new life.
Bought a house together,
Made her my wife.

Found her sleepin’ with my brother.
She broke my heart that day.
What’s even more disturbing,
Is that my brother is gay.

Made her a cocktail,
Told her she was still mine.
Just filled it up with poison,
Mixed in with her wine.

Buried her last weekend,
Was still sad to see her go.
My girl from New York City,
Now six feet down below.

Dog Poetry

What if my dog were a poet?
That would explain the rhythmic barks.
The ones that last all day,
The ones that last throughout the dark.

I think he may be a singer,
And he’s in a protest mood.
“Let me out of my crate!”
“Bring me more food!”

Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark.
Woof, Woof, Woof, Woof.
Hooooowwwwlll.
Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof.

Not much rhymes with “woof.”

If my dog were a singer,
I could be very rich.
I just have to translate to English,
And remember he can say “bitch”.

SuperCenter Blues

(Editor’s Note: Recycled from the BJE Facebook page, published there August 5, 2010. This makes it a bonus track for NaPoWriMo 2014.)

BJE said – I don’t want to use any real establishment names, because my lawyer said that would be bad. Let’s just say this was written while watching the crowd at a really big mart where Jessica Simpson would think you bought walls.

SuperCenter Blues
with apologies (and a nod) to Right Said Fred

I’m too sexy for this place
I’ve just seen a face
It was on “Without A Trace”
Too sexy …

I’m too sexy for this mart
I’m filling up my cart
I hope that smell’s a fart
Too sexy …

I’m too sexy but I’m old
I’d never be quite so bold
Say, don’t your ass get cold?
Too sexy …

I’m too sexy for my sight
They’re giving me a fright
They all come out at night
Too sexy …

I’m too sexy for this food
I’m hope that I’m not rude
But that chick there’s a dude
Too sexy …

I’m too sexy for this store
I think I saw a whore
I’m running for the door
Too sexy …

I’m too sexy ’cause I’m white
My receipt’s kept out of sight
The guards just nod “Good night!”
Too sexy …

 

Leaving Early

I’m stuck at the office again.
I was going to leave an hour ago.
One thing after another arose.
A dozen “just one more thing to go.”

Traffic is building up outside.
Each minute here adds ten to the drive.
I might as well just stay here now.
I’ll never make it home alive.

It doesn’t matter your position,
From leader down to clerk.
The only way to leave the office early,
Is to never go to work.

Insomnia

I can’t sleep any more.
I can’t sleep any less.
I’m staring at the ceiling.
My brain is quite the mess.

I traveled the world over.
Time zones changing every day.
Now, I’m feeling my eyelids flutter.
While I’m trying to hit the hay.

I took a nap this afternoon,
That should have done the trick.
I’m awake way past my bedtime,
Listening to my clock tick.

I’m never going to sleep again,
I’m just staying up all night.
It’s time to watch infomercials.
I’ve given up the fight.

I’m in this over my head,
I’m in this thing too deep.
The only cure for insomnia
is a good night’s sleep.

Theme Park

I was visiting a theme park this week.
It is called “London.”
There is a similar one closer to home.
It’s called “New York.”

Both parks have workers called “natives.”
They are paid to ignore visitors in the park.
Some are apparently paid to be rude to visitors.
Don’t be offended.
It’s just their job.

Both are role-playing parks.
You are called a “tourist.”
Just dress like you would at home.
There’s no set tourist uniform.

Some tourists do like matching t-shirts.
Some wear funny hats.
Avoid these people.
They are über-tourists.
They are dorks.

Both parks have hidden places to buy supplies.
If you buy supplies at stores for tourists,
You can get over-charged. A lot.

For example, water can cost $2 per bottle.
This is a rip-off, of course.
However, tourist water can be three times that.
It has a flag or map printed on the label.
The label makes it cost more.

So, you have to follow natives and see where they go.
This is challenging, because they are ignoring you.
(Again, some are being rude.)
Places natives go have slightly less outrageous prices.
Most of the time.

Finding natives means finding people that don’t look lost.
People that do look lost are other tourists and you avoid them.
You lose points with natives if you are seen with other tourists.

Both parks have one main thrill ride.
In New York, it’s the “Subway.”
In London, it’s the “Tube.”
(It’s the same basic ride.)

On both, you try to avoid annoying any natives.
On the longer version of the ride, you avoid getting robbed.
(Look out for guns and knives on the New York ride.)

You must dodge tourists who are dragging luggage around.
Some tourists have children with them.
Some have both. These are the worst.
Don’t run into them.
If they hit you, you lose points.
Or limbs.
Luggage is heavy.

The goal of the ride is to get where you’re going.
You just can’t look anyone in the eye.
Eye contact is a way to lose.

Asking directions loses you points with natives.
Giving other tourists wrong directions is a foul.
Unless they are funny, like sending them to the wrong stop.
This will amuse the natives, if they know you are lying.
If you are lost, too, they will be rude to you.

For experienced tourists, find the shortest route to win.
In the beginner’s game, just get back alive.
This ride can take all day.
Prepare accordingly.

If you get tired of the Tube ride game,
London also has a bonus game.
It is called “Find a Drink with Ice.”
This is for advanced tourists only.
Natives can not help with this one.

Enjoy your time in the park!

Preservation

At home, it seems that
We move our old things to museums.
Then, we can reuse the space for malls.
You can never have enough malls.

In some places (like England),
They move ancient things to museums, but
Their old things are just used.
They are preserved, not for history,
But because they still work.

Castles, for instance.
Cathedrals, where the religion may change,
But the church still stands.
Pubs, too.

Manifest Destiny caused Planned Obsolescence.
If you’re going to go West (young man) anyway,
Your stuff doesn’t have to last quite as long.

It’s sad that we build things we know won’t last.
Everything would be higher quality if we expected
Generations of descendants to use them, as well.

Next time you build a house, try this.
Think “My great-grandchildren will live here.”
Think “People will visit here in 300 years.”
(Thinking “I need a wall to keep the French out” is optional.)

New House

I have a house in Dallas,
A roof above my head,
But after time in Europe,
I’d like a castle, please, instead.

My neighbors all Drive Friendly,
I drive by, they wave to me,
I still think I’d like to have a moat,
For a little privacy.

I should buy a ranch in Texas,
200 acres of empty land.
Then, I could have formal gardens
Of cactus, mesquite and sand.

I don’t need knights in shining armor,
Servants, damsels or a Yule log.
Just a castle on the prairie,
With a room for every dog.

Actually, servants would be nice.

British Food

This pie has meat.
Savory, not sweet.
Pie with meat that’s not quiche.

This pudding is almost cake.
You don’t cook it, you bake.
And Yorkshire pudding
Requires brown gravy and onions.

The beer is warm (and it’s really ale.)
Other drinks have little ice without fail.
So, sadly, no iced tea, except in bottles.

I guess since ice brought the Titanic down,
They don’t gather too much ice around.
Like in a glass.

Fries are really chips,
And chips are really crisps.
Other than that,
It’s just like home.

Oh. Except over here,
Spotted Dick needs ice cream,
And not penicillin.