Did You Know That I Sing Too?

The Foxy Pockets - Fuck You

Okay, that’s a lie. I really can’t sing. In fact, my singing turns wine into vinegar and kills houseplants. But my husband can actually sing. And it’s been awhile since he and I have turned any of my old poetry into music. So we both thought we owed you some tunes. (If you missed any of the past songs, you should definitely listen to our Country Music Song and our Thanksgiving Carols.)

Today’s song was inspired by some very angry poetry I wrote as a teenager. In fact, it was one poem in particular that got this song rolling:

Fuck You: A Little Diddy

You sit there with your perfect life.
A dog, a car, a house, a wife.
Sipping scotch in leather chairs.
Throwing me your vile stares.
FUCK YOU.  

Isn’t that beautiful? Can you feel the love tonight? (Don’t worry—our song will crush that retched earworm.)

Rather than analyzing this lovely poem, I decided I had to mash it up with some more “lyrics” to make it a song. So I dug around a little more in my journals and found some more appropriately angst-ridden words. Then I combined the three angry poems and turned them into one angry song. And I decided that punk rock music would be the most fitting so I commissioned a punk rock song from my husband.

Now I was originally thinking along the lines of The Dead Milkmen or Dead Kennedys. But he created a song that has more of a Bowling for Soup feel to it. I ended up really liking that because what’s better than singing “fuck you” in a catchy, cheerful way? (The answer is “nothing.”)

I think it goes without saying that this song is NFSW and NSFK. Enjoy our ridiculous song. Lyrics are below. And the original poems follow.

Fuck You: A Punk Rock Song


Lyrics

Here I sit all alone, inside my dark and lonely home.
No one wonders, no one cares. I need someone to dry the tears.
This world I feel is not for me. No happiness, no sympathy.
Every night I cry in pain.
I’m losing at this endless game.

You sit there with your perfect life.
A dog, a car, a house, a wife.
Sipping scotch in your leather chair.
Throwing me your vile stares.
FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU.

If you read the writing on the wall, painted with my hand,
You’ll see a poem I left for you, and I hope you understand.
My life with you was miserable. You made it a burning hell.
Every time I look at you, from my eyes, tears fell.

[Chorus]

Every time I’d talk to you, you pushed me far away.
Now that I’m gone and I can’t talk, I left this message to say:
I do not regret what I've done, in fact I feel real good.
And if you feel at fault,
I DAMN WELL THINK YOU SHOULD!

[Chorus x 2]

Original Angry Teenager Poems

I: Endless Game

Here I sit all alone,
Inside my dark and lonely home.
No one wonders, no one cares.
I need someone to dry the tears.
This world I feel is not for me.
No happiness, no sympathy.
Every night I cry in pain.
I’m losing at this endless game.

II: Fuck You: A Little Diddy

You sit there with your perfect life.
A dog, a car, a house, a wife.
Sipping scotch in leather chairs.
Throwing me your vile stares.
FUCK YOU.  

III: Runaway

If you read the writing on the wall,
painted with my hand,
You’ll see a poem I left for you,
And I hope you understand.
My life with you was miserable.
You made it a burning hell.
Every time I looked at you
From my eyes, tears fell.
Every time I’d talk to you,
You pushed me far away.
Now that I’m gone and I can’t talk,
I left this message to say:
I do not regret what I have done.
In fact I feel very good.
And if you feel at fault and miserable,
I DAMN WELL THINK YOU SHOULD!

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17 Responses

  1. I’ve never enjoyed being told “fuck you” as much as I have this morning. Good stuff, and my compliments to the velvet pipes of Mr. Foxy

  2. Simply. Amahhhhazing.

    Me, some odd 10(15?20?? – no, let’s pretend 10) years ago I’d have had this tattoo along with all your CD’s in my ‘ol mustang driving around. Can our old teenage-selves be BFF?

  3. I literally had tears rolling down my face. Really, tears. It is scary how much I find myself enjoying that song; teenage Jess would have jammed out to that on her Walkman so hard. Because being a well-kept middle-class teenage white chick is hard, man, so hard. This is GOLD.

  4. Yay! So glad I am not the only one who wrote angry poems in a journal as a teen!!! Once, I found my notebook, and looked through it, thinking “Wow! I was slightly disturbed!” Now I wish I knew where I had put that sucker, because there is probably a GOLD MINE in spectacular songs in there!

  5. Awesome. Need to find my high school journal now, tho mine was more depressive than angry so I suppose mine will be more Morrissey than punk. Haha. Forget gold, I think your album could go platinum!

    1. Hey, now! Be nice, or “Ode to a Chin Zit” will be the next Foxy Pockets hit single. Sung like a girl, of course.

  6. I love the lyrics – they’re AWESOME – and I couldn’t listen to the song cuz all the kids are in the room with me! Can’t wait to save this for a guilty pleasure later!

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