POEMS OF PARODY & HUMOR 1957-1970
Showing posts with label A BOOK In Other Words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A BOOK In Other Words. Show all posts
Friday, July 23, 2010
Ballad of Peppy the Pup
Born in a valley bowl in Pennsylvania,
One day to be named the pup, Peppy.
Blind for some days, numbering three,
Before she was taken, the world to see.
Peppy.
Wherever it was cats woke and rose,
Tormenting nights with kittenish woes,
Peppy would scamper out. There she goes.
Battles with cats were something she knows.
Peppy.
It was in the year ‘44 she left her ground
Traveling in a car up one hill, then down,
Until she traveled to Downingtown
Where she was a gift from pap pap Brown.
Peppy.
Fifteen years passed swift and too fast.
Avoiding cars and chasing cats, this is past.
Growling at play, how we both would laugh.
She has stopped and gone where you go at last.
White and pepper spotted.
Speed demon and friend and dog.
Peppy.
Nightly Moon
Hurry by nightly moon,
Moving cross suspect sky.
My love a certain doom
From a time once gone by.
I bathe in night soon.
Her form is but a sigh.
A blind man with empty stare
Missed the tears pausing there.
Like a used breath it went
But a shadow ago,
And when a breath is spent,
It’s just a wind, you know.
Pass by my earthy tent.
Catch me not in moon glow.
Within loves that never are
Is many a fallen star.
Saga of Mike Neff
In the town of Keystone lived a boy named Mike Neff,
Until one day last year he stole a car and left.
He thought this meant he was a man who had grown up,
But he was nothing more than a run-away stray pup.
Mike, come back home, son.
Mike, do not roam, Mike.
Mike, please atone.
A cop set out to chase him down in a black sedan,
That foolish young boy who thought he was a man.
But Mike refused to be caught by the police patrol
And at great speed, Mike lost his car’s control.
Mike, come back home, son.
Mike, do not roam, Mike.
Mike, please atone.
The car hopped and then skidded into a pole and then
A mangled wreck stood where a car had been,
But before the cop could come to help and see
The fire burst out and Mike Neff ceased to be.
Mike, come back home, son.
Mike, do not roam, Mike.
Mike, please atone.
The town of Keystone lost a boy named Mike Neff,
Of that boy only a memory is still left
To a gray-haired woman, who comes to sit and weep
And wish Mike a peaceful eternal sleep.
Mike, come back home, son.
Mike, do not roam, Mike.
Mike, please atone. Illustration: El Paso mug shot of Johnny Cash, 1965
This is a parody of Cash's "Don't Take Your Guns to Town".
Birmingham Jail
Send me a letter
And send it by mail.
Send it in care of
The Birmingham jail.
Down in Alabama,
They arrested us.
Took us bodily
Off the freedom bus.
Was running crazy,
Tripped over a log.
I was escaping
A big vicious dog.
In Mississippi
The waters arose.
We were swept over
By a big fire hose.
The sky is burning,
Here there is shooting,
And nobody yet
Has defined looting.
Send me a letter
And send it by mail.
Send it in care of
American jail.
Illustration: file photo, Birmingham, Alabama 1963
Poem was written on the occasion of the Freedom Buses of 1961
Illustration: file photo, Birmingham, Alabama 1963
Poem was written on the occasion of the Freedom Buses of 1961
When Johnny...
There was a lad named Johnny Gray.
Hooray! Hooray!
His mother cried when he went away.
Today! Today!
When Johnny comes marching home again,
Hooray! Hooray!
We will cry and shout and jump then,
When Johnny comes home once again,
If Johnny comes marching home again.
Poor Johnny won’t be marching here,
I fear! I fear!
They shot him down over there.
I hear! I hear!
He won’t be here to see no more,
Won’t have his face inside our door.
Johnny won’t be marching anymore.
Lullaby of a Modern Mom
Baby, if you start to cry,
Mom’s gonna blacken both your eyes.
And if those eyes don’t get black,
Mama’s gonna kick you in the back.
And if your back, it doesn’t snap,
Mama’s gonna give you such a slap.
And if that slap, it doesn’t sting,
Your little neck, she’s gonna wring.
And if after that, you don’t atone,
Just you wait ‘till dad gets home!
Torn Sleeves
Alas, my God, they do me wrong
To cast me off discourteously,
And I have worked here so long
Blighting in your company.
Torn sleeves were all my pay.
Hurting back was my plight.
Hard work was my daily toil
Underneath the factory light.
I have grown tired at their hand
And I’ve grown old all too soon.
I have been true all my life,
But I’m sixty-five tomorrow noon.
Torn sleeves were all my pay.
Hurting back was me plight.
