(all I have right now is a chorus, or rather the second chorus since you'd want to have this come up in the middle after some setup and fluff)
<
...
Your mamma says I am psycho, she say's it to be unkind
but if she keeps on that way
I'll shove her head up her big behind
...
ok, take if from here folks, gimme some verses!
The Heart Beat of the Dead Rubber Chicken
Every day, as I sit and work
I hear Hurricane Catrina
Pound and destroy New Orleans
Every day, Hurricane Catrina
Roars from above
In hi-fidelity, IMAX surround sound
Every day, Hurricane Catrina
Beats the rhythm
Of the Rubber Chicken heart
Every day, I hear the Rubber Chicken's heartbeat
And I am forced backwards
In time to that
Every day moment
When I first heard
Catrina had whipped out New Orleans.
Every day, whoosh -- thump
I travel back in time
To Burning Man
Every day I would experience
Unbelievable events
And I didn't believe the stories
of the Rubber Chicken heartbeat
That destroyed an old port city
Whoosh -- thump
The Rubber Chicken has no heart murmur.
Aaronious 2007
Marcella, thank you for this electronic revival of our old group, this is the best birthday present ever! A sort of automatic electronic defibrillator of chickens, bringing our little group back to life. Scientists need creative outlets too, or they can go boring.
Here is one of the original Dead Chicken Society postings, submitted by Toben, in December 2001. Revel in the memories of grave-yards and playgrounds past!
"Pick up your toys," the old woman said to the old man.The old woman really did have blue hair."Pick up your toys, old man," the old woman said."You really have blue hair" said the old man.
The tin cowboy smiled chipped paint crooked gun missing an arm smile."Pick up your toys!" Her voice was iron Uncle Sam clack flipping a woodennickel into its broad mouth. Clack.
He took more toys out of the box with veined hands. The hands faded intodust on a flier for the carnival eighty years ago. The mottled hands becamereal giraffes, his voice became the moustache of a strong-man.
"Pick up your toys, don't you fade into that dust!" Said the old woman in avoice that became crisp new fliers along railroad tracks. The old womanwas gone like a train, the emptiness in the attic followed her like the silencefollows a train. The people shuffled about the platform wondering if therereally ever was a train or if it was still coming. They quietly looked at theirwatches and they looked down the quiet track.
Dust spread its toys over the old man's body, and the old woman didn'tpick them up.
Yo yo yo, what up Pirate Master? Brenda asked me to put together this here blog and resurrect the Dead Chicken Society. Being the web mistress that I am, I said, yep, I can do that...and voila! Ok, it took me a little longer than expected and some parts are still under construction and all, but you get the jist. So happy birthday - I hope it's a good one!
