The Man from Nantucket

There once was a man
Who lived in Nantucket
He wasn't too happy
With life
Oh well, fuck it
...He thought to himself

If I don't like life
Its color, its hue
Its taste, or its texture
Be it red, or else, blue
Let's scrap the whole thing
And paint it anew
...Thought the man

There once was a man
Who lived in Nantucket
...Who thought to himself

He thought quite a lot
Up there in Nantucket
Then he got him some paint
In a big yellow bucket

It started out mellow
One stroke at a time
He sprayed and he brushed
He splurged and he splushed
The color all over
Until
Just in time

The diligent fellow
Had painted all things
In a very bright yellow

Now this is more like it
Thought the man from Nantucket
After which he put down
His brush, empty bucket

I once didn't like
What I saw in this life
But now all is yellow
Well worth all the strife
...Thought the man from Nantucket

The hardship
The toil
The work
Thought the fellow
He wouldn't have liked it
If it wasn't in yellow

There once was a man
Who lived in Nantucket
Who owned but a brush
And one empty bucket

Yet happy he was
The bright little fellow
Living in yellow

With a brush and one bucket
All by himself
Up there in Nantucket

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