A really quick and nasty remix of my Freedom to Share pella so I could properly attribute Whip Snapper for providing such a great bed to rest my folk on.
I know its too early to post a mix for this one but its just a quick prelude for something else I have in mind.

Heres the words;

Man from Omaha

I used to know man
from Omaha
who wrote some songs and played guitar
He tried to be a Monkee
tip toed through the tulips
moved out west
and bought a car

And found a ticket for the Loveboat
but it wouldn’t sail in silence in the fog
so he penned some music for a frog to sing
on rainy Mondays sitting on a log

But now he wears an ascap on his head
and thinks he’s royalty
- too busy collecting pennies for the dead
My guess he’s rather naughty
just a someday man
without a plan
who doesn’t understand the right to have it said

I know that freedom
comes in many ways
you write a tune
then sleep for days
(that’s how it’s done)
and there’s a man outside the door
who’s taking notes and counting plays
before too long

He says
“Don’t silence me! I can’t be wrong”
- but does he know he’s at the mic
no longer on?
“Let’s collect a bag of money
Evergreen with bitter honey
and we’ll teach those suits in Washington to sing along”

He says
“The days are getting shorter”
like a preacher with a daughter (in a thong)
“lets stop the times a-changing
re-arranging fortunes
for our aging wordsmiths (for a song)
and watch that music disappear
to silence in some pirates ear
before too long”
He hasn’t seen the forest from the trees
or noticed a new batch of seeds
that sprung up since the internet came along

I know my freedom
comes in many ways
I write a tune
then sleep for days
(that’s how it’s done)
but there’s a man outside my door
who’s taking notes and counting plays
now leaning on my intercom

He wears an ascap on his head
and thinks he’s royalty
- too busy collecting pennies for the dead
My guess he’s rather naughty
just a someday man
without a plan
and doesn’t understand the right to have it said

I open up the door to find him
lying in the entrance
- playing dead
I call the paramedics
check his BMI
and stroke his weary head

But my royalty check is in the mail
delivered by some hungry snail
while the artist known as Prince is still in bed
but I find him in my Sunday paper
wrapped in fish and chips with caper
mop him up with vinegar and day old bread.

I know this song is repetitious
some say it may be plain seditious
they aint wrong
(that’s how it’s done)
I’d like thank Creative Commons
cause outside of my window
there’s a nest of robins
(who own their song)
with their loyalty check that’s in the mail
not eaten by some hungry snail
I hope you hear my song
down on ccmixter
with a grain of salt elixir
and to ask their birdy buddies
to pass it on.

(I can hear ‘em singing)
la la la la la la la la la la la la - (la la la)
la la la la la la la la la la la la - (la la la)
la la la la la la la la la la la la - (la la la)
la la la la la la la la la la la la - (la la la)