A short, short time ago…
I can still remember
How that tie knot seemed to be so simple
And I knew that if I had the time
I could make this ditty rhyme
While I kept working on the perfect dimple


But February gave me misere
With all the content I delivered
Moderators on my bump step
I couldn’t make one right step


I can’t remember if I sighed
As locked, I watched them while they lied
But cool tailor reserved my domain with pride
The day, the rules died


So, bye-bye, monsewer ru-hules guy
Ill take my talent, keep your lament
In your arriviste sty
And my old boys will be toasting with champagne and skye
Singin’, “This’ll be the day the rules die.
“this’ll be the day the rules die.”



Did you write the book on taste
And do you use the correct shoe paste
If a Bible banger tells you to?
Now do you believe in gentlemen,
And before a meal do you say Amen
And can you teach me how to think real slow?


Well, I know that you’re in love with clothes
But make sure you learn from one who knows.
And let E. Green make all your shoes
So you shake off those peasantry cues


I was an arbiter of style and an elegant buck
With a cream carnation and some style and pluck
So I knew I didn’t give a ….
The day the rules died

I started singin’,
"bye-bye, to the rules guys."
They formed a cabal filled with babble
and in my privacy they pried.
But My old boys toast them with single malt to die
And singin’, "this’ll be the day the rules die.
"this’ll be the day the rules die."

For the future we’ll stand on our own
And expose the rot that goes to the bone,
But that’s not how it used to roll.
When the bully pretense-d to a cap and gown,
In a shirt  he borrowed from a rodeo clown
And a web voice that came from his inner troll.


Oh and while the “king” was drooping down,
The bully stole the mailing list and crown
The shoe raffle was attempted
Only, family members weren’t preempted
And while Gipedo read a book on vass
And got bent out of shape over talks ‘bout class
Because in fact they pulled it from their collective ass
The day, the ru-hules died



We were singing,
"bye-bye, monsewer ru-hules guy."
to your credit, youre a great edit
and as my assistant, do apply.
But make sure you remember what you’ve been hoping inside
singin’, "Finally to cocktail parties get invited will I,
finally to cocktail parties get invited will I”

Helter skelter in cloth club swelter.
Uncle Ernie withdrew into his exclusive shelter,
Eighteen ounces heavy and promising to forever last.
Turned out it was made of felt from old.
Which protects lonely old men from the cold.
And marks you as a wannabe from the past


Now for an encore there was mind control
While the style quintet labeled everyone else a troll.
We just all wanted to discuss dress,
Oh, but it interfered with their prepackaged mess!
`cause the dandies tried to take the site;
But those with souls of clerks decided to fight.
If you recall it was a fright
The day the ru-hules died?


And now were laughing,
"bye-bye, to that anal crew."
Lighten up, and let this pup
make sure the day you’ll rue,
And with each other you’ll find you’ll eventually stew.
Singing why did we push those rules, damn!
Why didn’t we admit it was a scam?


Eventually we were all posting in a brave new place,
Buff’s Bastards in stylish cyber space
With no patience for the truth to bend.
So come on: seven fold be nimble and good for a scrunch!
The bright eyed girl’s the only talent in the bunch
Cause talent is Devil Island’s only friend.

Oh, and as you watch us on our stage
Don’t hasten to respond in fits of rage
No born again ne’er do well
Can break this dandy’s spell.
And as the flames of taste illuminate night
To light the dandiacal rite,
You’ll see FNB laughing with delight
The day the ru-hules died



He was singing,
"bye-bye, all you talentless gents
Its amazing the lengths you’ll go to,
Just to keep up with your rents
And next time save your breath on all those meaningless taunts
And for 50 people don’t pick a romantic restaurant.
Or next time people won’t bother your event to haunt.


I met a man who dressed in navy blues
And I asked him for some stylish news
But he just smiled and strolled away.
I went down to the sartorial store
Where Id seen the rules book, written before
But the man there said the rules, they didn’t pay


And in the streets: the clueless screamed,
The poseurs posed, and Film Noir Buff dreamed.
But not a boutonnière was worn
The carnations had all been shorn
And the three men I admire most;
The Beau, the Duke and Fred Astaire’s ghost
They burned their spats down by the coast
The day the rules died.

And they were singing
“bye-bye”, monsieur Film Noir Buff guy
Post your talent on your website
Soar, while the turkeys all fry
And all your old boys keep drinking cognac and skye
Singin’, “This’ll be the day the rules die
this’ll be the day the rules die”

They were singing
“bye-bye”, monsieur Film Noir Buff guy
Be prepared cause their all scared
You leave their egos covered in pie
And all your old boys keep drinking cognac and skye
Singin’, “This’ll be the day the rules die
this’ll be the day the rules die”