Ballad
of the Senior Citizen (And Other Good Shit)
(ONE)
Listen to me, people, and gather all around;
Let this old man tell you how it’s going to go down.
If you’re looking for me; Paw-Paw Louie,
Well then, check out the nearest Senior Center;
that’s where I’ll be.
I go there to play billiards, checkers, and bingo and
watch TV
Or maybe I’ll be at Mc’D’s having my cuppa Daily Senior
coffee;
In some places, ya know, we old’uns can get it for
free.
Yep, even a biscuit or a sandwich, made especially
for me.
If it’s past breakfast, I can order a free senior Micky-D
Tea;
Welcome to the ballad of the Senior Citizen; that’s me.
These young folk, these days, are just plain mean.
The way they act around others; it’s an ugly scene.
They say we’re swiveled up, like prunes in an old
paper bag;
The younger generation cries out at us older gentlemen
They’ll say such names as Gramps, and ‘slow old man’;
And to the women, not just Granny,
But they disrespectfully call her, ‘hey, Witch-hag.’
They think they are the stuff, being rude,
They hate the fact we’re slow and don’t prance.
We can’t get out and trot or spin or run or dance.
Or keep the speed up they can, and if we intrude,
Because we understand, how they enhance
Their moves with artificial means,
They hate us all the more, because we dare
To warn them to watch out, and declare
They will regret it one day, but they refuse
To believe they can ever be wrong.
They can be quite uncouth,
But their feeling’s they express as truth,
Because, you won’t find such youth
Anywhere around the Senior Center;
After all, “old folks are ‘the drag’...
We just ‘bring
them down.’
We ain't no fun,
and they’ll be glad...
When, we’re ‘pushin-up
daisies!’”
Well, regardless how the young’uns feel,
We senior people have our pride.
Yes, some of us have carried our great country’s
Flag,
And we would gladly do it, again.
(Once
a soldier, always a soldier; once a patriot, always a patriot)
We still carry it and we will uphold it, until we
reach our end,
And a flag will cover our coffins, when we go to our
graves.
Listen, this is my story; the Ballad of the Senior Citizen.
So you young people, you can try to tune this old
man out;
You can plug your ears and listen to Heavy Metal or
Rap, and pout.
But when you take a break, I’ll still fill your
ears;
So just play like you don’t hear;
But listen to me, and listen well,
Because a day will come, it’s my words you’ll
recall.
This is a story I’m bound and determined to tell;
I’m not gonna scream it at ya, I don’t have to yell.
We have more history in us than you’ll ever get to
hear.
Why is it we demand respect, you so often wonder;
Our reply will simply be (get real...or go to hell!)
Guess what, noggin; we used to be just like you,
Now, we’re the ones in the rocking chair taking this
shit.
Yep, this is the Ballad of the Senior Citizen (and
other good shit.)
People come here looking for me: asking for Paw-Paw
Louie.
I’m a widower; outlived my wife by several years...
Sometimes, I have to make a recount
I forget just how long it’s been; I even forget how
long
I've been coming to this Senior Center.
Yep, my name is Paw-Paw Louie;
I hope you understand just what I am saying.
Oh, here comes that pretty little thing in the candy
stripe top,
“Nurse, nurse, can you step over here?’
“Paw-Paw
Louie, What is it you need today...
And
mind your fingers; don’t you dare pinch me,
Or
I won’t come back around to be goosed. Don’t laugh, you dirty old man.”
“Honey,
I’m horny; and still gotta taste...for, pretty young lassies!”
I say, and she knows just where my eyes are focused,
as I ask,
“If I had a fortune... you’d marry me; wouldn't you, Missy?”
Well, I've had my jaws rung like a bell,
for having
too much brass.
Some will jump and scream oh me, oh my!
As I buzz them on the ass.
I've heard others say how,
‘Ole Louie’s laugh would ring out,
And
only a piddle or a puddle would stop the fit.’
Being as I’d have to go home if I peed my pants, I
admit
I usually try hard not to get too carried away.
I ride a taxi transit to and from
the Senior Center, every week day.
