Parodies of (Quite) Well-Known Musical Numbers


G&S       George Formby       Punk Classix       even Rap and Hip Hop (feat. obscenities)


Gilbert and Sullivan Parodies

I’ve got a Little List

As some day it may happen that a victim must be found
I've got a little list ~ I've got a little list
Of society offenders who might well be underground
And who never would be missed
They never would be missed
Insider-trading marketeers who break the City's rules
And education ministers with kids in private schools
The Sloane who thinks that ev'rything is "just amaaaaazing, yah!"
And the yuppie with his filofax, who drives a flashy car
Who bores us all to death with tales of hols spent sur la piste
They'd none of them be miste, no, they'd none of them be miste

There's the piss-head on the Underground who won't leave you alone,
And the busker guitarist ~ I've got him on the list!
And governments who sell us things that we already own ~
They never would be missed ~
They never would be missed
All Sony Walkman(!) wearers on the buses, tubes and trains,
With their awful music echoing where other folk have brains.
'Alternative' comedians who at the system sneer
And then make lots of money advertising banks or beer
And whose jokes are only funny if you're young ~ and thick ~ and pissed
I don't think they'd be missed ~ I'm sure they'd not be missed.

Those self-appointed censors who hate others having fun
And on stopping them insist ~ I've got them on the list!
All journalists who write The Times, all men who read The Sun
They'd none of them be missed ~
They'd none of them be missed
The amateur dramatic troupes who murder classic shows
By doing them in smartarse ways, dressed up in modern clothes
With actors who can't sing and dry at every other ... ... ... word
And the prompter's is the only voice that's clearly to be heard
And right here at the top I've got the prat who rewrote this!
And I know he'd not be missed ~ I know he'd not be missed

[1986, for the Philbeach Players production of The Mikado]


Confessional

I am the very master of the intertextual reference
I use them just for fun but with a large amount of deference
My poetry is brimming with a thousand writings notable
In fact I squeeze them anywhere that I find something quotable

(In fact he puts them anywhere that he finds something quota-quotable)

There’s Shakespeare, Joyce and Oscar Wilde and loads of lines from G&S
And Tolstoy, Proust — well, anything that isn’t just by me, I guess.
When folks say all my writing looks like something copied from a list
I simply say that I prefer to call myself post-modernist

(He likes to think that he’s post modern-odern-odern-odern-odernist)

I quite accept my writing has no true originality
But anything I do that’s new just doesn’t have the kwality
You’re bound to fail if you don’t play up to your natural aptitude
Dan-Brownian motion only leads to loads of fuck-filled platitudes

(He has a filthy mouth and a bad atti-atti-atti-attitude!)

There is no end in sight (I tell you, just in case you’re wondering)
I quite intend to go on with my literary plundering
As long as I can do it with due relevance and deference,
For I am the very master of the intertextual reference!

(2011)

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Turned Out Nice Again — in the manner of Mr George Formby

The IT Support Man

Now I check people's laptops for viruses and stuff;
For a lonely geek it keeps me occupied enough

Oh, it's the job that's right for me
A PC cleaner you would be,
If you could see what I can see,
When I'm cleanin' Windows™

Don't click that temptin' link below —
It emails everyone you know
That you’ve been mugged in Tokyo
When you're usin' Windows™

The details of your bank accounts
Can often yield quite nice amounts
Especially if those hackers pounce
When you're usin' Windows™

In my profession I'm the best; I go the extra mile
You'll get your tablet back when I've deleted every file

There's fifty million quid for you,
Just send your name to Timbuktu
Your password, PIN and hat size too
When you're usin' Windows™

Jeff clicked attachments in his mail
Then all his apps began to fail;
The cops found out, now he's in gaol
Just from usin' Windows™

In my profession I'm the best; it's 'service with a smile'
I'll keep your PC here until I've copied every file

Some guy downloads a new resource,
But it contains a Trojan horse —
I'll fix it – for a fee, of course
When I'm cleanin' Windows™

I've seen how much cash you've withdrawn,
The time and place where you were born —
I've even seen your taste in porn
When I'm cleanin' Windows™

Yes it's the job that's right for me,
You'd delete your browsin' history,
If you could see what I can see,
When I'm cleanin' Windows™

[2015, after The Window Cleaner, by Cliff, Gifford and Formby]


I can't play the ukulele

I'm not much cop at owt I try
I've got no skills, I don't know why.
No one knows how I get by –
It's quite a mystery
I can't skate and I can't dance
Don't even think about romance;
I haven't got a ruddy chance,
There's not much hope for me

I can't sing, I can hardly whistle
Not mean, not lean, just fat and gristle;
I must have missed the starting pistol
For the human race
I can't play the ukulele
Can't take snaps like David Bailey
Whatever I try I'm bound to fail. Ee,
I'm a waste of space

I can't hold down relationships
Hardly a woman 'as passed me lips
I 'ave to make do with fish an' chips
In me one-room flat
I can't swim, can't doggy-paddle,
Can't ride, can't even find the saddle,
I give up, I'll just skedaddle;
'And that', said Dai, 'is that'.

I can't drive and I can't ski
I think I've got ADH … ooh, look! … sorry … where was I?
No one's found a use for me
It's a sheer disgrace
'Cos I can't play the ukulele
Can't duck and dive like Arthur Daley
Whatever I try I'm bound to fail. Ee,
I'm a waste of space
Thank you.

29 May 2015

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Classics of Punk Rock

Therapy in the UK

I am a thorough pest,
I am a thera-pest
Dunno what you got, but I know how to treat it
I wanna repair
What you are …
Cos I wanna be — therapy

(Make some money)

Therapy for the UK
It's what you all need — trust me
Fix up your ills, take a load of pills
Your mental state is a thing you hate
Cos I wanna be — therapy

(What a pity)

There's many ways to mess with your brain
I use the lot
I use gestalt
I use CBT
I use — therapy

Cos I wanna be — therapy
It's the way to make you see

(Shit!)

Is this PTSD or
Is this ADHD or
Is this some BPD?
I thought it was identity
Or just another psyche —
A normal human tendency.

I wanna be — therapy
and I wanna be — therapy
(Know what I mean?)
And I wanna be a therapist
If you insist — destroy!

[20/5/15, after Anarchy in the UK, by Rotten, J (1976)]

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Rap and Hip-Hop

Middle England

[I say, I'd be most awfully obliged if you chaps would pay some attention to the words of this song ... ]

If it was gonna be permitted by the old farts in here
I'd use muthafuckin' language that would rupture your ear
I'd be turning the air blue (oh fuck, I am!) with such a rap
at all these muthafuckin' folk who say that swearing is crap.
I know a lotta words, you can't go pointing at me
and say I got a limited vo-ca-bu-la-ry;
but rappers need to swear to give more Eminemphasis,
to say how much you muthafuckin' jerks all get on our tits!
Oh yes, I'm like you, I was brought up to be oh-so-polite —
mind my Ps and fuckin' Qs until one day I was like,
fuck it, then I discovered Snoop and Dre and all of that shite,
and I went, "Gosh, I'd quite like to make some sounds of that type!"
And now I've reached the age when my bus travel is free,
I can get on people's tits across a wider territory,
so all you boring muthafuckas get a better chance to see
how a fuckin' Sixties child grows old dis-grace-fuckin'-ly…

Middle England! I could be one of your dads.
Middle England! Rap ain't just some passing fad.
Middle England! Don't wear no Pringle shit;
I go on facebook ~ look how many likes I git.
(repeat)

[2015, after White America by Eminem (Marshall Mathers III)]

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