I D O N ' T WA N T TO B E L O N G TO A N Y C L U B T H AT W I L L A C C E P T P E O P L E L I K E M E A S

A M E M B e r — Groucho Marx

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The Groucho Group Art Department | A tribute to Michael Jackson

The Groucho Group Art Department | A tribute to Michael Jackson

Paying ali-mony is like

feeding hay to a dead horse.’ But doesn’t that count for handing over money to banks in trouble too?It’s hard to find out, and the truth isn’t clear. In this issue of the Groucho Group Newsletter we will try to figure out what’s going on and what can be done about that.

But first... a song! And since this crisis is all about money and bucks, there nothing more appropiate than the following words. Origi-nally written by Harry Ruby, but shortened. The song’s called Timbuctoo.

‘Long ago in old New Amsterdam,there lived a cousin of the Duke of Buckingham.His friends knew Buckingham to be a sport,so they cut the ‘ham’ and called him Buck for short.

One day Buck met a little cluck, and he wispered “Duckie, Dear”, in accents loud and clear, “Please marry me, my dear”.

She replied “I will be your bride, but there must be no delay”. So they were buckled up that day.

Soon they had a lot of little Bucks, and you know how fast they grow. There was one

Buck, two Bucks, three Bucks, four Bucks,no one knows how many more Bucks.Mrs. Buck would play the ukulele every morn till two, and while old man Buck was singing, all the little Bucks were buck-and-winging.

When they had eggs for breakfast, Buck was out of luck, each Buck would eat a dozen eggs, and a dozen cost a buck.

The landlord came to raise Buck’s rent,but he couldn’t raise a sou.So he backed up the motor truck, and he said goodbye, said goodbye, he said goodnight, he said goodbye, and he s...

...to Timbuctoo!’

Well, time’s up now. Next week, or later on, we will come back to you on this mighty fine subject.

the crisisI D O N ' T WA N T TO B E L O N G TO A N Y C L U B T H AT W I L L A C C E P T P E O P L E L I K E M E A S

A M E M B e r — Groucho Marx

••• Financial Featurette •••

There was one Buck, two Bucks, three Bucks, four Bucks,no one knows

how many more Bucks

the crisisa burden too heavy for a

large group of managers?

••• Financial Featurette •••

Years ago when there were many songs written about mothers, you know like ‘Mammy’, ‘Ireland Must Be Heaven’, ‘Mom, They Are Making Eyes At Me’, ‘My Mother’s Eyes’, nobody ever wrote any song about fathers. Father was the town schlemeil in almost every place. He was nothing, mother was the boss. I think there were two songs that I remember: ‘Pop Goes The Weasel’ and ‘Oh, What A Crumb Is My Old Man’.

I remember one more song, it’s called:

Everybody works but father,He sits around all day.Feet in front of the fireplace,Smoking his pipe of clay.Mother takes in washing,So does sister Ann.Everybody works in our houseBut my old man.

That was a big hit, that song. They even sang it in Europe, in Germany.

Alle schaft aber nicht Vater.Er geht der ganze Tag herum.Und raucht der verdammte Pfeife,Das alles geht driblen drum.Und Mutter nimmt den VaschingUnd auch tut Schwester Ann.Alle arbeiten in unser Platz,Aber nicht der alter Mann.

This, and much more, in the next issue of your newsletter. Coming soon!

Everybody Works But Father

t h e gr o uc ho gr o u p n e w s l e t t e r edition j u ly & a u g u s t 2 0 0 9

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Tip of the week!question In your many years of experience what have you learned that you’d like to share? answer groucho ‘Never sit down at a party. You may have somebody sitting next to you that you don’t like.’ Ain’t that a tip or what!

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