The U.S of A (The Unsung Satire of America)

The U.S of A (The Unsung Satire of America)

As I was travelling by car, alone, across the wide old U.S of A,

I came across a little red-neck town, somewhere along the way.

The sign at the store said Deliverance, in a big and messy type,

Or maybe it said Deliveries; it was in dire need of a wipe.

This little town, in the middle of nowhere, postcode: U.S.A,

Was having a Miss America Pageant, the whole town was there that day.

But they did things differently here, way off the beaten track,

The losers of each round, they were each taken out the back.

Where they were swiftly slaughtered and cooked up into a sauce,

By a guy wearing a face mask; made of other peoples faces, of course.

Then he'd put the meat inside some pastry, filled with vegetables;

Not the drooling kind! (They would if the wheelchair was edible.)

Anyway, I'm sitting there watching this awful, red-neck show of freaks,

When the only other person watching, slowly turns; his chair, it squeaks,

And when he has finally turned around and we are face to face...

Well, blow me down! If it wasn't, the one and only, Chevy Chase!

Mr Chase started telling me, all about the moonshine he'd been brewing,

And that's what we were talking about, when that torrential storm, it blew in.

Chevy told me that he'd left his jeans hanging out on the washing line to dry,

He was staying across town, with the Goodall's, and was I sober enough to drive?

They were his lucky jeans and he needed them, for a crucial meeting,

He was much too drunk to drive, so I took him, my reason fleeting.

So it was bye bye Miss America pie,

I drove Chevy to his Levi's,

But his Levi's were dry.

And the Goodall boys were drinking whiskey and 'shine,

Singing, "This'll be the day that you die."

I booted Chevy from the car and got the hell out of there,

And I was on a dark desert highway the cool wind in my hair.

(Chevy had opened the sunroof after I'd repeatedly told him not to,

And now I couldn't get it closed, the mechanism was shot-through.)

Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light,

Welcome to the Hotel California, read the big sign.

I was nowhere near Cali, but “Hotel Deliverance” wouldn't get customers back.

The manager, who called himself Captain, gave me a room, and it was good to relax.

I went downstairs for dinner, they were serving roast pig straight off the spit,

I was there alone and being a pig who enjoys his pork, I ate near most of it.

I called up the Captain, "Please bring me my wine."

He said, "We haven't had that spirit here since 1969."

I spat out my food in disgust, making a huge mess all over the floor,

And told him, a little insultingly, I no longer wished to stay there any more!

But my brand new Vega blonde shoes were quite nicely hued, 

And I didn't want to get them covered in my regurgitated food.

So I made him put some newspaper down, so I could walk on by,

But I didn't say any of this, I told him in song. Yeah, I'm that guy.

“Start spreadin' the news, I'm leavin' today,

I don't want a part of this, 

You dork, you dork.

These Vega blonde shoes, are longing to stray,

Right through the very heart of this,

Chewed pork, chewed pork.”

I was back on the road, it was a country road, and I prayed it was taking me home.

I was travelling the roads untravelled and I was sick of travelling alone.

But those country roads, they can test the best and they'll put the crazy in ya,

And before I knew where I was, I had driven myself deep into West Virginia.

Country roads, take me home. Don't take me into the middle Charles Town.

But, I made the best of the situation, and grabbed a seat in a Gentlemen's Lounge.

The girls were cold and the beer was warm; but it was somewhere I could rest.

In West Virginia with a mountain Momma (the mountains were her breasts),

That American woman, she took me home with her, she seemed to me, all right,

That mountain Momma, definitely got herself a mountin' from me that night!

The next morning I awoke with the suns rays burning vapours from my head,

And I wished that I hadn't drunk so much; or that at least, I'd woken up dead.

That woman – if she was a package, I'd've stamped her “Return To Sender”,

She was larger, more hairy, uglier and definitely stinkier than I remembered.

But no matter the evasions that I took, as I searched for my other shoe,

She kept on coming at me, all the time calling me her Honey-boo-boo.

American woman, get away from me,

American woman, Momma let me be.

How do I unlock this damn front door, 

I don't want to see your shadow no more.

Now woman, get away, 

American woman, listen what I say!

But she just wouldn't listen, not giving up, relentlessly on she came,

And as she was waddling toward me, she was calling me that awful name.

I had no choice for it, she was a few loaves short in her basket of bread,

To get my point across to her, I repeated everything that I said.

I'm gonna leave you woman.

I'm gonna leave you woman.

I'm gonna leave you woman.

I'm gonna leave you woman.

Bye bye, bye bye,

Bye bye, bye bye!

I got outside and into my car as quickly as I possibly could,

And laying down rubber, I made those horses jump under the hood.

I left the state of West Virginia without even a backward glance.

Up the road, a man was hitching, and I thought I'd take the chance.

He didn't seem to be much of a talker, sitting there next to me,

So I told him all about what had happened the night previously.

Oh brother, tell your children, 

Not to do what I have done,

Spend a night in sin and lechery, 

With the queen of the raisin buns.

Now the only thing this rambler needs, 

Was his suitcase in my trunk.

That was the only time I was satisfied, 

That this kid wasn't some punk.

He must've got sick of me banging on, 

Said it was his turn to explain.

“I'm goin' back to New Orleans, 

To find my father and his name.

My mother, she liked sailors, 

Don't know the origin of my genes.

My father, he's a gambling man, 

He buggered off to New Orleans.

He's living somewhere in New Orleans, 

Probably raising many a son.

I heard he sired many a poor boy, 

And I thank God I probably ain't one.

Well, he is the louse of New Orleans, 

And I'm the self-raising son.

But it's not just my father I quest; 

I am also a man on the run.”

I let his words bounce around in my head, not sure what I'd just heard,

It sounded like he'd said he was a man on the run, but that was just absurd.

Stupidly I turned my head to him, as we drove on down the dark highway,

And I asked him to explain it to me, just what he had meant to say.

My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whiter than a sheet,

As his temperament changed just slightly, and his voice increased in beat.

“Mama, made me kill a man,

Put a gun against his head,

I pulled the trigger and now he's dead.

Mama, my life has been undone,

And now I've gone and thrown it all away.

Mamaaaaa; Ooooooh!”

At this he started to cry,

And then my car started filling up with sorrow.

I tried to carry on, carry on, 

As if none of it really mattered.

But it was too late; the time had come,

It still sends shivers down my spine,

That boy's wailing in my mind.

Goodbye, you freak, you've got to go,

Gotta leave you far behind, to face the truth.

“Mamaaaaa; Ooooooh!” (I still hear it when the wind blows)

I didn't want to die,

I'll never pick up another hitcher, no, not at all.

I left him far behind me, just a little silhouette of a man.

And I decided then, like Scaramouche, I would renew my plan.

I'd come so very far by car and the long and winding road,

And it had always been my master plan, but now I surely know.

With everything that was going on and all that had happened to me,

There was only one perfect solution, as far as I could see.

It was only a short distance to where I had to go,

And I drove there, extra carefully, but not so I was slow.

I parked the car and smiled cheerfully, as I walked inside,

I went and booked my tickets, from now on I was going to fly.

I'm relieved I can fly.

I'm relieved I'll be in the sky.

No more driving every night and day,

Sold my wheels, now fly away.

I believe I'll see more.

I see me running into freaks no more.

I'm relieved I can fly.

I'm relieved I can fly.

I'm relieved I can fly.

By J. Barrett

With thanks, songs borrowed from D.McLean, D.Henley, F.Sinatra, J.Denver, L.Kravitz, E.Burdon, F.Mercury & R.Kelly