The Crawlspace Tapes

The Crawlspace Tapes

by Greg Trafidlo

Released 2018
Kira Records
Released 2018
Kira Records
Humorous songs and parodies for your amusement and listening enjoyment!

Click on the "Play" triangle to hear the track OR click on the track title to hear the track AND to see the lyrics and (possibly) more about the song.
  • 03:01 Lyrics The Tumbler

    THE TUMBLER Parody of The Gambler by Don Schlitz. Sony/ATV Crosskeys Publishing, ASCAP

    Additional words by Greg Trafidlo and Neal Phillips (With Permission)


    On a lukewarm summer’s evening, in a laundromat in Cleveland,

    I met up with a stranger. We were both there doing sheets.

    So we took turns a’ staring, as the washers started churning.
    The boredom swirled around us, and he began to speak.

    He said, “Son, I made a life out of reading people’s laundry,
    Learning their life’s story, by the way they pour their Tide.
    And if you don’t mind my saying, I can see you’re agitated.
    For a cup of fabric softener, I’ll give you some advice.”

        You’ve got to know how to load ‘em, know how to fold ‘em.
        Know how to separate so the colors never run.
        You always count your money when you’re standing at the changer.
        ‘Cause there ain’t no chance for refunds, when the cleaning’s done.

    So I handed him my Downy, and he used up my last capful.
    Then he bummed a static sheet and an extra hanger too.
    Then his face turned whitest white, and his eyes looked unattended.
    Said, “When it comes to love and socks, boy, the magic number’s two.”

    And when he finished speaking, the dryer started squeaking.
    He read a year-old People magazine and tumbled off to snooze.
    But before his clothes were finished, his pilot light extinguished.
    But in his final words of Cheer, I found All that I could use.


  • 02:48 Story Lyrics Starbucks of County Down


    Greg Trafidlo, Neal Phillips, & John Seay, ©2003

    On a tour bus bound out of Dublin Town
    One morning last July
    Passed a sweet colleen, wearing cut-off jeans
    Thought she winked as she caught my eye

    I asked the driver if he did know
    Where this lovely lass hangs around
    He said, she's the queen of the steam machine
    At the Starbucks of County Down

    Like soft ice cream from the Dairy Queen
    Her skin was as fair as I've found
    No babe I've seen like the sweet colleen
    From the Starbucks of County Down

    I roved right down to her cafe counter
    And I ordered a tall latte
    Made her laugh when I said "decaf"
    And I knew she'd be mine that day

    Her eyes were green as young coffee beans
    Her hair it was hazelnut brown
    There was foam and froth, when we pledged our troth
    At the Starbucks of County Down

    Roasted, dark, espresso blend
    Columbian freshly ground
    These are all great words that you have not heard
    As this song is a-winding down

    From Bantry Beach to Seattle streets
    From Galway to Puget Sound
    No babe I've seen like my sweet colleen
    The barista of County Down

    Yes, my bride's the queen of the cappuccin... o
    At the Starbucks of County Down

  • 02:00 Lyrics (I Got Stuck Behind) Buford
    Greg Trafidlo, KiraPole Music, BMI

    Our town’s not the biggest around,
    But it does have a stop sign in it.
    Takes a minute and ten from end to end,
    If you drive ‘bout five ‘bove the limit.
    That’s unless you get behind this old farmer friend of mine….

        He goes as slow as a bass boat trolls,
        In his rusty, dusty ‘fifty-four Olds.
        I’d ‘a’ been here ‘bout an hour ago,
        But I got stuck behind Buford.

    Now Sam McKay on his wedding day,
    Was to marry the grade school teacher.
    She’s cryin’ at the aisle, he’s closer than a mile,
    But just can’t reach the preacher.
    But the reason wasn’t Sam, it was our one-man traffic jam….


    Don’t you know it will be my fate,
    When I get up to the Pearly Gates.
    I’m gonna have to sit and wait,
    Staring out my windshield at his license plate.

