Ray Stevens' Shriner’s Convention

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Ray Stevens' lyrics to
Shriner’s Convention

Ray Stevens' lyrics to "Shriner’s Convention" can be viewed as an example of the negative impression of Freemasonry held by some segments of the public. Although Mr. Stevens is only attempting a light piece of comedy, this type of stereotyping only further denigrates and marginalizes the positive work of Freemasonry and the Shriners.

ARTIST: Ray Stevens
TITLE: Shriner’s Convention

Yeah, they come down Main Street, drums a flailing
Sirens a-wailin', what a roar
Bands are a-playin' and flags are a-wavin'
And the vanguard’s a motorcycle corps
Clowns are a-clownin' through the crowd and pinchin'
Every pretty girl who dares to smile
It’s a glorious mess, everybody wears a fez
The parade stretches out for miles

{Refrain}
It’s a typical American phenomenon
Where all the members have a fine old time
It’s the forty-third annual convention
Of the Grand Mystic Royal Order
Of the Nobles of the Ali Baba Temple of the Shrine

Meanwhile back at the Motel

Operator, give me room three-twenty-one, please. Hello? Noble Lumpkin? This here’s the 'Lustr'ous Potentate. I said it’s the 'Lustr'ous Potentate. The Illustr'ous... Coy? Dad-blame it, this here’s Bubba. Coy, why ain't you at the parade? What? Well, how'd you get that big Harley up there in your room? What? I cain't hear ya, Coy, quit revvin' it up, boy. Turn it off. I just want you to know one thing. You have embarr’ssed us all, the whole Hahira delegation. Now, I'll see you at the banquet, son, and you be there, Coy, you hear me? Black tie, seb'n o'clock. Be there, Coy. And Coy, don't answer the phone Uddn'uddn.

Well, it was all arranged by the ladies' auxiliary
In the downtown convention hall
Cold roast beef, string beans, mashed potatoes
And nine boring speeches in all
And all the tables looked fine with their Mogan David wine
And chrysanthemums on each side
And the Hahira leaders in their rented tuxedos
Made the local heart swell with pride

{Refrain}

Meanwhile back at the Motel

Operator? Three-twenty-one, please. Thank you. Hello, Coy, what are you doin'? Whaddaya mean, who is this. This is Bubba. Why wasn't you at the banquet? Whaddaya mean, all you had to wear was a Ha-waiian flowerdy shirt? Well, you may think you're foolin' some people, but I know what’s goin' on. Everybody’s seen the little red-head. 'At’s right, ever'body. Why, she come runnin' through the dinner, right in the middle of the pineapple sherbert. Didn't have nothin' on but yer fez, Coy. Coy, you the only one’s got a fez with a propeller on top. Yeah. Yeah, yeah, and she’s yellin' out the secret code, too, Coy. We goin' have to change it now. Dad blame it, Coy, we goin' have to have a special meetin' we get to Hahira, about yer conduct at this here convention. Embarr’ssing. Now Coy, you be at the secret conclave tonight, you hear me? And keep it a secret. Hoo!

Well, it was a secret meeting in the dead of the night
With mysterious sanctimony
In accordance with prescribed rituals
A time-honored ceremony
Matters of grave concern were weighed with dedicated caution
Like whether or not to raise at stud
Or draw at spit-in-the-ocean

{Refrain}

Meanwhile back at the Motel

Operator, room three-twenty-... H-how'd you know? Oh. Hello, Coy? Where h-have you been? No-o-o, you wasn't at the meeting. Well, I found out that at three o'clock this morning you’s out there in your fruit-of-the looms in the motel swimmin' pool, bunch o' them waitresses from the cocktail hour. Huh, I just hope Charlene don't find out about this, Coy. What? Well, how'd you get that big motorsickle up there on the high dive, Coy? Now Coy, dad burnit, that ain't no way to act. We s'posed to be pillars of the community. 'N we get back to Hahira, you can just turn in your ring, and your tie-tack. 'Cause Coy, you are out of the Shrine. You goin' be blackballed, Coy. 'At’s right, you may have t' pack yer bags and leave town. What do you mean, you might join the Hell’s Angels? Coy, hoo, don't you hang up on me. No, don't you crank that motorsickle. Who’s that gigglin' in the background, Coy? Hello? Hello? Operator, we’s cut off. Yeah, room three-twenty-one. Coy???

Lyrics Copyright Ray Stevens.
Written by: Ray Stevens for RCA Music
Published by: Ahab Music Company, Inc.
1707 Grand Avenue
Nashville, TN 37212
Copyright 1999 Clyde Records Inc.
Reproduced here for illustration purposes only.

© 1871-2023 Grand Lodge of British Columbia and Yukon A.F. & A.M. Updated: March 16, 2001
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