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The terrorists came on September 11. Three thousand was their score.
They then returned on September 12 and killed three thousand more.
January, February, March, April, and May: three thousand murdered every single day.
June, July, August, Sept., Oct., November, December: so many bodies whom no one remembers.
The terrorists came on September 11. Three thousand was their score.
But they'd been around on September 10--killed three thousand the day before.
January, February, March, April, and May: three thousand murdered every single day.
June, July, August, Sept., Oct., November, December: so many babies whom no one remembers.
Three thousand a day for a year makes a million, while PP and company--they make a billion.
The terrorists came on September 11. Three thousand was their score.
And they kept busy every day through September, killing three thousand more.
January, February, March, April, and May: three thousand murdered every single day.
June, July, August, Sept., Oct., November, December: so many children whom no one remembers.
New Year's and Valentine's, during Saint Patrick's parade: three thousand like clockwork since Roe versus Wade.
Flag Day, July 4, and Halloween evening: for the aborted children, there is no Thanksgiving.
Even on Christmas, what can I say: For the aborted children, there's no Labor Day.
For the aborted children, there's no Labor Day. For the aborted children, there's no Labor Day.
WTC: Womb Terrorizing Clinics. For the aborted children, there's no Labor Day.
For the aborted children, there's no Labor Day...for the aborted children.
Note 1: I wrote this song on the night (Nov. 21 or 22, 2003) after Lisa and I returned from the memorial service for Amanda Leigh Wright, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Wright. Amanda's death was not related to the 9/11 attacks or to abortion. Rather, she was a young lady who died at the age of 15 of health complications. She was blind and had cerebral palsy and other afflictions from birth, and thus she was someone whom our sick twisted perverse demonic foul evil society would have surely condemned to abortion before she was born. However, she was a radiant sun of love and joy to all those around her...adored by her family, her church, and her friends. This song is dedicated to the Wright family and to every person who stands up against abortion. I'd additionally like to dedicate this song to young, unwed women who become pregnant and bear their children, resisting the temptation of the evil one to "cover up" what has happened. If you keep your child, then you are better than King David, who, although called a man after God's own heart, covered up adultery and an out-of-wedlock pregnancy with murder.
Note 2: PP = Planned Parenthood; WTC normally stands for World Trade Center.
Note 3: If you listen carefully (you might need headphones) starting at the end of verse 2, I think it is, you'll hear an interesting sound. Having nearly completed the recording of this song, I still had an unused track. I fingered the chords of the song on my electric guitar, but instead of strumming it, I lightly slapped the strings with the open palm of my right hand. When I listened to what I had recorded, I was knocked down on my knees: the sound is almost identical to the the recordings I've heard of an unborn child in the womb. It's sort of like a rhythmic rush of liquid--if you've heard it, you know what I mean. I was not trying to recreate that sound--I'm not that clever--but there it is.
X...thanks for the demo, I'm sure it's great stuff. But after the first song, we had heard enough.
My name isn't X--my friends call me Bob. And it wasn't a demo, it was a full-blown job.
It don't get any better than this. It don't get any better than this.
There'll be no singin' lessons on my Christmas list, 'cuz it don't get any better than this. No, it don't get any better than this.
Technically speaking, it lacks musical worth. It wouldn't get airplay were it the last CD on earth.
By my 'demo', you're hinting that you weren't impressed. If you think that was bad, just you wait for the next.
It don't get any better than this. It don't get any better than this.
There'll be no guitar lessons on my Christmas list, 'cuz it don't get any better than this. No, it don't get any better than this.
Marketing tells us there'd be no demand, but try us again when you hire a band.
I did hold auditions which were passed by just one. He can't sing or play, but he always has fun.
It don't get any better than this. It don't get any better than this.
There's no need to worry that something's amiss, 'cuz it don't get any better than this. No, it don't get any better than this.
Bridge: I'm not singin' for money; I'm not singin' for fame. He gave me this itch to sing for His Name.
Some men have talent; some men have skill. A tad short of both, I'll sing to Him still.
It don't get any better than this. It don't get any better than this.
Don't hold your breath lest your lungs cease to exist, 'cuz it don't get any better than this. No, it don't get any better than this.
We have a career kit; be the wisest investor. For just ninety-nine dollars, it's our goodwill gesture.
I harbor no resentment or anger towards you. Of course, I'll turn the other cheek--AND YOU CAN KISS THAT ONE, TOO.
It don't get any better than this. It don't get any better than this.
Please don't throw money--I have to insist, 'cuz it don't get any better than this. No, it don't get any better than this.
Note 1: This song was inspired by a rejection letter from Incubator Record Company and consists of somewhat fictionalized communication based on the letter, followed by moronic response.
Note 2: The use of the apostrophe in the title no' better blues is intentional. There is no (no') grammatical reason for it; rather, I titled this song with the title of the Spike Lee movie (which I've never seen) Mo' Better Blues in mind. There, of course, Mo' stands for (fo') more; however, in the mo' ron song, no' is not an abbreviation fo' nore.
Note 3: Yeah, you know what I MEAN.
Note 4: That wasn't very Christ-like of me. I apologize...NOT. Yes I do. NO I DON'T. Yes I do. NO I DON'T. Yes I do. NO' I
To You a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years is like a day.
To me a day is like a thousand minutes...well, 1440.
Note 1: 1440 minutes = 24 hours times 60 minutes / hour
Note 2: Listening to the song, I think that I sang "To me today is like..." rather than what I've written above.
Note 3: I wrote this song in response to the old earth versus young earth debate. If you want my opinion on the matter, send me an email and get me riled up! Basically, I grew up in a Christian household with a father who has a PhD in astronomy, so the old earth/old universe theory (created by God) is what I grew up with. But there are some solid ideas in young earth thought, like catastrophe theory (maybe the Grand Canyon wasn't formed by water eroding away at it for millions of years, but by some catastrophe more recently and in a short amount of time--like what happened, although on a smaller scale, at Mt. Saint Helens a few decades back.)
All songs copyright 2004 by Bob Brown.