Wednesday, July 20, 2016

GEOCITIES--"MONACO"


home

baghdad
fallout
fallout1
holmes
monaco
news
pavlov
recon
spy


reconpresseusa



Cafe
Monaco

WET T-SHIRT,
She don’t have to tease, she don’t have to flirt When she comes out of the water in that wet T-shirt. She don’t own a swimsuit, she don’t own a skirt, She don’t wear no shoes, just that wet T-shirt. The other girls are jealous and they all feel hurt, They ain’t got what it takes to wear a wet T-shirt. I don’t claim to be some big expert But I can spot the honey in that wet T-shirt. The lifeguard station’s put on full alert When she comes out of the water in that wet T-shirt. All the girls think she’s an extrovert But she just likes wearin’ that wet T-shirt. The guys out on the beach are all bummed and hurt, ‘Cuz she sleeps alone at night in that wet T-shirt.


WHAT DOES SHE DO
She go down to de beach and she lay on de sand, She go down to de beach and she lay on de sand. What does she do when she go down to de beach and lay on de sand, She go down to de beach and lay on de sand and work like de Devil on her tan. She go out in de water in de dark of de moon, She go out in de water in de dark of de moon. What does she do when she go out in de water in de dark of de moon, She go out in de water in de dark of de moon and swim like de Creature from de Black Lagoon. She go home alone to her beach cabana she call de swamp, She go home alone to her beach cabana she call de swamp. What does she do when he go home alone to her beach cabana she call de swamp, She go home alone to her beach cabana she call de swamp and play Jan and Dean on her stereo and do de surfer stomp. She wear a wet T-shirt dat fit real tight, She wear a wet T-shirt dat fit real tight. What does she do in de wet T-shirt dat fit real tight, She wear a wet T-shirt dat fit real tight and goes to bed alone and sleeps all night.


WEARS HER HAIR
You can tell by the way a girl wears her hair If she's good or bad or just don't care. You can tell a girl by the type of her car, Spending all night long sitting in a bar. You can tell if a girl is playing a game, Then you know she's just the same As every other girl that just don't care, You can tell by the way she wears her hair. Some girls like ridin' fast jet skis, Others sit on the beach in bikinis; Other girls hit volleyballs in the air, What really counts is how they wear their hair. Don't matter if her hair is short or long, Don't make the girl either right or wrong. Don't matter if its straight or in a curl, It all depends on the type of a girl, If she's good or bad or just don't care, You can tell by the way she wears her hair.


MIDNIGHT TAN
Girl on the beach lying on a towel, All she's wearing is a friendly smile. Girl on the beach lying on the sand, All she's wearing is a midnight tan. The other girls don't like her midnight tan But as for me I'm her number one fan. All the other girls are green with envy But midnight tan is the girl for me. Some girls like riding fast jet skis Getting all wet in their bikinis. Midnight tan don't wear nothing at all Even when she's palying volleyball. One of these nights and I hope its soon, I'll be with midnight tan under the moon. I'll be on the sand with the girl of my dreams, Get a midnight tan from the moonbeams.


IN A WET T-SHIRT THAT FITS REAL TIGHT
She does the surfer stomp all alone at night In a wet T-shirt that fits real tight. From early in the morning until sunset, She gets as tanned as she can get. She covers herself in Coppertone And lays on the beach all alone. You never seen a honey that looked so cute When she gets into her wetsuit. She gets on her board and the way she behaves, You would think she was born riding the waves. She goes home alone where she's up all night In a wet T-shirt that fits real tight. Plays a Jan and Dean surfer song And does the surfer stomp all night long. It's always the same scenario, Plays Jan and Dean on her stereo. Does the surfer stomp all alone at night In a wet T-shirt that fits real tight. Then she covers herself in Coppertone And climbs into bed all alone. Goes to sleep each and every night In a wet T-shirt that fits real tight.


