Linux Songs Poems

T:      One big monster, he called TROLL.
        He don't rock, and he don't roll;
        Drink no wine, and smoke no stogies.
        He just Love To Eat Them Roguies.
                -- The Roguelet's ABC

Take a look around you, tell me what you see,
A girl who thinks she's ordinary lookin' she has got the key.
If you can get close enough to look into her eyes
There's something special right behind the bitterness she hides.
        And you're fair game,
        You never know what she'll decide, you're fair game,
        Just relax, enjoy the ride.
Find a way to reach her, make yourself a fool,
But do it with a little class, disregard the rules.
'Cause this one knows the bottom line, couldn't get a date.
The ugly duckling striking back, and she'll decide her fate.
        (chorus)
The ones you never notice are the ones you have to watch.
She's pleasant and she's friendly while she's looking at your crotch.
Try your hand at conversation, gossip is a lie,
And sure enough she'll take you home and make you wanna die.
        (chorus)
                -- Crosby, Stills, Nash, "Fair Game"

Take heart amid the deepening gloom that your dog is finally getting
enough cheese.
                -- National Lampoon, "Deteriorata"

Tan me hide when I'm dead, Fred,
Tan me hide when I'm dead.
So we tanned his hide when he died, Clyde,
It's hanging there on the shed.

All together now...
        Tie me kangaroo down, sport,
        Tie me kangaroo down.
        Tie me kangaroo down, sport,
        Tie me kangaroo down.

Tell me why the stars do shine,
Tell me why the ivy twines,
Tell me why the sky's so blue,
And I will tell you just why I love you.

        Nuclear fusion makes stars to shine,
        Phototropism makes ivy twine,
        Rayleigh scattering makes sky so blue,
        Sexual hormones are why I love you.

Tell me, O Octopus, I begs,
Is those things arms, or is they legs?
I marvel at thee, Octopus;
If I were thou, I'd call me us.
                -- Ogden Nash

Terence, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well the horned head:
We poor lads, 'tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time.
Moping, melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.
                -- A.E. Housman

That feeling just came over me.
                -- Albert DeSalvo, the "Boston Strangler"

That money talks,
I'll not deny,
I heard it once,
It said "Good-bye.
                -- Richard Armour

        The Advertising Agency Song

        When your client's hopping mad,
        Put his picture in the ad.
        If he still should prove refractory,
        Add a picture of his factory.