Adventures in Bad Lyrics, volume six

Endless repetition does little to improve weak lyrics.

“I’m like a bird, I want to fly away,
I don’t know where my home is.
I don’t know where my home is.”
Then repeat ad tedium.

Maybe I can rehabilitate this and illuminate the inadvertent wisdom that almost snuck in there. How’s this?
I’m like a girl, I want to talk all day.
I don’t know where my phone is.
I don’t know where my phone is.

Am I insulting women here? I expect not, I adore women, and respect many of them. “Girls,” however, are immature, untrained, and inexperienced, so they haven’t yet grasped the value of silence. (Of course, I wouldn’t be surprised if leftie “womyn” took the initiative to seize offense; umbrage is their ambrosia.)

This cliché (“I want to talk all day.”) is a cliché because it is founded in our racial history, leading to the credible stereotypes of the taciturn man of few words versus the effusive back fence gossip.

Gatherers had to network, to tell each other where to find the fresh berries and to warn against spiders and snakes. It is deeply etched into their genetic natures to yammer on incessantly. Hunters were obliged to sit very still and keep their mouths shut long enough to bag their game. If they didn’t, they starved, and that’s why motormouth hunters do not dominate the gene pool.                  180323

Adventures in Bad Lyricsis sponsored by The Confederate Mint (purveyors of metallic securities in gold, silver, copper, and lead).  For sample sheets of Metallic Certificates (total face value One Tenth Silver Dollar) send One Silver Dime plus a self-addressed stamped envelope; or Three United States Legal Tender Federal Reserve “Dollars” in scrip, check, or money order, to Greigh Area Associates, c/o Gene Greigh //  843 Carson Drive;  Lebanon, Ohio;  45036

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