Music criticism, lyrics, and an apology

First, the apology:
To my dear friend Rachael -- I am sorry that I told you, and only you, that everyone who was going to the Anderson's Oscar viewing party last night was supposed to dress fancy, as if they were walking the red carpet themselves. And I am sorry for laughing my head off when you were the only one there decked to the nines. You looked very pretty, old sport. Hold your head up high. I behaved as a cad, and I most humbly beg you to accept my public apology.
Second:
Tomorrow, Jive To The Monkey will present another piece of music criticism. We will be analyzing Bob Dylan's "Shelter From The Storm," from his classic record "Blood On The Tracks." Look for it. And if you're into this sort of thing, make sure you don't miss last week's column, a review of "Face Down," the latest worship album by Matt Redman.
Third:
Some would say, "Who does B-dog think he is to offer music criticism? Is this a case of Those who can't, teach?
Ha! To disspell such talk, I offer you lyrics to my groundbreaking song that explored the dynamics of regret and longing, "Give Me Some Ketchup":

Smooth, tangy ketchup provides so much fun.
But how come the last of the ketchup is on the other guy's bun?
Oh, Mr., I ain't jealous of your buns! But won't somebody please

Give me some ketchup, here on my plate?
My burger is bland, can this be my fate:
Sitting at the counter in a crowded, noisy diner,
Watching all the happy people plopping their fries --
Into the ketchup?

It's always been like this, even when I was young.
The last cool drop of ketchup, end up on someone else's tongue.
No lady, I ain't checking out your tongue! Don't call me a creep.

Just give me some ketchup, here on my plate.
My burger is bland, can this be my fate:
Sitting at the counter in a crowded noisy diner,
Watching all the happy people plopping their fries --
Into the ketchup?

Get angry, all you other losers ...
Stand up and shake your fist with me --

Say "Give us some ketchup, here on our plates.
Our burgers are bland, this can't be our fate.
Busting up the counter of a crowded, noisy diner,
Hope all you people choke on your
Salty, Salty fries ....
Then we'll take your ketchup.
Yeah, we'll take your ketchup.
You won't share your ketchup.
So we're coming for the ketchup."

(fade out)