Song parody of
Campfire Song for Marshmallows
by Al Grantham
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The sun is looking our way
The breeze is picking up steam
Your head is stapled to mine
And right now things are pretty alright
There's nothing that I want
There's nothing that I need
Nothing fits perfectly
And right now things are pretty alright
Right now things are pretty alright
Fires die
And the fire died
Now we're middle-aged in a mall babe
And it's not even a half-decent mall oh no
In fact it's only redeemable quality is that
the attached LCBO has affordable sized bottles of Knob Creek special select bourbon whiskey
When I met you I was up on stage
Oh yeah how I held your gaze
Yeah yeah guess you held mine
And right then things were pretty alright
Or how about that afternoon
I was practicing my porno tune
You gave a smile as you left
That made me feel like Myra Hess
Dirty dirty Myra Hess
Fires die
And the fire has now died
So this is a campfire song babe
And we are the marshmallows now hey hey
In the sense that it takes repeated penetrations of a various nature
Into our soft gooey centres before we're willing to submerge ourselves
Into the flames of submissive obedience
And personal sacrifice behind mutual veils of strained compatibility
Jack and Jill are throwing a do
Guess we're going because we have to
You'll talk to Jill
And I'll talk to Jack
And then we'll talk behind their backs
And then things will be pretty alright
Fires die
But we could set the neighborhood alight babe
A potluck past the cemetery gates hey hey
Btw I've now lost any semblance of ordered intellectual terrain
With which to align a set of loose mental wheels
With oh baby baby dig the premise of a life with little to no effective free will
And touch me touch me if your internal faculties order you to tonight
And let's expedite procreation make a childish demonstration
Or we could just go buy some of those squares you like and eat them on the couch
The sun is looking our way
The breeze is picking up steam
Your head is stapled to mine
And right now things are pretty alright
There's nothing that I want
There's nothing that I need
Nothing fits perfectly
And right now things are pretty alright
Right now things are pretty alright
Fires die
And the fire died
Now we're middle-aged in a mall babe
And it's not even a half-decent mall oh no
In fact it's only redeemable quality is that
the attached LCBO has affordable sized bottles of Knob Creek special select bourbon whiskey
When I met you I was up on stage
Oh yeah how I held your gaze
Yeah yeah guess you held mine
And right then things were pretty alright
Or how about that afternoon
I was practicing my porno tune
You gave a smile as you left
That made me feel like Myra Hess
Dirty dirty Myra Hess
Fires die
And the fire has now died
So this is a campfire song babe
And we are the marshmallows now hey hey
In the sense that it takes repeated penetrations of a various nature
Into our soft gooey centres before we're willing to submerge ourselves
Into the flames of submissive obedience
And personal sacrifice behind mutual veils of strained compatibility
Jack and Jill are throwing a do
Guess we're going because we have to
You'll talk to Jill
And I'll talk to Jack
And then we'll talk behind their backs
And then things will be pretty alright
Fires die
But we could set the neighborhood alight babe
A potluck past the cemetery gates hey hey
Btw I've now lost any semblance of ordered intellectual terrain
With which to align a set of loose mental wheels
With oh baby baby dig the premise of a life with little to no effective free will
And touch me touch me if your internal faculties order you to tonight
And let's expedite procreation make a childish demonstration
Or we could just go buy some of those squares you like and eat them on the couch
