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Back in the 90s, when I first heard Sheryl Crow’s song, “All I Wanna Do,” I was mightily impressed.

It wasn’t the music, although that was plenty good. It was the lyrics. The lyrics were spectacular. This lady was a super-talented lyricist.

A little later, I learned that Ms. Crow, uh, didn’t write the lyrics. She bought the rights to an obscure poem and set it to music.

What a bummer. It was like finding out that grandma made her legendary spaghetti sauce with Ragu.

The poem in question is “Fun,” written in 1987 by Wyn Cooper, a struggling poet.

For the record, Ms. Crow gave Cooper full credit, and he benefited from royalties beyond his wildest dreams. In fact, the success of the song jump-started his previously flaccid writing career. He went on to publish several books of poetry, and currently, he writes song lyrics professionally.

For a while, I was rather indignant about being misled (or, more correctly, not paying attention to the song credits), but I got over it. The consistent quality of Crow’s music brought me around.

And when I looked closer, I concluded that her adaptation is better in some ways than the poem.

Some, but not all. Both versions have their strengths.

If you’re not a Word Geek, goodbye and have a safe journey. If you heart words and lyrics, read on.

Here is the song…

————

All I Wanna Do

By Sheryl Crow, 1993
Written by Wyn Cooper, Sheryl Crow et al

Hit it!
This ain’t no disco!
It ain’t no country club, either!
This is LA!

“All I wanna do is have a little fun before I die,”
Says the man next to me out of nowhere,
Apropos of nothing.
He says his name is William,
But I’m sure he’s Bill or Billy or Mac or Buddy.
And he’s plain ugly to me.
And I wonder if he’s ever had a day of fun in his whole life.

We are drinking beer at noon on Tuesday
In a bar that faces a giant car wash.
The good people of the world are washing their cars
On their lunch breaks, hosing and scrubbing
As best they can in skirts and suits.

They drive their shiny Datsuns and Buicks
Back to the phone company, the record store, too.
Well, they’re nothing like Billy and me, ’cause…

All I wanna do is have some fun.
I got a feeling I’m not the only one.
All I wanna do is have some fun.
I got a feeling I’m not the only one.
All I wanna do is have some fun
Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard.

I like a good beer buzz early in the morning,
And Billy likes to peel the labels from his bottles of Bud.
He shreds them on the bar,
Then he lights every match in an oversized pack,
Letting each one burn down to his thick fingers
before blowing and cursing them out.
And he’s watching the bottles of Bud as they spin on the floor.

And a happy couple enters the bar,
Dangerously close to one another.
The bartender looks up from his want ads, but…

All I wanna do is have some fun.
I got a feeling I’m not the only one.
All I wanna do is have some fun.
I got a feeling I’m not the only one.
All I wanna do is have some fun
Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard.

Otherwise, the bar is ours.
The day and the night and the car wash, too.
The matches and the Buds and the clean and dirty cars,
The sun and the moon, but…

All I wanna do is have some fun.
I got a feeling I’m not the only one.
All I wanna do is have some fun.
I got a feeling I’m not the only one.
All I wanna do is have some fun.
I got a feelin’ the party has just begun.
All I wanna do is have some fun.
I won’t tell you that you’re the only one.
All I wanna do is have some fun.
Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard.
Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard.

————

I read somewhere that the poem takes place in a gay bar. Maybe that’s true, maybe not. You’d have to ask Wyn Cooper.

Here is the poem…

————

Fun

By Wyn Cooper

“All I want is to have a little fun
Before I die,” says the man next to me
Out of nowhere, apropos of nothing. He says
His name’s William but I’m sure he’s Bill
Or Billy, Mac or Buddy; he’s plain ugly to me,
And I wonder if he’s ever had fun in his life.

We are drinking beer at noon on Tuesday,
In a bar that faces a giant car wash.
The good people of the world are washing their cars
On their lunch hours, hosing and scrubbing
As best they can in skirts and suits.
They drive their shiny Datsuns and Buicks
Back to the phone company, the record store,
The genetic engineering lab, but not a single one
Appears to be having fun like Billy and me.

I like a good beer buzz early in the day,
And Billy likes to peel the labels
From his bottles of Bud and shred them on the bar.
Then he lights every match in an oversized pack,
Letting each one burn down to his thick fingers
Before blowing and cursing them out.

A happy couple enters the bar, dangerously close
To one another, like this is a motel.
But they clean up their act when we give them
A look. One quick beer and they’re out,
Down the road and in the next state
For all I care, smiling like idiots.
We cover sports and politics and once,
When Billy burns his thumb and lets out a yelp,
The bartender looks up from his want-ads.

Otherwise the bar is ours, and the day and the night
And the car wash, too, the matches and Buds
And the clean and dirty cars, the sun and the moon
And every motel on this highway. It’s ours, you hear?
And we’ve got plans, so relax and let us in —
All we want is to have a little fun.

————

As I said, both versions have their strengths.

Wyn Cooper.