Gold Miner's Daughter

(to the tune of Coal Miner's Daughter)
©Dave Clegg

I’m a courtin’ a gold miner’s daughter.

She’s got more gold than the ocean has water.

Well, I’m poor, but I’m resourceful,

And it’s made her folks remorseful

For the braces and the nose-job they never got her.

She’s the saddest thing you ever laid eyes on,

And she’d take the first poor slob who comes along.

I’m proud that slob is me

‘Cause I’ll be set, financially. 

When I’m married to the gold miner’s daughter.

I met her at the dog show late last year.

She won first prize for the floppiest pair of ears.

Man, she made my stomach rumble,

Until I heard she was worth a bundle.

She’s an only child and gold miner’s daughter.

Her mom and dad don’t think my love is true.

But no one could love her gold the way I do.

I’d marry her tonight,

But only ‘cause the price is right.

Yeah, she’s ugly, but she’s a gold miner’s daughter.

I’m prayin’ that her folks will eventually

Stop sickin’ them dang Rottweilers on me.

Well, they can chew ‘til my skin is raw,

But I’m gonna be their son-in-law.

Then you can call me MISTER Gold Miner’s Daughter. 

I Don't Need It

©Dave Clegg

I don’t need a new Mercedes, 

I don’t need a Cadillac.

I don’t need a big fine mansion 

With a pool out in the back.

I don’t need a yacht for sailing, 

I don’t need a private jet,

I don’t need no trips to Paris, 

Or other places I ain’t been yet...

But I want it! I want it bad!

I want the life of luxury I never had.

I wanna buy my wife big diamond rings

And lots of other shiny things.

I don’t need it, but I want it bad.

I don’t need a tailor-made wardrobe, 

Or a Rolex on my wrist.

Of the world’s most pampered people, 

I don’t need to make the list.

I don’t need a mountain chalet, 

Or a lake-side bungalow.

I don’t need a high-rise penthouse 

On the Gulf of Mexico.

But I want it! I want it bad!

I want the life of luxury I never had.

I wanna live the high-life to the hilt

Like Rockefeller and Vanderbilt.

I don’t need it, but I want it bad.

I don’t need a personal assistant 

To help me plan my week.

I don’t need a personal trainer 

To chisel my physique.

I don’t need a bunch of servants, 

Genuflect on one knee.

And I don’t need a gourmet chef 

To fix my food for me.

But I want it! I want it bad!

I want the life of luxury I never had.

I want real estate and blue chip stocks

I wanna be the envy of Fort Knox.

I don’t need it, but I want it bad.

I wanna buy it low and sell it high,

I wanna be that little Monopoly guy.

I don’t need it, but I want it bad.

I don’t need it, but I want it bad.

The Contract

©2008 Dave Clegg

The doorbell rings, I know just who it is. 

It's the punk who has a date with my sweet daughter.

Attitude, hair down in his eyes,

And I'm wondering if he’s heard of soap and water.

“Right this way, you can wait in here.

She should be downstairs most anytime.”

He shrugs his boney shoulders and says, “Whatever.” 

(The sorry little no-good sack of slime!) 

I sat him down in the dining room,

Crossed my arms and lowered my voice deep.

You should have seen the look of panic in those beady eyes 

When I said, “Listen up, you little creep!”

“I’ve never carried out an urge to kill.

Not even sure if I’d know how.

But, sonny boy, I’m a real fast learner.

And there’s no better time to start than now.”

I laid a contract on the table where he sat,

Stuck an ink pen in his grubby fist.

No lawyer-talk, no legalese, 

Just twelve simple lines that read like this:

   I, (sign your name) do swear to keep

   My hands in my pockets (except to drive)

   And I hereby agree, if I so much as touch this girl,

   I will forfeit my right to stay alive.

   I solemnly swear upon my future grave.

   To have your precious daughter home by ten.

   I furthermore acknowledge, if I’m one second late,

   They’ll have to notify my next of kin.

   I approve, but will not limit you to,

   The following methods of my demise:

   Electrocution, hanging, disembowelment,

   Or a single bullet right between the eyes. 

He jumped up and bolted for the door

Left strips of flaming rubber on our road. 

That’s how it goes when your teenage Prince Charming.
Turns out to be just another toad. 

Hayzoose

©2008 Dave Clegg

A while ago, I left The Home Depot

With supplies to build a tool shed.

Hit a bump in the road, nearly lost my load,

But I managed to keep a cool head.

I found me a spot in a parking lot

To check if everything was in order.

When, into the back, climbing onto my stack,

Was a man from south of the border.

I said, “Hey man, you don’t understand.

I don’t need your assistance.

Here’s a buck, now get off of my truck,

And don’t give me any resistance.”

His English wasn’t good, but he understood,

He said, “Please, amigo,

My name Hayzoose, I work for you

So I can feed my wife and bambino.”

