----- Original Message -----
From: <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Since I did the "John Prine number" on my boob-tube several
years back,
<><><><><><><>
LOL! "boob-tube".
My! aren't you perceptive today...
did you stay at Holiday Inn last night <G> ?
FWIW and... Since this is totally way OFF TOPIC anyway,
and apropos of nothing really, other than how to improve your life
immeasureably... here is the relevent poetry (or whatever it is)
"Blow Up Your TV" aka "Rotten Peaches"
by John Prine (definitely on that self-same road)
She was a level headed dancer on the road to alchohol
And I was just a soldier on my way to Montreal
Well, she pressed her chest against me,
about the time the juke box broke
She give me a peck on the neck [sic]
and these are the words she spoke
Chorus
Blow up your TV, throw away your paper
Go to the country and build you a home
Plant a little garden, eat a lotta peaches
Try and find Jesus, on your own
I sat there at the table and I acted real naive
Cause I knew that topless lady, she had something up her sleve
She danced around the room awhile and she did the hoochy-coo
And sang a song all night long, telling me what to do
Chorus
Blow up your TV, throw away your paper
Go to the country and build you a home...
... ad nauseum (at least when John Denver covers it).