        He goes as slow as a bass boat trolls,
        In that rusted, busted, cussed Olds.
        Saint Peter, I’d ‘a’ been here an hour ago,
        But I got stuck behind, just my luck behind,
        I got stuck behind Buford.
  • 02:31 Story Lyrics For Just Two Dollars

    For Just Two Dollars (You Can Cuss Me Out)

    © 2009

    Step right up folks, get in line

    My calling card’s this cardboard sign

         I agree that this recession sucks

    But, in a tough economy,

    I found a job that works for me

         And this is how I’m makin’ the big bucks…


              For just two dollars you can cuss me out

              Scream and shout, run your mouth

              Gimme all you got. Gimme your best shot

              For just two dollars you can cuss me out

    ‘Bout your bad hair day. Your rotten life,

    Washington, your naggin' wife

         Burn my ears. Rant on what you think

    Health Care or your neighbor’s dog,

    Why no one reads your brilliant blog

    Stuff you wouldn’t dare say to your shrink

           (Repeat Chorus)

    It only takes a five minute session. You’ll calm right down and have me to thank

    For exorcising all your aggression. That pent-up rage is money in the bank

    Now I’m a rich entrepreneur

    From problems of the working poor

         And all the angst that bubbled up for years

    This job ain’t for the faint of heart

    I’ve honed it to a work or art

         So if you got the dough I got the ears

         (Repeat Chorus)


  • 02:50 Lyrics Arfin' Dog

       ARFIN' DOG by Greg Trafidlo and Neal Phillips

    Sung to the tune of: “Orphan Girl” by Gillian Welch
                  © 1994 Irving Music, Inc. BMI

    I am a beggar in God's doorway
    Call my name and I'll come your way
    I have no brother, no cousin
    Adopted -­ I wasn’t
    I am an Arfin' Dog

    I was abandoned by my mother
    There were no others in my litter
    I have no father to go with me
    Down to Six Wags chasing Frisbees
    I am an Arfin’ dog

    Other puppies, always cuter
    At the pound where I was neutered
    No best friend, no sister
    Help me Jesus, Hairy Krishna
    I am an Arfin’ dog

    When my master calls me, I’ll be able
    To eat scraps from the family table
    Blessed Savior, pure and shaggy
    Take my leash and make me waggy
    No more an Arfin’ dog

    [Refrain sung to the tune of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken”]

    I will learn to be housebroken
    By and by Lord, by and by
    There’s a leather bone a-waitin’
    In the back yard in the sky

  • 02:52 Lyrics The Compost Song

    THE COMPOST SONG by Greg Trafidlo and Laura Pole 

    One day a buzzard fell out of the sky.
    The final words he spoke we can’t deny.
    “Whether man or bird or elephant,
    We will all become trace elements.”
    Yes, we’ll all turn to compost by and by.

    By and by, by and by.
    Yes, we’ll all turn to compost by and by.
    When our souls are all arisin’,
    Our remains are fertilizin’.
    Yes, we’ll all turn to compost by and by.

    “Saw a New Age undertaker from L.A.
    Said he’d show me all his caskets on display.
    His intentions weren’t debatable,
    They were all biodegradable.
    ‘Cause we’ll all turn to compost by and by.

    By and by, by and by.
    Yes, we’ll all turn to compost by and by.
    When they lay you six feet down,
    You’ll enrich this hallowed ground,
    ‘Cause we’ll all turn to compost by and by.

    So your time has come to bid this earth farewell.
    And you haven’t done much good that you can tell.
    There’s no need for an apology…
    You’re still good for the ecology.
    ‘Cause we’ll all turn to compost by and by.

    By and by, by and by.
    We’ll all turn to compost by and by.
    You’ll improve your own self worth,
    While replenishing the earth.
    Yes, we’ll all turn to compost by and by.

    ….Think of all the good you’ll do,
    When you turn to CO2.
    ‘Cause we’ll all turn to compost by and by.
    In the sweet by and by, we will meet on that recycled shore.
  • 04:11 Lyrics Don't Take Your Gut to Town
               DON'T TAKE YOUR GUT TO TOWN
                       Greg Trafidlo © 2002
    Parody of “Don’t Take Your Gun to Town" by Johnny Cash
         Ann-Rachel Music/Bughouse Music, ACSAP

    Billy Ray on New Years day was looking in the mirror
    His poor physique was getting weak. It couldn't been much clearer
    From all the bars and fat cigars, 'twas hard to get around
    Then a little voice said, "it's your choice,
    But don't take your gut to town son, leave your gut at home Bill
    Don't take your gut to town."

