Soul of a Man

Somebody asked me just the other day
What kind of music do you play
And I admit I had to think for a minute
Cause it ain't easy to state the shape of the swamp
When yr drowning in it
Maybe we can solve this odd equation
By process of elimination
I ain't top 40 'cause I ain't pretty
And I'm no street poet from New York City
I ain't classical, I ain't soul
I ain't the theme song from Rat Patrol
I ain't country, I ain't western
But I'm open to suggestion
I'll sing a kill yr mother song
And then I'll tell a few jokes
I will coax from my throught, child, the ghost of Phil Ochs
Make you remember what made you decide
Not to commit that suicide
Make you remember all those good times you had
And never let you forget that you bad!
Maybe that's opera, maybe that's punk
Maybe we spend too much time on that junk
I ain't top 40 'cause I ain't pretty
And I'm no street poet from New York City
I ain't classical, I ain't soul
I ain't Britney or Snow Patrol
I ain't country, I ain't western
But I'm open to suggestion
I got no genre, I want no niche
I'm a marketing nightmare and, as such, pleased
What is this music that comes out of me?
It's the soul of a man in the key of G
Cause I ain't pretty, no, no
And I can't really sing
And I don't care if you love me
Well, that's a lie
(from the CD "My Bloody Hootenanny")