by Timothy Lane
I like to do all sorts of parodies (mostly political; Obama has been a great inspiration in that respect). Many of these are song parodies, and here are a few from issue 216 of FOSFAX.
THE HIGH-TAX MAN (with apologies to George Harrison)
Let me tell you how it will be,
There’s half for you, the rest for me,
‘Cause I’m Obama, yeah, I’m the High-Tax Man.
And if you trouble me at all,
I think I just might take it all,
‘Cause I’m Obama, yeah, I’m the High-Tax Man.
If you drive a truck, I’ll tax the street.
If you get too cold, I’ll tax the heat.
If it gets too dark, I’ll tax your light.
If you need a smoke, I’ll tax your plight.
Don’t ask me what I want it for
{Tax them, Ms. Pelosi)
If you don’t want to pay some more.
(Tax them, Mr. Reid)
‘Cause I’m Obama, yeah, I’m the High-Tax Man.
Now, my advice to those who die,
Declare the pennies on your eyes,
‘Cause I’m Obama, yeah, I’m the High-Tax Man,
And you’re workin’ for no one but me.
THE BABY HYMN OF OBAMA (with apologies to Julia Ward Howe)
My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of Barack.
He is trampling on the stations whose dissent puts us in shock.
His acolytes will carry out the shearing of his flock.
His words are marching on.
(Chorus) Glory, glory, hail Obama,
Glory, glory, hail Obama,
Glory, glory, hail Obama,
His words are marching on.
Barack Obama tells us all exactly how to live.
He tells us what to do and what to think and what to give.
He doles us out the pittance that is all we need to live.
His words are marching on.
(Chorus)
Barack Obama knows that heavy taxing is a feat.
He’s eager to restrict the people’s freedom to eat sweets.
He’s sounding on the trumpet that will always call retreat.
His words are marching on.
(Chorus)
THEY CALL THE WIND OBAMA (with apologies to Alan Jay Lerner and Nelson Riddle)
In Washington we have some names
For weather dark and stormy.
The fog is Joe, the tempest Nan,
And we call the wind Obama.
Obama blows hot air around
And sets the press to lying.
Obama calls his healthcare sound
With old folks out there dying.
Obama, Obama, we call the wind Obama.
Before we knew Obama’s name
And heard his wails and whining,
We had a land of liberty,
The sun was always shining.
In panic then we sacrificed
Our freedom for some pottage.
So now Obama runs our lives,
And censors every message.
Obama, Obama, we call the wind Obama.
In D.C. there are names for fog
And wind and tempest only,
But when our ruler pushes all
The latest fads, I’m lonely.
They are a thuggish, racist crew,
With Hope and Change to guide them.
Obama blows our land away
To despots in the UN.
Obama, Obama, we call the wind Obama.
THE TRAGIC FARCE OF MACBAM
Act 1 Scene 1
Enter 3 weird sisters.
Ruth:
When shall we three plot again,
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
Sonya:
When the hurly-burly’s done,
When the case is lost and won.
Elena:
That will be ere the end of June.
Ruth:
Where the place?
Sonya:
The Oval Office.
Elena:
There to scheme with MacBam.
Ruth:
I come, NARAL.
Sonya:
La Raza calls.
All:
Fair is foul and foul is fair.
Hover through MacBam’s hot, filthy air.
Exeunt
BAD, BAD BARRY BAM
South side of Chicago
Is the baddest part of town,
And if you go down there
You better just beware
Of a man name of Barry Bam.
Barry hunted moolah,
For the sake of his lush lifestyle.
All the ghetto women call him sugar daddy,
Newliars just call him “lord”.
And it’s bad, bad Barry Bam,
Baddest man in the whole damned town.
Badder than Al Capone,
Meaner than ol’ dead fish Rahm.
THE BANSHEE QUEEN
With apologies to Benny Andersson, Bjorn Ulvaeus, and Sig Anderson
You can shriek, you can scream.
Having the rant of your life,
See that girl, hear her scream,
She is the banshee queen.
