The Dirtiest Album Ever Recorded* — Vol 2 · Track 14 · middle
Empty Bed Blues
PARODY, laundered-double-entendre album (Vol 2). Write ORIGINAL wholesome lyrics that SOUND suggestive from the title but are LITERALLY and innocently about a hotel housekeeper stripping and remaking the bed at checkout. The dirty mind is the listener's — the song is clean, DistroKid/YouTube-safe, G-to-PG. Vintage register to the era. ⛔ CRITICAL COPYRIGHT RULE: do NOT reproduce, quote, or lightly paraphrase the source song's CHORUS/HOOK or ANY distinctive lyric line. Suno's filter WILL reject it and it creates real copyright liability. Borrow ONLY the TITLE. Invent a completely fresh hook line about a hotel housekeeper stripping and remaking the bed at checkout. Source being parodied (title only, never its words): Empty Bed Blues (1929).
Lyrics
The eleven o'clock bell has chimed and gone. Another key returned at the front desk dawn. Room 312. The lock gives a click. Just me and the quiet, and the work to be did. Smell of coffee and yesterday's rain. A newspaper folded on the counterpane. You left in a hurry, didn't look back. Time to strip it all down, get it on the right track. Pull the top sheet, the bottom one too. A handful of linen, still damp with dew. Still holds the warmth of a dream, I suppose. Into the canvas hamper the whole story goes. Got these empty bed blues, but it ain't no heartache of mine. Just a clean-canvas, hospital-corner kind of time. One guest is gone, another's on the way. Got to smooth out the lines for the brand new day. This empty bed waits for a story untold. And I'm the one here to make it good as gold. My stack of clean whites, smell of starch and steam. Snap 'em in the air, a clean cotton dream. Pull it taut at the headboard, smooth it with my hand. The tightest corners in all of this land. Tuck it under, a sharp, perfect fold. A little pride in this story I'm told. Blanket next, then the coverlet, so straight and clean. The most peaceful picture you've ever seen. Got these empty bed blues, but it ain't no heartache of mine. Just a clean-canvas, hospital-corner kind of time. One guest is gone, another's on the way. Got to smooth out the lines for the brand new day. This empty bed waits for a story untold. And I'm the one here to make it good as gold. Sometimes I check the nightstand drawer. That old Gideon Bible, seen it all before. Sees them come, sees them go, every soul passing through. They leave nothing behind but this work that I do. A quiet kind of blues in this silent space. But there's a dignity in it, a state of grace. Got these empty bed blues, but it ain't no heartache of mine. Just a clean-canvas, hospital-corner kind of time. One guest is gone, another's on the way. Got to smooth out the lines for the brand new day. This empty bed waits for a story untold. And I'm the one here to make it good as gold. Plump the pillows, give 'em a firm chop. Stand back and look. From the bottom to top. Perfectly empty. Perfectly clean. Ready for the next one.