WAR IN THE DESERT

WAR IN THE DESERT
(To the tune of, “A Horse with No Name,” by Dewey Bunnell,, recorded by America in 1971)

The first time in the desert
We were eager to save Kuwait
From the clutches of a madman
Cause they had oil in that state
So we rolled some tanks and we dropped some bombs
And we chased him back to Bagdad
Then Papa Bush said, “Let’s go home.
Cause we’ve done enough to that cad”

First we went to the desert in defense of Kuwait
Cause they had oil in that state
When we went there, there wasn’t debate
For Saddam was someone, we could all hate

But war begets only war (To: la, la, la, la, la, la)
Of that you can be sure
A fool once said there would never be more
So they wrote,  Mr. President” on his door

The second time in the desert
We were chasing the Taliban
Cause they’d let Osama bin Laden train there
And he was a nasty man
So the CIA rode horses around
Nation building for miles and miles
But as always, our soldiers left town
Now the Taliban are all smiles

So we went to the desert in Afghanistan
|To get rid of the Taliban
And to the mountains that border Iran
Cause that’s where 9/11 began

But war begets only war
Of that you can be sure
A fool once said there would never be more
So they wrote “Mr. President” on his door

The third time in the desert
We were looking for weapons they had
Cheney said those evil weapons were there
So we fought our way to Bagdad
But the son of Bush wasn’t up to par
Wasn’t quite up to his dad
And bravado outpaced wisdom there
Only Halliburton felt glad

So we went to the desert once more in Iraq
Searching for a weapons stack
But those weapons were a desert mirage
A ruse made up for camouflage.

And war begets only war
Of that you can be sure
A fool once said there would never be more
So they wrote, “Mr. President” on his door

And this time in the desert
We’re back on the attack
Bombing ISIS weapons we’d left
To resuscitate Iraq
But Iraq never was a state
Just lines drawn in the sand
By the allies after WW I
But the Arabs never bought their plan

So we’re back in the desert, back in sandy Iraq
Like moths drawn to a flame
Into the desert, we’ll always go back
How to stay out of war? We haven’t the knack

And war begets only war
Of that you can be sure
A fool once said there would never be more
So they wrote “Mr. President” on his door.

Lyric © 2014 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

KICKING THE CAN ON DOWN THE ROAD – 2014

Were congress a car it would have only one gear – political overdrive – no neutral, no reverse, and certainly no work-on-governing drive. With mid-term elections looming near and 2016 positioning already begun, congress is in lock-down.  Immigration reform, tax reform and other serious issues languish while our glorious constitutional institution kicks the can on down the road some more.  I’m republishing a 2011 post, with minor editing changes, to show how some things never change.

KICKING THE CAN ON DOWN THE ROAD
(To tune of “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head,” by Burt Bacharach and Hal David)

Kicking the can on down the road
When responsibility becomes a heavy load
Congress won’t decide
They just kick that old can again a little bit further

Because, to make a decision takes a stand
And taking a stand in an election year is banned
Campaign suicide
So, they just kick that old can again a little bit further

But they must surely know
They’re putting on a show there
And we know here
A country kicking cans is heading nowhere

Because, kicking the can on down the road
Is just like the hopping of a narrow-minded toad
Feeling satisfied
But toads never make it to the end of a long road
Your feet are free
Kick them out of DC

Lyric © 2011, 2014 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

 

TAX ENTERTAINMENT

TAX ENTERTAINMENT
(To the tune of “That’s Entertainment” by Arthur Schwartz and Howard Dietz from the MGM musical film “The Band Wagon starring Fred Astaire (1953))

At a game you’re romancing a flame
Eating  lunch handicapping a hunch
Sipping punch, at the family brunch
Tax entertainment

You’re a star taking off for the car
Making de-preciation go far
Playing golf and then writing off par
Tax entertainment

With pluck try your luck at deducting a trip
Hotels and even the tip
“They’ll never catch me” you quip
Then some bad luck, you’ve caught it
A notice for an audit

Disguise all that fear in your eyes
We can guess at the cause: IRS
More or less, you’re a grape in the press
A song to instruct, you’d best not deduct
Tax entertainment

Lyric © 2011 by Robert S. Steinberg
All rights reserved

HOME AT THE RANGE

A resident in Big Pine Key, Florida set up his own backyard target range where he regularly practices shooting.  The neighbors understandably were nervous about someone discharging a firearm near where children play and neighbors barbecue.  Local law enforcement, even if inclined to intercede, could not, however, since Florida State law prevents county or city governments from prohibiting or regulating backyard target ranges.

