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Archive for the ‘parody’ Category

(On 400 th anniversary of Shakespeare here is a parody. Macbeth: Ac1.Sc.4. Then of course Prince is also remembered. -benny)

Late Prince of Purple Rain! That is steep

One song I could belt out in falsetto

While he’s dust and ashes. Stars stop your ears

I dare not sing my black and deep desires.

You may clap at the end, -yea let that be

I will take that I outdid Prince

While he’s dust and ashes. Stars hide your fires

If my words suck, -my heart was not in it;

The eye wink at the hand while the question

Of dollars and cents make my words sound false.

The original version is given here below.

Macbeth

Ac.1.Sc.4

(aside) The prince of Cumberland! That is a step

On which I must fall down, or else o’erleap,

For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires;

Let not light see my black and deep desires.

The eye wink at the hand, yet let that be

Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

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I will leave but shalln’t leave as I came in:

For droll as though I had my brain addled,

Or sniffed benzine or snorted of cocaine;

While there on the giant screen ‘fore me flash’d

Some trickery wrought by light I’m loath to say

And I took them all in without batting eyelid-

I giggled,I whooped and like a puling kid

I wanted more Oh what more can I say?

The show is over, I head for the exit

My heart aches :A-tisket, A-tasket

ii

O, for a draught of moonshine! that has been

Distill’d in some backwoods, perhaps from Lethe:

I am at peace with the world that has been

Contentious and most bizarre in its mirth.

A-tisket, A-tasket who dropped the basket?

And my mind yearns to pick up images

From some spool threaded by devil’s sprocket

No more can I free my mind from these images

 Was it a vision for which all I did was peep?

                Fled is that peace:—Do I wake or sleep?

benny 17 Dec,2014

Original version

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

         My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

         One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

         But being too happy in thine happiness,—

                That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees

                        In some melodious plot

         Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

                Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been

         Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country green,

         Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South,

         Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

                With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

                        And purple-stained mouth;

         That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

                And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

         What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

         Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,

         Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

                Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

                        And leaden-eyed despairs,

         Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

                Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

         Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

         Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,

         And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

                Cluster’d around by all her starry Fays;

                        But here there is no light,

         Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

                Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

         Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet

         Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

         White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

                Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves;

                        And mid-May’s eldest child,

         The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

                The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

         I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

         To take into the air my quiet breath;

                Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

         To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

                While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

                        In such an ecstasy!

         Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—

                   To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

         No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

         In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

         Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

                She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

                        The same that oft-times hath

         Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam

                Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

         To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

         As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

         Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

                Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep

                        In the next valley-glades:

         Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

                Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

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Oh the shark has fancy moves dear
And he makes it deadly clear
When a jack knife has his fin sliced
He knows it is end of the road.

When that fin drops in some soup bowl
Jolly time it is, some big deal!
Mighty beast of the deep scalped
For his bauble and left for dead!

original version

Oh, the shark has pretty teeth dear
And he shows ’em, pearly white
Just a jack knife has Macheath dear
And he keeps it way out of sight

When that shark bites with his teeth, dear
Scarlet billows begin to spread
Fancy gloves though has Macheath dear
So there’s never, never a trace of red

On the sidewalk, one Sunday morning
Lies a body, oozin’ life
Someone’s sneaking ’round the corner
Could that someone be Mack the knife

From a tugboat, on the river going slow
A cement bag is dropping on down
You know that cement is for the weight dear
You can make a large bet Mackie’s back in town

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Jenny kissed me when we met,

Jumping in a hoop from the floor;

Time, you thief, know you not,

Sink into that skull, law is clear:

Say she made the move, it’s no use,

Say what you’ll but law gets your throat;

Say it was her fault, no use,

She is a Jail bait.

benny

Original Version

Jenny kissed me when we met,

Jumping from the chair she sat in;

Time, you thief, who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in!

Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,

Say that health and wealth have missed me,

Say I’m growing old, but add,

Jenny kissed me.

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(on receiving the Torture Report)

O, That this too too sordid mind would melt

With it what lapses it had allowed to creep-

Oh that the Senators had not pressed

The Torture Report be made public!Oh God! Oh God!

How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,

Seem to me all the uses of this Hill!

Fie on’t! ah fie! ’tis an untended pig-sty,

That grows maggots; men rank and gross in nature

Possess it merely. That it should come to this!

benny

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‘Bama

ACT I

SCENE I. The White House. The Rose Garden

FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO

BERNARDO

Who’s there?

FRANCISCO

Nay, answer me: were you on watch yesterday?

BERNARDO

Long live the Prez!

FRANCISCO

Bernardo?

BERNARDO

He.

FRANCISCO

You almost got yourself screwed up.

BERNARDO

‘Tis now struck twelve; no intruder, Francisco.

FRANCISCO

For this relief much thanks: ’tis bitter cold,

And I am sick at heart.

BERNARDO

Have you had quiet guard?

FRANCISCO

Not a mouse stirring.

BERNARDO

Well, good night.

If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,

The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

FRANCISCO

I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who’s there?

Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS

HORATIO

Friends to this ground.

MARCELLUS

And liegemen to the Prez.

FRANCISCO

Give you good night.

MARCELLUS

O, farewell, honest soldier:

Who hath relieved you?

FRANCISCO

Bernardo has my place.

Give you good night.

Exit

MARCELLUS

Holla! Bernardo!

BERNARDO

Say,

What, is Horatio there?

HORATIO

A piece of him.

BERNARDO

Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus.

MARCELLUS

What, has this thing appear’d again to-night?

BERNARDO

I have seen nothing.

HORATIO

Well, sit we down,

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

BERNARDO

Last night of all,

He scal’d the north fence of the House, Yes he

Did not cease though I did ask his steps freeze

And raise hands in abject surrender wait

For frisk and search,-

Enter Ghost

MARCELLUS

Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!

BERNARDO

In the same figure, like Andrew Jackson.

MARCELLUS

Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.

BERNARDO

Looks it not like A J? mark it, Horatio.

HORATIO

Most like: I must speak less scholarly then .

BERNARDO

It would be spoke to.

MARCELLUS

Question it, Horatio.

HORATIO

What art thou that usurp’st this time of night,

Together with that fair and warlike form

By which the native Indians were struck dumb

And that threw the Bankers on the east

in apoplectic rage, speak!

MARCELLUS

It is offended.

BERNARDO

See, it stalks away!

HORATIO

Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!

Exit Ghost and Renters

Here is a tip worth two cents,

Fellow Americans and leige men

to your Chief, name of the intruder

Is Omar Gonzalez.

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I can be funny in a maudlin way

Don’t mean to but it’s sad;

Birds got it damn right their day full of songs

My shouldn’t we sing instead?

I’m stuck up all the day

Fed up with my lot

But I know what I have: Look at what I got

I got rhythm, I got music

And twinkle toes!

Who could ask for anything more?

I’ve got starlight I’ve got the mood

Who could ask for anything more?

Old Man Trouble, I don’t mind him

He can’t hear a word I say

I’ve got starlight, I’ve got sweet dreams,

Sock it to him,

maybe he’ll get it in the end.

music and lyrics by George and Ira Gershwin

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