Hard work was my daily toil
Underneath the factory light.
I saved no money from my pay.
My pension will not last a month.
My bills I know not how to pay,
Nor how I’ll buy my foodstuff.
Torn sleeves were all my pay.
Hurting back was me plight.
Hard work was my daily toil
Underneath the factory light.
I wished to work all my days
And not be put out to pasturing.
This retirement age is unfair.
Let me remain at my favorite thing.
Torn sleeves were all my pay.
Hurting back was me plight.
Hard work was my daily toil
Underneath the factory light.
Traditional folk tune
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Cockles and Mussels or Last Days of Molly Malone
In Dublin’s fair city,
Where girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheel’d her wheelbarrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive, alive oh!
She was a fishmonger,
But sure ‘twas no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before;
And they each wheel’d their barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive, alive oh!
I loved this here girlie
And I’d rise very early
To be with her, my own Molly Malone,
And we’d wheel her wheelbarrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive, alive oh!
Alas, I deceived her,
An’ I know it did grieve her,
For she ran off from Dublin one morn,
And no one wheeled her barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive, alive oh!
It rained all that day.
They found her, they say,
All cryin’ and crumpled in the damp of the wood.
Brought home in her barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Amid cockles and mussels,
Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive, alive oh!
In Dublin fair city,
I sit down in pity
And stare at the grave and Molly’s tombstone.
Then I walk with my sorrow,
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying Molly, oh Molly,
Poor Molly Malone
Alive, alive oh!
Alice, alive oh!
Crying Molly, oh Molly,
Alive, alive oh!
She died of a fever
And no one could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone;
Her ghost wheels her barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Alive, alive oh!
Crying cockles and mussels,
Alive, alive oh!
traditional tune and song with added lyrics
Deck the Halls
Deck the halls with mercantile folly fa la la la la la la.
Lure them in by trick, by golly fa la la la la la la.
Lure them in with faulty ads fa la la la la la la.
Relieve them of their money wads fa la la la la la la.
See the ranting mob before us fa la la la la la la.
Charging the display case in force fa la la la la la la.
Grabbing sales goods in rips and slices fa la la la la la la.
All marked up from last week’s prices
fa la la la la la la.
fa la la la la la la.
Your extravagance becomes our treasure
fa la la la la la la.
Only one thing hinders our cheer
fa la la la la la la.
Christmas comes but once a year
fa la la la la la la.
traditional Christmas carol
Shrill Whistles
I’m goin’ where them shrill whistles don’t blow.
Gonna find a new job,
One that I’m needin’ so
Out where them shrill whistles don’t blow.
Sing your song.
Sing it soft and low.
Sing it for your baby
And then I’ll have to go.
Go where them shrill whistles don’t blow.
Now there’s automation
Takin’ over so.
Remember that I worked hard,
Now I have to go.
Goin’ where them shrill whistles don’t blow.
Lost it in the springtime
And now it’s fall.
Lookin’ for a new job
I may not find at all.
I’m goin’ where them shrill whistles don’t blow.
traditional folk tune
Blue-Tail Cry
When I was young, I use to date
A maiden fair from another state,
And pass the bottle ‘til she got high,
She’d gulp it down and then she’d cry:
“Gimme a kiss an’ I don’t care,
Gimme a kiss an’ I don’t care,
Gimme a kiss an’ I don’t care,
Ol’ morals gone away.”
One day we got lost upon a hill.
Trees so numerous, we were there ‘til
The sun went down, the moon got high.
In the dark, I heard her cry:
“Gimme a hug an’ I don’t care,
Gimme a hug an’ I don’t care,
Gimme a hug an’ I don’t care,
Ol’ morals gone away.”
The car it jump, it pitch,
It wouldn’t start by the switch.
It stopped and if you wonder why,
The reason was her hurried cry:
“Gimme a pet an’ I don’t care,
Gimme a pet an’ I don’t care,
Gimme a pet an’ I don’t care,
Ol’ morals gone away.”
We lay down under a simmon tree,
‘Neath the boughs, no one could see.
In the dark I heard her sign
Followed by her quiet cry:
“Gimme your love an’ I don’t care,
Gimme your love an’ I don’t care,
Gimme your love an’ I don’t care,
Ol’ morals gone away.”
We got married, it ain’t no joke.
She done left me, alone and broke.
How’d it happen, you wonder why?
All summed up in my loud cry:
“Gave me a baby, boy do I care,
Gave me a baby, boy I do care,
Gave me a baby, boy I do care,
Ol’ lady’s gone away.”
Illustration: clipping from an advertisement
Traditional folk tune
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
True Confessions of Bob Dylan
My guitar it means nothin’.
