My helmet, it protected me While riding through Schenectady On my trusty, rusty, ten-speed bike.
I like to let my hair blow free, But without my head, there'd be no ME, Thus I wear this shell that I don't like.
Some like to spout philosophy From platforms or on bended knee That freedom, basic freedom, is their right.
But a corner that is slippery Or any other tragedy Could leave them just a plaque marked, "Here lies Mike"
Or "Jen" or "Sam" or "Stephanie"-- Their families sobbing endlessly... So please:
Wear your helmet when you ride a bike!
Hip hop music – basses thump, Hands up high – fist pump bump.
Move your body – stomp your feet, Feel the rhythm – catch that beat!
Phil the Photographer
Frippery-frappery Phil the Photographer Snapped off some photos of Fancy-type folk. Flashing montages of Phantasmagoria, Phil was just thrilled with the Chills he’d provoke.
When I Grow Up Grownups are always asking what I want to grow up to be. They mean my job, I know, but I wish I could say, “What I want is to be a monkey, so I could play in the jungle all day.”
Why the focus on work? Why can’t I dream about play? About jumping and climbing and screeching with glee? About living my life the monkey way?
To scamper about, eating fruit in a tree, that’s the life for me. How fun to swing from my arms or my tail, making the branches sway. So, what I want is to be a monkey, so I could play in the jungle all day.