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Song Parodies -> "A Jammin Routine"
Original Song Title:
"Minuet in A Major"
Original Performer:
Luigi Boccherini
Parody Song Title:
"A Jammin Routine"
Parody Written by:
Stan Hall
The Lyrics
Something a little different, maybe, for my century submission. Since a) there _are_ no lyrics to the original of this piece and b) this is--I believe--it's first lyricked appearance at amiright, I fully expect _my_ name to to appear in the "As performed by" box of its future appearances. :-)
UWTM? http://www.classicalmidi.co.uk/bocc.htm supplies a reasonably decent midi of the tune via the link "(896)"The Celebrated Minuet" a orchestral piece. Sequenced by George Pollen " about halfway dwonj the page.
UWTM? http://www.classicalmidi.co.uk/bocc.htm supplies a reasonably decent midi of the tune via the link "(896)"The Celebrated Minuet" a orchestral piece. Sequenced by George Pollen " about halfway dwonj the page.
A Jammin’ Routine[1]
Ocarina I’ve in hand and I’m all set to play
Boccherini’s lively little “Minuet in A.”
Friends all tease, thigh-thumping.
“Even squeezebox pumping
you will find a better bet,” they say. [2]
“Fiddlesticks!” I say, “You’re stolid, staid, old stick-in-muds,
a bunch of Boccherini bovines blithely chewing cuds,
and, altho’ I’m taunted,
I’ll proceed undaunted,
never mind you stuffed-shirt sofa spuds!”
For an ocarinist
it should be a keen test--
I am quite a triller,
but the tune’s a killer.
Flying fingers I will need indeed for my pursuit
to play Luigi’s lilter on this gourd[3] made into flute.
If at first I wreck it
practice will perfect it--
one must tend the tree to reap the fruit.
Privately I’ll practice,
for the simple fact is
I prefer no hearers
if they’re only jeerers.
Very confident I am that when I’ve got it down,
folks who called it foolishness to try will come around.
If I just don’t mess up
they will have to fess up
that they love the merry joyous sound.
Bound I am to be renowned when word gets around of my feat ocarinical.
Modestly I’ll blush, say “Hush!” when I’m lavishly praised.
Tempted I will be to gloat -- nope, for I wasn’t that way raised.
Mounds of bucks, yen, pesos, pounds in which one might drown for my deed Boccherinical
will amass I’m sure. Demure, I will feign I’m amazed,
knowing, tho’, it’s those who questioned my quest who are truly dazed.
Once, with musical gourd,
this vict’ry’s been scored
I’ll try some other tuneful tricks outside “the ord”
and then, widely adored,
be widely implored
on CDs to a lot of other loony tunes record.
Contracts I’ll attract in stacks. In fact, if I act as the novelty peaks,
I can really rake it in, but then
a record flacked with lack of tact can bring on backlash and cost me all I’ve gained in weeks.
But to quit while ahead
could cost me my cred,
it says “I’ve nothing more” and that really isn’t so.
A bagpiper, just dead,
whose obit I read
just might inspire a brand new Boccherini blow.
Highland pipes and other types will draw douters’ “Yipes!” (which is swell: it’ll sell
I will bet’em anything–and win!
You know I’m jake with hefty take from tunes I make, ’cause it lets me tell my cares “Farewell!”
Boccherini’s music’s gonna make a mint for me
whether played with gut[4] or gourd as planned initially.
Ev’ry Douting Thomas
will their countless commas[5]
covet when they see my royalties.
This will work, I know it
and to boldly show it,
knowing how life can be,
still, I’ve made no Plan B.
Even if my project doesn’t earn a lousy buck
You won’t hear me b*tchin’ ´bout a load of lousy luck.
I will just say, “Oh, well …”
Or, as Miles tells Joel
“There are times you just say ‘What the f*ck?’”[6]
Ocarina I’ve in hand and I’m all set to play
Boccherini’s lively little “Minuet in A.”
Friends all tease, thigh-thumping.
“Even squeezebox pumping
you will find a better bet,” they say. [2]
“Fiddlesticks!” I say, “You’re stolid, staid, old stick-in-muds,
a bunch of Boccherini bovines blithely chewing cuds,
and, altho’ I’m taunted,
I’ll proceed undaunted,
never mind you stuffed-shirt sofa spuds!”
For an ocarinist
it should be a keen test--
I am quite a triller,
but the tune’s a killer.
Flying fingers I will need indeed for my pursuit
to play Luigi’s lilter on this gourd[3] made into flute.
If at first I wreck it
practice will perfect it--
one must tend the tree to reap the fruit.
Privately I’ll practice,
for the simple fact is
I prefer no hearers
if they’re only jeerers.
Very confident I am that when I’ve got it down,
folks who called it foolishness to try will come around.
If I just don’t mess up
they will have to fess up
that they love the merry joyous sound.
