Song parody of
The Coffee Beanery
by Casey Dienel
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The Coffee Beanery was about to explode.
Or was it a field?
Nobody knows. Nobody saw it coming,
But for days, the forecast predicted frost, the TVs radiated ice.
The Toyota became a baked Alaska,
And if we took out our spoons, the windshield wipers scraping beneath.
A little work for dessert, if every course would put up a good fight first.
All that you build will probably fall someday.
Then you'll be left with only polaroids.
So, what I want to know is when the sky caves in,
Who's gonna pick up the pieces then?
The signs, they were all there before,
A blink of barrette the waves crashing down on the colonials.
Everybody said "Don't get caught, darling,
You gonna end up in a Folgers tin" but even they liked the storm.
And they drive me batty when they say things like that
'cause you know I've heard the stories, too, oh I've heard the wives' tale
Where Polly at a load of stale reunion bread
And got killed by one of her seven Siamese cats.
Never did want an American short-hais 'cause they've got bones to pick.
All that you build will probably fall someday.
Then you'll be left with only Polaroids.
So, what I want to know is when the sky caves in,
Who's gonna pick up the pieces then?
I had a dream about Helena where she was strumming her cello like it was a banjo.
We got drunk and danced in the sand dunes 'till she said,
"Why don't we go and see about that parade?"
And James with his beard which is down to his knees,
Is probably in Asia chewing on a coil of ginseng a
Nd he's writing me every week about the big beautiful world,
I kind of want to be a part of it.
All that you build will probably fall someday.
Then you'll be left with only Polaroids.
So, what I want to know is when the sky caves in,
Who's gonna pick up the pieces then?
The Coffee Beanery was about to explode.
Or was it a field?
Nobody knows. Nobody saw it coming,
But for days, the forecast predicted frost, the TVs radiated ice.
The Toyota became a baked Alaska,
And if we took out our spoons, the windshield wipers scraping beneath.
A little work for dessert, if every course would put up a good fight first.
All that you build will probably fall someday.
Then you'll be left with only polaroids.
So, what I want to know is when the sky caves in,
Who's gonna pick up the pieces then?
The signs, they were all there before,
A blink of barrette the waves crashing down on the colonials.
Everybody said "Don't get caught, darling,
You gonna end up in a Folgers tin" but even they liked the storm.
And they drive me batty when they say things like that
'cause you know I've heard the stories, too, oh I've heard the wives' tale
Where Polly at a load of stale reunion bread
And got killed by one of her seven Siamese cats.
Never did want an American short-hais 'cause they've got bones to pick.
All that you build will probably fall someday.
Then you'll be left with only Polaroids.
So, what I want to know is when the sky caves in,
Who's gonna pick up the pieces then?
I had a dream about Helena where she was strumming her cello like it was a banjo.
We got drunk and danced in the sand dunes 'till she said,
"Why don't we go and see about that parade?"
And James with his beard which is down to his knees,
Is probably in Asia chewing on a coil of ginseng a
Nd he's writing me every week about the big beautiful world,
I kind of want to be a part of it.
All that you build will probably fall someday.
Then you'll be left with only Polaroids.
So, what I want to know is when the sky caves in,
Who's gonna pick up the pieces then?
