Behind The Music: Mr. Softee

Image via Flickr.comMr. Softee has been a neighborhood staple since 1956, spreading his love in the form of diabetes all across the country.  Although his name could be part of a Viagra tagline, “No more Mr. Softee!” kids and adults come running when he slowly cruises down their street, blaring that hauntingly familiar tune.  Click here to download the scary fucking ringtone. 

Until recently I thought it was just an empty melody, but no!  Thanks to the NY Daily News, we now know there are lyrics, which were penned in 1960:

The creamiest dreamiest soft ice cream you get from Mister Softee.

For a refreshing delight supreme, look for Mister Softee

My milkshakes and my sundaes and my cones are such a treat.

Listen for my store on wheels ding-a-ling down the street.

The creamiest dreamiest soft ice cream you get from Mister Softee.

For a refreshing delight supreme, look for Mister Softee

S-O-F-T double E. Mister Softee!

I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do.  I’m gonna rewrite the song for you.  It’s clearly already dirty so I’ll just Brooklyn it up a bit. I can’t get the damn melody out of my head. I hope you’re happy:

(sung with a Brooklyn accent)

 B-Q-E Surfing to Tillary, I am Mr. Softee,

Wonder where all of the kiddies be, yes I’m Mr. Softee.

Gather round the Old Stone House, come on out your Brown-stone,

Pony up a buck or two, you won’t be alone!    

The only thing better than Van Leeuwen, is Mr. friggin’ Softee,

Fuck!  It’s that demonic song again. Piss off, Mr. Softee.

Please don’t hit me with your truck. Mister Softee

Growing up a fatty, the ice cream man was a huge part of my summer ritual.  My dude didn’t have a song. He just rang a bell and my Pavlovian ass would come running…uh, lumbering...down my driveway.  Each afternoon I’d gather all my change and eagerly wait on my front steps, praying he’d arrive before the shakes set in. I’d dabble in Italian Ice and Rocket Pops, but my absolute favorite was the Screwball.  It was a sherbet-filled, clear cone with a little round gem at the very bottom. That shitty gumball was all my heart desired, the sherbet was just in the way. I’d grasp the splintery, wooden “spoon” with abandon as I shoveled my way to the prize.

Ah, memories. Perhaps you have some you’d like to share. Until next time, Slopers! May your chipwhich melt only in your mouth and may your freeze pops be all the colors of the rainbow!