Bound I am to be renowned when word gets around of my feat ocarinical.
Modestly I’ll blush, say “Hush!” when I’m lavishly praised.
Tempted I will be to gloat -- nope, for I wasn’t that way raised.
Mounds of bucks, yen, pesos, pounds in which one might drown for my deed Boccherinical
will amass I’m sure. Demure, I will feign I’m amazed,
knowing, tho’, it’s those who questioned my quest who are truly dazed.
Once, with musical gourd,
this vict’ry’s been scored
I’ll try some other tuneful tricks outside “the ord”
and then, widely adored,
be widely implored
on CDs to a lot of other loony tunes record.
Contracts I’ll attract in stacks. In fact, if I act as the novelty peaks,
I can really rake it in, but then
a record flacked with lack of tact can bring on backlash and cost me all I’ve gained in weeks.
But to quit while ahead
could cost me my cred,
it says “I’ve nothing more” and that really isn’t so.
A bagpiper, just dead,
whose obit I read
just might inspire a brand new Boccherini blow.
Highland pipes and other types will draw douters’ “Yipes!” (which is swell: it’ll sell
I will bet’em anything–and win!
You know I’m jake with hefty take from tunes I make, ’cause it lets me tell my cares “Farewell!”
Boccherini’s music’s gonna make a mint for me
whether played with gut[4] or gourd as planned initially.
Ev’ry Douting Thomas
will their countless commas[5]
covet when they see my royalties.
This will work, I know it
and to boldly show it,
knowing how life can be,
still, I’ve made no Plan B.
Even if my project doesn’t earn a lousy buck
You won’t hear me b*tchin’ ´bout a load of lousy luck.
I will just say, “Oh, well …”
Or, as Miles tells Joel
“There are times you just say ‘What the f*ck?’”[6]
© Stan Hall Submitted to amiright 3/19/2008
A few probably unneeded notes:
[1] Extra points for doping out why this title. The reason’s as good as the title is pertinent, but no more better than that.
[2] The song, "Dangerous Business,” in the movie, “Ishtar,” contains this immortal line: “If you admit you can play the accordion, no one will hire you for their rock’n’roll band.”
[3] Primitive ocarinas have been made from hollowed out smooth gourds—one such lives in my sock drawer—and ceramic ones not infrequently not accidentally look like gourds.
[4] Primitive bagpipe bags were fashioned form an animal’s stomach—seal, pig, whatever the local climate/culture afforded—usually wrapped in the skin of another, larger animal. Modern synthetics free up our animal innards for better uses—tripe, chitterlings, etc. (ad nausem)—and animal skins to become when worn by other than their original owners, canvases for Pollock-wannbe PETA-ites.
[5] For any Euro readers who may require clarification, the US uses commas where you’d put dots in numerical representations and a dot where your decimal comma goes; our narrator apparently expects some pretty royal royalties.
[6] Grand philosophy from an actor whose highest visibility probably rests in a series of performances—albeit not this particular one—as a character readily comprehensibly named “Booger.”
:-)
A few probably unneeded notes:
[1] Extra points for doping out why this title. The reason’s as good as the title is pertinent, but no more better than that.
[2] The song, "Dangerous Business,” in the movie, “Ishtar,” contains this immortal line: “If you admit you can play the accordion, no one will hire you for their rock’n’roll band.”
[3] Primitive ocarinas have been made from hollowed out smooth gourds—one such lives in my sock drawer—and ceramic ones not infrequently not accidentally look like gourds.
[4] Primitive bagpipe bags were fashioned form an animal’s stomach—seal, pig, whatever the local climate/culture afforded—usually wrapped in the skin of another, larger animal. Modern synthetics free up our animal innards for better uses—tripe, chitterlings, etc. (ad nausem)—and animal skins to become when worn by other than their original owners, canvases for Pollock-wannbe PETA-ites.
[5] For any Euro readers who may require clarification, the US uses commas where you’d put dots in numerical representations and a dot where your decimal comma goes; our narrator apparently expects some pretty royal royalties.
[6] Grand philosophy from an actor whose highest visibility probably rests in a series of performances—albeit not this particular one—as a character readily comprehensibly named “Booger.”
:-)
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oh oh oh oh ocarinas !....you come up with some way out stuff
Crud-o-rama .. thought I'd actually proofed one for a change but I see I omitted a "b" from "doubt" .. twice! Oh well ... so b it. :-)
The title is an recursive anagram. Brilliant piece of original writing.
Not sure what's scarrier.... Stan's genius or Barry's 'recursive anagram' pick-up... think I'll go crawl back in my hole (and cover it up with my 1100 SAT results sheet)...
Thanks, folks.
Shocked -- no genius here, just a touch (taint?) of echolalic depravity. :-)
Shocked -- no genius here, just a touch (taint?) of echolalic depravity. :-)
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