-> "A Jammin Routine"
Original Song Title:
"Minuet in A Major"
Parody Song Title:
"A Jammin Routine"
A Jammin’ Routine
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. 
“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 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 or gourd as planned initially.
Ev’ry Douting Thomas
will their countless commas
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?’”
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