I'm the much-maligned capitalistic boss
Every night upon my bed, I toss 'cause
With all the money I've got,
If you think I'm happy, I'm not
For I love my workers a lot
Yet I treat them so - Oh, I don't know
I'm really good at heart
But something is tearing me wide apart.
I am only human,
Even as you and you.
(Taddy-ah, boom boom, taddy-ah, boom)
And I cannot help it,
No more than you or you
The things I do
I can’t explain.
Something is wrong with my brain.
Money fills my helpless head with fierce intoxication
Feeble in its fiendish grip - oh! fatal fascination.
I can't resist the awful urge I feel within me rising.
And when, transformed, I do emerge, I'm past all recognizing.
My stomach is a bloated sight
I wear a silk hat day and night
I ride around in Cadillacs
I chisel on my income tax
I trample on my workers' backs
My God!
The things I do
I can't explain
Something is wrong with my brain.
Take my wife, for instance,
Really she's not so bad.
(Taddy-ah, boom boom, taddy-ah, boom)
She was just a dairy maid
And I a lad
And so we wed
I can't explain
Something is wrong with my brain.
Her father was the president of Milk, Incorporated.
He taught his own contented cows to give evaporated.
Though captain of his industry, he doted on his daughter,
And made her heir to Grade A milk dissolved in Grade B water.
I was a poor but simple lad.
Her bovine beauty drove me mad.
Her tender lips… her sable coat
The gem she wore around her throat
The gem she wore around her throat.
My God!
And so we wed
I can’t explain
Something is wrong with my brain.
Take my son, for instance,
He is my pride and joy.
(Taddy-ah, boom boom, taddy-ah, boom)
Quite a likely youngster
Really a clever boy
The things he does
I can’t explain
Something is wrong with his brain.
I give him his allowance, but it doesn’t come to buttons.
He has to have a yacht or two to keep up with the Huttons.
You don’t know how much dough it costs to keep a polo pony.
And though there’s never income tax, there’s always alimony.
His social life’s a dizzy whirl
From debutante to chorus girl.
He never sleeps, he never sits
By winter, he’s so shot to bits,
He has to go to Biarritz
My God!
The things he does
I can’t explain
Something is wrong with his brain.
When it comes to labor,
That’s where I’m really fair.
(Taddy-ah, boom boom, taddy-ah, boom)
After all, ‘twas labor
Made me a millionaire
And yet we fight
I can’t explain
Something is wrong with my brain.
I cut their wages every day,
It gives me such a pleasure.
I disregard the ones who say
They haven’t any leisure.
I always work them overtime
Without an extra penny.
And if they ask for two weeks off,
I just don’t give them any.
And when they strike, I clamp down hard,
Protected by the National Guard
I raise a patriotic stink
I call out every scab and fink
Descendant of the missing link
My God!
And yet we fight.
I can’t explain
Something is wrong with my brain.
I'm the much-maligned capitalistic boss
Every night upon my bed, I toss 'cause
With all the money I've got,
If you think I'm happy, I'm not
For I love my workers a lot
Yet I treat them so - Oh, I don't know
I'm really good at heart
But something is tearing me wide apart.
Every night upon my bed, I toss 'cause
With all the money I've got,
If you think I'm happy, I'm not
For I love my workers a lot
Yet I treat them so - Oh, I don't know
I'm really good at heart
But something is tearing me wide apart.
I am only human,
Even as you and you.
(Taddy-ah, boom boom, taddy-ah, boom)
And I cannot help it,
No more than you or you
The things I do
I can’t explain.
Something is wrong with my brain.
Money fills my helpless head with fierce intoxication
Feeble in its fiendish grip - oh! fatal fascination.
I can't resist the awful urge I feel within me rising.
And when, transformed, I do emerge, I'm past all recognizing.
My stomach is a bloated sight
I wear a silk hat day and night
I ride around in Cadillacs
I chisel on my income tax
I trample on my workers' backs
My God!
The things I do
I can't explain
Something is wrong with my brain.
Take my wife, for instance,
Really she's not so bad.
(Taddy-ah, boom boom, taddy-ah, boom)
She was just a dairy maid
And I a lad
And so we wed
I can't explain
Something is wrong with my brain.
Her father was the president of Milk, Incorporated.
He taught his own contented cows to give evaporated.
Though captain of his industry, he doted on his daughter,
And made her heir to Grade A milk dissolved in Grade B water.
I was a poor but simple lad.
Her bovine beauty drove me mad.
Her tender lips… her sable coat
The gem she wore around her throat
The gem she wore around her throat.
My God!
And so we wed
I can’t explain
Something is wrong with my brain.
Take my son, for instance,
He is my pride and joy.
(Taddy-ah, boom boom, taddy-ah, boom)
Quite a likely youngster
Really a clever boy
The things he does
I can’t explain
Something is wrong with his brain.
I give him his allowance, but it doesn’t come to buttons.
He has to have a yacht or two to keep up with the Huttons.
You don’t know how much dough it costs to keep a polo pony.
And though there’s never income tax, there’s always alimony.
His social life’s a dizzy whirl
From debutante to chorus girl.
He never sleeps, he never sits
By winter, he’s so shot to bits,
He has to go to Biarritz
My God!
The things he does
I can’t explain
Something is wrong with his brain.
When it comes to labor,
That’s where I’m really fair.
(Taddy-ah, boom boom, taddy-ah, boom)
After all, ‘twas labor
Made me a millionaire
And yet we fight
I can’t explain
Something is wrong with my brain.
I cut their wages every day,
It gives me such a pleasure.
I disregard the ones who say
They haven’t any leisure.
I always work them overtime
Without an extra penny.
And if they ask for two weeks off,
I just don’t give them any.
And when they strike, I clamp down hard,
Protected by the National Guard
I raise a patriotic stink
I call out every scab and fink
Descendant of the missing link
My God!
And yet we fight.
I can’t explain
Something is wrong with my brain.
I'm the much-maligned capitalistic boss
Every night upon my bed, I toss 'cause
With all the money I've got,
If you think I'm happy, I'm not
For I love my workers a lot
Yet I treat them so - Oh, I don't know
I'm really good at heart
But something is tearing me wide apart.
Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2016/2/9 - 13:47
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Parole di Saul Aarons
Musica di Mike Stratton
Testo trovato su Labor Arts
Canzone inclusa nella raccolta “Songs For Political Action - Folk Music And The American Left 1926 – 1953” (1996)
Originariamente pubblicato sul Volume III (nn. 6 e 7, luglio/agosto 1948) del “People's Song Bulletin”
Non ci sono molto notizie in Rete sull’autore di questa allegra e sarcastica canzoncina, dotata di un umorismo marcatamente “yiddish”… Mettendo insieme alcuni frammenti, Saul Aarons deve essere stato, seppur marginalmente, un songwriter che a New York fece parte dell’organizzazione “People’s Songs”, lì fondata nel 1945 da Pete Seeger, Alan Lomax e Lee Hays, nata per promuovere le canzoni provenienti dal movimento operaio americano.
Sono un boss capitalista… non sono cattivo, è che mi dipingono così… E’ vero, a volte mi comporto male ma non so spiegarmi il perché, c’è qualcosa che non va nel mio cervello… Sono malato di “capitalistite”!...