DONNY JOHNNY (© Words and music by Paul F. Cowlan )
Adapted from a poem of mine about Don Juan, called The Don Grasps it. Not before time, bless him! The title is filched from Lord Byron.
Don Juan wakes to a smack in the head,
sits up and looks around.
Bolt upright in the middle of the bed,
but he doesnt hear a sound.
The emerald shines in his white gold ring,
there are ruffled cuffs and velvet clothes.
The swords in the scabbard, and everything
is lying in sweet repose.
He says, “How much did I drink last night?
What was that womans name?
How come shes out of sight?
And whos to blame?”
“It cant be me cos Im The Man.
Thats what all the papers say.
The King of the Cats is cool Don Juan.
So, how did she get away?”
“Things arent quite what they were.
I dont know what it is, but somethings gone.
I used to kick up the dust and cause a stir.
So, now whats going on?”
“Cos now the ladys found her own way home,
leaving heeltaps, smoke and cherry stones.
Ive got an eggshell head and funny bones,
and Im not on form today. No way!”
“Is that a message on the Venice glass?
I think I recognise a womans hand.
Maybe this time I ought to let it pass.
But I just dont understand.”
She writes. You were lucky to get that far,
with your coal black horses and your jaunting car,
but youre not as special as you think you are;
and, boy, you got a lot to learn!”
Now Don Juan sits in the middle of the bed,
pinching his libido black and blue,
taking long, deep breaths and shaking his head.
Whats a man supposed to do?
Seems like the lady got through.