    Bill got scared as he stared. The scale stared back at him.
    This scenario was quite a blow, so he headed for the gym
    He had enough of puffin' up. He'd put on sixty pounds
    But in his head, that small voice said,
    "Don't take your gut to town."

    He was a sight in Spandex tights, like they had never seen
    Looking like a reject from Prevention Magazine
    The steam room heat, Athletes feet. Caused his heart to pound
    And in his brain, it screamed again
    "Don't take your gut to town."

    Out of breath, close to death on the stationary bike,
    From Nautilus, Aerobics, Stair Master and the like.
    With lungs on fire and no desire to hear that disco sound
    His foolish pride said go outside,…
    "Don't take your gut to town."

    Tired and numb, he succumbed to pain and appetite
    When a little man in a pizza van pulled into Billy's sight
    To see that cook was all it took to get our boy unwound
    Then the slogan slips from Billy's lips,
    "Don't take your gut to town."

    In a cloud of dust, Deep Dish crust and mozzarella cheese
    Billy rushed the pizza truck like the beach at Normandy
    Almost lost in tomato sauce, our hero nearly drowned
    He showed no shame, when the warning came,
    "Don't take your gut to town."

    Mushrooms, spinach, peppers, cheese, flew all around the truck.
    Billy's face looked like a Caesar salad run amok.
    Then a team from S.W.A.T., and thirteen cops, tied old Billy down
    And he heard the words like cartoon birds,
    "Don't take your gut to town son,
    Leave your gut at home Bill,
    Stay away from Gold's… Gym,
    You'll be deader than a door…Matt.
    Don't take your gut to town"
  • 04:59 Lyrics The New Adventures of Old Maui

    THE NEW ADVENTURES OF OLD MAUI by Greg Trafidlo and Neal Phillips

    Well it’s a damn tough life, full of toil and strife, we songwriters undergo
    And we don’t give a whit if the words don’t fit, when we’re drinking our rum and coke
    ‘Cause we’re homeward bound from the writing ground with a whale of a song, you’ll see
    We found some lines that almost rhyme with “Rolling Down to Old Maui”
    Rolling Down to Old Maui, me boys, Rolling Down to Old Maui
    We found some lines that almost rhyme, with “Rolling Down to Old Maui”

    A Paper boy, once lived with his toys, in a certain coastal land
    He frolicked and frisked in the autumn mist, with his magic reptile friend
    But the boy grew up and he moved away, and left them all at sea
    His dragon Puff and that fancy stuff, in a land called Honah Lee
    In a land called Honah Lee, me boys, in a land called Honah Lee
    His dragon Puff and that fancy stuff, in a land called Honah Lee

    Jed was not a dead-eye shot, when hunting squirrels and bear
    He hit the soil, which spouted oil, now he’s a millionaire
    Said adios, went to the coast with his backwoods family
    Brought moonshine jugs and Flatt and Scruggs to the hills of Beverly
    To the hills of Beverly me boys, to the hills of Beverly
    Brought moonshine jugs and Flatt and Scruggs to the hills of Beverly

    She sure was nice, picked up the rice in the church where weddings were
    A sad old girl, when she left this world, no one remembered her
    The sermon’s words nobody heard from Father McKen-zie
    The lonely ones, where’d they all come from, like E-lea-nor Rig-by
    Like El-ean-or Rig-by, me boys, like El-ean-or Rig-by
    The lonely ones, where’d they all come from, like E-lea-nor Rig-by

    Bound for New Orleans, wearing faded jeans, busted flat in Baton Rouge
    A ride we bummed, some songs we hummed, freedom’s nothing left to lose
    Then somewhere near Salinas, Lord she slipped away from me
    She sang the blues, loved drugs and booze, it was me and Bobby McGee
    It was me and Bobby McGee, me boys, it was me and Bobby McGee
    She sang the blues, loved drugs and booze, it was me and Bobby McGee
    Na-na-nah-na-na-nah etc… Bobby McGee