Quit your cryin’ that’s no concern of mine.

Now get the heck off my lumber.

I counted, “One, two...” and said, “if I were you

I wouldn’t make me say the next number.”

He lowered his head and climbed out of the bed.

I guess I showed him who‘s boss.

But he kept on staring at the chain I was wearing,

Yeah, he wants to steal my gold cross!

I left him in the dust, now, it’s “home or bust”,

I couldn’t wait to use my new hammer!

Can you believe that jerk asking me for work!

They ought to lock him up in the slammer.

I was cursing the way things are today,

Wondering how much I can take,

When a semi truck put an end to my luck.

Smashed me flat as a pancake.

When I opened my eyes, to my surprise.

I was looking at a WalMart greeter.

But to my fright, he was dressed in white,

And the name tag said, ”St. Peter”.

Ol’ St. Pete said, “I‘d like you to meet...

And I just about fell to pieces!

”Well, I’ll be Mother Goose, is that you Hayzoose?”

He smiled and said, “Call me Jesus.”

He said, “I came to you to see what you would do.

But I guess you didn’t want to bother.

Remember, when you sneeze on the least of these,

You do the same to The Father.”

“If you, my son, were to help someone,

Would it really cause you that much trouble?”

I said, “Hold the phone! If I had only known,

I would’ve hired you and paid you double!”

He stood there awhile with a gentle smile

And placed a hand on my shoulder.

He said, “Do not fear, you’re welcome here,

But you’ll have to wait until you’re older.”

Next thing I knew, I was comin’ to.

Rearin‘ and ready for action.

I’ll make a brand new start with a brand new heart,

Soon as I get out of traction.

Close Your Eyes

©2008 Dave Clegg 

Close your eyes, little boy, 

Let your dreams take you sailing

Where spoons run away with dishes.

Where chocolate rivers bubble up

From sugar candy fountains.

And you wink your eye to satisfy your wishes.

Close your eyes, little boy.

When you’re with the Sandman,  

You can float above the clouds like a feather.

Sleep little boy. Now that you’re in dreamland,

Mommy and I can spend some time together.

= )

: (

Close your eyes, little boy,

No, you’ve had enough water.

And we just changed your sheets this morning.

Hurry up, little boy,

Mommy’s fading fast!

She just gave me the two-minute warning.

Close your eyes, little boy.

Pleeeease do this for Daddy!

See, he needs special playtime with your mother.

So close your little eyes,

‘Cause if you don’t go beddy-bye, 

You’re never gonna to have a baby brother!

Close your eyes!

Now, where are you going?

You just went potty, now it’s time for slumber!

Let go of the cat! 

You broke his tail the last time. 

Now, get back in that bed and saw some lumber!

CLOSE YOUR EYES, YOU LITTLE....

Look, I’m running out of time here!

And as long as you’re awake, I’m not scoring! 

But, if you go to sleep right now...

Oh, forget it!

That sound from down the hall is Mommy snoring.

Close your eyes, little boy, 

Let your dreams take you sailing

Where spoons run away with dishes.

Where chocolate rivers bubble up

From sugar candy fountains.

And you wink your eye to satisfy your wishes.

; )

SPAM

©2008 Dave Clegg

I booted my Mac to check my e-mail.

When I clicked on the in-box it started to swell.

Must’ve been nine hundred messages deep,

And nary a one did I de-sire to keep.

Well, being the curious soul that I am,

I had me a look at a chunk of that spam.

The assumptions about me made me so proud.

I’m broke, bald, and lonely, and under-endowed.

You could hang all the scoundrels who spread this pollution,

But I have a much more effective solution.

Let’s round up the turkeys who fall for these lies

And repeat these words until they realize…

There’s no magic potion to re-grow your hair,

And there’s no way to add any inches down there.

You ain’t won the lottery. It’s a scam.

And you’re the dumb sucker who bites on the spam.

You’re just the dumb sucker who bites on the spam.

There’s no better way to gain a man’s trust,

Than to play to his greed, vanity and lust.

All logic and reason get stuck in the mud

For dreams of becoming a rich, handsome stud.

Now, spammers are evil, no argument here.

But without willing dupes, they’d all disappear.

So to all of you dim-witted, gullible fools,

Pay close attention to the following rules.

There’s no magic potion to re-grow your hair,

And there’s no way to add any inches down there.

You ain’t won the lottery. It’s a scam.

And you’re the dumb sucker who bites on the spam.

You’re just the dumb sucker who bites on the spam.

Now, finally! Here’s one that could be legit.

A stock with potential, it's a guaranteed hit!

All I need, now, is to choose an amount,

Then hand them the keys to my checking account.

There’s no magic potion to re-grow your hair,

And there’s no way to add any inches down there.

You ain’t won the lottery. It’s a scam.

And you’re the dumb sucker who bites on the spam.

