moocow in the city

one cow. many pastures.

December 1, 2006

open pasture

Ask DNA

moocowinthecity No Comments

Ask DNA

Words by Tim Jensen
Music and Arranged by Kanno Yoko

Gummed up, brain dead and can’t decide
you can’t pray enough, you can’t hide
You can be cool or you can cry
Do it wrong
Not it all
Or do it right

No one owes you, no one’s to blame
Save for bad genes or DNA
Ask your conscience the why and how
Do it then
Do it when
But, do it now

What’s up sweet cakes?
Who’s hip anyway?
Earthgirls are easy
What you gonna do lil’ buckaroo?
(Hey you, you better ask her nice!)
All you gotta do, happy fool, is ask your mom

No we all can’t be Superfly GQPhDFBI
You can pretend or you can try
Move ahead
Lay down dead
Or slip on by

When the truth seems so farway
Buddha loves you and Jesus saves
You need answers for your dismay

Ask yourself
Ask your mom
Ask DNA

What’s up sweet cakes?
Who’s hip anyway?
Earthgirls are easy
What you gonna do lil’ buckaroo?
(Hey you, you better ask her nice!)
All you gotta do, happy fool, is ask your mom

Kamakamakama ask your mama
Super groover Dahli Lama

What’s up sweet cakes?
Who’s hip anyway?
Earthgirls are easy
What you gonna do lil’ buckaroo?
Come on!

What’s up sweet cakes?
Who’s hip anyway?
Earthgirls are easy
What you gonna do lil’ buckaroo?
(Hey you, you better ask her nice!)
All you gotta do, happy fool, is ask your mom

open pasture

Ask DNA

moocowinthecity No Comments

Ask DNA

Words by Tim Jensen
Music and Arranged by Kanno Yoko
Gummed up, brain dead and can’t decide
you can’t pray enough, you can’t hide
You can be cool or you can cry
Do it wrong
Not it all
Or do it right
No one owes you, no one’s to blame
Save for bad genes or DNA
Ask your conscience the why and how
Do it then
Do it when
But, do it now
What’s up sweet cakes?
Who’s hip anyway?
Earthgirls are easy
What you gonna do lil’ buckaroo?
(Hey you, you better ask her nice!)
All you gotta do, happy fool, is ask your mom
No we all can’t be Superfly GQPhDFBI
You can pretend or you can try
Move ahead
Lay down dead
Or slip on by
When the truth seems so farway
Buddha loves you and Jesus saves
You need answers for your dismay
Ask yourself
Ask your mom
Ask DNA
What’s up sweet cakes?
Who’s hip anyway?
Earthgirls are easy
What you gonna do lil’ buckaroo?
(Hey you, you better ask her nice!)
All you gotta do, happy fool, is ask your mom
Kamakamakama ask your mama
Super groover Dahli Lama
What’s up sweet cakes?
Who’s hip anyway?
Earthgirls are easy
What you gonna do lil’ buckaroo?
Come on!
What’s up sweet cakes?
Who’s hip anyway?
Earthgirls are easy
What you gonna do lil’ buckaroo?
(Hey you, you better ask her nice!)
All you gotta do, happy fool, is ask your mom

open pasture

The Mating Dance

moocowinthecity No Comments

“What’s up sweet cakes? Who’s hip anyway? Earthgirls are easy. What you gonna do lil’ buckaroo?” – Ask DNA, The Seatbelts

We’re coming out of the elevator to one of UB’s many catwalks, and I see him sitting down at a table and he motions for me to come over with my friend…he has jet black hair, that drapes perfectly on his face, black stubble which while he’d deny it, he clearly makes sure is in the right shape each day to match his chiseled, face…while he’s sitting down at a table in the walkway, my head comes level with his…until he stands up, and you can see his tall, lanky (yet defined) frame driving me about as mad with hormones as does his equally attractive, arrogant, cocky personality…and what he doesn’t know is that when I said I’d be more than happy to show him a good time the other day and he said to be careful what I wished for, ’cause I just might get it, was that I know, that he knows, that I know he wasn’t kidding.

As I approach him, I smile, a wry grin creeping across my face as this mating dance progresses to a whole other stage…and he thinks I’m smiling because he’s acting like an ass towards one of my friends…and I’m smiling ’cause I’m looking at his face, at his stubble, down to his neck…his adams apple, down to his pecks…and listening to his voice and I’m letting it drive me wild…’cause I’m about to enter a three hour long class, with a painfully monotone instructor…and I’ll be able to ride this wave of hormonal stimulation for at least an hour and a half…and I’d like to ride him a lot longer than that…if things work out the way I hope they do.

And this, ladies and gentleman, is what we call the mating dance…and of course, this indeed would be an ideal relationship: in thirteen months I’m in Israel and he’s shipping off to Japan to further his studies of the Japanese language, and his other academic pursuits…and a mutually beneficial relationship of pleasure with a logical end of friendship, could be created.

But we’ll see.

“See you soon Space Cowboy.”

open pasture

The Mating Dance

moocowinthecity No Comments

“What’s up sweet cakes? Who’s hip anyway? Earthgirls are easy. What you gonna do lil’ buckaroo?” – Ask DNA, The Seatbelts

We’re coming out of the elevator to one of UB’s many catwalks, and I see him sitting down at a table and he motions for me to come over with my friend…he has jet black hair, that drapes perfectly on his face, black stubble which while he’d deny it, he clearly makes sure is in the right shape each day to match his chiseled, face…while he’s sitting down at a table in the walkway, my head comes level with his…until he stands up, and you can see his tall, lanky (yet defined) frame driving me about as mad with hormones as does his equally attractive, arrogant, cocky personality…and what he doesn’t know is that when I said I’d be more than happy to show him a good time the other day and he said to be careful what I wished for, ’cause I just might get it, was that I know, that he knows, that I know he wasn’t kidding.

As I approach him, I smile, a wry grin creeping across my face as this mating dance progresses to a whole other stage…and he thinks I’m smiling because he’s acting like an ass towards one of my friends…and I’m smiling ’cause I’m looking at his face, at his stubble, down to his neck…his adams apple, down to his pecks…and listening to his voice and I’m letting it drive me wild…’cause I’m about to enter a three hour long class, with a painfully monotone instructor…and I’ll be able to ride this wave of hormonal stimulation for at least an hour and a half…and I’d like to ride him a lot longer than that…if things work out the way I hope they do.

And this, ladies and gentleman, is what we call the mating dance…and of course, this indeed would be an ideal relationship: in thirteen months I’m in Israel and he’s shipping off to Japan to further his studies of the Japanese language, and his other academic pursuits…and a mutually beneficial relationship of pleasure with a logical end of friendship, could be created.

But we’ll see.

“See you soon Space Cowboy.”