Some days, it’s so boring; I’ll just sit and doze,
with my head in my hand.
I’ll nap or daydream, recalling way back
when I was
a young dude.
Back then, I was the handsome stud,
and I had any
gal I wanted, and
Back in that day, it’s true,
many a sexy lass
was
after my ass.
I was a decorated Navy Man, a Veteran
Who fought valiantly
for both God and Country!
During the time, a man in uniform
didn't do no
chasing skirts.
All I had to do, if I wanted a date,
was to stand
still and wait.
Next thing I knew, a tap on the shoulder
and a
pretty smile would offer her arm.
We’d hook elbows, and likely
spend the night
together,
Because I was on shore
for just a few hours,
and then I’d
go back to sea...
And it didn’t matter
what shore I stepped on,
Women flagged me down...and honey...
I knew how to
make ‘em moan.
But back at home, a girl
I’d had a crush on, haunted
me;
To my utter amazement,
she’d seemed not to know I
existed! ME!
This special gal I never could forget...her name
was
Martha Lace;
The weird thing is, every girl
I ever had, they wore
her face!)
(That’s a secret I never
told anyone, until lately)
So soon as I got back home,
I bee-lined it over to
Martha’s house,
I set out to make her mine, yes;
she wasn't like the
rest,
The only way to keep her was to
have her as my wife;
she was the best!
And as quick as I could, I asked for her hand;
We got married, and I settled down, in love,
and
growing old with my wife.
Martha was smart and was the best cook;
she could
chop like a ninja with her knife!
She didn’t put up with no nonsense;
she could read
me like a book!
And when she was pissed off,
I always got that ‘look.’
But I’d fallen head over heels for Martha;
I was the
most devoted of men;
As soon as we were engaged,
there was never another
woman for me.
Funny thing: she’d thump my ear,
if I stared at any
woman other than her.
She had my respect, my love and my attention,
in and
out of the bedroom.
One time, a woman tried to lure me aside;
what a
temptress;
I told her she better hope Martha never found
Out she’d tried to seduce me,
because it would be
her doom;
Martha would dice her up like carrots and potatoes,
and toss her in a kettle
And cook her over a bonfire;
while she war-danced,
in victory.
It scared the dame so bad, she moved out of town.
Fondly, I recall how dear Martha’s temper
caused her
to bop me with her cookbook.
Not because of the harlot, but because I’d been
drinking;
She said, “I won’t tolerate a drunk.”
It was the last time I ever took a drink; and man,
Oh, how the bed springs sang that night.
Well, they don’t call me Paw-Paw Louie for nothing;
I've got five kids, fifteen grand-kids, and two great grand-kids
...and that’s something
To smile about; because I’m still kicking...
That’s
some good seed-sewing.
If there are any kids, in other countries...
I never
heard tell; which is good,
Martha would have died,
if one had showed
up...saying ‘hello, daddy.’
I've wondered...but I’m content; having a family,
With Martha, made my life complete.
(Three)
This senior citizen is a patriot, like I said
before.
I once bore the flag, and
I fought the good fight,
And I lost blood for the country I love.
I was in the Navy, and riding
the waves was the
life.
Now, I’m old and wrinkled and forgetful
Of what happened five minutes ago;
But one thing remains the same,
I’m back on that ship
in the blink of an eye;
I remember the men who
were my friends
and my
brothers;
Many died or lost limbs.
I came back whole in body,
but a different man
inside;
I came back a warrior,
A man who knew
he’d killed hundreds of enemies,
But those men were just like me.
I’ll remember my time
in the Navy and my stay in Vietnam.
I’m an American, until the day I die;
And by gum, I’ll jump on any snot-nose
Speaking lowdown shit about this great country,
They have so many privileges which
other places wish
they had, but don’t;
We fight to keep our rights, and
I don’t tolerate
cowards or fools.
Paw-Paw Louie is the Son of Uncle Sam;
I am, I am, I'm the Son of Uncle Sam!
Us Guys, we fought our asses off
to keep USA free;
And so many here, they treat
Vets like we are
forgotten trash;
Yeah, the way we are treated...it’s like they say...
”What you do, it ain't worth a damn.”
