1776: Piddle, Twiddle, and Resolve / Till Then

Dear God!
For one solid year they have been sitting here!
A whole year!
Doing nothing!

I do believe you've laid a curse on North America
A curse that we here now rehearse in Philadelphia
A second flood, a simple famine
Plagues of locusts everywhere
Or a cataclysmic earthquake
I'd accept with some despair
But, no, you sent us Congress
Good God, sir, was that fair?

I say this with humility in Philadelphia
We're your responsibility in Philadephia
If you don't want to see us hanging
From some far-off British hill
If you don't want the voice of independency
Forever still
Then God, sir, get thee to it
For Congress never will

You see, we piddle, twiddle, and resolve
Not one damn thing do we solve
Piddle, twiddle, and resolve
Nothing's ever solved in
Foul, fetid, fuming, foggy, filthy
Philadephia!

(Someone ought to open up a window)
Good God!

They may sit here for years and years in Philadelphia
These indecisive grenadiers of Philadelphia
They can't agree on what is right and wrong
Or what is good or bad; I'm convinced
The only purpose this Congress ever had
Was to gather here specifically
To drive John Adams mad!

You see, we piddle, twiddle, and resolve
Not one damn thing do we solve
Piddle, twiddle, and resolve
Nothing's ever solved in
Foul, fetid, fuming, foggy, filthy
Philadephia!

John, John, is that you carrying on, John?
Oh, Abigail, Abigail
I have such a desire to knock heads together!
I know, my dearest, I know
But that's because you make everything so complicated
It's all quite simple, really

Just tell the Congress to declare independency
Then sign your name, get out of there and
Hurry home to me
Our children all have dysentery
Little Tom keeps turning blue
Little Abbie has the measles
And I'm coming down with flu
They say we may get smallpox
Madam, what else is new?

Abigail, in my last letter
I wrote you to organize the ladies to make saltpeter for gunpowder
Have you done as I asked?
No, John, I have not
Why have you not?
John! I'm afraid we have a more urgent problem
More urgent, Madam?

There's one thing every woman's missed in
Massachusetts Bay
Don't smirk at me, you egotist; pay
Heed to what I say
We've gone from Framingham to Boston
And we cannot find a pin
"Don't you know there's a war on?"
Say the tradesmen with a grin
Well, we will not make saltpeter
Until you send us pins!

Pins, Madam? Saltpeter!
Pins!
Saltpeter!
Pins!
Saltpeter
Pins
Saltpeter
Pins
Peter
Pins
Peter
Pins
Peter
Pins
Peter!
Pins

Done, Madam. Done
Done, John
Hurry home, John
Oh, as soon as I'm able
Don't stop writing
It's all I have
Every day, my dearest friend

Till then, till then
I am as I ever was and ever shall be
Yours, yours, yours, yours, yours
Saltpeter, John
Pins, Abigail
For God's sake, John, sit down



Credits
Writer(s): Sherman Edwards
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