The Fruit Coot

Tune and Words: Sherman Dorn

I went into a grocery store. I saw fruit stickers everywhere,
an opportunity today and one I've taken all away.
I've bought the factories and, more, I put ideas in the air.
I always stay one step ahead. Fruit stickers dance above my bed.

And so, if you want to put stickers on some fruit.
You have to go through me, the fruit coot.

Fragrances disguise the rotting fruit or maybe covers bruises.
Yes, it is performance art, dulls wits of those who pack your cart,
fingerprints those ill-begotten ripe-fruit squeezing evil choosers.
Revlon pays me to make sure you pay some more for nail allure.

And so, if you want to put stickers on some fruit.
You have to go through me, the fruit coot.

You want to advertise your feature? Put Mel Gibson on a melon.
Geeks who get a fruit attack may find Bill Gates upon their mac.
An advertising orb with speaker, fruit remote to catch a felon.
Paranoids: think microchips, at your parties, near the dip.

And so, if you want to put stickers on some fruit.
You have to go through me, the fruit coot.

I've been longan for some dumb consumers who will pear-ly gape
and pecan stare before they buy what I've been plantain on the sly.
The depths of marketing I'll plum—the opportunities are grape.
Orange you glad I came this way? For, kumquat may, here I stay.
I never fig-ured I'd find one who'd guava's good as she ate.
Together we will hold the lime, as mangoes marching on through thyme!

And so, if you want to put stickers on some fruit.
You have to go through me, the fruit coot.

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