Stephen Lynch Down At The Old Pub Instead

Lad, it’s your duty to find ye a lass

With child-bearing hips and a pink, supple ass

And make her your wife, and love her with love so true

Now some rivers run high, some rivers run low

When her river runs red and shes starting her flow

And it’s called menstruation, and here’s what it means to you

You will notice her bloomers are spotty at first

Stand back, her ovarian dam’s gonna burst

Son, don’t be afraid, it’s a natural thing

Just wad up some cotton and hand her some string

Put the old linens on top of the bed

Get out of the house and go down to the old pub instead

She’ll retain her water, her breasts’ll be tender

And every third word that you say will offend her

Get out of the house and go down to the old pub instead

And she’ll want to make love, if you do you’re a fool

‘Cause you’ll only end up with a bloody O’Toole

Get out of the house, down to the old pub instead

And she’ll want you to sample the fruit of her loins

But son, it’ll taste like some old rusty coins

So turn off the lights, boy, and take off your hat

And drop to your knees, say a prayer to Saint Pat

That he’ll give you the strength to get out of bed

And for Ireland’s sake, go down to the old pub instead

Now the pub is the place where the lads are a’meeting

When the moon’s full and the gals are a’bleeding

The catholic, the protestants, even the pagan

The pub is the place when your lady is raggin’

So drink up your pint, boys, and thank your shamrocks

That as menfolk we don’t have’ta bleed from our cocks

And that we can escape from the lady in red

And get out of the house and go down to the old pub instead

Stephen Lynch Lullaby

Hush little girl

Sweet baby dont cry, tonight

Daddy is here and he’ll sing you a soft lullaby, tonight

Why cant it all be like it was before

How can I explain why mommy’s not here anymore

Cause daddy likes porno and $10 whores

Daddy gets wasted and robs liquor stores

Daddy likes rubbing against little boys on the bus

I think thats why your mommy left us, mommy left us

Hush little girl

There is no reason to fret, tonight

Don’t mind the smoke, daddy just wants to forget, tonight

Soon it will all be like it was before

Any minute, she will walk through that front door

But daddy plays poker and drinks lots of beer

Then he wants sex that involves mommy’s rear

Daddy has sores on his naughty parts oozing with pus

I think thats why mommy left us

Please don’t cry

I swear I’ll try

To be here by your side

Right after daddy gets home from the bar

Visits his bookee

And steals a new car

He’ll drive to the strip club

And if daddy plays his cards right

He’ll bring home your new mommy tonight

Stephen Lynch Whittlin’ Man

In the woods of Northern Michigan he made his home.

Didn’t ask much from the world, just wanted to be alone.

And got his first real blade at thirteen—thats when it all began.

And soon the creatures of the forest called him “Whittlin’ Man”.

Yeah, he whittled all day and he whittled all night,

He whittled, whittled, whittled everything in sight,

He whittled on a stick, and he whittled on his shoe,

And if you come too close, he gonna whittle you too!

Keep a safe distance if you can,

‘Cause you’re never safe around Whittlin’ Man!

Had a stump to sit on, had some wood, had his trusty knife.

Whittled out a house, a car, and he whittled himself a wife. (Such a beautiful wife!)

Whittled out four kids, a swimming pool, and a big LearJet,

And so he wouldn’t miss Saved By the Bell, well, he whittled a TV set.

Yeah, he whittle if it’s light, and he whittle if it’s dark,

And if Noah was around, well he’d whittle him an ark.

He’d whittle somethin’ new, and he’d whittle somethin’ old,

Whittle somethin’ hot, and he’d whittle somethin’ rather chilly.

Keep a safe distance if you can,

‘Cause you’re never safe around Whittlin’ Man!

Break it down.

Some say Whittlin’ Man’s a genius, still others say he’s just dumb.

He whittled off a foot, an ear, three fingers, and his left thumb.

Boy, is he dumb!

That won’t stop him, no it won’t!

He’ll whittle through thick and thin.

Once he’s whittled everything,

He’ll just whittle it all again!

Yeah, he whittle if it’s white, and he whittle if it’s black,

And he whittle on a duck till the duck can’t quack.

He whittle if it’s dry, and he whittle if it’s juicy,

Whittle on Desi and he whittle on Lucy.

Whittle JFK and he whittle Jackie O,

Whittled on Larry and Curly and Moe,

And he whittle Frank Zappa and he whittle Tipper Gore,

Whittle, whittle, whittle, till he can’t no more.

Whittle Shamu and he whittle on Jaws!

Whittle Easter Bunny and he whittle Santa Claus!

And he whittle, whittle, whittle, just as fast as he can

Whittle till he’s dead, he’s… Whittlin’ Man!

Stephen Lynch Little Tiny Moustache

Yeah. You’re either gonna like this song, or kick my ass after the show.

