POOR PAPA
Copyright 1927 Words by Billy Rose, Music by Harry Woods

MAMA’S GOT SHOES, MAMA’S GOT CLOTHES

MAMA’S GOT THESE AND MAMA’S GOT THOSE
POOR PAPA POOR PAPA
HE’S GOT NOTHING AT ALL

MAMA GOES HERE, MAMA GOES THERE
MAMA GOES OUT TO EVERY AFFAIR
POOR PAPA POOR PAPA
HE’S GOING NO PLACE AT ALL

Bridge
CHRISTMAS COMES AND MAMA GETS
THE MOST EXPENSIVE FROCKS
PAPA GET’S A NECKTIE
AND A SIX PACK OF DISCOUNT SOCKS

EVERYONE CHEERS
WHEN MAMA APPEARS
SHE’S GOT DIAMONDS STICKS IN HER EARS
BUT POOR PAPA POOR PAPA
HE’S GOT NOTHING AT ALL

MAMA EATS Ham
MAMA EATS LAMB
MAMA EATS BREAD WITH STRAWBERRY JAM
POOR PAPA POOR PAPA
HE EATS NOTHING AT ALL

MAMA SAYS OOO MAMA SAYS AAH
MAMA SAYS BOO AND MAMA SAYS BAH!
POOR PAPA POOR PAPA
HE SAYS NOTHING AT ALL
Bridge
PAPA BOUGHT A LIMOUSINE
THE MOST EXPENSIVE KIND
NOW HE WEARS A CHAUFEUR’S SUIT
AND MAMA RIDES BEHIND

MAMA WEARS SILK, AND SATIN BENEATH
MAMA’S GOT THE WHITEST TEETH
BUT POOR PAPA POOR PAPA
Triple tag HE’S GOT NO TEETH, HE’S GOT NO MONEY, HE’S GOT NOTHING AT ALL



	“UKULELE BEACH BUM” and “UKULELE BEACH BABE” By Uke Jackson copyright 2007 I’m just a ukulele beach bum As happy as I can be Any sandy beach or shady palm Is home sweet home to me I have no cares like billionaires No greed to make me blue I play ukulele and breathe fresh air, Yeah, that is all I do. CHORUS (yodel-like falsetto of the word “ukulele”) Ukulele Ukulele Ukulele I’m going back to that sunny isle And stay put all my life If some sweet gal wants a good guy She can be my wife I know I’ll make her happy Ukulele lovin’ all the time I hope that gal’s a billionaire Cause I ain’t got a dime Yeah, I hope that gal’s a billionaire Cause I ain’t got a dime. CHORUS RIDES I’m just a ukulele beach babe As happy as I can be Any sandy beach or shady palm Is home sweet home to me		BIGGER BETTER GOD Copyright 2007 by Uke Jackson Our temple’s better than your mosque Our temple’s better than your church Our temple’s better than your temple Cuz we got a bigger God. Our God promises real cheap gas Our God promises real cheap gas An SUV and a big fat OOPS! We got a better God Our mosque is better than your church And our mosque is better than your temple And our mosque is better than your mosque Cuz we got a bigger God Our dead are worth more than your dead Our dead are worth more than your dead We asked our God, that’s what he said “Your dead are worth more than their dead.” Funeral march into rides Our church is better than your mosque And our church is better than your temple And our church is better than your church Cuz we got a bigger God Our God is mightier than your God Our God is mightier than your God Our God is mightier than your God And you’ll know it when you feel this BOMB!

		The New York Ukulele Ensemble endorses Aquila Nylgut Ukulele strings. They are, qute simply, the best!


			VAMPIRE LUCK by Uke Jackson Copyright 2007 VERSE Let me feel your cold cold kiss Upon my mortal skin Sink your fangs deep, my love Let eternity begin CHORUS Infect me with desire Set my blood on fire Please be my vampire By night you prowl foggy streets In a shroud of magic mist Taste the city’s heartbeat While I wait hungry for your kiss CHORUS BRDIGE Take me in ever darker embrace Make me one of the vampire race By your side I’ll roam death’s long night Taste me, tease me, drain me with delight Should you ever feel alone And curse your vampire luck Make me your companion In the dark eternal suck Should you ever feel alone And curse your vampire luck Make me your companion In the dark eternal suck