    A time or two, more than I could chew, I bit off and may I say
    I had my doubts but I spit them out, and everything’s okay
    Now the end is here, so I’ll say it clear, and no, not in a shy way
    I took the blows, the record shows, more than this, I did it My Way
    More than this, I did it My Way, me boys, more than this, I did it My Way
    I took the blows, the record shows, more than this, I did it My Way

    Our sailing’s done, our tale is sung, now we’re off to a tropical world
    Where there’s someone who’s lots of fun for every boy and girl
    So come along and sing a song and join the jamboree
    With an M-I-C and a K-E-Y and an M-O-U-S-E
    With an M-O-U-S-E, me boys, with an M-O-U-S-E,
    With an M-I-C and a K-E-Y and an M-O-U-S-E !!!
    Rolling Down to Old Maui, me boys, Rolling Down to Old Maui
    With an M-I-C (see you soon…) and a K-E-Y (why? because we like you!)
    And an M-O-U-S-E !!!

  • 02:16 Lyrics Behavior / Self

    BEHAVIOR/ SELF by Greg Trafidlo and Neal Phillips,

                   KiraPole Music, BMI

    You run with de wolves and de woman that’s wild.
    Come home and spank your inner child.
    You read de self-help book, and there’s no doubt.
    You grow and you grow ‘til you’re “growthed” out.

    You get naked with de boys and bang the drum.
    Make a lot of noise ‘til de kingdom come.
    Get sweaty from the yoga and tai chi
    You can use some aroma therapy.

        Behavior/ Self
        Behavior/ Self
        Listen to me though it may sound strange.
        Behave yourself and your life will change.

    You buy de cellular phone to keep in touch
    With the people that you don’t like too much.
    You swim with de sharks ‘til you succeed,
    So you can buy de things that you don’t need.

    You want de funeral man to put you on ice,
    So you can come back and make de same mistake twice.
    You meditate to free your soul.
    Try practicing re-birth control.

    We over eat and we over-drink,
    Overwork and we over-think.
    Smoke the Camels, and we’re high on stress.
    Turn the mind and the body to a terrible mess.


  • 03:34 Lyrics The Seafood Shop Shantyman Song


                            KiraPole Music, BMI

    In the city of Lincoln, Nebraska, a frustrated sailor was born.
    He read about ships that rolled out of the slips,
    And went sailing for years ‘round the Horn.
    He learned all the reels and the shanties, still he’s twelve hundred miles from the shore.
    Instead of sea farin’, he sells pickled herrin’ at the I.G.A. grocery store.

        And it’s way, hey, rig up the sails, we’re off for the catch of the day.
        He sings, “Yo, Ho, ring up the sale, to broil, to bake, or fillet.”
        There’s roughy and schrod, catfish and cod, and we’re runnin’ a special on prawns.
        He sings straight from the heart to your shopping cart.
        It’s the seafood shop shantyman’s song.

    He bellows his tunes o’er the speakers, like a shantyman sings to his crew.
    “Set sail for the Seafood Department, there’s plenty of oysters for stew.
    There’s turbot and trout, and you’ll knock yourself out
    On the salmon from Frobisher Bay.
    There’s swordfish and shrimp, and we never skimp on the salads made fresh every day.”

        Chorus (Change third line.)
        To broil, to bake, or flambe’.

    With his gaze on a bottle of Old Spice, halfway down on the right. Aisle ten.
    He longs for the days of the Tall Ships, and dreams they’re returnin’ again.
    And he sees himself out on the watchdeck, singin’ cadence off Pamlico Sound.
    While he’s manning his station, it’s no imitation, like those crab legs for two bucks a pound.

        Chorus (Change third line)
        To broil, to bake, or e’touffee.

  • 03:44 Story Lyrics Pops Panczko Polka

    POPS PANCZKO POLKA by Greg Trafidlo

    Looking at the obits, I came across a crook
    Joe Panczko was the kind at whom the judge could throw the book
    Two hundred times arrested, sixteen years, not concurrent
    I found this fascinating, wouldn’t sing this if it weren’t.