Saturday night the votes are in,
Looking out for a source of gin,
Some Senator to scream at,
Mob, harass, and shriek at,
It could be anyone.
Any rapist could be that guy,
The cause is lost and emotions hiigh.
Impeachment is an option,
We can still get him next year
If we can take the House.
And when you get the chance,
You are the banshee queen,
Emotional age only seventeen.
Banshee gueen,
Hear the chant of the baying team,
You can shriek, you can scream.
Having the rant of your life
See that girl, hear her screan
She is the banshee queen.
__________________________________________________
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Hahaha. Very good. Let me add to the fun:
Obama
(based on Mandy by Barry Manilow)
I remember golden times
Robertson, not Pastor Wright
A shadow of a man
Rage through a window
Blamin’ all the whites
The fight goes onto
Election, just another day
Sappy people pass my way
Looking in their eyes
I see effemory
I never realized
You made them so nappy, Obama
Well you came as Messiah, not fakin’
But I rushed you away, Obama
Well you taxed me and stopped me from makin’
And I needed May Day, Obama
I’m standing on the edge of hope
I walked away when Karl went rove
Caught up in a world of personal profit
Now tears are in my eyes
The fuckin’ stock market, Obama
Well you came as Messiah, not fakin’
But I rushed you away, Obama
Well you taxed me and stopped me from makin’
And I needed May Day, Obama
Based on Monty Python’s Lumberjack Song
I’m a socialist, and I’m okay
I sleep all night, do the same all day
He’s a socialist, and he’s okay.
He sleeps all night, does the same all day.
I cut down Bush. I read my Marx.
I redistribute wealth
On Wednesday I was hoping
To nationalize your health
He cuts down Bush. He reads his Marx.
He redistributes wealth
On Wednesday he was hoping
To nationalize your health
He’s a socialist, and he’s okay.
He sleeps all night, does the same all day.
I cut down Bush. I save the whales.
I like to abort in pairs
I put on bomb-proof clothing
And hang with William Ayers
He cuts down Bush. He saves the whales.
He likes to abort in pairs
He puts on bomb-proof clothing
And hangs with William Ayers
He’s a socialist, and he’s okay.
He sleeps all night, does the same all day.
I cut down Bush. I say nice things.
Spreading Messiah light
I’d wish I’d been a loony
Just like my Pastor Wright
My Obama
(Based upon My Sharona by The Knack)
Ooh my little Marxist one, Marxist one.
When you gonna give me some gelt, Obama?
Ooh you make my tingle leg, my tingle leg.
Spreadin’ just a bit of that wealth, Obama
Never gonna stop, taxes up.
Such an ACORN mind. Always mix it up with the bums
of the Ayers kind. My my my i yi woo. M M M My Obama…
Read a little ‘prompter huh, ah will ya huh
Just enough to lie to my mind, Obama
Redefining history just for me
Clinging to the guns on the right, Obama
Never gonna stop, taxes up. Such a leftist mind.
Always bail it out for the love
of the fascist kind. My my my i yi woo. M M M My Obama…
When you gonna stimulate me, stimulate me.
Is it just a matter of votes, Obama
What is best for me, best for me?
Can’t you just make ’em big notes, Obama?
Never gonna work, gave it up.
Such a clean-cut guy. Always mix it with the rants
of the Pastor Wright. My my my i yi woo. M M M My Obama…
One of our contributors once sent us an anti-Obama parody of the same song, or at least it sure looks like it. He had a number of parodies, that one appearing in issue 215 (which was the first issue after Obama’s election). Here’s a poem parody (not complete) I did in the same issue, based on Shelley’s “The Mask of Anarchy”, and making extensive use of the original language:
THE MASK OF OBAMA
As I lay asleep in Louisville,
There came a voice from over the Hill,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of poesy.
There was Murder, I did see —
He had the bloat of Kennedy —
Very smooth he looked, yet grim;
Seven bloodhounds followed him.
