"My Father" lyrics
King Missile III Lyrics
My father died in the '80s, but in the '40s he was quite famous. He played in the Negro Leagues. He was the first white man to play in the Negro Leagues. I think originally he played for the Brooklyn Dodgers, but then they traded him to the Kansas City Monarchs in exchange for Jackie Robinson or something like that, I don't know. My father was a modest man, and he didn't like to brag about his accomplishments. And they were very great accomplishments
For example, in 1965, he came to this country with just a few dollars and started the Hare Krishna religion. I still have a picture of him hanging out in Tompkins, showing the hippies how to chant and be happy. Also, my father was the first, and so far only, man to be born with Fallopian tubes. He had his nipple pierced, and his testicles, and his clitoris, he was really cool. He used to work for American Standard, the toilet people, and he did some mail drops for the CIA. He always used to say to me, "Son, Lyndon Johnson has always been made out of clothespins, but Eisenhower was a cantaloupe and only now is he Episcopalian. Nothing short of sausages and funnels for as long as you both shall live." He never explained this to me entirely. He never had to
Speaking of testicles and clitori, about five years after he died, my father wrote a play, and the main characters were named Testiclees and Clitorus
Here is a brief excerpt:
Hey Testiclees, how's it hangin'?
Dude
Dude
Dude, baby boomers suck. 'Cause they're old, and they don't give a fuck about AIDS research, 'cause they're all old and they don't have it, and they don't give a fuck if we all die
Yeah, but dude, like, at least they support free cheese enemas for the poor
So dude, when are you gonna introduce me to Ella Fitzgerald's underwear and Jerry van Dyke's pancreatic fluids?
Well, dude, when are you gonna bake me that delicious blueberry fetus pie you've been promising me?
Anyway, it went on from there. It was never produced, but Desi Arnaz bought the film rights for Paramount, and I put my share of the inheritance into mutual funds, which I parlayed into a sizable fortune, which I then spent on Q-tips and hydrogen peroxide for the Church of Hal, because I could never really get into my father's religion, dressing up in orange and jumping up and down and chanting all the time: "Govinda jaya jaya. Gopala jaya jaya. Radharamanahari. Govinda jaya jaya." But my father was a really great man. I'll never forget the last thing he ever said to me. Nor will I ever repeat it
For example, in 1965, he came to this country with just a few dollars and started the Hare Krishna religion. I still have a picture of him hanging out in Tompkins, showing the hippies how to chant and be happy. Also, my father was the first, and so far only, man to be born with Fallopian tubes. He had his nipple pierced, and his testicles, and his clitoris, he was really cool. He used to work for American Standard, the toilet people, and he did some mail drops for the CIA. He always used to say to me, "Son, Lyndon Johnson has always been made out of clothespins, but Eisenhower was a cantaloupe and only now is he Episcopalian. Nothing short of sausages and funnels for as long as you both shall live." He never explained this to me entirely. He never had to
Speaking of testicles and clitori, about five years after he died, my father wrote a play, and the main characters were named Testiclees and Clitorus
Here is a brief excerpt:
Hey Testiclees, how's it hangin'?
Dude
Dude
Dude, baby boomers suck. 'Cause they're old, and they don't give a fuck about AIDS research, 'cause they're all old and they don't have it, and they don't give a fuck if we all die
Yeah, but dude, like, at least they support free cheese enemas for the poor
So dude, when are you gonna introduce me to Ella Fitzgerald's underwear and Jerry van Dyke's pancreatic fluids?
Well, dude, when are you gonna bake me that delicious blueberry fetus pie you've been promising me?
Anyway, it went on from there. It was never produced, but Desi Arnaz bought the film rights for Paramount, and I put my share of the inheritance into mutual funds, which I parlayed into a sizable fortune, which I then spent on Q-tips and hydrogen peroxide for the Church of Hal, because I could never really get into my father's religion, dressing up in orange and jumping up and down and chanting all the time: "Govinda jaya jaya. Gopala jaya jaya. Radharamanahari. Govinda jaya jaya." But my father was a really great man. I'll never forget the last thing he ever said to me. Nor will I ever repeat it
Writer(s): Judy Collins
