I do believe you’ve laid a curse on North America
A curse that we now here 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 it 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!

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!

From Piddle, Twiddle, and Resolve
by Sherman Edwards