All were fat, and well they might
Be in admirable plight.
For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed them fetal forms to chew
Which from his wide cloak he drew.
Next came Fraud, and he put on,
Like Daley, a careful frown.
His fake tears, which he shammed well,
Turned to ACORNS as they fell.
And the brainless leftists, who
Rounds his feet played to and fro,
Thinking every tear a gem
Fought to gather all of them.
Cloaked in the arrogance of light,
Faking standards on the sly,
Chris Matthews as Hypocrisy
On a jackass hurried by.
And even worse, vile Franken brayed
In a ghastly masquerade;
Pelosi took Al Gore to heed
With Biden, Soros, Rahm, and Reid.
Last Obama came; he rode
On a white mule, splashing mud;
He was dark, which he called Black —
The soul of every Democrat.
And he wore a kingly crown,
And in his grasp a scepter shone.
On his brow this mark I saw —
“I AM GOD, AND KING, AND LAW.”
With a pace stately and fast,
Over Yankee land he passed,
Trampling to a mire of blood
The adoring multitude.
Excellent. You may have created a monster with this thread, Timothy.
Here Comes the Sea Level
(a total ripoff of George Blarry-sun and a bit of South Park)
Here comes the sea level, here comes the sea level,
and I say it’s all tide
Little dupeling, it’s been a long hot hurricaney summer
Little dupeling, it feels like years since Al Gore feared…
Here comes the sea level, here comes the sea level
and I say it’s all tide
Little exhaler, the carbon’s returning to upper places
Little exhaler, I’m super cereal that doom is here
Here comes the sea level, here comes the sea level
and I say it’s all tide
Melt, melt, melt, der whole damn Welt…
Melt, melt, melt, der whole damn Welt…
Melt, melt, melt, der whole damn Welt…
Melt, melt, melt, der whole damn Welt…
Melt, melt, melt, der whole damn Welt…
Little ManBearPig, I feel the ice is fastly melting
Little ManBearPig, it feels like decades you’ve been in fear
Here comes the sea level, here comes the sea level
and I say it’s all tide
I have a related song in the (eventually) upcoming issue of FOSFAX, from a song by my favorite singer:
POND SCUM (with apologies to Tony Hatch)
When your tank’s empty and you need to refuel it,
You can always use . . . pond scum.
When you run out and must hustle to fill up,
Barry says to use . . . pond scum.
Obama says that algae is the fuel we can rely on,
In fifty years or so you can just fill up from the next pond.
Till then, just wait.
Be patient and have a care,
You can fill up and drive on when the science is there.
So use pond scum, till all your lights are bright,
Pond scum, fueling your car just right,
Pond scum, someday you’ll move once again.
This next bit is just pure silly poetry, not based on anything although the title is a play on words:
Gaias and Dolls
They say the earth is warming
To do nothing is malfeasance.
But if they can’t predict next week
Should we give them any credence?
How much of this is science?
Can we trust this AlGore creature?
Oh, if only he were Feynman
And not this failed southern preacher
But I will surely do my part
To stop the warmth from starting
I will make some more ice cubes
And keep the cows from farting
I do love my Mother Gaia
I wouldn’t want to see her wetter
So I will stop exhaling CO2
Until Al Gore’s brain is better
The following was a poem written for my friend who lives behind the Muslim Curtain, if you will, in The Netherlands:
I wonder what it means to live as the Dutch?
I must confess, I haven’t thought of this much.
To live in a wonderland, fit for a liberal,
Where people can hate, and it’s not even criminal.
Unless one is Christian or loves freedom and such
But do it Islamic and you’ll not even be touched
We all know the West had this fall coming
With multiculturalism and other down-dumbing
The West hates itself and despises its roots
This white patriarchal state of ill repute
We must be reformed, we must all be brothers
In the likeness of leftists, Marxists and others
So it’s out with the old, and in with the new
The deep core philosophy that grounds the EU
But little is new in this tyrannical production
Just Orwellian language to hide the corruption
Yes, let us be brothers and honor our freedoms
Let us have reforms, we surely need ‘em
Let’s start with the liberals, leftists, and cranks
Who for this current mess, we have to thank
Let’s give them the world they desire in their hearts
Let’s send them to Arabia, that’s just for starts
Have fun with Islamists, in common you have much
But keep your damn hands off the land of the Dutch
Very funny stuff guys.
