Posted: May 8, 2005 11:44 am
Life in the Slaw Lane, that's it.blackjack wrote:Is it on an album called "Life in the Slaw Lane?" or is that another Kip Adotta song?jollymonsings wrote:Thanks to the lines listed by Parrothed, it's called Wet Dreams by Kip Adotta, I have a Dr. Demento cd with that song on it. lol
All I could recall of that hilarious piece is the last line:
"It's a garden out there."
It was Cucumber the 1st. Summer was over.
I had just spinached a long day and I was busheled. I'm the kind of guy that works hard for his celery,
and I don't like telling you I was feeling a bit wilted.
But I didn't carrot all, because, otherwise, things were vine. I try never to dasparagus, and I don't sweat the truffles.
I'm outstanding in my field, and I know that something good will turnip eventually.
A bunch of things were going grape, and, soon, I'd be top banana. At least, that's my peeling.
But that's enough corn -- lend me your ear, and lettuce continue.
After dressing, I stalked over to the grain station. I got there just in lime to catch the nine-elemon
as it plowed towards the core of Appleton,
a lentil more than a melon and a half yeast of Cloveland.
No one got off at Zucchini, so we continued on a rutaBaga. Passing my usual stop, I got avoCado.
I haled a passing Yellow Cabbage and told the driver to cart me off to Broccolin.
I was going to meet my brother across from the EggPlant,
where he had a job at the Saffron station pumpkin gas.
As soon as I saw his face, I knew he was in a yam. He told me his wife had been raisin cane.
Her name was Peaches -- a soiled but radishing beauty with huge gourds (my brother had always been a chestnut).
But I could never figure out why she picked him. He was a skinny little stringbean who'd always suffered from Cerebral Parsley --
it was in our roots. Sure, we had tried to weed it out, but the problem still romained. He was used to having a tough row to hoe,
but it irrigated me to see Arte-choke,
and it bothered my brother to see his marriage go to seed.
Like most mapled couples, they had a lot of growing to do. Shore, they had sown their wild oats, but just barley, if you peas.
Finally, Peaches had given him an ultomato. She said, "I'm hip to your chive, and if you don't stop smoking that herb,
I'm going to leaf you for Basil, you fruit!"
He said he didn't realize it had kumquat so far. Onion other hand, even though Peaches could be the pits,
I knew she'd never call the fuzz.
So I said, "Hay, we're not farm from the MushRoom. Let's walk over."
He said, "That's a very rice place! That's the same little bar where alfalfa my wife."
When we got there, I pulled up a cherry and tried to produce small talk. I told him I hadn't seen Olive;
not since I'd shelled off for a trip to Macadamia, when I told her we cantaloupe -- the thyme just wasn't ripe.
She knew what I mint!
When we left the MushRoom, we were pretty well juiced. I told Arte to say hello to the boysenberry,
and that I'd orange to see him another time.
Well, it all came out in the morning peppers: Arte caught Peaches that night with Basil,
and Arte beet Basil bad, leaving him with two beautiful acres.
Peaches? She was found in the garden -- she'd be pruned.
Well, my little story is okra now. Maybe it's small potatoes.
Me? Idaho. My name? "Wheat." My friends call be "Kernel."
And that's life in the slaw lane. Thank you so mulch.
It's a garden out there!