HOME AT THE RANGE
(To tune of “Home on the Range,” (state song of Kansas) by Dr. Brewster M. Higley & Daniel E. Kelly (1870s)

Home, home at the range.
Why, if I shoot my gun, am I blamed?
My AK-47,
Brings me closer to heaven
I’ll have my rights no matter who’s maimed.

Home, home at the range.
Where the gunfire makes sane folks misgive.
When I shoot at my target
If some good neighbors are hit
Then I’ll see them in court should they live.

Lyric © 2014 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

BITCOIN’S GONE NOW

Mt Gox, one of the Bitcoin exchanges, is filing for bankruptcy after almost half a billion Bitcoins disappeared, virtual and virtually gone. 

BITCOIN’S GONE NOW
(To tune of, “My Man’s Gone Now,” by George Gershwin, Ira Gershwin and DuBose Heyward, from American folk opera, “Porgy and Bess.”)

Bitcoin’s gone now
Virtual and new it was
Too good to be true it was
All those Bitcoins prized

Bitcoin’s gone now
No one will be spending it
Bankruptcy is ending it
Is anyone surprised?

So virtual
And so contrived

Bitcoin’s gone now
Oh I got in much too late
Someone needs to regulate
It’s time they realized

Bitcoin’s gone now
Almost half-a-bill of it
Think I’ve had my fill of it
Dreams of gold downsized

So virtual
And so contrived

Bitcoin’s gone now
Use to bite coins testing them
Bitcoins would be besting them
It was advertised

Bitcoin’s gone now
For lessons learned I’m thanking it
From now on I’m banking it
Any cash derived

Lyric © 2014 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

ETERNAL NOTES FOR ALICE

This post is not a parody song lyric but is an original poem dedicated to the memory of Alice Herz-Sommer who passed away on Sunday, February 23, 2014.   She was 110 years old having been born on  November 1903.  A Czech pianist and music teacher, she had been deported from Prague along with her husband and son to the concentration camp at Theresienstadt and later to the death camp, Auschwitz..  At Theresienstadt, she participated in staged concerts the Germans allowed to be put on as part of a strategy to deceived the Red Cross and West about conditions in the camps.  She and her son were liberated by the Russians in 1945.  I wrote this poem after a Miami Herald article in 2010 reported her to have said the music of Chopin saved her life.  A documentary film about her life, “The Lady in Number 6; Music Saved My Life,” has been nominated for an academy award.

ETERNAL NOTES FOR ALICE

My fingers seem ignorant of the pain
Dancing over the notes
The lovely notes of
Chopin’s etudes

Did he know they would keep me alive?
Did he foresee the need to ward off the dread?
No, he could not have
His soul was pure

They were not, and
Did not feel the tie
Of beauty to life
Of that I am sure

They broke my bones
Trying to humiliate me
With fear from the stench
Of the dead

And they would have succeeded
But for the notes
Eternal notes
They could not burn from my head

© 2010 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

YOUNG AND HEALTHY

For the Affordable Health Care Act to be viable from  a cost standpoint, enough young and healthy persons must enroll to offset the higher costs for the elderly and severely ill enrollees with preexisting conditions.

YOUNG AND HEALTHY
(To tune of “Young and Foolish,” by Albert Hague and Arnold B. Horwitt (1954))

Young and healthy
We need you to enroll
Young and healthy
You bring some cost control

Without all the uninsured
Who won’t be sick or ill
Obamacare becomes a poison pill

Because you’re healthy
We profit on you more
Unlike the wealthy
Whose wealth can self-insure.

