HANDY-MAN (©Words & music by Paul F. Cowlan)
For mobile-phone users everywhere; particularly those who seem convinced that quacking loudly and interminably about nothing in particular in a public place is in some way impressive or endearing.
Im a cool communicator,
keep in touch wherever I am.
Got your number and sooner or later,
Im gonna be your Handy-man.
Desk-top, laptop, palmtop, fingertip.
E-mail, Female, Fax or Phone.
Call me any time on the roving number.
A Handy-man is always home.
On the train, in the traffic, in Maine in Mafeking,
satellite magic and youre on-line.
Sitting on the toilet seat or walking down the High Street,
give me just a bleep and say youre mine.
This is your randy Handy Andy
leaving you a message on your answer-phone,
voice as sweet as pink sugar candy
to turn you on when you get home.
Cos Im a hot and strong long-distance lover.
Drive you crazy when I speak your name.
Ring off for long enough for you to work the passion off,
then call you back another time and do it all again.
Ting-a-ling-a buzz-bleep. Dialling numbers in my sleep.
Ill do anything to keep the chat-line free.
At the risk of failure, or calls to south Australia
made by another mother, but charged to me!
Pessimists are saying microwaves can give you brain strain,
migraine or a pain to drain your thoughts away.
Ive even heard the rumour they can be the cause of tumours,
but Ive got a sense of humour and Im OK.
Im a porta-packer, handy-quacker, chat-ack-acker, party-hacker,
fast car, singles-bar or cool café.
You will always hear the chattering of my ackermarackering
until it makes you wonder what I find to say.
Load of rubbish anyway!
So lift your handset, call my number. Bell me, tell me. Dont delay.
But we could never meet because I couldnt stand the heat
and if I had to greet you face to face Id fade away.
And thatll be the day!