Midnight Lace
She come out of the water with a smile on her face In a wetsuit made of midnight lace. She hangs out on the beach and steals the scene When she's wearing her see through neoprene. Standing there in see through neoprene, She looks like the cover of a magazine. The beach boys are bummed and they fanticize When they gaze into her neoprene eyes. All the girls hate see through neoprene, They get so mad, their face turn green. She dance alone at night in her neoprene, Does the surfer stomp to Jan and Dean.


JAVA HUT
Call everybody that you can reach, Tell them to meet me in Kings Beach. Don' wanna hear if, and or but, I'll be drinkin' coffee at the Java Hut. Live on de beach where the fun never stop, Live next door to a coffee shop. Outside sweeping up the parking lot, Smell the java in the coffee pot. Get hose out, wash down the walk, I don't care if the people talk. Say what they wanna, don't care what, Live next door to the Java Hut. Rake de beach, pick up de trash, Go in de water for a splash. Go way out on my paddleboard, Bikini girls in my back yard. Triple latte or espresso, Drink it there, have it to go. Have a bagel or some coffee cake, Right in Kings Beach on the lake. Bikini girls play volleyball, Don't matter if they're short, don't matter if they're tall. Honeys go out on the jet skis Getting all wet in their bikinis. You got the money and you ain't too frail, Go for a ride on the parasail, Back in time and you know what, You can have some coffee at the Java Hut.

reconpresseusa@msn.com

Copyright (c) 2008 reconpresseusa
Hosted by www.Geocities.ws
1

GEOCITIES--"YUCCA MOUNTAIN"

home
baghdad
fallout
fallout1
holmes
monaco
news
pavlov
recon
spy

reconpresseusa

Yucca Mountain

Words and music by James L'Angelle
Lyrics registered with WGAw # xxxxxx.
Recorded at Hollywood Freeway Recording Studio, 2008.




From Gabbs to Winnemucca, they're talkin' about Yucca, that mountain near Las Vegas where nukes are outrageous--It's T-minus and countin' down at Yucca Mountain in another minute the ground would shake in a man made earthquake--

Technicians with the D.O.E. watch and wait quietly, not far away a dark mineshaft holds the product of their craft. Measured in kilotons it's brighter than a thousand suns, measured on a seismograph it warms the hearts of the testing staff--

Standing outside the test site gate, protesters shout, "Don't Denonate" One even tries to be a hero and sneaks over to Ground Zero. They used to have mushroom clouds go off while people stood in crowds, they lined the bars to see the show and waited for the big, bright glow--

But after the flash and they spent all their cash, the tourists all went home and forgot about that volcanic dome-- It's T-minus and countin' down at Yucca Mountain--
4/25/08--Page in Continuous Development
recent visitors to this page--

6/13/08--Elvis--
[email protected]

(c) Copyright 2008 reconpresseusa

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws
1

GEOCITIES--"ROAD TO BAGHDAD"

home
baghdad
fallout
fallout1
holmes
monaco
news
pavlov
recon
spy

reconpresseusa

The Road to Baghdad



I Heard it On the Wireless--

Sunrise at the oasis and the General sipped his gin;
The troops out on the guardpost all decided to sleep in.
"I heard it on the wireless!" a corporal shouted loud,
"The enemy's a coming, attacking in a crowd!"

The General ran from his tent sloshing an icy drink,
"Man the guns!", he ordered,
"And lock and load, I think!"
The Officer-on-Duty ran over in a flash,
To a burning helicopter that made an awful crash.

"I seen 'em all," the pilot yelled, bleeding from the wreck.
"There's a hunred-thousand guys and they're all from Iraq.
They'll be here any minute chargin' over the sand dune,
If you stay around you gotta be crazy as a loon!"

"Captain!" the General shouted with gin still on his breath,
"Don't tell the men a thing, it might scare them to death.
I heard it on the wireless, re-enforcements are due,
Egyptians, Syrians and the Foreign Legion too!"

All of a sudden and it really happened quick,
Came a hundred thousand Arabs into the battle thick.
Riflemen opened fire on the swelling ranks,
If anyone survived, to Allah they gave thanks.

