In a little while from now
submission comes from my house.
I promised myself to treat myself
to something that'll make you grouse.
I think that it's the top
but it ticks you right off
in an effort to make it clear, it's true
that it's not up to your standards
left sitting at the keys
would you please, on your board typing
my God, that's rough, you ripped it up.
No point in this, I'm sending.
So why did I go on?
My writing talent gone?
I phoned it in
naturally.

To think that only yesterday
we'd have to do it that way.
Literally true, and that wouldn't do.
Internet gives us better play.
But as if to knock me down
the writer's block came around
and without so much as a mere touch
I've been writing subpar pieces
leaving me to watch
how I botched it and got one-votes.
I guess I should have tried for good
with new song about sunk boat.
A parody good I need
but I'm the one "wrecked" indeed.
I phoned it in
naturally.

It seems to me that there are more songs
I could write so well
and make them funny.
Well-paced and punny.
But do I do?
Not lately, true.

(instrumental break)

I phoned it in
naturally.

And looking back over the years
at George Bush-inspired tears
I remember how I cried when a Yankee ride
dissolved right into Boston beers.
And at sixty-three years old
that Douglas torments my soul.
I can't understand why a same-age man
his wife Catherine has forsaken.
Leaving me to start
with a heart so badly broken.
And "twin" Bernard I hit so hard
about him, there's no jokin'.
And since he's passed away
what have I done today?
I've phoned it in
naturally.

I phoned it in
naturally.