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Generic Blues – Weird Al Yankovic
I woke up this mornin’,
Then I went back to bed.
Said I woke up this mornin’,
Then I went right back to bed.
Got a funny kinda feelin’,
Like I got broken glass in my underwear,
And a herd of wild pigs is tryin’ to chew off my head.
You know what I’m sayin’?
Well, I ain’t got no money,
I’m just walkin’ down the road.
Said I ain’t got no money, honey,
So I’m just walkin’ down this lonely old road.
Well, I wish I could get me some money,
But I forgot my automated teller code.
I was born in a paper sack, in the bottom of a sewer.
I had to eat dirt clods for breakfast, my family was so poor,
My daddy was a waitress, my mama sold bathroom tile.
My brothers and sisters all hated me,’cause I was an only child.
I got the blues so bad.
Kinda wish I was dead.
Maybe I’ll blow my brains out, mama.
Or maybe I’ll, yeah, maybe I’ll just go bowlin’ instead.
I’m just a no-good, scum-s_cking, nose-picking, boot-licking,
sniveling, groveling worthless hunk of slime.
Nothin’ but a low-down, beer-bellied, bone-headed, pigeon-toed,
turkey-necked, weasel-faced worthless hunk of slime.
I guess I’ve got a pretty low self-image,
maybe it’s a chemical imbalance or something.
I should probably go and see a doctor about it when I’ve got the time.
Aw, make it talk, son, make it talk.
Okay, now make it shut up.
Plagues and famine and pestilence always seem to get me down.
I always feel so miserable whenever I’m around.
I wish somebody would come along, stick a pitchfork through my brain.
I’d flush myself right down the toilet, but I’d just clog up the drain.
I got the blues so bad,
Kinda wish I was dead.
Maybe I’ll blow my brains out, mama,
Or maybe I’ll go bowling.
Or I just might go bowling.
Maybe I’ll just rent some shoes and go bowling.
Maybe I’ll join a league, enter a tournament,
put on a stupid-lookin’ shirt and go bowling,
Instead.
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Generic Blues – Weird Al Yankovic
I woke up this mornin’,
Then I went back to bed.
Said I woke up this mornin’,
Then I went right back to bed.
Got a funny kinda feelin’,
Like I got broken glass in my underwear,
And a herd of wild pigs is tryin’ to chew off my head.
You know what I’m sayin’?
Well, I ain’t got no money,
I’m just walkin’ down the road.
Said I ain’t got no money, honey,
So I’m just walkin’ down this lonely old road.
Well, I wish I could get me some money,
But I forgot my automated teller code.
I was born in a paper sack, in the bottom of a sewer.
I had to eat dirt clods for breakfast, my family was so poor,
My daddy was a waitress, my mama sold bathroom tile.
My brothers and sisters all hated me,’cause I was an only child.
I got the blues so bad.
Kinda wish I was dead.
Maybe I’ll blow my brains out, mama.
Or maybe I’ll, yeah, maybe I’ll just go bowlin’ instead.
I’m just a no-good, scum-s_cking, nose-picking, boot-licking,
sniveling, groveling worthless hunk of slime.
Nothin’ but a low-down, beer-bellied, bone-headed, pigeon-toed,
turkey-necked, weasel-faced worthless hunk of slime.
I guess I’ve got a pretty low self-image,
maybe it’s a chemical imbalance or something.
I should probably go and see a doctor about it when I’ve got the time.
Aw, make it talk, son, make it talk.
Okay, now make it shut up.
Plagues and famine and pestilence always seem to get me down.
I always feel so miserable whenever I’m around.
I wish somebody would come along, stick a pitchfork through my brain.
I’d flush myself right down the toilet, but I’d just clog up the drain.
I got the blues so bad,
Kinda wish I was dead.
Maybe I’ll blow my brains out, mama,
Or maybe I’ll go bowling.
Or I just might go bowling.
Maybe I’ll just rent some shoes and go bowling.
Maybe I’ll join a league, enter a tournament,
put on a stupid-lookin’ shirt and go bowling,
Instead.
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