"I heard it on the wireless,"
Came a message to the Chief,
"Our men have stood their ground and have received relief."
Happy with the outcome was the Chief-of-Staff, And when he was alone again he couldn't help but laugh.




Loose Cannon

The troops are all lined up and waiting for their pay,
the Corporal-of-the-Guard has been sleeping all day.
There's a loose cannon in the camp across the way,
incoming shells land and explode where they may.

Combat machine gunners have a short life span,
a job like that can make a boy forget he's a man.
Soldiers dig foxholes into the desert sand,
as a loose cannon sprays shells across the land.

They hit the trenches quickly when an incoming round
whistles overhead and slams into the ground.
Sending dirt, rocks and stone and people Heaven bound;
shouts of "INCOMING!" are a familiar sound.

A fusillade of shells is a terrifying sight;
will make a brave man wonder if he indeed can fight.
On his mind constantly the slogan "Might Makes Right"
as a loose cannon sprays shells into the night.

There's a loose cannon in the camp across the way,
but the cook doesn't care it's just another day.
Someone's got to peel the spuds and put them on a tray
so he can feed the troops and send them on their way.

As the corpsman counts the bandages he's holding in his hand,
the soldiers are determined to make a solid stand.
And spinning his baton, the leader strikes up the band
as a loose cannon sprays shells across the land.

Goes Intrepid Journalist

Risking life on daily basis, to Beirut's southern slums he races to confront the terrorist, goes intrepid journalist.

In streets of San Salvador rages bloody shooting war; into barrios war torn first goes intrepid journalist.

Holding ground against drug lord for pen is mightier than the sword. In Medellin through deadly blast goes intrepid journalist.

In Tehran walking holy ground where cries of condemnation sound from hateful fundmentalist goes intrepid journalist.

One would think they had no brains chasing floods and hurricanes, charging into rain and mist goes intrepid journalist.

reconpresseusa@msn.com

Copyright (c) 2008 reconpresseusa


Hosted by www.Geocities.ws
1

GEOCITIES--"PAVLOV"

home
baghdad
fallout
fallout1
holmes
monaco
news
pavlov
recon
spy


photo-wikipedia
Cafe Pavlov

IF I HAD ONE WISH

If I had one wish, it would be to die in the Kettle of Fish.
Some late night when the Village sleeps and only the Grim Reaper reaps
Whatever he sows as he walks down the rows of houses and through Washington Square
Where late at night no one dare go except to the Kettle of Fish
To die someday if I had one wish.

If I had one wish, it would be to die in the Kettle of Fish
As the moon sinks over the Village west, that's where to lay my soul to rest.
Out in the dark, at the Square park, underneath Washington Arch, drums beating a funeral march
As life goes on in the Kettle of Fish, there I'll die someday I wish.

If I had one wish, it would be to die in the Kettle of Fish as fog diminishes the view outside,
So no one there would know I died, except for a few, maybe one or two who might have known why I was there;
And if they had one minute to spare, grant me that single wish and let me die in the Kettle of Fish.

BEFORE I'M OLD AND GRAY


Keeping with tradition of protest and sedition, I examined my condition working for the man all day.
A task that never varied as I struggled and I tarried with the burden that I carried, all this for little pay.

The alarm on the clock made me jump and walk, it was useless to talk, for I had nothing to say.
One foggy morning and with great forlorning, I gave not a warning and I quit and ran away.

I had nothing to take, there was no one to forsake, no promises to break, no one asked me to stay.
I set my destination and my launch defenestration was to cross this mighty nation hoping that I would not stray.

I would travel west to east loaded down with the least so not taken for a beast that need be held at bay.
I would travel through a blizzard perhaps mistaken for a wizard and would sacrifice my gizzard if I didn't have to pray.

And not return again to places I had been or to find the next of kin in a town along the way.
No one need to take pity for I'll be sitting pretty when I reach New York City before I'm old and gray.

Bury Me on Hill 861

Bury me on Hill 861, up near the town of Khe Sanh
Where the mortars are a blazin', some Hell we'll be raisin'
Shootin' NVA and Viet Cong.

