Episode 1: Bee Gee’s Staying Alive
Lyric breakdown by Barry Gibb.
Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk,
I’m a woman’s man: no time to talk.
(I am a man that is for women. I am MONSTER STRAIGHT and that’s not so much apparent by the way my walk looks, but by the way I use my walk. Do you see? I am a master of it. But I do apologize, I can’t go into it right now, I have to go. However even though I can’t discuss it this instant, I do have time to sing the entire remainder of this song.)
Music loud and women warm, I’ve been kicked around
Since I was born.
(Tarzan say it been rough road.)
And now it’s all right. It’s OK.
And you may look the other way.
(It is all right. In fact, it’s also OK. I am being sincere here.)
We can try to understand
The New York Times’ effect on man.
(I don’t know what I mean here, but I think I want to contrast Tarzan speak with smart speak and did I succeed?)
Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother,
You’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.
(Congratulations, if you’re a man who has a sibling or a lady who has given birth to any child, male or female, you are in fact, continuing to live. However, any women out there who have no siblings or any men who have yet to sire a child, you can go screw.)
Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’,
And we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.
(There was an earthquake when I was writing this so I quickly worked it in.)
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive.
(I can’t believe how funny this is! I’m dying laughing that the aforementioned subset of people continue to live!)
Well now, I get low and I get high,
And if I can’t get either, I really try.
(Just in case you thought I was half-assing my mood swings or drug-use. I’m out there, giving it everything I got. I’m Barry Gibb.)
Got the wings of heaven on my shoes.
I’m a dancin’ man and I just can’t lose.
(This is literal. I have little angel wings on my patent leathers. Check them out next time you see me. Also, no dance contests because you can’t win.)
You know it’s all right. It’s OK.
I’ll live to see another day.
(Thought I’d check in again to let you know that it’s still all right and even though we just had an earthquake, it’s still OK.)
We can try to understand
The New York Times’ effect on man.
(Sorry, but it just sounds so smart.)
Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother,
You’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.
Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’,
And we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive.
(Nothing’s changed here either but I just wanted to reiterate that any siblingless women or men without children could really die and I just wouldn’t give a fuck. I am Barry Gibb.)
Life goin’ nowhere. Somebody help me.
Somebody help me, yeah.
(Oh shit. I’ve never fathered a child. What have I done?)
Life goin’ nowhere. Somebody help me, yeah.
Stayin’ alive.
(I cursed myself! Little shoe-wings, please help me.)
Life goin’ nowhere. Somebody help me.
Somebody help me, yeah.
(Desperately seeking disco lady for hot sex and purchase-finding seed copulation…and I mean now!)
Life goin’ nowhere. Somebody help me, yeah.
I’m stayin’ alive.
(Oh wait, I have a brother. Shit, I have two at least and I think there may even be a third. My band is short for the Brothers Gibb for Christ sake, what was I worried about? Phew. Sorry ladies, copulation offer: RESCINDED. Hot sex: STILL VALID. I’m Barry Gibb.)
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