IN HONOR OF SCORPIO
Scorpio rules necrophiles and varied sexofreaks,
God when he’s creative or mad,
A good many Arabs, Italians and Greeks,
And little girls who wanna be bad.
The go-go dancer clad in just a feather
Dramas that are played out in bed,
Dominating sadists in leather,
And millions of not so grateful dead.
Pickles cigars and long hard tools
Jack hammers rifles and drills
Places you hide the family jewels
Condoms and birth control pills.
Forty- second street on Saturday night,
Sickies who want to be destroyed,
People who hold your letters up to the light,
And EVERYTHING according to Freud.
Doctors and butchers are under this sign,
And fins that stick out of the sea,
Snow White’s Stepmother and Frankenstein,
Roseanne Barr and DeSade the Marquis.
Blue jeans and gorgeous behinds,
The guys who clean your drains with their roto- rooters,
And don’t forget johns of all kinds.
Footsteps behind you that quicken their pace,
Motels and nighttime raids,
A nylon stocking over your face,
Herpes, Clamydia, Aids.
Then of course there are plagues bubonic,
Twenty years of three packs a day,
All the forces you’d consider demonic,
Plus the power to throw your cigarettes away.
The strength to swim an icy river,
The courage of a fiery red ant,
The magic to grow back your liver,
The rage when they tell you you can’t.
They kid they told, ‘We’re sorry , but it’s Cancer,”
The woman who had six months left on Earth.
Five years down the road, the kid’s a dancer,
Ten years later SHE’s still giving birth.
So if we turn to missile deployment,
When the pumpkins have replaced all the coaches,
When it’s one hundred percent unemployment,
And there’s nothing left but ringing phones and roaches,
Who’s’ gonna make it through the mushroom cloud,
Laughing at apocalyptic jive?
Who will roll the stone away and tear off the shroud?
Who’s gonna keep this world alive?
What gives a peach tree peaches?
What fills the space between the stars?
What happens all along moonlit beaches
And sometimes late at night in bars?
Scorpio, my Friend, Scorpio.
Now playing everywhere.
And don’t you forget it.
From “Pardon My Pluto”
Copyright 1984, Michael Lutin, music by R Lewinger, Arr. Doug Morton