Yamaha Spec Print: Checkered Flag   Art Director: Jackie Huck
     Yamaha Spec Print: Race Horse   Art Director: Jackie Huck
     Yamaha Spec Print: Moto Cross   Art Director: Jackie Huck
    What Parrothead can resist creating a new spin on an old classic? The old classic, of course, being Martha Stewart.       Martha Stewart's Cell  Lyrics:      Adornin’ the steel grate  Impressin’ her cell mate  But all of her floors are now covered with soil  Countin’ her money  To pay that big court fee  Smell of success is beginnin’ to spoil     Wastin’ away within Martha Stewart’s Cell  Wishin’ that she hadn’t been caught  Twelve people claim that she’s the woman to blame  But she knows, it’s her lawyer’s fault     We don’t know the reason  She committed high treason  She had a career making fancy fondue  But it’s a real pity  She resigned her committee  MSO, we bid it adieu     Wastin’ away within Martha Stewart’s Cell  Wishin’ that she followed the law  Twelve people claim that she’s the woman to blame  And we know, her stock’s gonna fall     She blew it with Kmart  Now beggin’ for pop tarts  Prayin’ to God she can move on back home  She was a great vendor  Now a convicted offender  A free-range rich chick that can no longer roam     Wastin’ away within Martha Stewart’s Cell  Wishin’ that she hadn’t been caught  Twelve people claim that she’s the woman to blame  And we know, she’ll stay locked in a vault     Yes twelve people claim that she’s the woman to blame  And we know, it’s her own damn fault     Original   Margaritaville   Lyrics
    This was inspired by a friend, who was indeed, a Son of a Son of an Ad Man. (He had a sense of humor, thankfully.)       Son of a Son of an Ad Man  Lyrics:      As the son of a son of an Ad Man  I set out on this cliché ad venture  I interviewed, learned my talents were few  So my dad hired me, I’m indentured     As a creator of things like the Marlboro Man  I have chalked up many a smile  I’ve read dozens of books about headlines and hooks  And I’ve learned much from Jeff Goodby’s style     Son of a son, son of a son  Son of a son of an Ad Man  I wrote a bad pun, it can’t be undone  I’m one step away from a Mad Man     Now away in the near future  My wife will love another  So I’ll break my back, to prove I’m no hack  As she cheats just like my mother     And my C.D. is yelling “trim the ad”  From the floor of the Vices  With constant defeat, to the bar I retreat  Where the Bud is for all at good prices     As the night dims and we start feeling grim  about the pitch work boarded before us  See my boss scheme, fearing clients will scream  “It’s been done! Why are you tryin’ to bore us?”     And when this job ends, I’ll have no money to spend  For a few, I’ll find work as a waiter  But in these hard times, I’ll keep writin’ more lines  I’m a manipulator, not a traitor     But a son of a son, son of a son,  Son of a son of an Ad Man  My body’s so numb, I’m loaded on rum  I’m one step away from Unclad Man  I’m just a son of a son, son of a son,  Son of a son of an Ad Man  Deceits in my veins, my tradition remains  I just pray I win someday at Cannes     Original   Son of a Son of a Sailor   Lyrics
       I swear I'm not a drunk. But I've worked in advertising for a long time. So this one just sort of wrote itself.        My Spirit's Proof Ain't 40  Lyrics:      Sitting without motion, ‘tender yells “last call”  I have been planted upon this barstool since I missed the stall  I had the gall, I pissed the wall  I watch the men come in here and drink the Anchor Steam  But in my belly is a liquid measure that burns like Kerosene  I feel a little green, it’s spreading to my spleen     Yes I have a headache, two hundred mils I’ll take  The pain is like thunder, cranium’s been sundered  I’ve had only forty liquors today  Got started too late, blame the interstate     Now I’ve done a bit of travlin’, but never in first class  I’d rather spend my money to buy a Mai Tai and sit here on my ass  Been called white trash, please refill my glass     And I have been drunk now for over a week  I passed out and I rallied and I’ve been known to streak  But I got to stop swishin’, got to start listenin’  To the big bouncer named Tim  The lights just dimmed, POUR ME SOME MORE GIN!     I’ve chased some younger women, restraining orders they’ve filed  I was granted a stay, and come Monday  I’m guaranteed a fair trial  I’ll dress in style, a great use of guile     And I haven’t got a notion, of being career bound  My occupational hazard being alcoholics aren’t allowed on school grounds  More shots I downed, I need an ultrasound  Constantly confound, for that I am renowned     Original   A Pirate Looks at 40   Lyrics
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