SPRING MUSTN’T COME THIS YEAR

In the 1960s I was writing songs with J.J. Jackson at Tender Tunes Music (Publishing arm of Kama Sutra Records which later became Buddah (later changed to Buddha) Records in the 1650 building on Broadway, NYC. J.J. and I wrote many good songs during that time. Most were rock and roll songs that were either never recorded or recorded and not released for often obscure music business reasons. J.J., a talented singer, musician and arranger, later went over to England and had success there with his hit song, “It’s All Right,” still played on oldies stations and some albums. But, back then we also wrote some jazz tunes and this is the lyric to one I’m posting as part of my Summer of Romantic Fluff which is winding down after Labor Day. I always liked this song and still play it on my home piano badly in need of an overhaul.

SPRING MUSTN’T COME THIS YEAR
(Music by J.J. Jackson and Robert S. Steinberg, Lyrics by Robert S. Steinberg)

Spring mustn’t come this year.
Tell Mister Bluebird not to appear.
I couldn’t bear his song.
Spring mustn’t come this year.

The one I love has gone.
So let the lonely winds whisper on.
Lilacs would be all wrong.
Spring mustn’t come this year.

A warm sunny day with white clouds above.
Would only remind me of
Her warm, sunny face, now some other place
With some other lips so near.

Don’t let the sun shine forth.
Don’t let the songbirds wing their way north.
I couldn’t stand the cheer.
Spring mustn’t come this year.
Not while my love’s not here.

Lyric © 1963, 2016 by Robert Steinberg
All rights reserved

WHEN WILL I EVER COME AROUND?

When I was representing Fred Neil (from about 1981 to his death), one of Fred’s music business pals (might have been Nick Venet, I don’t recall) was in contact with Frank Sinatra. Sinatra had wanted English lyrics written to a lovely melody Syracuse composed by Henri Salvador (can be found on You Tube) . The music-biz pal asked Fred who, of course, wanted no part of it. Fred mentioned the proposal to me and I prepared the lyric that follows. Fred liked my lyric and forwarded it on to his pal but I never heard from Sinatra. I offer it up now as more of my summer of romantic fluff.

WHEN WILL I EVER COME AROUND?
(To melody of Syracuse by Henri Salvador)

A lonely raindrop knows the cold mist
A fallen leaf, the autumn ground
And me, I’ve felt completely helpless
When will I ever come around?

Weekends I drive up through New England
Like going to a lost and found
Hoping to find the smiles I’d lost there
When will I ever come around?

Back when I was myself you loved me
We roamed the Cape, ate lobster tails.
But then you left and something happened.
I felt the wind, go from my sails

Another cup of lukewarm coffee
Another cigarette burned down
I haven’t touched them I’ve been thinking
When will I ever come around?
When will I ever come around?

© 1983, 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg
All rights reserved

LONELY PEOPLE

This post continues the summer break with more romantic fluff.

LONELY PEOPLE
(Original lyric by Robert S. Steinberg to original melody)

We’re all people, lonely people.
Different colors, sizes, odd shapes.
But just people, vulnerable people.
To life’s bruises, and love’s heart-scrapes

We breathe the same air
on this same lonely world.
Alone among the stars.
Every woman, every man
every boy and every girl
knows in her heart

She’s a person, and a person’s
No more precious than the next one.
Wealth may bring a bit of comfort.
But we’re planted in the same bed
when it’s all been said and done.

So, I’ll fill my cup with kindness.
We’re all here just passing through.
Lonely people, as lonely people do.
But I’ll feel less lonely
if I’m the person
who is pleasing you.

© 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg
All rights reserved

OFFSHORE

OFFSHORE
(To the tune of “Uptown” by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, as recorded by The Crystals in 1962)

He steps off an airplane down in Panama.
A lawyer takes his hand, and it’s planned
to be where they are.
It’s not very far

And shortly they’re setting up a BVI
and telling him the laws in his country
There don’t apply.
He’s a lucky guy

Cause when you go
Offshore, where people know the rules are lax.
Offshore, where no one ever pays no tax.
The creditors and wives, who’d throw knives
at you know the score.
You can’t be found, you’re underground
when you’re offshore.

Now cash ain’t the only wealth they come to hide.
They cobble real estate, feeling great
hiding under stones.
In homes no person owns.

The lawyers? They’re doing no due diligence.
Where larceny makes sense, there’s a fence
and they hold the keys.
Sweeping in big fees.

That’s why you go
Offshore, where anyone can park some dough
Offshore, where people wink, all in the know
Where lawyers are discrete, and you’ll meet
not one honest bore.
License to deal, license to steal.
When you’re offshore.

Lyric © 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved.

DONALD WON’T BE LEAVIN’ SOON FOR DC

It appears that Donald Trump’s big mouth and impromptu, unconsidered remarks have finally taken a toll on his popular appeal. Many are starting to understand that loud crudity and flippant answers to serious questions are often indicative of empty-headedness.

DONALD WON’T BE LEAVIN’ SOON FOR DC
(To tune of “There’s a Boat that’s Leaving Soon for New York,” by George Gershwin, Ira Gershwin and Dubose Heyward, from the 1935 American Fold Opera, “Porgy and Bess”)

Donald won’t be leavin’ soon for DC.
Shot his mouth
and all the polls turned south, Sister.

They’ve been try’n to knock his train right off its tracks.
Foes and hacks.
Desperate last attacks, Mister.

