Anvils keep falling on my head (CLANG!)
Some are made of iron and some are made of lead;
Please help me out, I'm dead--dag!
I'm never gonna stop these anvils by complaining.
Oh, set me free.
These anvils keep hitting me.
How did that taste, B. J. Thomas? Several years ago, I sentenced Thomas and a number of other 1970s wuss rockers--England Dan and John Ford Coley, Dan Fogelberg, Dan Hill--to death, but I commuted the sentence to life in obscurity. It didn't work with Fogelberg, plus he wound up dying anyway. Nothing to do with me, I swear.
The lyrics above are least 20 years old, composed as a dedication to the foibles of a cartoon coyote. I wanted to make a montage as well, but never got around to it.
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