You’re the love of my life,

But it cuts like a knife,

And I feel that I’m being misled.

See, I’m a little concerned,

For I’ve recently learned

Of the swastika tattoo on your head.

And it makes you smile

When you hear “Sieg Heil”.

You love the smell of a burning cross in the yard.

You do goose-step salutes

In your Doc Martin boots,

And you quoted “Mein Kampf” in our 5th anniversary card.

I think you’re a nazi, baby.

Are you a nazi?

You might be a nazi, baby…

You keep extensive files

On the Nuremberg trials,

And you watch them whenever they’re airing.

I guess I should’ve known

When you bought a new bone

For your puppies named Göbbles and Göring.

You showed up late

To our very first date;

I said, “How are you?”, you said, “White power”.

Call me paranoid,

But I’m not overjoyed

When you ask me if I want to shower…

I think you’re a nazi.

Don’t be lyin’, baby,

Are you a nazi?

Are you anti-Zion, baby?

Your every dress

Is monagrammed “SS”.

You hold an Aryan picknick and bash.

And it makes me irate

When you say I look great

When I wear a little tiny moustache.

Your social politics

Say that races don’t mix,

And you call it pure-blood pollution.

And whenever I’m sad,

You say it’s not so bad,

For every problem there’s a Final Solution…

I think you’re a nazi.

Give me an answer, baby.

Are you a nazi?

You drive a fuckin’ panzer, baby.

You say that love is blind,

So how could I have guessed…

But then again, I met you

At the Wagner Fest…

I know you’re a nazi,

And that’s why I’m leavin’.

I know you’re a nazi,

Sure as my name is Stephen…

… Lynchbergstein.

Stephen Lynch Gerbil

I bought a gerbil from the petting zoo

If Richard Gere can do it I can too

I get undressed, start to lube

I stick the gerbil in the end of the tube

Wondering just how he’ll feel

Will he like it better than his little wheel

Careful now he’s right beside me

One more inch and he’s inside me

Go, gerbil go

Burrow harder, burrow deeper

Be my little chimney sweeper

One thing I forgot about

How am I supposed to get you out?

So now my Gerbils on easy street

It’s warm and cozy and there’s plenty to eat

The situation is beyone my control

Gotta find a way to get him out of his hole

I try crowbars, I try wires

I almost had him with a pair of pliers

I try cheese but he’s not biting

I wish this wasn’t so exciting

Go, gerbil go

Jesus I am such a sucker

Please get out you furry fucker

I think I am getting ill

Suddenly he’s very very still

Now it’s too late

My gerbil died

I guess I have commited gerbicide

Here’s some advice

It’s very clear cut

If you love your gerbil

Don’t stick him up your butt

Don’t stick him up your butt

Little furry gerbil in your booty hole

Don’t stick him up and you put him in the end and he won’t come out

Yeah

Stephen Lynch Walken II

I’m sorry but I don’t know what to do.

I just need more Cowbell

Tall glass O’water is my favorite

because it has cowbell

Thats funny to you engineer man in the corner

You don’t know nothing man

Lets do a song Stephen Lynch and I

you know what thats crazy.. I gotta go

Stephen Lynch Bitch

Had to see you one last time

There’s something on my mind

How do I say what needs to be said?

The words are hard to find

How about bitch give me my money

I want my money and i want it fast

Hey, bitch give me my money

Else I’m ’bout to take it out your ass

Stephen Lynch So This Is Outer Space?

So this is outer space

What a lovely place

I can’t wait to tell the human race

Hello, alien. Will you be my friend?

Wait, there’s something I can’t comprehend

It’s not outer space at all

I’m just at the mall

Holy shit, I’m freaking out y’all

You’re on acids

You’re on acids

You’re on acids

Oh that’s right, let’s go to the arcade

LSD will keep me sane

Help me reach a higher plane

According to the spiders in my brain

Hey, there’s a girl I know

I should say hello

But her face is melting

Got to go

Oh I’m freaking out again

Where’s that alien

I need him to tell me that this trip will end

You’re on acids

You’re on acids

You’re on acids

All the colors, pretty colors

I met the devil, he was at the Cinnabon

With a monkey named Ramone

Oh, there was dancing on a seven-headed snake

Man, this acid’s way too strong

Acid’s way too strong

In a psychedelic state

Watch my pupils dilate

Staring in this mirror

For three hours straight

My reflection starts to glow

Then says man it’s time to go

Hey reflection please don’t

Harsh my mellow bro

Oh there’s that alien

Sir we meet again

I’ve got a tab of window pane

For you, my friend

Don’t take too much

You’ll peak too soon

What a crazy afternoon

Me and an alien are tripping balls to the moon

We’re on acids

We’re on acids

We’re on acids

Got some left for the devil and Ramone