Weatherman
Politically Incorrect 4:57Song Description:
This song is a good-humored assessment of a highly visible profession.
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Lyrics:
Why can’t I hit all those homers like Willie?
Why can’t I throw a great spiral like Tom?
It makes me think that I just wasn’t listening.
I should be sending big checks to my mom.
All sports arenas
have air conditioning.
Nobody cares if
I’m right or wrong.
My education was focused on science,
learning that Pluto had lost number nine
It could turn out that for all the book learning
maybe I wasted my math teacher’s time.
Lunar eclipses
can be predicted.
Planet alignments
prompt a love song.
I should have listened to Prof Jimi Hendrix,
concentrate on whether 6 was a 9.
Elvis was certainly trying to teach me
pelvic gyrations are good for your spine.
Weather conditions
help keep you healthy.
In Arizona
you can feel young.
See the pro golfer as he hits the fairway,
gets a huge paycheck; he birdied eighteen.
It just eludes me, my quest to be famous;
though night after night I’m right there on your screen.
Check on my microphone, pan from my closeup.
Don’t change the channel with your big remote.
I’ll soon have surgery, lose all these wrinkles
starting with crows-feet on down to my throat.
Point to the green screen.
I must imagine.
All of those numbers
I must know where.
I thought for sure I was headed for stardom,
getting that job interview in Japan.
How did I think just because I’m bilingual
I’d make big bucks as a “tenkeyoho-kan”.
Taking my chances,
I left the U.S.
Cultural comfort
soon brought me home.
Now that I’m back and in front of the camera,
just before “SPORTS” and right after “THE NEWS”.
Whitefish, Montana; Pierre South, Dakota,
those were the stations from which I could choose.
I knew there’d be some
stiff competition.
Risking rejection,
things went my way.
I put down roots and soon started a family,
gave up the dreams of the millionaire’s life.
Seems all the fame and attention I needed
easily sprang from my kids and my wife.
Tornado warnings,
blizzard conditions;
they’re not my worry.
Moved to L.A.
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Roland Burbank – Lyrics
John Andrew Schreiner – Music, recording, mixing, keyboards
Alex Mackey – Vocals
Frank Cotinol – Drums
Randy Mitchell – Guitars
Garry Grant – Song art
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