Now, I'll tell ya a tale that'll bust yer heart
|
That only a few people knew, ta start
|
It all took place when our concert tour was booked at the SeaTac Hilton?
|
I'll guarantee ev'ry word's the Gospel truth
|
Got witnesses ta prove it, too,
|
'Cause we all toured with a fella by the name a' Milton
|
|
Now Milton was o-fficial tour director,
|
Electrical piano-playin' plug connector
|
An' the slave-drivin'-est travel conductor
|
That we ever seen in our lives
|
He'd say "Whaddya mean, ya need more rest?
|
"The world don't care whether ya look yer best!
|
"Simply show up promptly at six A.M. with your instruments ...and your wives!"
|
|
[Choir; in sorta of "Bringing In The Sheaves" way]
|
Shall we gather at the airport?
|
|
He'd always arrive in the nick a' time
|
A good five minutes ahead a' flight time
|
A-lookin' like he'd been drug through a needle's eye
|
He'd stand there, stoned and about ta choke
|
On his Egg McMuffin an' his giant Coke
|
An' then he'd throw all the tickets on the counter and say
|
"Check the bags and let's fly!"
|
"Well, whaddya mean, this is too much weight?
|
"We only got forty-six pieces a' freight!
|
"And if it don't go, who's gonna explain it to our fan club in Tacoma?"
|
|
We'd all get embarassed an' head for the plane
|
While Milton stood there, bein' profane
|
But somehow he always managed ta get on board ...in sort of a coma
|
|
[Choir]
|
When the drinks were served up yonder...
|
|
Well, we deplaned at th' other end
|
All the trouble seemed to commence again
|
Though Milton had ordered three station wagons, a pickup truck and a limo
|
And though he'd phoned ahead to that Number Two
|
Cussin' an' fussin' an' turnin' blue
|
We'd always end up with two Datsoons and a Pinto
|
|
Now Milton took all a' that stuff in stride
|
Laid on the floor, an' kicked an' cried
|
But we always looked up to him for hope and salvation
|
But we'd sink to the bottom a' trav'lers hell
|
When he'd check us in a remote motel
|
And he'd grab the clerk by his shirt an' tie an' say
|
"Whaddya mean, ¿no reservaciones?"
|
|
[Choir]
|
Milton's getting bolder...
|
|
He'd shut himself in room one-oh-four
|
Let nobody in 'til he swept the floor
|
Adjusted the lampshade, aligned the TV, fixed the faucet, called the promoter
|
"Well, whaddya mean we're the warmup show?
|
"You're puttin' me on! We're stars, ya know!
|
"And this ain't the way we was treated last summer at Six Flags Over Dakota!
|
"Now we gotta have a hunnert percent top billing,
|
"Two-thirds in advance, a' course, you silly!
|
"I'm sure we prefer a chauffered limosine and two air-conditioned dressing rooms, please.
|
"I'm what? Well, so's your wife! She's not? Well, to each his own.
|
"Beg pardon, stick it in my what? Well, really, Merle who?"
|
|
[Choir]
|
William Morris, keep us working...
|
|
Now, Milton was a real good friend a' mine
|
An' we'd stuck together on down that line
|
But there was one or two points over which we just had to dee-bate
|
Like takin'-your-clothes-off-an'-hangin'-from-a-cross-in-front-a'-the-Tri-County-Fairgrounds
|
Is not necessarily an assurance that the crowd ain't gonna start throwin' tomatas
|
An' when ya arrive at four for a five o'clock show
|
An' the stage ain't built an' there's no electricity
|
About all ya could do is sit on yer butt an' cut bait
|
However, you give ol' Milton four strong bodies, a nine-foot grand, a beer and a cigarette
|
An' you just knew that show was gonna be ...outta state
|
|
[Choir]
|
Bringing in the bread
|
Bringing in the bread...
|
|
Now one night up there in Washington
|
We didn't get paid for a show we'd done
|
An' poor ol' Milton couldn't live with that; his brain just shorted out.
|
Well, he locked himself in the bathroom
|
An' then when he didn't come out for an hour an' a half
|
We figgered that somethin' was wrong, but we had to remove all doubt
|
We stood transfixed in shock and horror
|
When we busted down that there bathroom door
|
And I hope I never see a sight like that again; no, I don't
|
There was nothin' to do but clos |