Lyrics to Dr Chordate’s View from the
Pond:
More Songs of Science
The Biochemistry Operetta by Jeffrey Moran
Side by side they sat on a log, beautiful princess and a big bullfrog.
Said she to him, “What can I do to make a handsome prince out of you?”
Said he to her, “It’s as easy as pi. That’s three point one four one five nine.
Just ask a quiz on biochemistry, and if I pass I’ll be a prince, you’ll see.”
So she took a moment to contemplate, before beginning this curious chore.
Then she asked, “What good are simple carbohydrates? What on earth do we need them for?”
Froggie laughed as he swallowed a fly. “That’s pretty near as easy as pi.
I’ll give you the answer that you desire with the help of my Froggie Choir.”
CCCCCC,
HHHHHH,
OOOOOO,
CHtwoO.
Simple carbohydratres—
energy—
energy—
Dextrose—
Glucose—
Fructose—
Ribose—
Carbon,
hydrogen,
oxygen.
CCCCCC,
HHHHHH,
OOOOOO,
CHtwoO.
Simple carbohydratres—
energy—
energy—
Erythrose—
Sucrose—
Maltose—
Lactose—
Biochemistry,
It’s what makes you
you,
And me me.
CCCCCC,
HHHHHH,
OOOOOO,
CHtwoO.
Simple carbohydratres—
energy—
energy—
Xylose—
Galactose—
Mannose—
Arabinose
Biochemistry,
It’s what makes you
you,
And me me.
Princess thought the answer that he gave was fine, but he remained of the frog bloodline.
“The witch that amphibianized you must ‘a cast a spell that’s awful hard to undo.”
Said he, “I’ll be so heartbroke if I’m still a frog when it’s time to croak.
Ask another question, and this time, maybe something about enzymes.”
Said she, “I’ll try.” And she thought for awhile. “Here’s one that might change your life style.
Amino acids: what do they do?” He said, “Me and my choir will tell you.”
CCCCCC,
HHHHHH,
NNNNNN,
OOOOOO.
CCCCCC,
HHHHHH,
NNNNNN,
OOOOOO.
CCCCCC,
HHHHHH,
NNNNNN,
OOOOOO.
Amino
acids—
Proteins—
Enzymes.
Amino
acids—
Proteins—
Enzymes.
Amino
acids—
Proteins—
Enzymes.
Glycine—
Tyrosine—
Alanine—
Asparagine.
Arginine
Glutaimine—
Serine—
Lysine and
proline.
Valine—
Histidine—
Leucine—
Methionine.
Carbon,
oxygen,
nitrogen,
hydrogen.
Biochemistry,
It’s what makes you
you,
And me me.
Biochemistry,
It’s what makes you
you,
And me me.
Princess thought the answer that she heard was right on target, not too absurd.
But Froggie didn’t change, not a single hint. He still hopped around making web footprints.
(Get it? He’s a Prince. Foot-prince . . .)
Said she, “What else can I ask about? Don’t want you to become food for trout.”
“How about lipids?” Froggie replied. “I gotta metamorph so you can be my bride.”
And so Princess pondered for a moment or two. “Here’s one that I’m sure will change you?
Long chain fatty acids: what good are they?” Froggie said, “Just listen to what we say.”
CCCCCC,
OOOOOO,
HHHHHH,
COOH.
Long chain fatty
acids—
Energy—
Cell membranes.
CCCCCC,
OOOOOO,
HHHHHH,
COOH.
Long chain fatty
acids—
Energy—
Cell membranes.
CCCCCC,
OOOOOO,
HHHHHH,
COOH
Long chain fatty
acids—
Energy—
Cell membranes.
Oleate—
Palmitate—
Stearate—
Arachidonic
acid
Oleate—
Palmitate—
Stearate—
Arachidonic
acid
Oleate—
Palmitate—
Stearate—
Arachidonic
acid
Carbon,
oxygen,
hydrogen.
Biochemistry,
It’s what makes you
you,
And me me.
Biochemistry,
It’s what makes you
you,
And me me.