If it’s left to the convention.
There will be a big what for.
And though it will be witless.
Brother we may witness
the meanest war you ever saw.

Though the GOP machine is in full gear.
Vote for Cruz?
Win and you still lose, Mister.

All the Wall Street cats were worried.
Donald didn’t need their cash.
So their henchmen started dumping
on him, and now they’re thumping
the one we called the King of Trash.

Donald won’t be leavin’ soon for DC.
Not this knave.
Or Lincoln leaves his grave, Sister.

Lyric © 2016 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved.

P.S. WE’LL BOMB YOU

Forty-seven GOP Senators sent a letter to the Iranian leadership telling them that the nuclear negotiations will result in no binding deal unless the Senate votes to approve one.  Here’s a parody of their letter in song.

 P.S. WE’LL BOMB YOU
(To the tune of “P.S. I love You,” by Gordon Jenkins & Johnny Mercer)

Thought we’d drop a line to say
Obama’s wrong, he has no sway.
We’ll decide what we should do.
P.S. We’ll bomb you.

Thought you had the perfect deal?
Until we vote, nothing’s for real.
Lest you haven’t got a clue
P.S. We’ll bomb you.

Write to the Pres – tell him that you’d adhere to
whatever deal you’d approve.
Though you’re secret sites, you will let no one near to.
We think a bomb, or two’s the right move.

Guess there’s nothing more to tell.
Except that you, can go to hell.
Hope this message doesn’t calm you.
P.S. We’ll bomb you.

Lyric © 2015 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

DEAR PRIME MINISTER

I previously posted a song (Mr. President) Prime Minster Netanyahu might sign to President Obama after speaking to congress.  This is my imagined response song from President Obama to Prime Minster Netanyahu.

 DEAR PRIME MINISTER
(To the tune of, “Mr. Wonderful,” by Jerry Bock, Larry Holofcener  & George David Weiss, from the 1956 Broadway show of the same name)

What’s your hurry
to attack?
Why such worry
when we’ve got your back?
Now I sing to you responding to your song,
Dear Prime Minister, “You’re wrong.”

I’ve been working
on this deal.
A solution
at least that is real.
Military options won’t delay them long.
Dear Prime Minister, “You’re wrong.”

And more sanctions imposed with aplomb
Wont’ discourage them from working towards a bomb.

Be pragmatic
Realize
we’re good friends
and steadfast allies.
Twin democracies together we’ll stand strong.
Dear Prime Minister, “You’re wrong.”

Lyric © 2015 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

MR. PRESIDENT

This is what Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu might sing to President Obama if invited to perform at the White House after addressing congress.

MR. PRESIDENT
(To the tune of, “Mr. Wonderful,” by Jerry Bock, Larry Holofcener & George David Weiss, from the 1956 Broadway show of the same name)

Why this rancor?
Why this gloom?
Why this fear of an impending doom?
I’ll be here and then I’ll be flying home.
Mr. President, “Shalom.”

Why our worry
‘bout Iran?
Well, they’d nuke us
as soon as they can.
The Ayatollah mocks your hopeful tome.
Mr. President, “Shalom.”

Do you really believe that Iran
will abide by your dear peaceful plan?

They’ve been stalling
biding time.
Centrifuges meanwhile
whistle and chime.
So I’ll leave you with this one simple gnome
Mr. President, “Shalom.”

 

Lyric © 2015 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

SCIENCE IS A FAKE

SCIENCE IS A FAKE
(To the tune of “Anything Goes,” by Cole Porter)

In olden days all thought the world was flat.
When Science said “I’m sorry, that’s
a mistake.” They said
“Science is a fake.”

And Bible folks with resolution
swear Darwin and all his evolution’s
a flake, saying
“Science is a fake.”

You want to be blind today?
Close your mind today?
Say forsooth today
to the truth today?
While the facts today
get the ax today
for whose financial sake?

And so I dare to try to rhyme it.
With what we are doing to the climate
we’ll soon all bake.
But, “Science is a fake.”

Reprise

New parents forego vaccinations.
As measles is spreading ‘cross the nations.
Give me a break.   Don’t say
“Science is a fake”

You want to be blind today?
Close their mind today?
Say forsooth today
to the truth today?
While the facts today
get the ax today
for whose financial sake?

And so I dare to try to rhyme it.
With what we are doing to the climate
we’ll soon all bake.
But, “Science is a fake.”

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

 

DO SOMETHING YOU LOVE

This song was inspired by a character in Gerald Green’s wonderful novel, “The Last Angry Man,” made into a film starring Paul Muni.  Dr. Sam Abelman  is a cantankerous family doctor who remains in his slum neighborhood because he cares more about his ungrateful patients than about money or offered TV notoriety.  He calls the takers in life galoots. Among many memorable quips he says, “No one does anything for its own sake anymore.”

DO SOMETHING YOU LOVE
(To original melody)

Do something for its own sake.
Something you love.
Not for what, you can get out of it.

Do something for feeling good
Proud of yourself.
Glad to be you, because you did it.

In this mercurial world we’re riven.
Always, chasing the buck.
You never catch up.
S’ one rat-race treadmill, this life we’re livin’.
Y’ thirst for happiness, but a drop is given.
It’s time you,

Do something for its own sake.
Something you love.
Not for what, you can get out of it.

Do something for feeling good.
Proud of yourself.
Glad to be you, because you did it.

Something you love.
For its own sake
Not for a buck.
Do something you love.

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