The heroes lie there in the graves; many with no
names;
Taken down in war, battle is no game,
But the ones who have survived;
We carry the fight in soul and memory.
We remember what no man should need to know.
It’s in our dreams and our minds,
Whether we want it there or not; horrors
we can’t
block out or shake off.
We hate the dark; it brings back the night terrors.
We hate loud noises; we think of missiles;
And bombs, and tanks and machine-guns,
And cannons, and bazookas, and landmines;
Now can you understand why we hate
the boom-box, thrumming?
Of these cars, passing by in the streets;
this high-pitched humming
and rapping...
It ain't cool to me.
Are you interested in my stories about the
War in ‘Nam; out there, in the cane-break swamp?
Yeah I was there; I did tour on land...part
Of my time was spent where they put me.
Paw-Paw Louie, that’s me, 'ask me what you will;
I may or I may not tell YOU, but ask.
Some things are too much to share;
it ain't anything
against you.
That is the truth; the grave yards will show you
The same; and in silence, we remain,
Living or dead; we take it to the grave;
Horrors on the battlefield;
Terrors of the chill they yield; terrors,
oh, the
chills they yield!
Yes, that war lasted from 1959 to 1975, and
It’s a wonder any of our soldiers
Even came back alive...I came back,
I was a Navy man, and I was not a foot-soldier.
Yes, it is a wonder, but the haunts
Of the battlefield linger in all survivors
We came home, many with medals for our acts;
Living warriors, no longer in action;
Yes we all found it hard to adjust;
We go through the motions for our nation.
We have flashbacks; it is hell;
Many of us believe we were in hell;
Maybe that’s why we feel numb to ‘sin’s fate’
Because we passed through the gate
And came back;
we survived the worst, and we just
wait
For the final end to come...and wonder why we made
it,
But others didn’t, and why was that?
What was the truth of that fated decision?
Were our genes in the mix for the future?
While some others was food for the fodder
Of the war machine...our life is just a dream?
This is a story I just have to tell;
We old‘uns have more history than you, under one
finger nail.
We demand respect, if you don’t like it?
Our reply will simply be (OH, WELL.)
Yep, this is the Ballad of the Senior Citizen (and
other good shit.)
(Four)
Well, there are children...pre-teens, mostly, who
seek me.
They came, saying, “Paw-Paw Louie,
We want to hear the old war stories.”
I do have many stories I will tell;
But I have to keep them toned down.
This is story-telling to youngsters, after all!
I say, “Kids, I've seen many things, besides just
war,
And of that you can be sure. Do you love music?”
And they yell, ‘Yeah!’
So I say, well, hear
This: the great festival event which formed
the
groundwork for Rock,
I was THERE;
And I stayed from start to finish;
I heard all 32 sets, and that includes the time
Abbie Hoffman broke in with his rant;
That was right before Jefferson Airplane around
six
in the morning;
I had been dozing because it was the Who...
And there was Abbie Hoffman jumping up, and
blathering...
And next thing, with a Townsend twirl of elbow
and
guitar, slam
-Drop; Abbie flew Head first off the stage;
accident
Or on purpose...the incident was a spit in the face
of the Who,
But then old Abbie, he always was a Robin Hood
Figure; protesting against Vietnam;
And though I could agree with some of his
sentiments, it is true...
As a soldier of self-same war, a Vet, I
can’t find
him
As anyone I’d want around me; the Yippie;
He was a Leftist and the FBI and CIA
both had him on
their list...no lie.
Heard he passed on, in ’89...he was 52
when he died.
He was younger than me.
