He's the Only One for Me Bob Hurt I've had big I've had little I've found that I prefer someone in the middle I've had short I've had tall Sometimes I've ended up With no one at all I've suffered famine I've enjoyed the flood I've had my heart broken And landed with a thud I'd been love's slave Till he set me free And gave me all the loving I'll ever ever need Breakfast time romancing Salacious afternoons Keep my soul a-singing These sentimental tunes I don't want that old life Of men a-hustling me My heart's on fire for one, He's the only one for me. Lyrics Copyright © 1 August 2011 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved. Ordeal at Sea Dedicated to the Great Sea Serpent of Old by Bob Hurt We built our tiny, hardy craft, Of rugged oak and teak, For years to plough the Seven Seas Turbulent and infested thick With serpent, shark, and killer whale. To distant ports we boldly sail Haunted by scurvy and pirate brutes On our mission important and grave To seek and find and spread the truth, And the world’s weak and frail to save. A thousand leagues from home The heavens darkened with menace, Erupted with furious lightning bolts, Spewed torrents of rain and hail. A whirling force-four gale Battered sheet, mast, and sail. Forty-foot waves towering aloft Crashed thunderously to our decks, Straining every timber and plank, Campaigning calamitously to drown us And plunge us to the deep. The tempestuous waves relentless for days Tossed our ship as though a toy in a bath. But our mighty captain stood stalwart to the helm, Driving us bravely against the storm’s deadly wrath, Unaware that the Nemesis approached our path. Suddenly, her Banshee peal rang shrill and clear, And pierced our captain’s noble heart with fear. The gargantuan serpent of poison fang, Hoisted her horrid horned head of hate High above our churning sea, And threatening the most excruciating pain, Drove with a leviathan’s malignant glare, Domineering roar, and evil stare, Our courageous captain to his terrible fate: "Robert, it's time to get out of the tub." Copyright © 2008 by Bob Hurt All rights reserved. If You Decide to Leave Me by Bob Hurt Words and Music Copyright © 1980-2011 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved. Honey I know you’re sick and tired Of seeing me get fired And watching unpaid bills stack up too high. I know I don’t work much And I’ve lost my loving touch And I stay out late and never come home on time. The situation makes you blue And its driving me crazy too - If you decide to leave me, can I come along with you? Maybe I’m not much of a man But I try as hard as I can, So I know I’m not the one upsetting you – It’s the house a mess all day And all the trash the neighbors say, And I’m ready to go myself, to tell the truth. The situation makes you blue And its driving me crazy too - If you decide to leave me, can I come along with you? Out on the job the other day I heard two men say That you and I were ripe for splitting up. They said you were looking around For a place on the other side of town To get away from all the stuff that’s driving you nuts. The situation makes you blue And its driving me crazy too - If you decide to leave me (think about it Honey), If you’re going to leave me (don’t worry about the money), If you decide to leave me, can I come along with you? Toke by Bob Hurt When I was a boy on a Colorado farm I often walked the windblown fields of winter wheat beneath the golden sun and frigid pale blue sky. Hobbling at my side on his three good legs, the neighbor’s dog, I called him Toke, bobbed happily along as though an extra leg would do no good. We two adventurers, set forth, free at times from hindrance of chores; he seldom barked, I seldom spoke. When far enough away from home to keep from being seen we’d hunker down alone amidst the tawny, rustling sheaves, and have ourselves a smoke. In a stretch of woods just off the road there (tall, thick, and green) a hidden patch of marijuana grows hearty beneath that precious sun sheltered from icy prairie breeze and watered from nearby brook The pointy leaves are hairy, huge, and dappled with the dew of dope. A finger’s wipe in that sticky stuff, a moment’s suckle as from breast of earth, mellowed out my childhood days, laced my thought with dream and hope. I ventured often there to tend my crop. I’d twist off the seedy sticky tops, dry them gently in the barn then baggie them for me and Toke. One gorgeous day in my young teens when Toke was on in years, and for weeks I’d done my chores, Toke skulked in to lure me away to a romp. I begged my hard-earned break and won, then packed some water and lunch for two, snuck a baggie down into my jeans, and off we went to share the joy of liberty. We ambled out into the fields until the house and barn behind us had smalled into a pair of dots. Free at last to be with his buddy, Toke had an air of frisky gladness, a kind of happy anticipation of what might come. We lumbered long through waist-high wheat topped with fronds of golden, whiskered grain, bursting ripe, rightly dry, and harvest-ready. Then we reached a distant hillock that God had graced with a mighty, now ancient oak. And there beneath protective boughs we sat, me and Toke, to enjoy our own private harvest. Unbeknownst to us, this would be our last meal together, our final smoke. I broke out the sticky weed, crumbled it to dislodge the seed that usually pops and spits