At the end of this seminar, Princess said to Froggie, “This is so bizarre.
Here I am sitting on a log, making conversation with a big bullfrog.
And I don’t think one molecule of you has changed. I’m starting to feel a bit deranged.”
Said he to her, “Don’t feel so bad. You can come live with me at my lily pad.
I’ll teach you how to hop and swim and catch big flies.” Said she to him, “I’m not sure that’s wise.
I don’t mean to sound to mean, but I just don’t look good in green.”
Froggie said, “Please won’t you try just once again. If it doesn’t work, I’ll still be your friend.”
Princess said, “Maybe this will make your day. Why do we have to have DNA?”
Froggie leaped into the air and clapped with glee. “Nucleic acids are my specialty!”
CH,
NO,
P,
CHNOP.
CH,
NO,
P,
CHNOP.
CH,
NO,
P,
CHNOP.
RNA.
Genes—
Genes.
Nucleic acids—
Genes—
Genes.
Nucleic acids—
Genes—
Genes.
Nucleic acids—
DNA—
RNA—
DNA—
RNA.
DNA—
RNA—
DNA—
DNA—
RNA—
DNA—
RNA.
Carbon,
hydrogen,
oxygen,
nitrogen,
phospohorus.
Biochemistry,
It’s what makes you
you,
And me me.
Biochemistry,
It’s what makes you
you,
And me me.
Froggie and the choir had just finished their tune, beneath a pale waxing crescent moon,
When suddenly to Princess’s surprise, Frog began to change right before her eyes.
His pelvis got short so he could walk upright, his eyes moved down and in for binocular sight.
The foramen magnum at the back of his head moved down to the bottom of the skull instead.
He got rotating shoulders and grew lots of hair. Waterproof skin meant he could live in air.
And he found much to elation, he could do internal fertilization.
And when this magic transformation was done, he held Princess with his new opposable thumbs.
So they got married, had two kids and a dog, a terrarium for a pet frog.
And what do you suppose became of the choir? They stayed at the pond in the much and the mire,
Hoping that a Princess would come along and sing with them this song:
(The final chorus is pretty much a repeat of the previous four choruses.)
The Electron Transport Chain Gang by Jeffrey Moran
In the mitochondria membrane, We find the electron transport chain.
Where all day long electrons spin around, Energy going, going down, down, down.
NADH to ubiquinone, Then on to cytochromes where heme is found.
And as electrons lose energy, Here and there is formed ATP.
Until at last cytochrome oxidase And oxygen fall into an embrace.
That’s how it works on the chain gang. The electron transport chain gang.
NADH-dehydrogenase Gets a pair of ‘trons from NADH
Which it donates to ubiquinone, A coenzyme that is quite well known.
It floats to a cytochrome complex, And the ‘trons get transferred next
To cytochrome c, and with another pair All four pass to the last enzyme there.
And when the electrons fall into place, Water’s formed by cytochrome oxidase.
That’s how it works on the chain gang. The electron transport chain gang.
As every electron pair spins around, Their energy going down, down, down,
Protons get pumped into a place, The inter-mitochondrial membrane space.
As the protons move back into the matrix, Down the ‘lectrochemical gradient,
The energy that dissipates Enzymes use to form ATP.
Energy released in this controlled way Can do useful metabolic work all day.
And that’s how it works on the chain gang. The electron transport chain gang.
Like a (Pallid) Sturgeon by Jeffrey Moran
I finally made it through fish school. Somehow I made it throu-ou-ou-ou-ough.
But I'm just a fry, and I still make a mistake or two-oo-oo. I’m reduced, need a boost
To reproduce in the Big Muddy water Now I'm trying to avoid, Yeah, I'm trying to avoid a big river otter.
Hey! Like a sturgeon Spawning for the very first time.
Like a stur-ur-ur-urgeon. Making caviar is my line.
I've got a flattened, shovel-nosed snout, An asymmetric tail,
Cartilaginous skeleton, And bony plates for scales.
I've got a dream of a stream Where I can clean out a place to spawn.
