Back in the 1950's

Back in the 1950’s

When I was just a boy, one thing I did enjoy,
was a trip to the local barbershop.
A bastion of male domain, where politics reigned
and they’d take a little off the top.
But don’t believe their lies after you advised
them to cut your hair a certain way,
For though it’s your opinion, this was their dominion
and Milton always had the last say.
But when he was through and payment was due,
he’d anoint you with the red and green;
Shaking it up and down, he’d pour it on your crown,
then rub and polish it to a sheen.

One day in came Tom Slater, and said, I should come later,
but Milton, I gotta have my morning shave,
Come on up, Tom, just tested my razor on my thumb;
now tell me why do look so grave?
Milton, haven’t you heard? A terrible thing occurred,
the Ruskies, they’ve launched a Sputnik.
What’ll we do, the President sounded mighty blue,
now we’re running second to a Bolshevik.
You say it’s a Sputnik? Is this some kind of a trick?
Or have you gone completely mad?
I’m as sane as you are, but up there among the stars
is an ironclad, Russian man-made dodad,

This thing is a great big eye, floating up in the sky
and all day long it’s watching me and you,
It beeps and pings as it sails around a ring,
and it’s somewhere out there in the blue.
Now calm down, Tom, you ain’t so dumb,
them Roosians ain’t gonna beat the old USA.
They may have the bomb, but listen, old chum,
if they mess with us they’ll have to pay.
We’ve fed ‘um for years, probably brewed their beers,
listen, Uncle Sam always holds the top card.
So settle back Tom, till I get my shaving done,
Then we’ll call up the local National Guard.

So with the whiskers gone, he picked up the phone
and got the operator on the line.
Get me the Armory, Sgt. Richard Ellerbee,
and step on it, cause this dime is mine.
Sgt Ellerbee here, Ya’ll be of good cheer,
cause the National Guard is on the job.
This here’s Polk, and son, this ain’t no joke,
them Roosians is trying to get higher ‘n God.
Nothing they could do, the Guard was down to a few,
so he had to call another number,
And as Miss Sarah dialed, while Milton smiled,
he was as cool as a big old cucumber.

The call went through, from the red, white and blue,
Milton said, “Morning, Mr. Khrushchev.
Morning? No, that’s not right! In Moscow it’s midnight!
how’d you ring this phone on my shelf?
It’s our Yankee smarts, what makes all the parts,
that makes us accomplish whatever we try,
So you better get that thang, what you tried to hang,
I mean your certified spy in the sky.
Me and Tom are upset, so don’t take any bets,
‘bout your success with that Sputnik.
Boys calm down, we’re not spying on your town,
we’re not interested in small town rednecks.

So go back to snipping, and your hair clipping,
and let me get back to my beauty sleep.
Here there is no dove, it was killed by Molotov,
That gasoline cocktail throwing creep.
Go back to bed, it doesn’t matter if you’re red,
but listen you slimy commie Commissar,
That pinging metal ball is gonna have a fall,
‘cause it’s going out like a shooting star.
We got us a gun, and it’s a great big one,
I think it’s a 16 or 12 gauge.
When we drop the hammer, there’ll be such a clamor
the Kremlin will be in a red-hot Russian rage.

And it aint no boast, we got men from coast to coast,
who can shoot your tin ball to kingdom come.
So chalk up your sky spy, as a real nice try,
if you don’t believe me, just ask my friend, Tom.
Now calm down friend, that Sputnik isn’t the end,
it’s just a harmless tin ball that beeps,
While you may think it bad, it’s really just a fad,
it’ll end up in the outer space junkheap.
It’s all for naught, said Milton with a thought,
we’ve worried about a useless metal bun,
I’ve had my turn, so the next is not my concern,
J.C. can worry about the next one.