LYRICS
It's
All Been Done Before
Promised
Land
No Remorse
Old Dark
Lord of Mordor
Fade Away
Lullabye
of Broadway
The Irish Bachelor Farmer
SAMPLES
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LYRICS It's
All Been Done Before SAMPLES
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It's all been done before! It's all been done before!
You might be best. You might be worst. Make the bedposts
shake and the pillows burst,
But I guarantee you're not the first! It's all been
done before!
Even though it's all in Latin, the Bible's full of
hot begattin'.
Did they get freaky? Oy, gevalt! That's why they all
got turned to salt!
In couples, groups, or all alone, they did those things
that weren't condoned.
Then on Yom Kippur, they all atoned! It's all been
done before!
In ancient Greece, we now have found, they turned
the ways of love around.
As stoically as they knew how, they looked at love
from both sides now.
Hey! What's Plato doing to Socrates? Gee, I don't know.
It's Greek to me!
It's the Socratic Method! See, it's all been done before!
Spoil the child and spare the rod? Not if you're
the Marquis de Sade!
You would not say he was a saint, but he learned a
great deal of restraint.
And, being French, he liked to kiss in the special way
that Frenchmen kiss.
Why do you sink zey talk like zis? It's all been done
before!
Even kings and queens and those on top all do the
horizontal bop.
The priests and the Illuminati often pondered, "Who's
your daddy?"
So, darling, strictly entres nous, might I do the voulez
vous with you?
Though it's been done a million times before, come
on Darling, let's just do a little more!!!
When the priest told me that morning that I should
go forth and sin no more,
He must've known you'd wear that little plaid skirt
and your hair in that pompadour,
And how we'd wake up on Far Rockaway Beach like two
gypsies in the sand,
That warm night in the Promised Land.
And I want you to know, Darling, when you screamed
for me that way
It made me feel like all four of the Beatles when they
played that August night at Shea
'Cept you wanted to Love Me Do, didn't just want to
hold my hand,
That warm night in the Promised Land.
And do you remember the way I
remember, how we tore all our clothes when we tried to climb up on that Unisphere?
And do you remember the way I remember
how we shouted our love on that noisy old F train
So only the bums and the Good Lord
Above could hear?
Now it's time to confess: Darling, we wrote
the Book of Love!
When we parked out at Idlewild Airport with those crazy
jet planes landing right above,
And Cousin Brucie played that Louie Louie song no one
could understand,
That warm night in the Promised Land.
Now do you remember the way I
remember how we felt like two fugitives sneaking our way out of your backyard?
And do you remember the way I remember
how we put down the top on the '59 Chevy
And felt like the kings of Queens
Boulevard?
Garfunkel, Simon and me - We've all moved out of
Rego Park.
And the Lemon Ice King of Corona will charge you three
bucks for one Extra Large,
But for two vagabonds in love, things turned out exactly
as we planned,
That warm night in the Promised Land.
No remorse. No weak apologies or alibis.
Just silly grins, spilled margaritas and inspired lies.
It was a stupid, happy, spinning, silly, slippery, goofy,
blinding, reckless masterpiece of tour de force.
We were idiots, of course. But no remorse.
It must have been that song that you asked Willy
and the band to play.
Maybe the moon...y'know they say the moon can make
you act that way.
It was a brainless, flipping, swirling, slipping, moonlit
tenor saxophone Lambada of a night for two.
It was lunacy, of course. But no remorse.
So let them stare! Those new tattoos
must look a little strange.
What do we care? So our IQ's ain't
in the genius range!
But what a night! And the next morning. And the afternoon.
It was so sweet when you said they'd prob'ly send the
dogs out soon.
There were a couple misdemeanors, several felonies,
a little peccadillo and a slight faux pas.
Good thing your daddy's on the force. But no remorse.
We prob'ly scared the horse. But no remorse.
Old Dark Lord of Mordor
(parody of "Cold Missouri Waters," James Keelahan)
My name is Frodo; but then, you knew that.
Hell, there's Hobbit books in every dorm from Pepperdine
to Yale.
You probably smoked some dope, and then you read one.
And now you've come to Frodo Baggins to hear my side
of the tale.
Have you no mercy after the crap
that Tolkein said?
"One ring to rule them all"? I'd
rather wring his neck instead!
But I will tell the tale, since
every one of them is dead,
Those thirteen riders out to fight
the Old Dark Lord of Mordor.
Fourteen Afteryule, in the Shire.
It's day's end at the Bag End and we're all half in
the bag.
Then in walks Gandalf, that hack magician.
But for once he hasn't come to drink. Instead, he's
come to nag.
There's this dark lord, he says,
who wants that ring that's in your room.
And all you've got to do is melt
it in the Mount of Doom.
The Mount of WHAT?? I says, but
before I can resume,
I'm leading thirteen riders toward
the Old Dark Lord of Mordor.
There was Merry, and Sam, and Pippin.
With those Chia Pets beside me, I was rightfully afraid.
With pals like Boromir, Gandalf, and Gimli,
Is it really any wonder that the none of us got laid?
But we packed our bags and headed
out to Minas Trith.
Met the Gollum, who talks like Yoda
with a lisp.
We went to Tudor and Fordor. I though
Hatchback might be next!
