I was sitting in my brand-new Butler building, surrounded by steel of high quality folded at y-degree ahe only thing prettier than ladies is an I-beam painted bright yellow. I told em I wanted a big door. A big door in front where a girl could hide her car if she wao evade the gaze of her husband the rat-poison salesman. You ever been out with a rat-poison salesman? They are fine fellows with little red eyes.
I laying with my forty-three-foot overhead traveling e which is painted bright yellow. I ractig knog over the stepladder with the hook. I was at a low point. Id been thinking about bread, colored steel bread, all kinds of colors of steel bread -- red yellow purple green brown steel bread -- then I thought no, thats not it. And Id already made all the welded-steel four-thousand-pound artichokes the world could aodate that week, and they would me drink no more, only a little Loar beer now and then which I dont much care for. And my new Waylon Jennings record had a scrat it, went crack crack crack across the whole width of Side O was the kind of impasse us creative people reach every Thursday, some prefer other days. So I figured that in order not to totally waste this valuable time of my life, I had better get oid bust sta of the seraglio.
Chorus:
Oh stanze oh stanze
What you doin in that se-rag-li-o?
I been poppin Darvon and mothballs
Poppin Darvon and mothballs
Ever since I let you go.
Well, I motored out to the seraglio, got blindsided on the Freeway by two huhousand guys trying to get home from their work at the rat-poison factories, all two huhousand tape decks playin the same thing, some kind of roll-on-down-the-road song
rollin
rollin
rollin
rollin
but there wasnt just a hell of a lot of actual forward motioe this hymn to possibility. The seraglio turned out to be a Butler building too, much like mine only vaster of course, that son of a bitch. I spent a little while admiring that fine red-paieel that you put the pieces together of out of a catalogue a her down on your slab and be barbeg your flank steak from the A.& P. by five oclo the same day. The Pasha didnt have any great big doors in his, just otle tee-ninesy door with a picture of an unfed-retly Doberman pasted on it, I took that as a hint and I thought stanze, stanze, how could you be so dumb?
The thing is, and I hate to admit it, stanzes a little dumb. Shes not so dumb as a lady I onew who thought the Mark of Zorro was an N, but shes not perfect. You tell her you heard via the jungle drums that theres a va Willie Jake Johnsons bed and her eyes will cut to the side just for a moment, which means shes thinking. Shes not servative. Im some kind of an artist, but Im servative. Mine is the art of the possible, plus two. She, on the trary, spent many years as a talented and elegant try-music groupie. She knows things I do not knoy dust is $1,900 an ounow, I hear tell -- shes tasted it, I havent. Its a small thing, but irritating. Shes dumb in what she knows, if you follow me.
Chorus:
Oh stanze oh stanze
What you doin in that se-rag-li-o?
I been sleepin on paper towels
Sleepin on paper towels and
Drinkin Sea & Ski
Ever since I let you go.
The Pasha is a Plymouth dealer, actually. He has this mysterious power over people as which is called ten million dollars a year, gross. About the only thing we share in the way of on humanity is four weld