To balance out the aged
To average out the cost
If we don’t have the young and healthy
We’re lost.

Lyric © 2014 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

WE’LL BUILD A PIPELINE IN PARADISE

There is still debate over whether to build the Keystone XL oil-pipeline while the West is running out of water.

WE’LL BUILD A PIPELINE IN PARADISE
(To tune of “Stairway to Paradise,” by George and Ira Gershwin, from the 1951 film, “An American in Paris.”

We’ll build a pipeline in Paradise
Built to get oil close to you
We’re gonna build it at any price
If the planet turns to goo

Go fill your cars
Spread CO2 above town
We’ll soon be Mars
There’ll be no people around

We’ll build a pipeline in Paradise
Bidding Paradise adieu.

Why not a pipeline into LA.?
Where their short of H2O
Why build an oil-pipeline anyway?
Oh, you can’t drink crude, you know

When throats are dry
Into a permanent drought
Then by-and-by
We’ll all have figured it out

We’ll built a pipeline in Paradise
Spoiling Paradise no doubt!

Lyric © 2014 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

SELFIE

“Selfie” was named word of the year for 2013.  A “Selfie” is a self-portrait usually taken with a phone camera.  But, the phenomenon more broadly describes an age of self-absorption.  Our lives have always been our own play to produce.  But now we seek to publish our productions without the editor’s hand to scratch out those mundane or maudlin details that lack drama and bore the reader to tears.  We simply think too much about ourselves and lack the discretion to keep our thoughts private. Technology helps us to put off the real world.  In the recently release film “Her” a man actually falls in love with his smartphone’s talking operating system who has a name, Samantha. “Hello, I’m here,” says the smartphone.  Of course, I might fall in love with Scarlett Johansson’s sultry voice. But, essentially, we have an example of fantasy that at its core is isolationist. I can engage in mythical sex with a bodiless machine and who needs other people?  Sounds like a perfect way for the human race to fall to the bottom of Darwin’s evolutionary tree.

SELFIE
(To tune of “Alfie,” by Burt Bacharach and Hal David from the 1966 film of the same name)

What have you become, Selfie?
Are you too much involved with yourself?
Look what you’ve become, Tally up the sum, Selfie?
You’re alone on your own private shelf
Are your happy there? Can’t help

Wondering aloud, Selfie.
Are you proud of the person you are?
Posing for a shot, give it all you’ve got, Selfie.
Facebook shines on you and you’re a star.

A heart grown bare.
One not even aware Selfie.
There’s people near
People who need other people
Loving people.

Love is meant for two, Selfie.
To love yourself and no one else, Selfie.
That’s not true love, but something else.
That’s narcissism, Selfie.

Put your phone down and just look around
There’s a world to be found, Selfie.
Oh Selfie!

Lyric © 2013 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved.

CONGRESS WISHES YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS – 2013

CONGRESS WISHES YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS – 2013
(To tune of “Have Yourself a Very Merry Christmas” by Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane, as performed by Judy Garland in film, “Meet Me in Saint Louis.”)

Congress wishes you a Merry Christmas
With no Food-Aid bill
Next year you’ll be hungrier than ever, still

Congress wishes you a Merry Christmas
Best keep out of sight.
You may be deported right on Christmas night

So upset are Tea Partiers
That their party is, on ice
And the Dems get so haughty then.
Being naughty and, not nice

Congress wishes you a Merry Christmas.
Better plug the dikes.
Flood insurance premiums are due for hikes

Congress wishes you a Merry Christmas.
Another session’s done
Next year won’t be better but you’ll have your gun

(Extra verse)
Congress wishes you a Merry Christmas
Out of work? Life’s hard?
No more monthly benefits, your Christmas card.

Should be the season for merriment.
To the Senate send, some elves.
And, to the house, where smug members rent
Seats and represent themselves.

Next election let’s vote to un-tether
What’s been a rich milk cow
Until then, we’re stuck with this pathetic sow.
And, Congress wishes you a Merry Christmas now.

Lyric © 2011 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved