As a kid, I LOVED the poetry of Shel Silverstein.. Where the Sidewalk Ends, The New Kid on the Block, The Giving Tree, The Missing Piece, A Light in the Attic, etc..
But a few years ago, a friend mentioned Shel and I told him how much I loved his poems and he told me how he doesn't just do kids poems, that he has lots of funny, off the wall, perverted, hilarious stuff.. So I've been loving his "grown up" stuff for awhile now.
Some of you might already know this other side of him, but I just thought I'd mention it.. It seems like everytime I mention Shel to anyone, I get the same response I had years ago, that they loved his kids poems.. And I love showing these people the more unknown of his stuff.. Such as 'Polly in a Porny', 'Don't Give a Dose to the One You Love the Most', 'I Got Stoned and I Missed It', 'The Great Smoke Off', '(Freakin' at the) Freakers Ball' (that's a name of one of his albums as well, which is super entertaining!), 'Masochistic Baby', etc. etc...
A list of lyrics is here: http://www.lyricsandsongs.com/lyrics/SHEL_SILVERSTEIN.html
Here's a few of his songs/poems:
THE SMOKE OFF
In the laid back California town of sunny San Rafael
Lived a girl named Pearly Sweetcake, you probaly knew her well.
She'd been stoned fifteen of her eighteen years and the story was widely told
That she could smoke 'em faster than anyone could roll.
Her legend finally reached New York, that Grove Street walk-up flat
Where dwelt The Calistoga Kid, a beatnik from the past
With long browned lightning fingers he takes a cultured toke
And says, "Hell, I can roll 'em faster, Jim, than any chick can smoke!"
So a note gets sent to San Rafael, For the Championship of the World
The Kid demands a smoke off! "Well, bring him on!" says Pearl,
"I'll grind his fingers off his hands, he'll roll until he drops!"
Says Calistog, "I'll smoke that twist till she blows up and pops!"
So they rent out Yankee Stadium and the word is quickly spread
"Come one, come all, who walk or crawl, price: just two lids a head
And from every town and hamlet, over land and sea they speed
The world's greatest dopers, with the Worlds greatest weed
Hashishers from Morocco, hemp smokers from Peru
And the Shamnicks from Bagun who puff the deadly Pugaroo
And those who call it Light of Life and those that call it boo.
See the dealers and their ladies wearing turquoise, lace, and leather
See the narcos and the closet smokers puffing all together
From the teenies who smoke legal to the ones who've done some time
To the old man who smoked "reefer" back before it was a crime
And the grand old house that Ruth built is filled with the smoke and cries
Of fifty thousand screaming heads all stoned out of their minds.
And they play the national anthem and the crowd lets out a roar
As the spotlight hits The Kid and Pearl, ready for their smokin' war
At a table piled up high with grass, as high as a mountain peak
Just tops and buds of the rarest flowers, not one stem, branch or seed.
Maui Wowie, Panama Red and Acapulco Gold.
Kif from East Afghanistan and rare Alaskan Cold.
Sticks from Thailand, Ganja from the Islands, and Bangkok's Bloomin' Best.
And some of that wet imported shit that capsized off Key West.
Oaxacan tops and Kenya Bhang and Riviera Fleurs.
And that rare Manhatten Silver that grows down in the New York sewers.
And there's bubblin' ice cold lemonade and sweet grapes by the bunches.
And there's Hershey's bars, and Oreos, 'case anybody gets the munchies.
And the Calistoga Kid, he sneers, and Pearly, she just grins.
And the drums roll low and the crowd yells "GO!"
and the world's first Smoke Off begins.
Kid flicks his magic fingers once and ZAP! that first joints rolled.
Pearl takes one drag with her mighty lungs and WOOSH! that roach is cold.
Then The Kid he rolls his Super Bomb that'd paralyze a moose.
And Pearley takes one super hit and SLURP! that bomb defused.
Then he rolls three in just ten seconds and she smokes 'em up in nine,
And everybody sits back and says, "This just might take some time."
See the blur of flyin' fingers, see the red coal burnin' bright
As the night turns into mornin' and the mornin' fades to night
And the autumn turns to summer and a whole damn year is gone
But the two still sit on that roach-filled stage, smokin' and rollin' on
With tremblin' hands he rolls his jays with fingers blue and stiff
She coughs and stares with bloodshot gaze, and puffs through blistered lips.
And as she reaches out her hand for another stick of gold
The Kid he gasps, "Goddamn it, bitch, there's nothin' left to roll!"
"Nothin' left to roll?", screams Pearl, "Is this some twisted joke?"
"I didn't come here to fuck around, man, I come here to SMOKE!"
And she reaches 'cross the table And grabs his bony sleeves
And she crumbles his body between her hands like dried and brittle leaves
Flickin' out his teeth and bones like useless stems and seeds
And then she rolls him in a Zig Zag and lights him like a roach.
And the fastest man with the fastest hands goes up in a puff of smoke.
In the laid-back California town of sunny San Rafael
Lives a girl named Pearly Sweetcake, you prob'ly know her well.
She's been stoned twenty-one of her twenty-four years, and the story's widely told.
How she still can smoke them faster than anyone can roll
While off in New York City on a street that has no name.
There's the hands of the Calistoga Kid in the Viper Hall of Fame
And underneath his fingers there's a little golden scroll
That says, Beware of Being the Roller When There's Nothin' Left to Roll
(The Great Smoke Off is on YouTube to listen (no visuals but it's a fun audio clip!)
)PERFECT HIGH
There once was a boy named Gimmesome Roy. He was nothing like me or you.
'Cause laying back and getting high was all he cared to do.
As a kid, he sat in the cellar, sniffing airplane glue.
And then he smoked bananas -- which was then the thing to do.