People claim to have been there; maybe they were;
We were all strangers sharing an exciting,
As well as miserable, unforgettable,
Catalystic festival that is still a concert to die
for;
I was the guy flicking the Bic for John Fogarty and
Creedence Clearwater Revival, early
In the morning while most everybody snoozed;
John sang Bad
Moon Rising just for me;
Grateful Dead had jammed right before them,
And their song ‘Turn
on your Love Light’ blew
The amps, which had to be repaired
Before Creedence could come on; the crew
Rushed so the next band could do their songs,
They were my favorite band up on stage;
They were there around one
In the morning, of Sunday morning;
It all started on Friday, August Fifteenth,
With a Swami...he was quite the sage
This was a gathering of music;
A reaching out for peace, love, and unity
It went on through Saturday
The sixteenth and then on Sunday,
The last to perform was Jimi Hendriks;
He jammed at nine in the morning,
A lot of the crowd had enough
And was gone or leaving; it was exhausting,
But liberating, we sang, we played mud-bugs,
Ate mud pies and magpies,
And whatever else we could roust up or just
fasted...it was
A psychedelic flower power time anyway;
We rolled in mud, slept in mud,
We skinny-dipped in the pond, we danced, and we
flashed;
We chanted a rain song... “Rain, rain, go away,
Come again another day”;
We passed dope and we passed out.
We made love or just made out...we
were free liberal
spirits
With any inhibitions shucked off like a second skin
Our bodies were works of art and
Clothes were peeled fast as a banana is peeled.
It was August, it was hot, it was wet,
and it was
humid in day,
It was chilly at night. Yeah, some felt fright;
Some freaked out; they had
bad trips...LSD was used;
it wasn't just Pot.
There weren't enough tents
or blankets or food or
port-a-pots.
When it rained so badly, some retreated
back to
their parked cars and vans,
Women lost babies, and birthed babies,
Somebody got run over by a tractor and died;
Somebody overdosed, we screamed, we cried,
We laughed, we dreamed, we rocked...and
come to find
out,
Half a million people was there;
it turned out to be
a blast!
They had thought upwards of
two hundred thousand,
tops;
Hippies had a reputation...so the Governor
Contemplated on the need to put a stop
To all these people and the crimes that would occur,
Without security steps; an attempt to save
Face; so he was all set on sending out
The National Guard;
We got drift of that news, some
of us...but he
backed off;
We were decent; we were on a musical wave
And our drive was peace, love, unity.
This is a story I just have to tell;
We old‘uns have more history than you, under one
finger nail.
We demand respect, if you don’t like it?
Our reply will simply be (OH, WELL.)
Yep, this is the Ballad of the Senior Citizen (and
other good shit.)
(Five)
Yeah, I’d rather tell about the times when
Amazing things happened to me.
Every time I think about some parts of my past, I
just want to cry.
But hey, kids, since you asked for more, here’s
this.
I worked with Bozo, the clown, for one summer in 1965, for
Charlotte, NC's WBTV Channel 3 station
when Martha and I needed extra money;
Whatever Bozo needed me to do, in backstage stunts,
I was there to rig it up.
Bozo had me be the man in the cannon, but
The added touch had me dressed in a dog suit;
I was Bobo, the loyal dog of Bozo, the clown...
Yep, I was a mutt.
Bozo's dog, Bobo; the kids loved me: Bobo!
I’d hop around on all fours; the costume was baggy
and brown;
Bobo, a Collie Lab mix; really smart and loved doing
tricks.
And Bobo would jump through the dreaded ring of
fire.
That was dangerous, too; a time or two my suit
caught fire.
The head mask had big eye holes and a fake tongue
that
Would pop out when I shook the head down;
Bobo was a pack-dog; I also, carried things attached
to my back;
Bozo, he’d walk over to the kids gathered in a
cluster on benches
And he’d start his spiel, asking them
If they wanted to see what Bobo had in his bag?
He’d grin, his famous grin; his red hair was very
pointed,
On each side of his head;
Meanwhile, here sits Bobo, and
I sit up on my knees and beg, and bark ‘yes!’
Bozo patted my head while the kids all yelled, ‘yes
we want to see!’
That’s when Bobo would run around and around.
Bozo takes off, he’s chasing me and we’d cut up as
funny as we could.
I’d stay just ahead of him; he wasn't supposed to
catch me.
The kids loved this routine.
They’d laugh like crazy when Bobo would run upright
like a man,
Or do somersaults or climb things or trip or
whatever,
While staying just ahead of Bozo, tweeting a whistle,
And yelling; ‘Stop, Bobo, stop, Bad Dog!’
