Lyrics please for a y2k 12 bar blues.

-- Richard Dale (rdale@figroup.co.uk), July 15, 1998

Answers

woke up in the morning got my breakfast in bed my wife was complaining was it something I said no the car wouldn't go it was non-compliant yo so non-compli-ant the radio was eroding the TV was toast the toaster was roasting the washer was whining the PC was pulsating the hi-fi was wowing and fluttering the freezer was weezing the heating was bleating they were all non-compliant the systems on which we're reliant are all non-compliant better take a step giant to find someplace defiant

-- Richard Dale (rdale@figroup.co.uk), July 15, 1998.

Oh my back is sore and tired, been diggin a hole in my backyard. Whoa, my back is sore and tired, gotta dig a blast shelter in my backyard. Gotta hide the wife children, from that Millennium Bomb.

Bought me a generator, and a big bag of pinto beans Whoa bought me a generator, and bout a hundred pounds of pinto beans. Since Gary North done told me, gonna be the end of the American Dream.

Oh my baby she done left me, when I brought the chickens into the laundry room. Oh my baby got up and left me, I started feedin chickens in the laundry room. She says Ive lost all my marbles, she cant take all this doom and gloom.

Oh the mainframes theyll be a coughin, gonna sputter, spit and die. Whoa all the mainframes gonna be coughin, till they sputter spit and die. Gonna choke on those two digit date names, gotta kiss my big screen TV bye-bye.

Oh my back is sore and tired, gotta keep diggin this hole in my backyard. Whoa, my back is sore and tired, gonna dig a blast shelter in my backyard. Got eighteen months before the world blows to pieces, from that Millennium Bomb.

-- Timothy Rebman (trebman@megavision.com), July 15, 1998.

I have never laughed so hard at any posts as I have this one! Thanks for giving me a really good laugh, you guys are good! We all needed this!

-- Barb-Douglas (bardou@yahoo.com), July 15, 1998.

Not 12 bar blues, but....

Sung to the tune of "Gilligan's Island":

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale Of the doom that is our fate, That started when programmers used Two digits for a date, Two digits for a date.

Main memory was smaller then; Hard disks were smaller, too. "Four digits are extravagant, So let's get by with two, So let's get by with two."

"This works through 1999," The programmers did say. "Unless we rewrite before that It all will go away, It all will go away." But management had not a clue: "It works fine now, you bet! A rewrite is a straight expense; We won't do it just yet, We won't do it just yet."

Now when two thousand rolls around It all goes straight to hell, For zero's less than ninety-nine, As anyone can tell, As anyone can tell. The mail won't bring your pension check. It won't be sent to you When you're no longer sixty-eight, But minus thirty-two, But minus thirty-two.

The problems we're about to face Are frightening, for sure. And reading every line of code's The only certain cure, The only certain cure.

There's not much time, there's too much code (And COBOL-coders, few). When the century is finished with, We may be finished, too, We may be finished, too.

The way to get the time we need I now propose to you: A Daylight Savings decade, Or maybe even two, Or maybe even two. Eight thousand years from now I hope That things weren't left too late, And people aren't lamenting Four digits for a date, Four digits for a date!

-- Hallyx (Hallyx@aol.com), July 17, 1998.