An old cowpoke goes ridin' out upon the silver screen
He rides and rides, but doesn't talk, blank monitors are seen
Out in front of the studio, the red eyed pickets march
Their signs are big, the sun is hot, their throats are dry and parched

Demands are still on fire, their resolve is made of steel
The horns are loud and honky, and a victory they can feel
Negotiating, bargaining, like toddlers on a trike
But, cut off at an impasse, 'cause both sides don't think alike..


Reruns, hi ho..
No end todaaaay..
Those Writers Still On Strike..


No Golden Globes, no actors show, awards announced & clumped
Academy Awards comes soon, it too, may just be dumped
They could use that little Dutch boy..with his finger in the dike
To save the "damn"..award show..that a lot of us don't like..

As the writers fight for leverage, die hard tv fans grow tense
They save their eyes, and log more sleep, Blockbuster gets more "Rents"
Us couch cowboys must change our ways, more time with wives, we share
Thank God it don't affect football..the sports games are still there..

Reruns, hi ho..
No end todaaaay..
Those Writers Still On Strike..

Those Writers Still On Strike
Those Writers Still On Strike
Those Writers Still On Strike