There's a song that’s coming up
For which I poorly planned
I look around the stage and I don’t see a f'ing stand
With both hands occupied
Playing my guitar
I quickly scan the audience and AHA there you are
Come be my mic stand
You can join me on the stage
Holding forth the magic stick that amplifies my rage
You're a mic stand
And I feel like such a jerk
You paid to see my concert
And I put your ass to work
Up there on the stage
Standing tall and proud
Arm outstretched to hold aloft
The thing that makes me loud
Your peers are usually tripods
Or have a metal base
But you're the only one I've met with two legs and a face
You're a mic stand
And you stand there while I shout
I'm sorry if I spit on you I hope it washes out
You're a mic stand
And I can't thank you enough
I wish I had more stage equipment that would buy my stuff
Okay um…there's supposed to be a solo here but you're just staring at me and
you’re like RIGHT THERE and it’s kinda making me self-conscious. Can you, like,
um, look over that way for a minute?Just for a minute? Okay, thanks.
Oh, you're a mic stand
Holding mics is what you do
Hey you've got another hand, man, can you hold my water too?
You're a mic stand
And I can't believe you're here
You paid to see my concert and I use you as my gear
You're a mic stand
Okay, I'm playing Minneapolis tomorrow. Get in the trunk.
Come on Brandon... let's go.
Okay!
Wait, no, you're a night stand
You stand there by my bed
You have a lamp and a water glass
And a book I claim I've read
No, you're a flight plan
You're the route the pilot chose
You're a technical piece of paper
That shows where the airplane goes
No, you're a sleight of hand
You're a clever magic trick
When the prestidigitator says hey pick a card
And he knows which one I picked
No, you're a white man
With a reasonable mortgage rate
While you deny your privilege
And you take and take and take
And you're a mic stand
Make me the butt of my own joke in my own song...
The FuMP
2023-10-22
Artist
Steve Goodie
Title
Mic Stand
ShoEboX's diary from 2003 appeared in the lost and found of my local bowling alley, and with bated breath my excited team read:
"Dear Diary... sometime around a quarter of the way into this century, I decree that a lapsed Jew living in the South will cover a song I wrote about Missing Stage Equipment, and he will both ruin and elevate my Composition to the extent that Eastern European badgers will become 35% more promiscuous, and satellites will beam Jello(TM) into the dishwashers of anti-democratic oatmeal-dwellers worldwide."
And so it has come to pass. The Prophecy is fulfilled this fourth Sunday of the tenth month of the Year Of Our Blessed Cantaloupe. Now please endure the Noisy Mess that I have concocted as a sacrifice to the almighty Worm Quartet, that they may live another millennium in the Squalor to which they have become accustomed.
Amen.
Words and music: ShoEboX (aka Tim Crist)
Guitar, bass, drums, mandolin, accordion, banjo, percussion, vocals, new extra-stupid lyrics at the end, arrangement, production: SG
Fiddles: Tim Lorsch
Brandon: ShoEboX
Helpful Suggestions: Chuck @vv3spa
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