Mr. Universe Has Got the Blues

Words and Music by David Keith © 2009

I’d like to introduce you to my friend
Mr. Universe has got the blues
I’d like to introduce y’all to my friend
Mr. Universe has got the blues
I tried to pick a fight with a group of twins
They were too polite to take offense
I quoted Noam Chomsky and they said
“Friend, if it’s trouble you want, and trouble you need
it’s the St. Paulers you seek.

Some of them are assholes
Some of them fight dirty.
That goes to show how mean and weak they are
Some of them are assholes.
Some are Pablo Picasso.”
I’m gonna go introduce my friend.

We don’t weep for the village people do we?
We don’t weep for the limp and lame
We don’t want to be the sentimental people
We don’t wanna be the one to blame

In every temple there’s a priest and a monk and a jew and a communist too
I wish everyone could taste the wine I’m drinking
I wish everyone could think the thought I’m thinking

I rode a horse and buggy to the rink
it was too cliche to be for real
I felt a great affection for the beast
so I threw the driver into the drink
His stupid vowels gurgled in the foam
Me and Roscoe now free to roam
We took a ride down to Jackson Square
Mr. Universe was our first fare.
We crossed the Rubicon
to get the bastard there

I don’t think you realize
just how far you’ve come
all the way down river to the sinking sun
I don’t think you realize
just how small you’ve become
you’re either a little tiny baby
or really far away

We don’t weep for the village people do we?
We don’t weep for the limp and lame
We don’t want to be the sentimental people
We don’t wanna be the one to blame

In every temple there’s a priest and a monk and a jew and a communist too
I wish everyone could taste the wine I’m drinking
I wish everyone could think the thought I’m thinking

Roscoe’s Tourette’s made him such a racist beast
But unlike you I’m not ethnic in the least
I picked a fight with a gang of Somali teens
too polite to let it be
My worst offenses came back to me
of better days at the glue factory
I crossed and recrossed the mighty Mississip’
weary of the whole messed up trip
two bronze stars and other tiny shit

I refuse to forgive him
but he hasn’t the fight left
God bless the old bulls and fighters
we’ll never be as good as them
but we’re so much better than them
two bronze stars and other tiny shit

We don’t weep for the village people do we?
We don’t weep for the limp and lame
We don’t want to be the sentimental people
We don’t wanna be the one to blame

In every temple there’s a priest and a monk and a jew and a communist too
I wish everyone could taste the wine I’m drinking
I wish everyone could think the thought I’m thinking