Lyrics:
Now, I’m sure you’re all aware that this week is national gall-bladder week so as sort of an educational feature at this point I thought I would acquaint you with some of the results of my rece
Searches into the career of the late doctor samuel gall, inventor of the gall-bladder which certainly ranks as one of the more important technological advances since the invention of the joy-bu
And the dribble-glass doctor gall’s faith in his invention was so dramatically vindicated last year, as you no doubt recall, when, for the first time in history, in a nation-wide poll the gall-
Er was voted among the top ten organs his educational career began interestingly enough in agricultural school, where he majored in animal husbandry, until they caught him at it one day
Whereupon he switched to the field of medicine in which field he also won renown as the inventor of gargling which prior to that time had been practiced only furtively by a remote tribe in the
Who passed the secret down from father to son as part of their oral tradition he soon became a specialist, specializing in diseases of the rich he was therefore able to retire at an early age
The land we all dream about, sunny mexico of course the last part of which is completely irrelevant, as with the whole thing I guess, except, it’s a rather sneaky way of getting into this next
Of popular song which is one of those things about that magic, and romantic land south of the border
When it’s fiesta time in guadalajara,
Then I long to be back once again
In old mexico
Where we lived for today,
Never giving a thought to tomara
To the strumming of guitars,
In a hundred grubby bars
I would whisper "te amo"
The mariachis would serenade,
And they would not shut up till they were paid
We ate, we drank, and we were merry,
And we got typhoid and dysentery
But best of all, we went to the plaza de toros
Now whenever I start feeling morose,
I revive by recalling that scene
And names like belmonte, dominguin, and manolete,
If I live to a hundred and eighty,
I shall never forget what they mean
(for there is surely nothing more beautiful in this
World than the sight of a lone man facing singlehandedly
A half a ton of angry pot roast!)
Out came the matador,
Who must have been potted or
Slightly insane, but who looked rather bored
Then the picadors of course,
Each one on his horse,
I shouted "ole!" ev’ry time one was gored
I cheered at the bandilleros’ display,
As they stuck the bull in their own clever way,
For I hadn’t had so much fun since the day
My brother’s dog rover
Got run over
(rover was killed by a pontiac and it was done with
Such grace and artistry that the witnesses awarded the
Driver both ears and the tail - but I digress)
The moment had come,
I swallowed my gum,
We knew there’d be blood on the sand pretty soon
The crowd held it’s breath,
Hoping that death
Would brighten an otherwise dull afternoon
At last, the matador did what we wanted him to
He raised his sword and his aim was true
In that moment of truth I suddenly knew
That someone had stolen my wallet
Now it’s fiesta time in akron, ohio,
But it’s back to old guadalajara I’m longing to go
Far away from the strikes of the af of l and cio
How I wish I could get back
To the land of the wetback,
And forget the alamo,
In old mexico ole!
Searches into the career of the late doctor samuel gall, inventor of the gall-bladder which certainly ranks as one of the more important technological advances since the invention of the joy-bu
And the dribble-glass doctor gall’s faith in his invention was so dramatically vindicated last year, as you no doubt recall, when, for the first time in history, in a nation-wide poll the gall-
Er was voted among the top ten organs his educational career began interestingly enough in agricultural school, where he majored in animal husbandry, until they caught him at it one day
Whereupon he switched to the field of medicine in which field he also won renown as the inventor of gargling which prior to that time had been practiced only furtively by a remote tribe in the
Who passed the secret down from father to son as part of their oral tradition he soon became a specialist, specializing in diseases of the rich he was therefore able to retire at an early age
The land we all dream about, sunny mexico of course the last part of which is completely irrelevant, as with the whole thing I guess, except, it’s a rather sneaky way of getting into this next
Of popular song which is one of those things about that magic, and romantic land south of the border
When it’s fiesta time in guadalajara,
Then I long to be back once again
In old mexico
Where we lived for today,
Never giving a thought to tomara
To the strumming of guitars,
In a hundred grubby bars
I would whisper "te amo"
The mariachis would serenade,
And they would not shut up till they were paid
We ate, we drank, and we were merry,
And we got typhoid and dysentery
But best of all, we went to the plaza de toros
Now whenever I start feeling morose,
I revive by recalling that scene
And names like belmonte, dominguin, and manolete,
If I live to a hundred and eighty,
I shall never forget what they mean
(for there is surely nothing more beautiful in this
World than the sight of a lone man facing singlehandedly
A half a ton of angry pot roast!)
Out came the matador,
Who must have been potted or
Slightly insane, but who looked rather bored
Then the picadors of course,
Each one on his horse,
I shouted "ole!" ev’ry time one was gored
I cheered at the bandilleros’ display,
As they stuck the bull in their own clever way,
For I hadn’t had so much fun since the day
My brother’s dog rover
Got run over
(rover was killed by a pontiac and it was done with
Such grace and artistry that the witnesses awarded the
Driver both ears and the tail - but I digress)
The moment had come,
I swallowed my gum,
We knew there’d be blood on the sand pretty soon
The crowd held it’s breath,
Hoping that death
Would brighten an otherwise dull afternoon
At last, the matador did what we wanted him to
He raised his sword and his aim was true
In that moment of truth I suddenly knew
That someone had stolen my wallet
Now it’s fiesta time in akron, ohio,
But it’s back to old guadalajara I’m longing to go
Far away from the strikes of the af of l and cio
How I wish I could get back
To the land of the wetback,
And forget the alamo,
In old mexico ole!
