Posts Tagged ‘Cory’

Just Havin’ Fun, Y’all

Posted: December 8, 1993 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

I
So I’m rolling down the ave in the afternoon,
Nissan truck and I’m stuck on a funky Zapp tune.
Nigh wreck my shit as I’m scoping some leg
and it’s Julie and Mark, they’re cold chillin’ a keg.
I’m never one to pass up on a cup of the brew,
so I called up my crew at a quarter to two.
Pulled up my truck and they jumped in the back;
we dismiss the crack for a fat twenty sack.
Overflowing with joy for a solid day.
Maxing and relaxing like Madonna’s “Holiday”.
I.V.’s all lazy and sleek in the sun –
we’re sick of the schoolwork, Friday’s for fun.
Zen and the Art of Drinking Beer
on the porch of the place right now, right here.
You know I love to be loved by the girl I adore,
even though she’s at Dave’s, buying smokes at the store.

Once in a while I smile, switch my style
and give thanks to my brother at Stanford named Kyle.
Yeah I’m dropping names left and right:
so check this one out, his name is Cormick White.
He strikes fear into the population at large;
some call him cue ball, I call him the Sarge.
In charge of the funky fresh style I present
by kicking the shit out of the bucketheads.
He’s riding shotgun in my funky fat ride
bumpin’ Paul’s Boutique and ranking side to side.
Scott Seder in the back cold packing the nine
to keep silly sucker crews like youse in line.
I’m here with my gear for a ridiculous rap,
we’re steering for beer, now give me the tap.
I put my feet on your counter ‘cause I even sit tall
with my posse of persons – we’re just having fun, y’all.

II
I slosh beer in my cup ‘cause it’s time to get ill
and like Billy Ocean I’ve got a licence to chill.
I like my tunes played loud so we’re raising the roof,
if I was Arsenio Hall I’d get continuous woof.
I’m so large, you might mistake me for chunky,
but I’m naturally funky, drinking Brass Monkey.
I choose a good groove, people start to dance,
I do the Mum-ra, Skeletor, and the Buffalo Stance.
Anything can happen in Isla Vista –
Sianie’s in town, that’s Cormick’s sister.
We’re all drunk as hell but fuck it, bro.
My friends are so fresh, we’re the Muppet Show.
My fiancee’s finer than Michelle Pfieffer,
and hopefully Ian’s got more Jagermeister.
I wobble like a weeble but I never will fall
with my friends and their friends – we’re just having fun, y’all.

III
Here comes the message for our generation:
we have on occasion made separation
between ourselves and some category we decide
that is beneath us because of our pride.
Why are we looking to divide our races,
colors, creeds, religions, and sexes?
It doesn’t make sense to try and shift the blame
by pointing a finger, and calling a name.
I’m willing to take my share on my shoulders.
Prejudice can’t get any fucking older.
Now it’s our problem, tomorrow our kids’,
so stop your whining. I’m sick of this shit.
Mothership connection. U-N-I-T-Y.
A pretty simple concept; I’d like you to try
to be civil to your neighbor, a little respect –
it doesn’t take Erasure to tell you how to act, fool.

IV
I’ve got friends in high places, friends in low places,
girlfriends and boyfriends of all colors of faces.
We’re all at this house party, dancing and shaking;
here comes some hotties, but sorry I’m taken.
Everyone can come and have a good time,
but I’m colorblind when you throw up a sign.
Julie’s going wild and she’s taking her clothes off;
I’ve located the bathroom if my cookies I toss.
I can even rap through a technicolor yawn –
there’s never a point when I’m too far gone.
I drink like a fish and I smoke like a chimney.
I promise good times for everyone with me.
Mark’s got my back as I’m sacking the track,
Dave Parrish in the house and the 8 ball’s back.
We’re bursting at the seams, tight jeans is the call;
mine are cutting off my circulation, but I’m just having fun, y’all.

V
Mike Hedrick’s over there with a glassy-eyed stare;
Valcones is toking in my favorite chair.
Shit. It seems like the world’s here,
but that’s what happens when there’s good free beer.
It’s a get-together, sort of a sociable thing;
people like to talk, laugh, dance, and sing.
I saw my girl Cindy and she’s pouting for sure
because I didn’t include a little cut from The Cure.
Now I’m outside for a breath of fresh air.
I’m so sauced I like Cory’s derriere.
John Monge in effect and he’s doing the deuce;
this party’s like an old pair of socks getting loose.
Balzano in trouble with a lungful of smoke.
Chronic hydroponic and that’s all she wrote.
Pedro’s passed out, y’all, the son of a gun,
but never mind him, we’re just having fun.

VI
The roof is on fire but we don’t care.
We’re spinning through the music with plenty to spare.
No one’s driving home, no one’s calling a taxi.
We’re not going to sleep so don’t even ask me.
Everything’s done with having fun in mind.
You’d better get yours ‘cause I’m sure to get mine.
Curt, Jane, and Jean roll up in the Jeep
and I reassure Jean we didn’t invite the creep.
Wine, whiskey and song, beer, women, and men;
we started a three and it’s half-past ten.
This jam’s still rolling – we haven’t begun
and when the cops show up we’re inviting them in.
I’m dreading my hangover, wait ‘till morning
when I have to get drunk to stop the room spinning.
Come to the party? Give me a call.
It’s like Animal House, and I’m just having fun y’all.