    His crime career spanned forty years, so the story’s told
    A bullet-ridden burglar with a heart of gold
    In win’try old Chicago, he stole a Cadillac
    With a spaniel in the back seat, so he brought the doggie back

    During the Great Depression, to help his family
    Young Joe stole peanut butter, and other groceries
    He grew more proficient, moved on to bigger things
    He heisted furs and typewriters and also diamond rings


        It’s the Pops Panczko Polka
        Any safe, he would crack it
        The Pops Panczko Polka
        A pistol, he would pack it
        The Pops Panczko Polka
        He’d walk off with your jacket
        He said, “All my life I stole things... That’s my racket.”

    Panczko’s brother, Peanuts, was not the best of men
    He ratted on poor Joseph. Joe got four years in the pen
    Why he gave up his brother, I do not understand
    Except his relocation in the Fed protection plan

    Joe could open car trunks by giving them a whack
    One time he stole his lawyer’s files and didn’t give them back
    His last police encounter was just two years ago
    When burglars busted into his North Side bungalow

    His family wouldn’t ‘fess up, ‘bout how and when he died
    I’m sure a mob of people paid their respects and cried
    Folks from the old neighborhood lined up around the block
    To see if Joseph Panczko would pick the coffin lock

        Repeat Chorus

    Chicago’s best know felon, the Polish "Robin Hood"
    Was buried on da North Side, his case was closed for good
    From Heaven’s gate he’d tell us, “Don’t wallow in you grief.
    I’m troo wit crime, my feet are tired. Hey, I was just a teef.”

        Tag: It’s the Pops Panczko Polka

  • 02:58 Story Lyrics Ain't No Words


             by Greg Trafidlo, KiraPole Music, BMI

    Hey neighbor, 'ever have those days?
    When you suffer that severe malaise
    Well, there ain't no words for the way I feel

    I'll try to tell you 'bout this tune inside
    My mind is moving but my tongue is tied
    'Cause there ain't no words for the way I feel

    I go for the chorus, a vacant thesaurus
    Is anemically pernicious
    There's no solution through circumlocution
    It's indescribably malicious

    This sad modality I'm living in
    Evokes a vacuous oblivion
    'Cause there ain't no words for the way I feel

    Verses are vexing, prose is perplexing,
    Attempting to serve this song
    I know I'm just messin', with hollow expression
    When the malady lingers on

    'Guess it's best to just resign my fate
    'Accept this funk I can't articulate
    (When) there ain't no words for the way I feel…
    There's no vernacular
    There ain't no idiom…
    There ain't no…… for the way I feel

  • 02:08 Story Lyrics Gridlock Candy Mountain

                  GRIDLOCK CANDY MOUNTAIN 

                   by Neal Phillips & Greg Trafidlo 

    In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, there is no welfare state
    Everything is like it was in 1958
    The gals all know their places, we don’t have any gays
    Just Mister Ed and Wonder Bread, Mom & Dad in separate beds
    In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

    In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, all the states are red
    O’Reilly is the president, Obamacare is dead
    You don’t pay any taxes, there is no IRS
    You’ll feel no pains on your capital gains to subsidize those Amtrak trains
    In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

    In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, corporations are your friends
    Don’t need regulations ‘cause we just use common sense
    In the land of job creators, you’ll pay no union dues
    There’s a fragrant breeze by the smokestack trees, and gas is free for SUVs
    In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

    MODULATE (whole step up)

    In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, all the news is Fox
    And little streams of fairness come a’ tricklin’ down the rocks
    Creation is a science, and climate change a hoax
    We roll our eyes at compromise, cut those liberals down to size
    With gridlock and accountants

    The answer my friend, don’t trust the government…

    So grab your guns, we’ll have some fun
    In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

  • 03:10 Story Lyrics Life Is Like a Grocery Coupon
    LIFE IS LIKE A GROCERY COUPON by Greg Trafidlo & Ron Sowell


        “Life is like a grocery coupon
        That you clip from Sunday’s flyer
        Just have faith and it will save you
        If it‘s redeemed ‘fore you expire”

    Many aisles we must walk down
    Many choices we must make
    Will it be paper or plastic?
    Microwave or oven bake?