and sparks, deftly unsheathed a translucent Zig Zag sprinkled onto it a sumptuous mound of those dried and earthy shreds, expertly pinched it in the middle, and rolled it into a fat cigarette, grass protruding from each end. I bit off the mouth end of the grass, raised it to my lips, struck a match, shielded it from the breeze and sucked in the mind-bending smoke, holding my breath till it had penetrated my blood and started making its way to my brain. And then as the dog awaited his share, I toked the joint twice more. The dope hit me like a fist. The open baggie fell to the ground. I lost track of time and reality, went reeling into a backward tumble out of the shade of the oak By the time I had crawled back to my spot Toke had found the baggie and was devouring its contents. I sat for long moments, Toke right beside me, his single front paw touching my leg in benign friendship that transcends words. I visualized fractional instants of our adventures together. I saw his comic, pathetic gait as we ranged the windy prairies. I conjectured journeys to far away worlds and distant galaxies. I glimpsed a future of puppies and kids, not knowing today was the only future Toke would have. Amidst my jumble of thought I fumbled in the knapsack for the lunch I’d brought - one baloney sandwich for me and the other for Toke. It would have been hard for bystanders to tell which of us was the dog. We both wolfed our food, and drank with gusto from the same bottle. And then, my head still spinning, I leaned back against the mighty oak and closed my eyes. When hours had passed, I awoke with buzzing in my ears. The sun was low in the sky. Beside me was Toke. His sole forepaw still touching my leg. His head lay on the ground before him where his other leg might have been. His mouth was slightly open. His long dry tongue was draped on the earth, and dotted with fat blow flies of dark green. His body was still, no longer breathing. His eyes were closed in his terminal rest. I had just lost my dearest friend, my best companion in secret adventures, my buddy Toke. I couldn’t think of a better way for him to go. I did not carry Toke’s body home I did not tarry to bury it. I left it there to decay atop the hill in the shade of the mighty oak, to become part of the wind and Colorado plains he had loved so. I knew that if there was a dog heaven, Toke’s spirit would find its way there. As the crepuscule dimmed the rich blue sky into the sable of night and overhead the stars glimmered hints of my future trek into eternity, I trod the long path home. And I wept as I trod it alone. Copyright © 2003, 2007, 2009 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved. enough Back to Page One>

$ He's the Only One for Me Bob Hurt I've had big I've had little I've found that I prefer someone in the middle I've had short I've had tall Sometimes I've ended up With no one at all I've suffered famine I've enjoyed the flood I've had my heart broken And landed with a thud I'd been love's slave Till he set me free And gave me all the loving I'll ever ever need Breakfast time romancing Salacious afternoons Keep my soul a-singing These sentimental tunes I don't want that old life Of men a-hustling me My heart's on fire for one, He's the only one for me. Lyrics Copyright © 1 August 2011 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved. Ordeal at Sea Dedicated to the Great Sea Serpent of Old by Bob Hurt We built our tiny, hardy craft, Of rugged oak and teak, For years to plough the Seven Seas Turbulent and infested thick With serpent, shark, and killer whale. To distant ports we boldly sail Haunted by scurvy and pirate brutes On our mission important and grave To seek and find and spread the truth, And the world’s weak and frail to save. A thousand leagues from home The heavens darkened with menace, Erupted with furious lightning bolts, Spewed torrents of rain and hail. A whirling force-four gale Battered sheet, mast, and sail. Forty-foot waves towering aloft Crashed thunderously to our decks, Straining every timber and plank, Campaigning calamitously to drown us And plunge us to the deep. The tempestuous waves relentless for days Tossed our ship as though a toy in a bath. But our mighty captain stood stalwart to the helm, Driving us bravely against the storm’s deadly wrath, Unaware that the Nemesis approached our path. Suddenly, her Banshee peal rang shrill and clear, And pierced our captain’s noble heart with fear. The gargantuan serpent of poison fang, Hoisted her horrid horned head of hate High above our churning sea, And threatening the most excruciating pain, Drove with a leviathan’s malignant glare, Domineering roar, and evil stare, Our courageous captain to his terrible fate: "Robert, it's time to get out of the tub." Copyright © 2008 by Bob Hurt All rights reserved. If You Decide to Leave Me by Bob Hurt Words and Music Copyright © 1980-2011 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved. Honey I know you’re sick and tired Of seeing me get fired And watching unpaid bills stack up too high. I know I don’t work much And I’ve lost my loving touch And I stay out late and never come home on time. The situation makes you blue And its driving me crazy too - If you decide to leave me, can I come along with you? Maybe I’m not much of a man But I try as hard as I can, So I know I’m not the one upsetting you – It’s the house a mess all day And all the trash the neighbors