Neat Mess

Neat Mess
by John Forster & Tom Chapin
© 1989 Limousine Music Co. & The Last Music Co. (ASCAP)

I like my toys when they’re nice and neat,
But I like ’em even more all over the floor
And underneath my feet.
A messy room is happiness.
Happiness is living in a neat mess.

But then Mom looks in and goes into shock,
With the Voice of Doom says,
“Look at this room! Clean up this pigpen!”

Then Mom goes out to an auction sale.
Buys a butter churn and a broken scale
And a Grecian urn and a suit of armor
And an antique veil.
She’s just like me but won’t confess.
Happiness is living in a neat mess.

Then Dad shows up with his puzzled look
And says once more what we’ve heard before:
“I see you bought the junkyard.”

Then Dad goes down to his basement shop,
Where he keeps a stack of
Thirty years of National Geographic
And a bumper from the Chevy,
Not to mention every album
Of the Boston Pops.
It’s a natural urge he can’t repress.
Happiness is living in a neat mess.

The baby in the highchair stuffing his face,
Spinach in his hair, in his eye,
On the chair, all over the place.
He tried the spoon with no success,
But he’s allowed to make a mess.
And he’s living proof that happiness,
Happiness is living in a neat mess.
Happiness is living in a neat mess.

This song appears on Tom Chapin's Moonboat CD.

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