And I'll spew my insides out, Yeah, I'll spew my insides out until my eggs are all gone.
Hey! Like a sturgeon Spawning for the very first time.
Like a stur-ur-ur-urgeon, I've got caviar on my mind. Oh, oh, oh, oh . . . .
Eat a Toad by Jeffrey Moran
My bank account reads “zero”; the rent is overdue.
I’ve been unemployed for ten weeks.
They’ve repossessed my car; salmonella’s in my fridge.
When it rains, the roof has twenty leaks.
And last night the toilet overflowed.
At times like this, I sure could use a toad.
Chorus: Eat a toad. Each day for breakfast, eat a toad.
You can have it plain or a la mode. But eat a toad.
Eat a toad every morning, raw or sautéed,
And nothing worse can happen the rest of the day.
So, eat a toad. Eat a toad. Just eat a toad.
They hop around the garden on their stubby little legs,
Eating bugs and croaking out a song.
After they’ve mated, the female lays her eggs
In strings up to twenty feet long.
In a week they hatch into tadpoles,
And in two months, they morph into adults.
Chorus:
Glands in their brownish, warty, amphibian skin
Form a milky, sticky exudation
That contains a potent psychedelic compound
With a near death experience resultation.
And toxic steroids act upon the heart like digitalis:
Ventricular fibrillationalis.
And while you vomit up your guts down to your rectum,
The toad just hops away all safe and smug.
You retch until you feel like the lowest form of scum,
While the toad sits ‘neath street lights munching bugs.
Chorus:
My Gander/ My Goose by Jeffrey Moran
Spoken: Gander: Six years, Mother Goose. Six years we’ve been together.
Goose: Hard to believe.
Gander: Flying the same route to our wintering grounds every fall. Nesting on the same
lake every spring.
Goose: Eating the same old grass and water plants every day.
Gander: I guess I’m just a fool for you . . .
We met one winter on a lake in Tennessee, and no other goose looked finer to me.
(And I have the good eye sight birds require for flight.)
You fought for me with your wings and your bill, and you showed you had the most skill.
And then you approached, head down, neck undulating… Ooohh! What a thrill! And now I’m
reminiscing ‘bout your honking and hissing.
No army commander could be any grander than my gander.
Don’t need a bird bander to pander for me to my gander.
And it’s not slander, I just say with candor
I wouldn’t trade my gander for a hooded merganser (spotted salamander).
We flew with the flock during spring migration north to Minnesota in a V-shaped formation.
We found a good location to make a nice nest and you depressed the soft ground with your feet and chest.
‘Twas on the marshy edge of a ten acre lake.
And I checked for coyotes, other geese, and snakes.
And no grizzly bear or moose could make me turn loose of my goose.
I got no excuse, I just like the caboose of my goose.
And so by now you can probably deduce
That all I want to do is reproduce with my goose.
I started laying eggs around the last of March until there were six in all.
Then I incubated them for nearly a month, I protected you and gave out
warning calls. (Honk, honk, honk . . . )
Those fluffy goslings hatched and imprinted on me.
By fall they were our size, and we all went back to Tennessee.
Spoken: Gander: And then we started the whole cycle all over again.
Goose: What do you say we do it again this year.
Gander: Sure, why not.
Repeat the first two stanzas simultaneously and fade . . .
Survival of the Fattest by Jeffrey Moran
The falling leaves drift by my burrow, and the last rose of summer starts to fade.
I’m gorging myself on seeds and berries ‘til I can’t put on any more weight.
Now whose tummy is the flattest? In the spring they’ll be the saddest.
‘Cause when it comes to hibernation, it’s survival of the fattest.
I still remember late last September, Mrs. Chipmunk didn’t stuff her bowels.
She died in December and we had one less member, to be chased in the spring by foxes and owls.
It doesn’t matter much, if you’re the meanest or the baddest.
When it comes to hibernation it’s survival of the fattest.
Now the weather’s turning colder and food is hard to find.
I retire to my burrow with sleeping on my mind.
My body temp is falling and my heart rate’s slowing down,
And I’m only breathing once a minute now . . .
