The whistling forchetta donned the apron with a smile
"chickadee, chickadee, if the boots go through a mile."
When the overstuffed oyster done stopped for a drag
"pull em up pullem down pulda merry glad slag
ifin when ifin why, while you suffer poke and pinch
when the dregs flow the down with the neverending cinch
chickadee chickadoo, will the boots last through
when you're on your last dime done with nothing for a clue
this is when, oyster friend, we will call in for the guard
'cause he knows where you are and he knows where you starred
if you started for the mink and then you gave up on the drink
it would out unlast your life and allow you more to think
about the places in your heart within the places in your mind
it's about what you would find if you're within your daily grind
do you see the last coyote? does it shudder at the weather?
play it on, play it loud, hold with pride his lasting feather.
until then you cannot see the trip is worthy of its due
through the parking lots at abbey road awaiting your debut
you will find in journey friends will last and music takes its toll
and you will meet another Esther and a winding whistling roll
it's all progress in the end especially when it all seems backward
'cause that's when the challenge beckons and the family gets the last word
I'll be at fruition too and it will paint me in the sky
and all the scotchy scotchy mornings will equal water 'til I die.
and the nights truly last until their quarters have past
even when I'm still here yet the time before last
the music will be there if you just ask it all around
even if the pride's too much, use your head, it will be found
make it home, take it south, you still have six more good ones in you
if ever you're in doubt your instincts push it headlong through
enjoy the trip you're not the first and certainly not the last
merry christmas to all. Have a blast.
In mother-mending eyes and many moons
the forks
the forks
the forks await your tunes
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