You’re just the dumb sucker who bites on the spam.

Barn Full of Horses

©1996 Dave Clegg

You were born and bred in Suburbia

But it cramped your country heart. 

You dreamed of life on a long dirt road

And a horse in your back yard.

You set your course and bought a horse

And kept her at the stable.

Made a plan to buy some land

As soon as you were able.

But then I came along 

And you gave up the dream for good,

To live out your worst nightmare

In a chain link neighborhood.

You sold your horse and saddle

Just so we could make ends meet.

If I could only strike it rich

I’d make your life complete. 

I’d buy you a barn full of horses.

A forty-acre farm with a wood rail fence.

Hire a maid for the cooking and the chores,

Get you back in the saddle, let life commence. 

We’d have a truck and a goose-neck trailer,

Take a month or so every week or two, 

Load up the ponies and hit the trail.

Let the nightmare end and the dream come true.

A barn full of horses. 

There’s a place outside of town

You’d love to have someday. 

But honey, with the money

I don’t make, there ain’t no way.

But if I tap a gusher

Diggin’ holes in our backyard,

You can rest assured, your life

Would never be this hard.

Or if I hit the jackpot

Tuggin’ on a one-armed bandit,

You can bet you’d live the rest

Of your life the way you planned it.

‘Cause, I’d buy you a barn full of horses.

A forty-acre farm with a white rail fence.

Hire a maid for the cooking and the chores,

Get you back in the saddle, let life commence. 

We’d have a truck and a goose-neck trailer,

Take a month or so every week or two, 

Load up the ponies and hit the trail.

Let the nightmare end and the dream come true.

A barn full of horses

A barn full of horses

For you.

No Rhymes!

©2010 Dave Clegg

I thought it might be fun 

To write this song without a rhyme.

After all, in normal talk, 

We do it all the time. 

First, I’ll choose the proper theme,

Like “Falling deep in love”,

And avoid those worn-out phrases like, 

“The moon and stars above”. 

Next, I’ll need a catchy hook 

To give it some direction,

Romantic words (with clashing tones) 

That demonstrate affection.

I’ll tap into the memory

Of some past infatuation,

And paint a true-love picture while

Resisting rhyme’s temptation.

To make it real and genuine,

I’ll open up my heart.

And end each line with mismatch sounds,

To set this song apart.

I’ll substitute “young lass” for “girl”

Yeah, this’ll be a cinch!

Instead of “love”, I’ll use “amour”.

(Who knows love like the French?)

I’ll capture sweet emotions

With no two words alike

Homophonic syllables 

Can all go take a hike.

Behold, the verbal artistry

That gushes from my pen,

When I’m not stressed that each line

Needs to have a perfect twin.

Who made the rule that songs must have

Those words that sound the same?

I, for one, have lost the urge

To play that silly game. 

Rise up, my fellow troubadours,

Come set your spirits free.

And write each chorus, bridge and verse,

With no rhymes, just like me. 

Special Report

©1996

Each night before I lay me down,

I hit the tube, turn up the sound

To see what new catastrophe

Tomorrow has in store for me.

You may say you’re doing well,

But I say you can never tell.

Beware, because what you don’t know

Can lay you down six feet below.

And I know it’s true

Every time I view...

Special Assignment Undercover Investigative Report

There’s no bottom to the depths 

To which those journalistic geniuses resort. 

You may be about to face 

Your final judgement at the gates of Heaven.

‘Cause you won’t live to see tomorrow,

If you don’t tune in tonight.

To that Special Report at Eleven. 

They warn you of impending doom

Like radon gas in every room,

But stay inside ‘cause, don’t you know?

Those killer bees are on the go.

The stuff you’re spraying on your grass

Is killing you with poison gas, 

Your drinking water’s full of lead,

Just one sip and you’ll be dead. 

When you’re driving down the road,

Will your pickup truck explode?

Watch how you accelerate.

The slightest bump could detonate. 

If you’re not prepared to die,

Don’t you eat that apple pie.

Buttered popcorn clogs your heart,

You’ll do without if you are smart.

Lock the doors and hide your babies!

Mosquito bites can give you rabies!

Beneath your feet disaster looms,

Your carpet gives off toxic fumes!

Everyday there’s new diseases!

Death is blowin’ in the breezes!

Acid rain will eat your skin!

EVERYTHING can do you in!

Back to you, Monica.

That's the Kinda Guy I Am

©Dave 2008 Clegg

I help little old ladies across the street

‘Cause that’s the kinda guy I am.

I always lower the toilet seat,

‘Cause that’s the kinda guy I am.

Calm, cool, and collected,

Even in a traffic jam.

Picture of perfection,

Ready for inspection, 

That’s the kinda guy I am.

If I find a dime, I’ll turn it in,

That’s the kinda guy I am.