We thirteen riders out to fight
the Old Dark Lord of Mordor.
Saw the Dark Castle. I'd seen bigger.
And we scaled the Gates of Mordor and we beat that
creep Sauron.
Now I've had my say. If you want details,
Then shell out your 14.95 at Amazon.com.
And what am I now? A two-foot troll
with thinning hair.
Lost my magic ring, though I doubt
anyone would care.
But back in Middle Earth, I was
one of them, I swear,
Those thirteen riders out to fight
the Old Dark Lord of Mordor.
Tonight the sign near Times Square still says "Salvation
Arm"
and the prophets still preach in the subway.
So this world's going round sure as a Circle Line Tour
and I'm singing you this Lullabye of Broadway.
You can tell from the piers that the Gal in the
Harbor's
still showing her backside to Jersey.
We charge 'em six bucks to drive in. We let 'em get out for free.
So close your eyes and hear this Lullabye of Broadway.
Joltin' Joe's gone, it's true.
Billy Martin's gone, too.
And they gave Gracie Mansion to some rich MBA.
But now I'm right by your side. So if you'll just close your
eyes,
I'll sing you this Lullabye of
Broadway.
Now, the stockbrokers, straphangers, streetwalkers,
panhandlers,
Hacks who speak Hindi but still know their way,
They all say "Hushabye." So go on, close your eyes.
I'll sing you this Lullabye of Broadway.
Sha la la. Sha la la. Sha la la la la la.
Sha la la. Sha la la. La la la.
Now I'm right by your side. So go on. Close your eyes.
I'll sing you this Lullabye of Broadway.
Goodnight to us and the love we knew.
To these wistful rooms and their dead-end view.
To the stars we saw when we climbed up onto the roof,
fare thee well.
And to all
the tender words we spoke, and the love we made, and the lies we told.
We loved
so hard, something must've broke. Fade away. Fade away.
We were reckless kids with dime-store rings.
But the song said that love could change everything.
I just knew it made me dizzy/weak. So we tried, me
and you.
Three flights
up from the laundromat. Just some run-down rooms in a walk-up flat.
And I hate
it when you look at me like that. Fade away. Fade away.
Where
does all the old love go when it's gone?
Can we just
turn it off and carry one when we're through?
What became
of the dreams we had yesterday?
Dreams of
love that's real and not fade away. Not fade away.
We fell so hard we were scared to death.
And I held you so close I could feel your breath.
We never did get to New Orleans. Maybe you'll go there
someday.
Sometimes
love can begin like a tidal wave. It can wash over you like a stormy day,
And then
strand you so deep that you can't be saved. Fade away. Fade away.
So goodnight to us, we sad old friends.
No one sticks around when the music ends.
Just blow out the light. I guess it's time we called
it a day, me and you.
Ah, but
all those dreamless nights we shared, too wired to sleep and too tired to
care.
Guess we
just let them all slip away somewhere. Fade away. Fade away. Fade away.
If you visit the land of the leprechauns and drunken
tenors croonin'
And you drink that undrinkable thick black beer that
you can stand a spoon in
You might see my mug as you drain your jug, for I'll
now confess that I'm
Mr. Irish Bachelor Farmer, January '99. Yes, Mr. Irish
Bachelor Farmer, January '99.
See, it began as a prank on a couple of Yanks who
were looking for souvenirs
When they happened upon some Killarney boys who were
well into their beers
Now, Killarney's known for blarney and in that they
did not fail,
Telling the usual blessed drunken Irish whopper of
a tale.
They said "The Irish girls all
want wealthy men who know how to treat a lass,
Like the fancy-pants who's the Lord
of that Dance where you kick yourself in the ass.
They want German cars and the Temple Bars
and fine shoes upon their feet.
Which leaves the Irish bachelor farmer
to the company of their sheep.
Yes, the Irish bachelor farmers are all
men without a maid,
Which leaves the little lambs of Donegal
quite rightfully afraid."
And then the blarney boys smiled slyly and accepted
a round of stout.
But the Yanks decided America had a job to carry out.
They hit the countryside with their Polaroid and quite
soon they had designed
The Irish Bachelor Farmer Calendar of 1999.
Now it's true we wear those funny caps and
our beer's like Valvoline
And when it comes to fashion let's just say that green
is this year's green;
But we Irish men have a way with a lass that'll knock
her on her fanny
Hell, have you ever seen a button that says, "Kiss
me, I'm Pakistani"?
Yes, there's plenty of lassies who'll
go with a farmer to pick wild mountain thyme
F'rinstance we'll never forget our acquaintance
with that vixen Old Lang Syne
So when we first heard said we had empty
beds, we were right and fierce ashamed.
But then we recognized the benefits of
the Bachelor Farmer game.
So around the world went calendars showing us standing
out in our fields
Wearing clothing arranged in such a way that our shillelaghs
were well revealed.
And oh, then came the letters, in more numbers than
we had planned
Proposing behavior that St. Patrick long had driven
from our land.
And soon our Irish eyes were smiling
from Ballymaloo to Portadown
And out in Kerry the farmers showed 'em
why they call it Dingle Town.
Now there's a little club in the local
pub where the twelve of us recline
Yes, we Irish Bachelor Farmer men of 1999.
We Irish Bachelor Farmer men of 1999.