Whisper: Torpor . . . dormancy . . . torpidity . . . (Hey! I’m not stupid. It’s how I survive prolonged
periods of cold weather and lack of food.) I didn’t say “stupidity”; I said “torpidity”; you know,
temporary loss of sensation and power to move, typical of low body temperatures. (Oh,OK, sorry. Even
when hibernating, I get aroused sometimes . . . )
[Little tinkly bell sounds . . . ]
Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me. You’re a lot thinner than you used to be.
Use brown fat to revive from your dormant bliss via non-shivering thermogenesis.
Now the weather’s turning warmer. My heart rate’s speeding up. My brain’s consuming oxygen again.
I’ve survived another winter and soon I’ll be outside, Frolicking until next autumn when:
Repeat first verse.
The Race by Jeffrey Moran
It happened on the prairie where the sky spreads wide; two cool mammals standing side by side.
Each the fastest on their continent, meeting here for a racing event.
A spotted cheetah and a pronghorn antelope running across a grassy slope.
All the other animals a’ cheering them on. The race began at the crack of dawn.
Cheetah came from Africa, a spotted cat. Lives in sub-Saharan grassy habitats.
Gets a lot of traction from retractable claws fitted inside special pads on his paws.
Big nose and lungs for efficient air flow. Light bones and streamlined: just watch him go.
Large liver, heart, and adrenal glands for rapid response when conditions demand.
A flexible spine works like a spring for extra long strides; he’s the fastest thing!
His long tail acts like a rudder, so he cuts through the air like a knife through butter
Small collar bones, upright shoulder blades: see how Cheetah’s skeleton’s arrayed.
And he’s digitigrade.
Pronghorn lives on the North American plains where no animal can match the speed he attains.
With large lungs and a big trachea, too, and lots of alveoli for gas to go through.
He has a huge heart and more red blood cells than any cow, horse, pig, goat, or gazelle.
Many mitochondria in every muscle for oxygen use when he has to hustle.
Pronghorn’s skeleton is built for speed; out on the plains that’s what he needs.
The bones in his toes grow thin and long, and a honeycomb construction makes them strong.
His femur and his humerus are real short so leg movement means a lot less torque.
And he’s unguligrade.
At the start of the race, they both leap forth. Pronghorn moving out for all he is worth.
But Cheetah puts on an incredible burst. Looks like the cat’s gonna come in first.
Yeah, looks like pronghorn’s going down in defeat; but then ol’ cheetah starts to overheat.
And at 200 yards he stops to rest, while pronghorn cruises by undistressed.
And pronghorn keeps on running for twenty miles. So who won the race? It’s a matter of style.
Nothing beats a cheetah in a sprint for sure. But a speedy pronghorn can endure.
All the other animals eat their dust; they’re faster than humans, any of us.
And we’re plantigrade . . .
Periodic Cicadas by Jeffrey Moran
(Sung to the tune of Pomp and Circumstance, Sir Edward Elgar.)
Periodic cicadas, you are larvae no more.
Spread your wings and fly now. Go out in the world and explore.
For the last seventeen years you’ve been stuck in the dark,
Sucking sap out of tree roots. But your adult lives now start.
Seventeen years ago your parents emerged.
Your fathers made music and your mothers by hormones were urged.
We will never know what your mothers saw in those guys
With their reddish wing veins and those wide-set beady red eyes.
But they were attracted by those guy’s serenade.
And then they mated and eggs your mothers laid
In twigs and branches of deciduous trees,
Unnoticed and hidden from birds and bees.
Six or seven weeks later, you hatched and fell to the ground.
You dug and you burrowed until a good tree root you found.
And for seventeen long years, hidden down in the dirt,
You sucked root sap and waited for just the right time to emerge.
Now your wait comes to an end in the spring of your seventeenth year.
So I say to you, young cicadas, as you climb that tree of life to shed the nymphal shell of youth for that final
molt into adulthood: don’t be pompous! Take advantage of your circum-stances. Spread your wings! Sing
your song! Congratulations, this year’s class of Periodic Cicadas!!!!