If we race, I hope you win,

That’s the kinda guy I am.

Courageous as a lion,

Gentle as a lamb.

Picture of perfection,

Ready for inspection, 

That’s the kinda guy I am.

I’m a blood and organ donor.

That’s the kinda guy I am.

If I’m late for home, I’ll phone her.

That’s the kinda guy I am.

When all the world is bitter,

I’m sweeter than a candied yam.

Picture of perfection,

Ready for inspection, 

That’s the kinda guy I am.

I’ll stand and let you have my seat,

That’s the kinda guy I am.

If your tired, I’ll rub your feet.

That’s the kinda guy I am.

In the midst of all this discontent,

I’m happy as a clam.

Picture of perfection,

Ready for inspection, 

That’s the kinda guy I am.

I obey the traffic laws.

That’s the kinda guy I am.

I volunteer, just because.

That’s the kinda guy I am.

And when I file my taxes,

I never cheat Uncle Sam.

Picture of perfection,

Ready for inspection, 

That’s the kinda guy I am.

If I have two, I’ll give you one.

That’s the kinda guy I am.

But, don’t take both, I’ve got a gun.

That’s the kinda guy I am.

If you want to go on living,

Then buddy, you’d better scram.

‘Cause I’ll count to seven,

Then I’ll send you to Heaven...

‘Cause that’s the kinda guy I am.

Left Behind

©Dave Clegg

One Sunday at the Creekview Baptist Church in Northwest Georgia,

The congregation of the Reverend Eugene Purvis

Was rocked to its foundation and has never quite recovered

From happened at that most eventful service.

Doxology had just been sung, the kindly Reverend Purvis

Made the short walk to the pulpit from his chair.

While Mrs. Doris Watson, thanks to several cups of coffee,

Made her way to the ladies’ room before the prayer.

Well, the reverend had somehow lost the notes to this week’s sermon,

Which was supposed to be on “Blessed Are the Meek”.

“BAPTISM!”, he proclaimed to cover his transgression.

“Please rise and let us gather at the creek.”

Now, when Doris Watson came back to that empty sanctuary,

Bewilderment and worry filled her mind.

But, fear gave way to terror when at last she realized,

The rapture came and she’d been left behind!

Despite her desperate circumstance, she pulled herself together,

And started to assess the situation.

The wheels inside her head began to calculate a plan

To save her from the Lake of Fire damnation.

First thing Doris did was bolt the doors to keep out demons,

Then, she commandeered the pulpit microphone.

If she was going to have to plead her case before the Lord,

She’s do so in a most resounding tone.

She flipped the switch and turned the volume high as it would go,

For, Mrs. Doris Watson would be heard!

But when she hit the power to the outside intercom,

That’s when the real catastrophe occurred.

“Lord, it’s Doris,” she announced with righteous indignation.

“I trust that your attention I have captured.

And Lord, you must forgive me if I seem a bit perturbed,

But, why on earth am I still here un-raptured?”

“I mean, sure, I know I haven’t been the perfect little angel,

But what about that durn Loretta Seavers?

She’s been sellin’ moonshine 'cross the line in Alabama

And tellin’ folks it’s good for colds and fevers!”

“And Wanda Jones got raptured? Why, that trashy little tart!

She’s runnin’ ‘round with half the congregation!

And the ladies of the prayer chain say that several of the deacons

Go to parties filled with gamblin’ and libation!”

Well, over at the creek, eyes were wide and jaws were dropping.

Everyone seemed paralyzed with shock.

Then when Doris started in on poor ol’ Reverend Purvis,

Panic spread throughout the entire flock.

Without a word, they stormed back to the church to quell the madness.

Well, at least that’s what they all were hopin’.

Instead they found, to their chagrin, as Doris rambled on,

Neither of the church’s doors would open.

They swarmed the grounds and started beating on the stained-glass windows,

Which had an unintended consequence.

When Doris heard those “demons” out there bangin’ and a screamin’

She hunkered down in all-out self defense.

Now, instead of telling God about the virtues she possessed,

She stuck to pointing out the sins of others.

Until she’d covered every single member of the church,

And all their cousins, uncles, aunts and mothers.

Just then, the floor beneath her just collapsed and disappeared.

Poor Doris thought she must be bound for Hell.

She had no way of knowing that the wooden country church

Was built above an old abandoned well.

Deep into the darkness of the cavern Doris fell,

Defeated, forsaken, and rejected.

And as she plunged into the pit, she found, to her surprise,

The Lake of Fire was colder than expected!

A subterranean river took her miles and miles away

And, there she still resides among the damned.

Some people call it Hades, Doris calls it Hell.

The locals call it “Sweet home Alabam.”

Meanwhile, back at Creekview Church, the doors were finally breached,

But, not a trace of Doris did they find.

The logical conclusion was that Doris had been raptured,

And everybody else was left behind.