My voice , it means less.
If you hear the melody,
It’s a mighty good guess.
Still I shout it and sing it
And my records get buy’d,
And nobody notices
The flaws on my side.
My songs, they have meaning
And the meaning is deep.
But when I’s a-singin’,
You can’t grasp a peep.
Yet critics what hears it
Give satisfied sigh,
And they don’t notice
The flaws on my side.
Many dark hours,
I think about this:
Silence is golden,
Silence is bliss.
So you a-thinkin’
When I subside,
You don’t have to listen
To the flaws on my side.
My songs, they are wondrous.
You dig them the most.
But my singin’ is painful,
My accomp’ment is gross.
If you had three wishes
And could make a choice,
You’d see this Bob Dylan
Got a new voice.
based upon Bob Dylan's "With God on Our Side"
I'm Gonna Drink that Blood Right Outta Her Neck
I’m gonna drink that blood right outta her neck,
I’m gonna drink that blood right outta her neck,
I’m gonna drink that blood right outta her neck,
And guzzle it down my own.
I’m gonna bite that girl right in her vain,
I’m gonna bite that girl right in her vain,
I’m gonna bite that girl right in her vain,
And listen to her grown.
Oh, don’t try to spit it out.
Slurp it up! Slurp it up!
Bite her mane, dry her vain,
Then, oh BAT, stop that.
Drain her vein and let her shrivel!
Yea, vampire!
I’m gonna suck that blood right outta her neck,
I’m gonna suck that blood right outta her neck,
I’m gonna suck that blood right outta her neck,
And guzzle it down my own.
If the thing don’t understand you.
If you fly on separate wings.
Waste no time. Make a start.
Pull that lid right off your chest.
Push her out of the coffin
And drum her out of your rest.
If you laugh at different funerals.
If you root for different ghouls.
Waste no time. Creep no more.
Show her what the stake is for!
Place it o’re her heart
And drum it through her breast.
Oh, no! Oh, no!
I’m gonna drink that blood right outta her neck,
I’m gonna drink that blood right outta her neck,
I’m gonna drink that blood right outta her neck,
And guzzle it down my own.
Older Than Egypt
I touch your hand
And your arm falls off.
I pat your back,
You begin to cough.
My eyes look down
At your twisted face,
And I must admit,
With distaste!
Older than Egypt are you.
Paler than toothpaste are you.
Drier than desert sands
Are the shriveled lips you gave me.
Gloomier than graves are you.
Weaker than slaves are you.
Devil, not angel: hell, not Heaven.
Are you to me.
And when you die and decay
Inside my tomb
And fill my coffin up with dust,
Then…
Older than Egypt am I.
Drier than deserts am I.
Witch and Warlock,
Mummy and Thing
Am I with you.
A Wonderful Wolf
I expect ev’ryone of my crowd
To make fun of my proud
Protestations of hypnotic entrances;
And they’ll say I’m sup’stitious,
A bit naïve to believe any legend
I hear from some wolf in pants.
I’ve been known to share your
Practical conclusion,
Thinking the beast could keep
Its seclusion,
‘Til all of a sudden that moon’s
Fullnesstude
Shown down and hit me smack
In the snude:
That’s how I turned out to be
The hairy young werewolf you see.
I’m as hairy as cotton in August,
All in the matter of one little poof.
No longer a smart little guy with no teeth,
I have become a most wonderful wolf.
I turn at a conventional full moon
From a conventional toe to a hoof.
And you will note, there is hair on my throat,
When I turn to that wonderful wolf.
I’m as gruff and as mean as a crazy loot,
A ghoul coming out.
I am sharp-toothed with a crock’dile grin,
Drippin’ blood down my chin.
I’m as hairy as cotton in August,
I’m as fast as bats from the roof.
If you’ll excuse the expression I use”
I am turning, am turning, am turning,
Am turning, am turning to a wonderful wolf.
Some Enchanted Graveyard
Some enchanted graveyard,
There may dwell a ghoul;
There may dwell a ghoul
Inside a crumbled tomb.
And therefore you know,
You know even then,
That someday you will scream
Again and again.
In some enchanted graveyard
Something may be laughing.
You may hear it laughing
From in a crumbled tomb,
And night after night,
As strange as it seems,
The sound of laughter
Will echo your screams.
Who can explain it?
Who can tell you why?
Ghouls make you promises;
Believers always die.
Some enchanted graveyard
Where you hear it call you,
When you hear it call you,
From in a crumbled tomb;
Then fly from the scene
And head for your home.
Oh, flee for your life
From this twilight zone.
Once you have met it.
It’ll never let you go.
Once you have met it.
It’ll never let you go.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)