(To the tune of "The Beverly Hillbillies")

Come listen to my story 'bout a man named Bob
A poor postal worker, really hated his job
Then one day, he was shootin' at his boss
When Bob got arrested by a cop named Ross
Jail, that is. Prison fights, excersize yard.

Well, next thing you know, ol' Bob is someone's bitch
The prison guards said, "Become the prison snitch!"
They said, "Rattin' out is the thing you outta do!"
So he got out yesterday, and he's gonna shoot at you!
Disgruntled, that is. And untouchable.

(To the tune of "Gilligan's Island")

Just sit right back, and you'll hear a tale
A tale of a real bad trip
That started in my apartment
When I took a crackpipe hit

The dead just started risin' up
Like Jim Morrison from The Doors
Five crackrocks I'd already smoked
When I puked on my hardwood floors
I puked on my hardwood floors

My bad trip started getting worse
My arms turned into floss
If not for the knowledge of the hospital crew
My braincells would be lost
My braincells would be lost

I woke up in a hospital bed
Out in Harborview
My stomach pumped
I had no shoes
I found out
I'd done your wife
I stole a car
And changed my name to Mary Anne
Then choked on my bile