	THE UNIVERSAL HAT By Uke Jackson copyright 2007 Hats are the deadliest use of thread War comes down to what’s worn on the head If everyone wore the same style hat Where would the enemy’s head be at? Army, Navy, terrorist, too With just one hat, what would they do? CHORUS One style hat is where it all starts One hat on all heads, o’er all hearts Abolish the Fez and baseball cap Down with fedoras and brims that snap An end to crowns, an end to mitres An end to hats labeling fighters Turbans are out, the Homburg too With the same hat, who knows who’s who CHORUS One style hat is where it all starts One hat on all heads, o’er all hearts BRIDGE Hats can show where the battle lines are Hats help tell who to kill from afar Hats are deadly as a bomb or gun Do you truly think hats are fun? Every last hat is a war bonnet Don’t be fooled if no feathers are on it See the wrong hat, blow off the head One hat must be found before we’re all dead. The effect of hats can be chilling Yet one cut could end the killing CH One style hat is where it all starts One hat on all heads, o’er all hearts CALLED OUT INDIVIDUALLY: Tam, Derby, kepi, yarmulke, helmet, beret, 10 gallon, Top hat, Trilby, balaclava, porkpie, straw boater, tarbush, tiara, tricorne, sombrero Every last hat is a war bonnet Don’t be fooled if no feathers are on it See the wrong hat, blow off the head One hat must be found before we’re all dead. A Universal Hat shows we’re willing It’s a start to stop all the killing CHORUS One style hat is where it all starts One hat on all heads, o’er all hearts

			LIMEHOUSE BLUES Copyright 1918 words and music by Douglas Furber and Phillip Braham New Arrangement copyright 2007 by Uke Jackson Oh oh oh oh oh Limehouse Kid Going the way that the rest of them did Poor broken blossom and nobody’s child Haunting and taunting, you’re just kind of wild Oh oh oh oh Limehouse blues Can’t seem to shake off those sad china blues Rings on your fingers and tears for a crown That is the story of old chinatown

			Gigabytes of Pain © 2004 by Heather Lev I work at a job where I stare at a computer screen all day long When I think of the human contact I've lost it seems something is inexplicably wrong CHORUS: So I'll just have to explain, the gigabytes of paaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiin I am just a temp, you know, but the temporary life takes so long Seems like I'll never log off once I have logged on And the fax machine is sending me messages Saying everything it transmits are only vestiges of my soul Oh I'll just have to explain, the gigabytes of pain I make copies, and I have to file them Sometimes I slip into denial when It is sunny outside And my nylons run (away) and my brain has died... I'll just have to explain the world wide web of pain I'll just have to complain how these donuts clog up my veins...

	POOR PAPA Copyright 1927 Words by Billy Rose, Music by Harry Woods MAMA’S GOT SHOES, MAMA’S GOT CLOTHES MAMA’S GOT THESE AND MAMA’S GOT THOSE POOR PAPA POOR PAPA HE’S GOT NOTHING AT ALL MAMA GOES HERE, MAMA GOES THERE MAMA GOES OUT TO EVERY AFFAIR POOR PAPA POOR PAPA HE’S GOING NO PLACE AT ALL Bridge CHRISTMAS COMES AND MAMA GETS THE MOST EXPENSIVE FROCKS PAPA GET’S A NECKTIE AND A SIX PACK OF DISCOUNT SOCKS EVERYONE CHEERS WHEN MAMA APPEARS SHE’S GOT DIAMONDS STICKS IN HER EARS BUT POOR PAPA POOR PAPA HE’S GOT NOTHING AT ALL MAMA EATS Ham MAMA EATS LAMB MAMA EATS BREAD WITH STRAWBERRY JAM POOR PAPA POOR PAPA HE EATS NOTHING AT ALL MAMA SAYS OOO MAMA SAYS AAH MAMA SAYS BOO AND MAMA SAYS BAH! POOR PAPA POOR PAPA HE SAYS NOTHING AT ALL Bridge PAPA BOUGHT A LIMOUSINE THE MOST EXPENSIVE KIND NOW HE WEARS A CHAUFEUR’S SUIT AND MAMA RIDES BEHIND MAMA WEARS SILK, AND SATIN BENEATH MAMA’S GOT THE WHITEST TEETH BUT POOR PAPA POOR PAPA Triple tag HE’S GOT NO TEETH, HE’S GOT NO MONEY, HE’S GOT NOTHING AT ALL Uke Jackson (BMI) Heather Lev (BMI)

				Gigabytes of Pain © 2004 by Heather Lev I work at a job where I stare at a computer screen all day long When I think of the human contact I've lost it seems something is inexplicably wrong CHORUS: So I'll just have to explain, the gigabytes of paaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiin I am just a temp, you know, but the temporary life takes so long Seems like I'll never log off once I have logged on And the fax machine is sending me messages Saying everything it transmits are only vestiges of my soul Oh I'll just have to explain, the gigabytes of pain I make copies, and I have to file them Sometimes I slip into denial when It is sunny outside And my nylons run (away) and my brain has died... I'll just have to explain the world wide web of pain I'll just have to complain how these donuts clog up my veins...

Necessary song license thru Harry Fox Agency

POOR PAPA Copyright 1927 Words by Billy Rose, Music by Harry Woods

MAMA’S GOT SHOES, MAMA’S GOT CLOTHES

POOR PAPA
Copyright 1927 Words by Billy Rose, Music by Harry Woods