Skeptical Noyes

Let's hear it for Rufus King Noyes

The most skeptical, honest of boys

He dismissed all the gods

Cause they gave hot fantods

And gave no equivalent joys.

Debussy Fields

When Freud explained Group psychology

It wasn't by way of apology

To him it seemed strange

And sometimes deranged

But he managed to say it quite stodgily.

Debussy Fields

Let’s leave our wives and get gay married

Our feelings  simply won’t be buried.

Let’s leave our wives and get gay married.

The straights won’t mind if we ruin their marriage

Mismatched sexes outweigh that carriage

It just can’t take that wear and tearrage.

But we think their weddings cute

Her in her gown and him in his suit

And then they breed our new recruits.

Ladies!

Let’s leave our guys and get dike wedded

With bed and breakfast, but mostly bedded

Let’s leave our guys and get dike wedded.

The fellas won’t mind if we go away

They have each other, so they can play

Nice with each other, and swing and sway.

They’ll find a crank that they can turn

And find it’s better to marry than it is to burn

That’ll teach ‘em, if only they’ll learn

That they can leave their wives and get gay married

And those yearnings simply won’t stay buried

Fellas leave your wives and get gay married.

                                                                        Eulick McCreavis

Leonard Cohen Parodies

LC Opts for Number Two I’m in my bathroom all alone
Singing in a monotone
Looking at razors and feeling forlorn
Should I look at razors? Should I look at porn?
Now I’m in kitchen fixing a Pop Tart
A song is my answer, singing’s my art.
There’s a knife by the toaste--should I stick it in?
Or should I bite this Pop Tart and continue to sin?
Here in this treehouse it’s never so dim
As when the sun has gone down and I’m out on a limb
Should I slip on this noose and jump off and quit
Or squat o’er the sandpile and take a big shit?
Now in the study, looking at books
I glance in the mirror and curse my sad looks
Should I give it all up and cut my own throat
Or get a new nose job and a vicuna coat?
Now to the bedroom where I’ve stashed some pills
They’d stop the fight twixt my soul and my will
But the porn from the bathroom has migrated here
I guess I’ll just whack it and to hell with my fears.
        
Canard Cohen

 LC Buddha Song:
The Way Your hair is golden, your buttocks are firm
Girls and boys see you and they start to squirm
You can light up a room that was given to gloom
You cavort, tease and flirt while the large shadows loom
And you deny that you know it, though you surely do
So what makes you think that the Buddha would care
For a little trick like you?
You quote some old sutras and smile like you know
Some secrets that only the privileged can know
Your credentials are doubtful, your knowledge too glib
When you quote a koan it sounds like a fib
Your questions are those with answers too pat
With sartori waiting you’ll surely fall flat
So what do think that the Buddha would do
With a little trick like you?
Your spirit is wanting, though your body is nice
You think that you’re warm, but your touch is like ice
You do not think twice of the souls in your wake
I can’t quite convince them that your soul is fake
You look good in saffron while you’re chanting OM
By a lake or the Ganges you act like you’re home
Now what acts would the Buddha perform
On a little trick like you?
The Way it is waiting if you have the key
And the guru has said he won’t give it to me
But for you he’s wide open cause he’s charmed by your force
He’s pointing the way to the one and first Source
Your path might be thorny but he’ll get you there
With shoes for your soul and balm for your care
But I’ve washed his feet with my tears while he sneered at me
Why did I think that the Buddha would care
For a little trick like me?
                                                                           
 Canard Cohen