    Tasty treats and sweet temptations
    We must pass along the way
    But we won’t need paper products
    Just beyond that Pearly Gate

        Repeat Chorus

    Some say you can’t take it with you
    Others say of course you can
    Let the angels bag your groceries
    And guide you to that Promised Land

    When you fill your final basket
    You must be free of fear and doubt
    ‘Fore you face that heavenly scanner
    When it’s time for checking out


    Take heed Oh my Brothers. ‘The line that reads “Express”
    Is only there for others with twenty sins or less

        Repeat chorus
  • 03:23 Story Lyrics The Ballad of Libby Congress


         Greg Trafidlo and Neal Phillips

    In the spring of '29
    A cabin porch in Caroline
    Libby Congriss' sang so loud and shrill
    And the cackle of her voice still makes me ill.

    She wrote the music and the words
    'Bout wildwood flowers and mockingbirds
    All that stuff you're not supposed to kill
    When she hovers 'round the stage it gives me chills

       I see her ghost /in the lonesome valleys,
       From Music Row/ to Tin Pan Alley
       She'll walks these hills/ on dark and stormy nights
       'Cause I'm the creep* who stole her copyrights

    'Came up to her mountain home
    'Tape recorder and microphone
    'Said "pretty maid, sing your tunes for me"
    I'll save your songs for all posterity

    I headed back to Bristol town
    And there I passed her songs around
    Sang her lines with no thought of permission
    'Said I found them in the mountains, "They're tradition (al)

        Repeat Chorus:* (Jerk)

    She took sick and passed away
    Her songs grew famous anyway
    And I'm a star on the Grand Ol' Op-er-y
    And no one knows who wrote those tunes but me.

        Last Chorus

    I pray to those in music heaven
    For all my sins to be forgiven
    'Cause Libby's like a bloodhound on my trail
    Chasing me in her dirty long black veil

        Repeat Chorus *(putz!)

  • 03:02 Lyrics Mediocre

    MEDIOCRE by Greg Trafidlo, Paula Monks, and Ron Goad

    It all started, it all started, It all started, as a little child
    When the doctor told my parents I was born to be, born to be mild
    I never understood why it is good to be… all that you can be
    But like a sled dog in the center of the pack You know just what I see
    I'm a drone in life's beehive... Out of ten a perfect five….(I'm)

    Mediocre…It's my legacy
    Mediocre…I'm no prodigy
    Mediocre…The dye is cast
    Mediocre…I'm middle, middle class
    Mediocre…Bringing up the rear
    Mediocre… Muzak to my ear
    Mediocre…An average Joe
    Mediocre…The Status Quo

    Life is surely, life is surely, Life is surely nothing like I planned
    I'm in the middle, in the middle, in the middle of each traffic jam
    Just when I think I hold the key, and fi-na-lly/ I'm gonna rise above
    Then I wake up in the morning can't recall what I was thinking of
    Success is just a one- night stand in mediocre land…

    Mediocre…Stitched into my seams
    Mediocre…Coded in my genes
    Mediocre…Always halfway there
    Mediocre…Like Delaware
    Mediocre…It’s family crest
    Mediocre…tattooed on my chest
    Mediocre…Like Lawrence Welk
    Mediocre…I'm powdered milk


    In dreams I am free, / ...The world can see/
    The me… that it does not see
    It would be sublime, / if for just one time/
    I was stalked …by paparazzi
    (Till then),... Everybody sing along,…. with my mediocre song

    Mediocre…Just a wannabe
    Mediocre…A solid “C”
    Mediocre…An also ran
    Mediocre…Some generic brand
    Mediocre…It’s my destiny
    Mediocre…All I’ll ever be
    Mediocre…Not the better half
    Mediocre…That’s my epitaph
    Mediocre… Can't undo it…… Can't unglue it… Can't subdue it… Can't eschew it… Can't break through it… Why pursue it?,… SCREW IT!, etc. fade

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