My friend Joe started writing about futons
That's just a bed that you can fold away
And even though it's only made out of cotton
Still Joe has a lot to say
Cause you see they're made real cheap down in Asia
So there is lots of money to be made
By those greedy men on street corners
All across the USA
But Joe he ain't selling nothing
He's just telling it like it is
But those greedy men they kiss up to him
Cause they want all of the biz
Oh mama, could this really be Joe's end?
To be writing about futons in Futon Life Again

Well now Joe's got this futon magazine
It comes out four times a year
And he sold those greedy men some ad space
And he hopes that someone will hear
But this magazine can be like Gibraltar
When he's chained to it day and night
Seems the minute you think that you're through with it
Another one looms up in sight
Oh mama, will there ever be an end
To be writing about futons in Futon Life Again

They formed a Worldwide Council of Futon
As funny as that may seem
To play a traffic cop or a den mother
'Cause its members can be real mean
Now Joe is trying to speak like a boardmember
And still be "Editor" in on breath
It's a tight rope he's been walking
One false move might mean his death
But Joe he really ain't worried
If the Board all votes him down
Cause guys like him they got nothing to lose
When they're the only show in town
Oh mama, it looks like this is the end
To be stuck writing about futons in Futon Life again

Break (whew!)

Now the moral of Joe's story, I know You've waited a long time to hear
Is that a futon is fine for a good nights sleep,
but be careful how you choose your career
But Joey, he'll end up alright now
The sooner he gets to bed
He'll get up and do it again tomorrow
And just rewrite what he's already said
Oh mama, will there ever be an end?
Oh mama, will he ever see his friends?
Oh mama, "Is that Tambra Jones again?"
Oh mama, will there ever be an end
Of his writing about futons in Futon Life Again?

©1999-2000 Futon Life

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