And there’s plenty more where that came from. In the upcoming issue (which has been gestating for 2 years), I have (even aside from “Pond Scum”, already entered above) 9 political song parodies (“Sixteen Bills”, “Bad, Bad Barry Bam”, “We Built Your Business”, “The Ballad of Al Gore Jr.”, “Vote Fraud Army”, “Hagel and Crist”, “Don’t Give Up”, “Brink of Corruption”, and “If You Love Me, Pass This Bill”) as well as a non-political parody (“The Girl With Treponema”), and there are many more from earlier issues.
I forgot to add, very creative as well as funny. Thank you both for lightening our day.
I Am…Assad”
(Based on Neil Diamond’s “I Am…I Said”)
The desert’s fine, sunshine all the time
And the feeling is Jihad
IEDs grow and the roads are slow
But you know I keep thinking about
Insurgents in Iraq
Well, I’m Syrian born and raised
But nowadays, I’m lost between two wars
Jihad’s fine, but not at home
Syria’s home but it ain’t fine no more.
I am, Assad
To the U.N.
And no one’s hurt at all
Not even Bashar
I am, I fight
With Iran, beside
Kerry has lost, and he can’t even say why
Leaving the Brothers lonely still
Did you ever read about a Ba’athist who dreamed of being a king
And not simply The One
Well, except for Hussein and a few other names
If you talk about beasts, the glory’s the same fun
But I’ve got a rebellion deep inside
And I’ve lied, but it won’t sway a thing
And I’m not a dictator who likes to gas
But I’ve never cared for the sound of Arab Springs
I am, Assad
To the U.N.
And no one’s hurt at all
Not even Bashar
I am, I fight
With Iran, beside
Kerry has lost, and he can’t even say why
Leaving the Brothers lonely still
This one is my favorite so far, (but that could change). Very good.
Land sake’s alive! I’m spending too much time on poetry today! I haven’t even got dressed yet. Reading all the Poetry/Prose entries is going to have to be a long term project. I started top down and got as far as Writings published in the Wall Street Journal, before deciding it would be easier to keep track of what I read if I went bottom up. So here I am, and here I will stop for now.
I love these, Tim! Reading these remind’s me of Iowahawk’s, Not-Really-That-Epic Poem of Obamacles, The Idiossey, which is hilarious. It’s a bit lengthy, but worth it. For those who haven’t read it you will find it here.
http://iowahawk.typepad.com/iowahawk/2009/01/the-idiossey.html
” I haven’t even got dressed yet.”
Time does fly when you’re having fun. I was following your breadcrumbs down the poetry path, Rosalys, and finally had to tear myself away and hit the shower. And wouldn’t you know it, a poem composed itself while I stood there amid the white acrylic walls – with no grease pencil to write it down!
So into the drain it went with the suds, pulled by gravity down the hill through the pipe that flows under the bay, to be pumped over more hills and then cleansed of any mispuncuations or typos by the municipal sewer plant.
And how often do you get to compose a poem including the words Fitzhugh and binocular??? I may never venture into the shower again.
I will try again sometime to write, “The Deadhead”, and include the line I do remember, “…hidden by no ripple, flotsam, or fog…”
“MacBam” and “Bad, Bad Barry Bam” were written for the final (and now effectively lost) issue of FOSFAX. The original version of the play included a lot more, but I don’t remember the rest of it well enough to include. Both parodies are written from memory, with minor modifications.
FYI, Timothy has a new song parody appended to his list of Greatest Hits.
I noticed that near the end I had “gueen” at one point when it should be “queen”. If you could fix that slight error I’d appreciate it.