D’yer Maker

Posted: February 20, 1993 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , ,

sitting around with my head in my hands
I’m berating myself about my childish demands.
how you’re not here and somewhere else is your home
and like Macauley Culkin, I’m home alone.
I don’t know what it is I can’t figure it out
I keep falling in love but don’t know what it’s about
I’ve got some money I want to spend on you
but all I do is go and play myself some Street Fighter II.
I’m not saying that you don’t love me anymore
because charades is for bores and you’ve heard it before,
but I’m feeling low that you’ve gone and left me here
with nothing to do but take care of this beer.
Jimmy Page is the rage in my sorrow;
if my name was Annie, the sun would come out tomorrow,
but I’m going through withdrawl – I’m not holding you tight
and I’m letting Robert Plant sing me to sleep tonight.

Chorus
Oh oh oh oh oh oh…you don’t have to
Oh oh oh oh oh oh…you don’t have to
Oh oh oh oh oh oh…you don’t have to go….

I slump real low into the depths of my chair.
I’ve almost convinced myself that I don’t care.
I’m almost conviced that I hate my honey ‘cause
[life ain’t nothin’ but bitches and money] – Ice Cube
but I can’t think I know I miss the girl
and drugs and booze are what’s left of my world.
bleary eyes staring at my pictures of her
and I sink a little farther in my furniture.
the floor is littered with the casualty cans –
I’m drinkin’ two-fisted – that means with both hands.
the radio is on, the recors is spinning
and I’m as drunk as a skunk, that’s why I’m grinning.
Cory looks glum, and Geoff’s feeling low
because we’re single, good lookin’ and no women will show.
So we’re off to D.P. to find some young company
a new friend or two who might just listen to me.
maybe they’ll share with me, maybe they’ll lair with me
but hopefully later, they’ll kindly take care of me,
but what I’d much much much much rather do
is stay here tonight and spend some time with you.

(chorus)

alright yes I know that I’m a sorry sight.
I’m as soggy as a bathmat and as high as a kite
but I don’t know what to do or how much more I can take
because being with you is better than birthday cake.
maybe it’s a love song and maybe it’s not
but it sure sounds sincere said with so much pot.
I want you, I need you, I love you, I plead you,
that if you were a garden, I’d hoe you and weed you.
drunk as I am, it’s good to have friends
and all of my friends have got money to spend.
now it’s Friday night and there’s nothing to do
so we go bowling, drink Blatz™ and I forget about you.
we all have our problems and we comfort each other
a big Muppet posse of my sisters and brothers.
I know I look silly; I don’t know how to bowl
but it’s better than sitting home thinkin’ you have to go.

(chorus & guitar solo a la Rob)

now the next morning I hurt all over.
I smell like a fridge pan and I still ain’t sober.
I feel like an anvil has impacted my head;
I remember my roommate had left me for dead.
I swear to Geoff and Cory that the beer never hit me,
and they say something rude ‘bout the dog that bit me.
last time that I saw you I thought that I’d die
but I’d love to see you again, as long as you buy.

(chorus)

I
nothin’ much to do on a Friday afternoon;
jump in the shower and flip on the tunes.
wash behind my ears with Green Apple shampoo
while Geoff takes a piss, asks us what we’re gonna do.
blow a kiss to Dawn, buy Laura some roses,
to Anis’ Quo’ Yo park with James and some doses
[here is somethin’ you can’t understand] – Cypress Hill
how laid back I feel with a Blatz™ in my hand.
Jason’s got the knife just like my man MacGyver;
Cory got drunk and he did the Bus Driver.
the girls from SeaView came over to chat
because a picnic in the park is where it’s at.
a cooler full of beer and a couple of hours,
ten or twelve friends and we’re kickin Franklin’s Tower.
Rob’s sippin whiskey ‘cause he doesn’t drink brew
but we’re all pitchin’ in to roll away the dew, y’all.

Chorus
Roll away . . . the dew
Roll away . . . the dew
Roll away . . . the dew
Roll away . . . the dew

so we’re back to the grass and we’re all in good spirits
got my radio loud so the Vatos can hear it
wine women and song roll around in my head, yo
[who’s the motherfucker who sample the Dead?] – Geoff Stearns
sat back in my chair and looked at the sky.
I don’t know if it’s life or the pot that’s got me high with
kisses and laughter, pasta and rice;
as Cormick would say it’s time to get [NICE!] – Cormick White
Joe shows up with a half bottle of wine;
the other half’s gone, what makes him feel fine.
yo Geoff…check the chicken a la nutmeg.
[Mike get a load of Laurel’s new bootleg] – Geoff Stearns
[pass me a can of Milwaukee’s Best Effort
I’ll drink the Beast but I won’t give Geoff it] – Cormick White
relaxed and happy at the end of the day
I’ll smoke I’ll eat I’ll drink I’ll play.
got a plate loaded down with all sorts of food.
[Sugar Magnolia] is singin’ for you – Grateful Dead
the stars come out in a sky of dark blue
and the next thing you know we’ve got to roll away the dew.

(chorus)

I’ve got my feet propped high on the cooler.
there’s the sweet smell of Grant rollin’ a home-grown wooler.
I hear screams and laughter from a bunch of my friends
and I wonder if Brian’s broken his arm again.
helping myself to a few devilled eggs
I give Julie a hug [yo guys, where’s the keg?] – Julie Yablonicky
she gives me a kiss and I hand her a cup,
I lean back to my right to turn the radio up:

(guitar break a la Rob)

Rob’s playin’ guitar as the sun’s going down
and all of our friends…they’re gathered around.
we’ll be here next week and maybe we’ll invite you
as long as you know what to do.

(chorus x2)