Suddenly, good old Bobo would skid to a stop,
Usually, wherever the dash had started out.
This was when Bobo picked out one of the kids
And I’d cling to the child, whimpering, looking at
the kid as a savior.
And then Bozo would say to the kid, ‘okay, it is up
to you;
Do we open the bag on his back, today, and find out
what’s in it?’
The amazing thing is, sometimes, the kid would say
no;
And if he or she said no, then Bobo would lie down
and refuse to budge.
Bozo would ask, “Do you want to see
What is in that bag that makes Bobo upset, Carrie?”A
nod and I was ready.
Everyone got to see me jump up, pulling a string
And out would spring a shower, like a piƱata full of
all kinds of goodies;
Bobo would then jump and bark, while the kids ran
for the goodies.
Bozo always tried to get the kids to say yes, so
they would get the treats.
Yes, Bozo the Clown, wanted to teach the kids, when
one said no,
That was the day Bozo would say, “We
Must respect others wishes, and show them kindness.
That’s the way we should get along in life,
And let’s give it our best.
You see, children, everything in life, just think of
it as a test.”
And he’d treat that one kid with special attention;
He or she was a rare child.
He would always give each child a small Bozo toy as
they were leaving,
But the child, who’d said no, would get a special
gift going home;
A certificate of recognition of daring to not go
With the crowd; but to stand up for their own
decision;
He didn't make this known, but he always hoped for
The kid who refused to act as the rest
And would that kid would show a poor tired dog some
concern;
When it was time to retire as Bobo; well, Paw-Paw Louie
Left that job very impressed by the world’s greatest
clown.
Here’s what was on that certificate:
Courage
and strength is the way life should be;
Love
your life and live it morally.
So, you young people listen, and listen well,
This is a story I just have to tell;
We old people have more history
Than, you’ve got dirt under one finger nail;
We demand respect, and we will entertain you well;
But if you scoff or curse,
Our reply will simply be a yawning (OH, WELL.)
That’s the story of the senior Citizen (and other
good shit.)
(SIX)
My life is an epic; many things have I seen
And many places I have been;
To some I might say, Look-a-here, dude, take for
instance,
I was there when the shot was fired that was heard
around the world.
I’m glad God helped me make it through so much
strife in my life.
I’m glad he stayed with me, even when
I was a rebel-hearted man out on my luck.
I came a long way, and ended up with many fences to
mend.
I did my duty and came home, settled down, but I
kept on truckin.’
To another, I might say, Hey, man, check it out;
I was at Marilyn Manson’s funeral.
What? Marilyn Manson ain't dead? Like hell, you say,
and he’s a man?
A Rock star that does what? Oh, NO;
Don’t even tell me, I’d rather not know.
And no, I don’t mean Charles Manson, either; I know
that ain't right.
Then we gotta mistaken identity going here; yes,
that’s right.
Oh, I think I said it wrong; not Manson...but
Monroe.
Surely, you've heard of Marilyn Monroe, the blond
bombshell?
But I was also in Dallas when her lover, President
JFK was killed;
I've lived all over these United States from Maine
to Texas to Alaska to Hawaii,
There are only two states I never set foot in, even
though I was on all sides;
And that’s New Hampshire and Idaho...; do not ask me,
how I missed ’em, at all.
Marilyn Monroe, gorgeous, voluptuous gal, no bony-phony;
She puts these Twiggy-sticks to shame...
Marilyn was every man’s dream-girl.
She embodied the girl you can wrap your arms around
And feel in Heaven, not lost inna boneyard. She was
a pearl.
I mean sorry how my mind went fizzy, uh, fuzzy, it
does that sometimes,
But it is clear as the ocean is blue in the
summertime,
When it’s things of the past I’m recalling.
Paw-Paw Louie, I tell ya, you young people,
Listen here to what is said
This is a story I just have to tell;
We old‘uns have more history than you, under one
finger nail.
We demand respect, if you don’t like it?
Our reply will simply be (OH WELL.)
This is the Ballad of the Senior Citizen (and other
good shit.)
