I’ve been busy with odds and ends the last couple of days — going to the doctor, attending HOA meetings, doing booksignings, working on content for the IAMTW website, and plotting the next DIAGNOSIS MURDER novel, which I should already be writing.
Today, my brother Tod and I were guests at Pinky’s Paperhaus, where we talked about our new books SIMPLIFY and THE MAN WITH IRON-ON BADGE and played some music that influenced our writing, all for a podcast that will go live in October. We also teamed up for a clumsy duet of "The Ballad of Irving" (from the 60s comedy album "When You’re in Love, the Whole World is Jewish.") Until you can hear our immortal rendition, here are the lyrics:
He was short and fat, and rode out of the West
With a Mogen David on his silver vest.
He was mean and nasty right clear through,
Which was kinda weird, cause he was yellow too.
They called him Irving.
Big Irving.
Big, short Irving.
Big, short, fat Irving.
The hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West.
He came from the old Bar Mitzvah spread,
With a 10-gallon yarmulke on his head.
He always followed his mothers wishes,
Even on the range he used two sets of dishes.
Irving.
Big, fat Irving.
Big sissy Irving.
The hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West.
A hundred and forty-one could draw faster than he,
But Irving was looking for one forty-three.
Walked into Sols Saloon like a man insane,
And ordered three fingers of two cents plain.
Irving.
Big, fat Irving.
Big sport Irving.
The hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West.
One day Bad Max happened into town.
His aim was to shoot fat Irving down.
Bad Max said, Draw, and draw right now!
And Irving drew, drew a picture of a cow.
Irving.
Big, fat Irving.
Big gunfighter Irving.
The hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West.
The James Boys was comin on a train at first sun,
And the town said, Irving, we need your gun.
When that train pulled in at the break of dawn,
Irvings gun was there, but Irving was gone.
Irving.
Big, fat Irving.
Big help, Irving.
The hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West.
Well, finally Irving got three slugs in the belly.
It was right outside the Frontier Deli.
He was sittin there twirlin his gun around,
And butterfingers Irving gunned himself down!
Irving.
Big, fat Irving.
Big dum-dum Irving.
Big dum-dum dead Irving.
The hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West.
Really.
There are several versions of the song. For instance, in some Irving
doesn’t come "from the old Bar Mitzvah spread with a ten gallon
yarmulke on his head"… instead he comes "from the old Bar Mitzvah
spread shlepping a salami and pumperknickle bread." I prefer the ten
gallon yarmulke, it’s a funny image.
About fifteen years ago I met Sheldon Keller, one of the writers of
the album at a party. He was amused and flattered that I knew the
lyrics to both "The Ballad of Irving" and every other song on the
album…and most of the dialogue from the skits. Jewish humor was big
in the 60s…I remember two hilarious paperback James Bond spoofs
called LOXFINGER (agent oy-oy seven) and MATZOBALL. Fun stuff.