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"Oh, the intergalactic laxative
Will get you from here to there.
Relieve you and believe me,
Without a worry or care.
If shitting is your problem
When you're out there in the stars,
Oh, the intergalactic laxative
Will get you from here to Mars."
Utah _Phillips wrote this on a troopship when he got a dear john letter
If the ladies were blackbirds and the ladies were thrushes
I’d lie there for hours in the chilly cold marshes
If the ladies were squirrel’s with high bushy tails
I’d fill up my shotgun with rock salt and nails
All in all you are a very dying race
Placing trust upon a cruel world
You never had the things you thought you should have had
And you'll not get them now
And all the while in perfect time
Your tears are falling on the ground
So long, four two wheels turning
Got a tank full of gas, down the road, I'm burning
Can't say I would and I can't say I wouldn't
If I don't come back, don't come lookin'
I got lots of jealous lovers that all wish they had me back
Got a pistol for a mouth, my own mama gave me that
Making my own road out of gravel and some wine
And if I have to fall then it won't be in your line