The Rubber Chicken - The Studio Sessions

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Here you'll find standalone MP3s and lyrics of our classier tunes - chiefly, songs from our podcast that can hold their own outside the mother show's rich narrative framework.

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Wanna B N Angel (Download MP3)
Music by Gord Myren.
Lyrics by Andrey Summers.
Originally featured in Podcast 204: The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Podcast
Recorded by the Red Square Collective.

Gord: Aw yeah.
Andrey: Damn, baby.
Gord: You know in school when they have a career day in like grade three,
Andrey: And they ask you 'watchu wanna be when you grow up, guuurl?'
Gord: I told em I don’t wanna be no fireman,
Andrey: And I don’t wanna be no astronaut,
Gord: But I do wanna be something similar to an astronaut.
Andrey: ‘s only one thang I wanna be, babydoll.

I wanna be an angel
High above the world
Sittin’ on a cloud, munchin’ on a bird

Angel
Fly above it all
Sex you up girl, if I weren’t asexual

Checkit growing up in Compton, my atheist parents
Told me angels evolved from the archaeopteryx
First winged creature to be rockin’ feathers
Big fluffy-ass clouds were its favorite weather
Now, if I’s an angel
No, I’d never age, y’all
I’d ride fluffy clouds until I was deranged, y’all
And now for the haters sayin’ angels is whack,
An abridged compilation of angel-based facts:

On the Galapagos islands Charles Darwin found Angels
But since then the Angels have become endangered
Not only do they get sucked into jet engines
But poachers hunt them for their valuable urine

Gord: How 'bout that?
Andrey: Educatin' y'all muthafuckas.
Gord: Sunday school, baby.
Andrey: Seven days a week.
Gord: Any given Sunday, girl.
Andrey: Al Pacino.
Together: Godfather Part Two!

I wanna be an angel
High above the world
Sittin’ on a cloud, munchin’ on a bird

I wanna be an angel

The I Feel Pretty Good Blues (Download MP3)
Music written and performed by Gord Myren.
Lyrics by Andrey Summers.
Originally featured in Podcast 201: Radio City Music Hall Presents 'An Evening with Podcast'
Recorded at Rallytime Records.

Well I woke up this morning
In my big queen size bed
Thought I'd take a shower
But I took a bath instead

It's Saturday baby
Got nothing to do
So I'm sitting here singing
The I Feel Pretty Good Blues

Thought I'd make a sammich
'Fore the baguette goes stale
It's a French baguette baby
I bought five on sale

The manager, he knows me
Down at the Fun Lucky Mart
Mr. Yamasaki
I learned his last name by heart

I've got the blues
The I Feel Pretty Good Blues
The I Know A Japanese Guy And He Gives Me Little Discounts Blues

Now I'm doing a crossword
I'm quite good at this
Two down, five letters
A restraint for your wrists

Well that must be "handcuffs"
But "handcuffs" is nine
I'll shorten it maybe
Just "cuffs" should do just fine

I've got the blues
The I Feel Pretty Good Blues
The I Told You I Was Good At Doing Crosswords And Sudokus Blues

Now my cell phone is ringing
Girl, you're on the line
Say you're leaving me baby
But I don't really mind

It was great while it lasted
And I have no regrets
But I won't make a big deal of it
By whining about what's past

I've got the blues
The I Still Feel Pretty Good Blues
The I Know How Two Mature People Can Mutually End A Relationship Blues

My bottle of fruit juice
Is empty tonight
I drink too much baby
Too much Sunny Delight

I know it's not healthy
I'm destroying myself
But down at the Fun Lucky Mart
There's nothing else pulpless on the shelf

I've got the blues
The I Feel Pretty Good Blues
The At Least I Have The Sense To Never Drink, Do Drugs Or Have Fatty Foods Blues

Now I'm manning the phones, girl
Down at the crisis line
Hearing all the poor people
As they bitch and they whine

God damn it's annoying
To hear them go on
But if I put it all to music
I might get a decent song

I've got the blues
The I Feel Pretty Good Blues
The Sad People's Lives Plus Rhyme Scheme Maybe Equals Small Time Profits Blues
I've Made Up A Genre And I Don't Know What To Call It Blues.

Santa Klau-au-auss (Download MP3)
Music written and performed by Gord Myren.
Lyrics written and performed by Andrey Summers.
Originally featured in the 2006 Christmas Podcast
Recorded at Rallytime Records.

Every year in West you celebrating
When the fat man breaks into your homes
He have a present for your childrens if they sit up on his lap
The name by which the pedophile is known is

Santa Klau-au-auss
Sneak at night into your house
With a list of all the children that he likes

Santa Klau-au-auss
Is not easily aroused
But he knows which ones is naughty and which nice

In my country if old man is knowing
When my childrens sleep or is awake
I do not demand my wife to leave the cookies and the milk
But instead I smash his face in with a rake

But America is a much confusing
In the things they choose to cleebrate
Like in springtime when the rabbit lays the brown things that you eat
And you crucify this Jesus you must hate
Wait

Santa Klau-au-auss
Have long fangs inside his mouth
And he slithers through the forrest hungrily

Santa Klau-au-auss
In his claws he catch the mouse
And he build a nest on top of Christmas tree

(Big finish)
Santa Klau-au-auss
Sell his soul to hell like Faust
And the devil give to him eternal life
Santa Klau-au-auss
In the frozen north he's housed
In a prison made of dragon scales and ice

Self Portrait (Download MP3)
Music written and performed by Gord Myren.
Lyrics written and performed by Andrey Summers.
Originally featured in Podcast 104: Podcast Goes Hawaiian
Recorded at Rallytime Records.

You have a dashing, powerful persona
A wealth of knowledge and unyielding taste
Good humor and respect are your Corona
Your pants are pressed, your shoes are neatly laced

You wind-surf, you eat pears and re-read Chaucer
Hook salmon, but then always throw it back
You even proved you'd seen a flying saucer (to a skeptic)
You don't support the conflict in Iraq

You bought a jar of pickles from a cyclops
Restored the stained-glass window of a church
You spend all night hunched over in your workshop
Hand crafting tiny ponies out of birch

The day Edward R. Murrow was cremated
You had his ashes scattered in the alps
And 'neath the harvest moon you celebrated (with a skeptic)
The head of every chieftain that you scalped

For every genocide you propogated
For every crowded orphanage you burned
For every teenage girl you impregnated
You left a dozen movies unreturned

In 1939 you ravaged poland
You pawned away your furniture for blow
You sold your sister to a pimp, to finance your new colon
And you're the only one who listens to this show.


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