Year Three

Saturday marked the end of two years in the saga of my CD. To celebrate, I changed my socks. After so many weeks, it felt good.

This evening, Ron, my DAMP, and I discussed finishing touches on the official package, and Ron brought up the subject of a press release. A press release. As in distribution to radio and television stations. This boy has delusions of grandeur. So, on my way home, I celebrated further by sketching a parody of Porter's It's De-Lovely. On the subject of illegal aliens, or, as we now call them, undocumented workers. Mind you, some of these words are strictly space-fillers at this point:

We may be Pole—we may be Turk—
But we do all of your dirty work.
Don't deprive us!
Don't depress us!
Don't deport us!

When you're eleven million less,
Then who will harvest your watercress?
Don't deprive us!
Don't depress us!
Don't deport us!

Even bums
Act like snobs
When it comes
Down to menial jobs.
If you sweep
Cheap
Foreign labor under the bed,
Then Wal-Mart's dead!

So tell your bonehead bureaucrats
To let us baby-sit Britney's brats.
Don't deprive us!
Don't depress us!
Don't depreciate,
Or depopulate,
Or deplore us,
Or deplete us,
Or depose
Or deport us!

Lyric © 2006 Nathaniel DesH. Petrikov

Now, there's one glaring shortcoming in this song, and I see it as well as you do. But with the shortage of words beginning with dep-, there's not a hell of a lot I can do about it.