As featured on Denver Public Library's Volume Denver Project volumedenver.org
This is the real, hold in your hand copy of our latest CD, the physical version of "Redeemed by Four Strings." The physical CD contains the same songs as you find on Bandcamp, but the CD itself comes in a custom designed, hand built case with original artwork from Manic Patrick himself. And the CD comes with a different title. Other goodies may be included, but are in the work in progress stages at the moment.
Includes unlimited streaming of Redeemed by Four Strings
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
ships out within 10 days
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about
John has two sons. One is about two months old, and the other is not quite two years old. He and his wife enjoy writing spontaneous ditties for all occasions, and toddlerhood is, for lack of a better word, very inspiring.
lyrics
Screech Owl (You are My) or
The Talking Screech Owl Blues
The other night I went to put my son to bed
He looked up at me and said, “No!”
I have other plans instead:
There’s a world out there in need of repair
And I’ve got hands and energy to spare
You can’t lock me up in here.”
“In the morning, dear,” I said. “Goodnight.”
That’s when he decided to put up a fight
Screaming and kicking with all of his might.
This is what I sang as I turned out the light.
You are my screech owl, howling car alarm
You are my yowling, scowling alley cat
You are my growling, hungry wolf,
Oh, yes you are, you are my son
You are a screaming weasel with a toothache
An elephant on roller skates
You are my yelping turtledove
You are my love, oh, yes you are
You are a heavy metal xylophone
A warthog weeping to the moon
Janis Joplin out of tune
Oh, yes you are, my little one
You are a grumpy grizzly in the spring
A materialist who’s lost his things
A kangaroo with athlete’s foot
Oh, yes you are, you are my son
Fruit is sweet and good to eat
But too much will give you a tummy ache
There’s also veggies, grains, and cake.
So when my son wanted another banana
I sad, “Man, you cannot live by fruit alone.
You oughta have some more water, then go outside.”
He just looked at me and cried
And let loose a terrible squeal.
I sighed, put on my shoes, and went outside singing
You are a wildly screaming banshee
American Idol wannabe
A crab that’s really, really, really crabby
Oh, yes you are, my little one
You are a wailing, warbling wallaby
A mouse impaled upon a ski
A flea circus without the fleas
Oh, yes you are, you are my son
Frank Sinatra you are not
You are a lobster in the pot
A sharp stick stuck in the eye
You’re my little guy, oh, yes you are
You some like anyone on MTV
A rhino with a horn disease
An alligator who’s lost his teeth
Oh, yes you do, my little son
Some men will rob you with a six gun,
And some with a fountain pen.
Some will shout you down until they have their way.
All that noise is just noise and
Though you may say that boys will be boys
In the end, I think I’ll just mention
That screamers mostly just scream for attention.
Though government is full of screamers too
My screecher’s not elected; he’s a toddler, age two.
Some day he will grow old and use fancified speech,
But just for now, he says what he wants
With an ear deafening screech.
You could bring Jericho to its knees
Disconcert the bumblebees
Actually…you sound a lot like me
My little son
You are my screech owl, howling car alarm
You are my screech owl, howling car alarm
You are my screech owl, howling car alarm
Oh, yes you are, my little son
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