Too Much Monkey Business

When I was young enough to go to day camp, each morning we'd start in this outdoor amphitheater called gully, and from what I remember of it, there'd be a lot of singing and if you were stirred enough you could come on down to the stage and dance. We sang Bad Leroy Brown. We sang a song about how "the loveliest of all is the unicorn," and that "poor old Charlie who will ride forever through the streets of Boston." We sang jailhouse rock and a song singing the praises of "glorious mud."

My favorite, however, was the one that went like this:

Too much monkey business
Too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in

That's the only part of the song that I remember, but I loved being able to stand up in gully and act like a monkey, scratching my armpits and hoo-hoo-hawww-haww-hawww-haawing.

Now I'm older and I've got no banana. The monkey business is too much, but it's no song and dance. It's bills and taxes, office politics and dysfunctional relationships. It's a therapist who spent over an hour on the phone telling me how screwed up I am. It's an unidentifiable smell in my kitchen. It's a whole lotta hair that's no longer on my head.

Too much monkey business for me to be involved in! (time to dance)