Don't want to go back to the world, got a Dear John letter from my girl
Right now I'm feelin' partial 'bout goin' back to Camp Marshall
Sign me up for another whirl.

Up there on the DMZ, that's where they can bury me.
I'll take all my lumps away from stateside chumps back in the Land of the Free.

Bury me in the town of Fubai, mine is not to wonder, do or die.
I'll take with me some Commies, we'll all have weeping mommies,
Mine is not to wonder, Semper Fi.

When rockets will be fallin' on DaNang; in my heart, I know I'll feel a pang,
For girls who sent no letter, the ones who think they're better
And my telephone it never rang.

Bury me on Hill 861, put a cross on it when you're done.
And if it ain't no bother, send a letter to my mother
And tell her where you buried her son.
Burning Bridges

The DMZ
The remoteness of it all; remote, moat; isolation, and of course, the committee.
War lords and peace lovers, always peace lovers. The meeting is called to order.
Argument and agreement but never understanding.

A delegate speaks of dissent:dissent, present. Here tomorrow, lost today at this folly through reason and confusion. Non-existent existentees, the foe. Warriors coagulate, veins clogged in hate, and I return to the Earth.
Made of Sand


In the Cold

The cloud I gazed upon through crystal pendulum of thought
Keeps me on the threshhold of what's right and what is not.
Rotating weary fingers on expressing strands of gold,
Countenance growing tearful at a life yet untold.
Or a way to discover what tragedy behold
In the cloud and the wind and the cold.

There is no barren soil that has not seen a fire
Flames from deep within the Earth can show minute desire.
To tell a tale of woe a man must speak experience,
Sadness has no preference to the poor or to the rich.
To fill your mind with misery or fears of growing old
Can make the warmest sunlight frigid cold.

No cloud or wind or cold can take my mind under control,
The atmosphere around me will always be as free.
As free as the clouds or the wind in my face,
It travels everywhere at varied pace.

With this advice one cannot fail or trip on petty thought,
Exist or be or live or die really matters not.
But while I breathe I'll sing this song and once I die I won't,
For time just matters when you face the cold.
Old Faces

Old faces go, new ones show, people move away, just as many stay,
The world doesn't end when you lose a friend but the hardest to forget is the one you never met.

Old faces fade when new friends are made; in the blink of an eye all the memories die
The heartache goes away with each fleeting day, the good times that were not and the kiss you never got.

Old faces never stay with you forever; the sadness and the pain washed away by the rain,
The one you didn't please who vanished in the breeze, only time erases, all the old faces.

Old faces fade, old faces fade.
Old faces fade, fade, fade away.
Always One More Thing

Always one more thing that's waiting around the bend,
Always one more letter that I forgot to send.
Never any time to do the things I want to do,
Never seem to get the chance to go to someplace new.

Always getting hung up on one more little task,
Always one more question that I forgot to ask.
Never forget all the bad times in the past,
Never long enough for all the good times to last.

Always someone in the line in front of me,
Always looking for another way to be free.
Never seem to get enough done by day's end,
Always one more thing that's waiting around the bend.

Never have enough of the things I really need,
Never anything in the newspaper to read.
Never seem to get the point across that I intend,
Always one more thing that's waiting around the bend.
Always getting caught at another traffic light,
Always having trouble separating wrong from right.
Never getting any of my bills paid on time,
Never want to take that step over into crime.

Always hoping that my true love will come along,
Always looking for better lyrics to a song.
Never have enough money in my pocket to spend,
Always one more thing that's waiting around the bend.
.
.
early morning newsgirl with your baggy eyes
quit trying to pass off your teleprompted lies.
about grinning politicians or some little girl dead
or who's been sleeping in the president's bed.

baggy eyed newsgirl on the wakeup news
why not go home and take a snooze.

[email protected]

Copyright (c) 2008 reconpresseusa

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws
1

HEATWAVE

COMING TO A BLOG NEAR YOU--