say, And I’m ready to go myself, to tell the truth. The situation makes you blue And its driving me crazy too - If you decide to leave me, can I come along with you? Out on the job the other day I heard two men say That you and I were ripe for splitting up. They said you were looking around For a place on the other side of town To get away from all the stuff that’s driving you nuts. The situation makes you blue And its driving me crazy too - If you decide to leave me (think about it Honey), If you’re going to leave me (don’t worry about the money), If you decide to leave me, can I come along with you? Toke by Bob Hurt When I was a boy on a Colorado farm I often walked the windblown fields of winter wheat beneath the golden sun and frigid pale blue sky. Hobbling at my side on his three good legs, the neighbor’s dog, I called him Toke, bobbed happily along as though an extra leg would do no good. We two adventurers, set forth, free at times from hindrance of chores; he seldom barked, I seldom spoke. When far enough away from home to keep from being seen we’d hunker down alone amidst the tawny, rustling sheaves, and have ourselves a smoke. In a stretch of woods just off the road there (tall, thick, and green) a hidden patch of marijuana grows hearty beneath that precious sun sheltered from icy prairie breeze and watered from nearby brook The pointy leaves are hairy, huge, and dappled with the dew of dope. A finger’s wipe in that sticky stuff, a moment’s suckle as from breast of earth, mellowed out my childhood days, laced my thought with dream and hope. I ventured often there to tend my crop. I’d twist off the seedy sticky tops, dry them gently in the barn then baggie them for me and Toke. One gorgeous day in my young teens when Toke was on in years, and for weeks I’d done my chores, Toke skulked in to lure me away to a romp. I begged my hard-earned break and won, then packed some water and lunch for two, snuck a baggie down into my jeans, and off we went to share the joy of liberty. We ambled out into the fields until the house and barn behind us had smalled into a pair of dots. Free at last to be with his buddy, Toke had an air of frisky gladness, a kind of happy anticipation of what might come. We lumbered long through waist-high wheat topped with fronds of golden, whiskered grain, bursting ripe, rightly dry, and harvest-ready. Then we reached a distant hillock that God had graced with a mighty, now ancient oak. And there beneath protective boughs we sat, me and Toke, to enjoy our own private harvest. Unbeknownst to us, this would be our last meal together, our final smoke. I broke out the sticky weed, crumbled it to dislodge the seed that usually pops and spits and sparks, deftly unsheathed a translucent Zig Zag sprinkled onto it a sumptuous mound of those dried and earthy shreds, expertly pinched it in the middle, and rolled it into a fat cigarette, grass protruding from each end. I bit off the mouth end of the grass, raised it to my lips, struck a match, shielded it from the breeze and sucked in the mind-bending smoke, holding my breath till it had penetrated my blood and started making its way to my brain. And then as the dog awaited his share, I toked the joint twice more. The dope hit me like a fist. The open baggie fell to the ground. I lost track of time and reality, went reeling into a backward tumble out of the shade of the oak By the time I had crawled back to my spot Toke had found the baggie and was devouring its contents. I sat for long moments, Toke right beside me, his single front paw touching my leg in benign friendship that transcends words. I visualized fractional instants of our adventures together. I saw his comic, pathetic gait as we ranged the windy prairies. I conjectured journeys to far away worlds and distant galaxies. I glimpsed a future of puppies and kids, not knowing today was the only future Toke would have. Amidst my jumble of thought I fumbled in the knapsack for the lunch I’d brought - one baloney sandwich for me and the other for Toke. It would have been hard for bystanders to tell which of us was the dog. We both wolfed our food, and drank with gusto from the same bottle. And then, my head still spinning, I leaned back against the mighty oak and closed my eyes. When hours had passed, I awoke with buzzing in my ears. The sun was low in the sky. Beside me was Toke. His sole forepaw still touching my leg. His head lay on the ground before him where his other leg might have been. His mouth was slightly open. His long dry tongue was draped on the earth, and dotted with fat blow flies of dark green. His body was still, no longer breathing. His eyes were closed in his terminal rest. I had just lost my dearest friend, my best companion in secret adventures, my buddy Toke. I couldn’t think of a better way for him to go. I did not carry Toke’s body home I did not tarry to bury it. I left it there to decay atop the hill in the shade of the mighty oak, to become part of the wind and Colorado plains he had loved so. I knew that if there was a dog heaven, Toke’s spirit would find its way there. As the crepuscule dimmed the rich blue sky into the sable of night and overhead the stars glimmered hints of my future trek into eternity, I trod the long path home. And I wept as I trod it alone. Copyright © 2003, 2007, 2009 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved. enough Back to Page One>$ shapeimage_1_link_0