Song

            --Elegy for the folk singer Bob Gibson

I’ve got joy in my shirt and joy in my hair,

Got joy in my apple tree

Got joy up the stairs—

It’s just that kind of day.

Got rhubarb in my back seat

Got bananas in my trunk,

When I’m driving on the freeway I’m never in a funk

It’s just that kind of day.

Some people tell you all about their blues

As if they haven’t got a dime—

I tell them to stuff some grapes down their shoes

The dance turns funny every single time.

Bring on the tombstone, bring on the mule;

Turn your lamps down low.

When you’re gone you’re gone—that’s the rule—

Why carry on like a tired old Shmo?

I’ve got joy in my shirt and joy in my hair,

Got joy in my apple tree

Got joy up the stairs—

It’s just that kind of day.

You might hate me for singing this song,

But that’s okay with me:

You’ve got your job and me? I’ve got to get along

I’ve got joy in my blossoms and bees.

I’ve got joy in my shirt and joy in my hair,

Got joy in my apple tree

Got joy up the stairs—

It’s just that kind of day.

It’s just that kind of day…

(Sung to the tune of Bob Gibson’s "Joy, Joy, Joy")

S.K.