He tried aspirin in Coca-Cola, breathed helium on the sly,
And his life was just one endless search to find that perfect high.
But grass just made him want to lay back and eat chocolate-chip pizza all night,
And the great things he wrote while he was stoned looked like shit in the morning light.
And speed just made him rap all day, reds just laid him back,
And Cocaine Rose was sweet to his nose, but the price nearly broke his back.
He tried PCP and THC, but they didn't quite do the trick,
And poppers nearly blew his heart and mushrooms made him sick.
Acid made him see the light, but he couldn't remember it long.
And hashish was just a little too weak, and smack was a lot too strong,
And Quaaludes made him stumble, and booze just made him cry,
Till he heard of a cat named Baba Fats who knew of the perfect high.
Now, Baba Fats was a hermit cat who lived up in Nepal,
High on a craggy mountaintop, up a sheer and icy wall.
"But hell," says Roy, "I'm a healthy boy, and I'll crawl or climb or fly,
But I'll find that guru who'll give me the clue as to what's the perfect high."
So out and off goes Gimmesome Roy to the land that knows no time,
Up a trail no man could conquer to a cliff no man could climb.
For fourteen years he tries that cliff, then back down again he slides
Then sits -- and cries -- and climbs again, pursuing the perfect high.
He's grinding his teeth, he's coughing blood, he's aching and shaking and weak,
As starving and sore and bleeding and tore, he reaches the mountain peak.
And his eyes blink red like a snow-blind wolf, and he snarls the snarl of a rat,
As there in perfect repose and wearing no clothes -- sits the godlike Baba Fats.
"What's happening, Fats?" says Roy with joy, "I've come to state my biz.
I hear you're hip to the perfect trip. Please tell me what it is.
For you can see," says Roy to he, "that I'm about to die,
So for my last ride, Fats, how can I achieve the perfect high?"
"Well, dog my cats!" says Baba Fats. "here's one more burnt-out soul,
Who's looking for some alchemist to turn his trip to gold.
But you won't find it in no dealer's stash, or on no druggist's shelf.
Son, if you would seek the perfect high -- find it in yourself."
"Why, you jive motherfucker!" screamed Gimmesome Roy, "I've climbed through rain and sleet,
I've lost three fingers off my hands and four toes off my feet!
I've braved the lair of the polar bear and tasted the maggot's kiss.
Now, you tell me the high is in myself. What kind of shit is this?
My ears 'fore they froze off," says Roy, "had heard all kind of crap,
But I didn't climb for fourteen years to listen to that sophomore rap.
And I didn't crawl up here to hear that the high is on the natch,
So you tell me where the real stuff is or I'll kill your guru ass!"
"Ok, OK," says Baba Fats, "you're forcing it out of me.
There is a land beyond the sun that's known as Zaboli.
A wretched land of stone and sand where snakes and buzzards scream,
And in this devil's garden blooms the mystic Tzu-Tzu tree.
And every ten years it blooms one flower as white as the Key West sky,
And he who eats of the Tzu-Tzu flower will know the perfect high.
For the rush comes on like a tidal wave and it hits like the blazing sun.
And the high, it lasts a lifetime and the down don't ever come.
But the Zaboli land is ruled by a giant who stands twelve cubits high.
With eyes of red in his hundred heads, he waits for the passers-by.
And you must slay the red-eyed giant, and swim the River of Slime,
Where the mucous beasts, they wait to feast on those who journey by.
And if you survive the giant and the beasts and swim that slimy sea,
There's a blood-drinking witch who sharpens her teeth as she guards that Tzu-Tzu tree."
"To hell with your witches and giants," laughs Roy. "To hell with the beasts of the sea.
As long as the Tzu-Tzu flower blooms, some hope still blooms for me."
And with tears of joy in his snow-blind eye, Roy hands the guru a five,
Then back down the icy mountain he crawls, pursuing that perfect high.
"Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone,
Facing another thousand years of talking to God alone.
"It seems, Lord", says Fats, "it's always the same, old men or bright-eyed youth,
It's always easier to sell them some shit than it is to give them the truth."
REDNECK HIPPIE ROMANCE
They say a Red-Neck and a Hippie should never get married
But we just laughed and done it anyway.
For a while life was fine...cause your life's so different from mine
But now it seems we both just ain't got very much to say.
'Cause I realize you'll never love Hank Williams
And I don't like the Rolling Stones a bit.
And all my friends have short hair and smoke "Lucky's"
And all your friends have long hair and smoke "shit"
So go and roll yourself another reefer
And I'll go pour myself another beer
And please don't ask me why, we can't give it one more try.
'Cause I'm too drunk to tell you, babe...and you're too stoned to hear.
I like to dress up and look just like a rich man
And you like wearin' jeans and lookin' poor.
And I like dancin' slow, where the "Schlitts" and memories flow
And I like to drink my coke and you like sniffin' yours.
I GOT STONED AND I MISSED IT
There's a nut down on the corner a givin' dollar bills away
But I sat around a bit and then I had another hit
And then I rolled myself a bomber thought about my momma
Looked around fooled around played around while and then
I got stoned and I missed it I got stoned and I missed it
I got stoned and it rolled right by
I got stoned and I missed it I got stoned and I missed it I got stoned oh me oh my
It took seven months of urgin' just to get that local virgin
With the sweet face up to my place to fool around a bit
And next day she woke up rosy and she snuggled up so cosy
But when she asked me how I liked it Lord it hurt me to admit
I got stoned and I missed it...
[ fiddle ]
I ain't makin' no excuses for so many things I uses
Just to brighten my relationships and sweeten up my day
But when my earthly race is over and I'm ready for the clover
And they ask me how my life has been I guess I have to say
I was stoned and I missed it...