The kids stare at me; they are confused,
And one insists I’m lying; now that’s rude,
I got no need or call to lie, young tyke; one day
You’ll tell truths and be accused.
You’ll think back to me, and then you’ll believe me,
dude.
But OK, Paw-Paw Louie gotta let it go;
I don’t care if you believe me; it’s this way.
Oh, nope don’t mention any Marilyn Manson; he’s
immaterial to me,
But as for Marilyn Monroe, the actress, I was at her
funeral;
Sure it was one of the most unforgettable events of
my long life.
Suicide, according to the coroner, but was it?
Would you mind, snippet, not to interrupt?
I told you I never met that lil’ fella who had the
killer family
And told them to kill the pregnant woman and her
friends;
Yes, that lil’ dude; he’s in the pen and there, he’ll
meet his end.
I got nothing else to say on that topic, thank you
very much.
This is a story I just have to tell;
We old‘uns have more history than you, under one
finger nail.
We demand respect, if you don’t like it?
Our reply will simply be (OH WELL.)
Yep, this is the Ballad of the Senior Citizen (and
other good shit.)
(SEVEN)
Paw-Paw Louie, that’s me; hold a second, gotta itch
on my nose,
Alright, now this I mentioned; this I know, and it
goes
Like this: On the shooting of JFK...I got this to
say,
As the cars rode by, the crows gathered at the edge
of the road.
They say the gunshot came from that book storage
building
On the opposite side of the street;
Others say the shot came from
A stretch right there on the road.
Me: Paw-Paw Louie, I was there; and I’ll say, although
I
Don’t remember names of things that good; I do
remember this:
All the people on the street damn near shit.
I was there on that Dallas Street and there came the
motorcade.
As the convertible drew near, the cheers were so
loud made you near deaf;
And the car came closer; I was standing mere feet
from the car;
The bodyguard in the front seat made a twist around
Looking right at Ms. Jackie, the wife; hey I know
what I saw.
He was looking right past the governor at Jackie and they looked eye
to eye;
She was wide eyed and her eyes grew wider;
And then up came his gun...he shot the president;
And just as quick; from the road,
An agent shot that bodyguard.
Yep, the president’s top of his head went plop, right
in Jackie’s lap.
As to there being any shot from a building where
books were stored,
I think that was a diversion, cooked up later.
Just a bit later, they caught Oswald, who was
quickly snuffed so
He couldn't deny his part in the killing of the King
of Camelot, as
Some romantically referred to Mr. Kennedy as.
From what I could surmise, Oswald had it coming,
little Russian spy
That he was, and all; he married a Russian
woman...none of ours
Was good enough for him, heh; the prick had turned
traitor.
He got his come-uppance, but he was shot not for
that, but it gave them a patsy.
Otherwise, he’d have blown their story wide open,
being innocent of that crime.
So Oswald went down in the history books as an
assassin ball of green slime.
The world grieved or was in shock,
Stunned by the assassination of the president;
When you’re in shock, you accept
Whatever you’re told, because it helps you reach
closure.
Ms Jackie knew the truth; she had her two kids to
think of;
She knew her world died
When her man was shot; her Camelot ended
As soon as her man went in the hole;
Just shows how sick she was of America,
When she married that tycoon from Greece,
But at least there, she found a few days
To claim a new life and live in peace;
Forgetting the horror of her husband’s brains
In her lap; she near lost her mind in her tears.
I shrug; Paw-Paw Louie speaks memories;
You folks, believe me, or not;
Don’t you know when you get my age?
You’ll see that history is fantasy, filled with
facts?
And since it is all fantasy; it stays safe, being an
old man’s mumblings.
Your mommies are calling you; off with ya, and have
a good day.
Ha-Ha, that wraps up another round of yarns from the
life of a senior citizen;
It’s all about me and my life, and other good shit!
This is a story I just had to tell;
We old‘uns have more history than you, under one
finger nail.
We demand respect, if you don’t like it?
Our reply will simply be (OH WELL.)
Yep, this is the Ballad of the Senior Citizen (and
other good shit.)
(The end, for now, it’d time for another nap.)
©JD Couch and JA Wayahowl (12-27-2012)