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Mong-a-Song

Started by alan nagsworth, November 21, 2007, 05:51:47 AM

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alan nagsworth

Might as well, eh? There's not nearly enough monging going on, nor is there enough irrelevant humour in general. Changing the lyrics to a song is something anyone can do and it takes pretty much zero time and effort. Rhyming is not necessary but is encouraged, and humour is, of course, mandatory.

steven583699 will appreciate this unabridged version of Queers For Mears' smash hit 'Sad Raymond'. I was gonna include your 'skype' lyric but it didn't fit with the overall theme, sorry champ!

All around me are familiar screen names
Worn out opinions, worn out avatars.
Bright and early for their daily posting
Posting bullshit, student bullshit.
And their tags are filling up their forum
No explanation, no explanation.
Show my face I want to gloat my sorrow
Back tomorrow, back tomorrow.

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The threads in which I'm weeping
Are the best I've ever read,
I find it hard to tell you
'Cause you're student analflaps,
When people tag in numbers
I'm a very very
Sad Raymond.

Morons waiting for the day I fuck off,
Happy birthday, happy birthday.
Made to feel the way that every man should,
Fuck the Bangles, fuck the Goodies.
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, didn't want to.
Hello teacher tell me whats my lesson,
Bernard Manning, and no more Python.

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The threads in which I'm weeping
Are the best I've ever read,
I find it hard to tell you
'Cause you're student analflaps,
When people tag in numbers
I'm a very very
Sad Raymond.

Baxter

That's total and utter mince.

Whatever mince means

I quite like mince.

Well, it can be nice in Shepard's pies.

steven583699

Quote from: nagsworth on November 21, 2007, 05:51:47 AM
steven583699 will appreciate this unabridged version of Queers For Mears' smash hit 'Sad Raymond'. I was gonna include your 'skype' lyric but it didn't fit with the overall theme, sorry champ!

Don't worry. It kinda worked if you said CaB radio really quickly. Condensing it down to the time it would take to say one syllable. But yours was very good. I'll try and do one later if I can be bothered.

alan nagsworth

The second tag is correct, Queers For Mears are indeed bum-bush tuckers.

TC Raymond

Students (to the tune of 'Dogs' by Pink Floyd)

You gotta be buck-toothed, you gotta be a real weed.
You gotta whinge that you're skint, yet drink 'til you sink,
You gotta be able to draw shit 'ironic' artwork with your eyes closed.
'Cause that's what the Modern Toss guys do, they're genius,
You fucking twats are inane and oblivious wankstains.

And after a while, you can wear a shit hairstyle.
Sing Mighty Boosh songs at the back of the bus,
Start dating some straight-haired fat bird called Melissa who's smelly...
You have to be crusty, round your eyes and round your Y-fronts,
'Poor is cool', just remember, pretend you're a Cock-er-nee twat
Like the Doherty knobwipe.

You gotta keep one eye on BBC3.
You've got to know all the shit fucking catchphrases from every shit fucking comedy.
And in the end you'll pack up and work for daddy's firm, bury your head in the sand
You told your chums you'd never "work for the man",
You soap-dodging Che-t-shirted lying arse tumour...

And when you're on the dole, you'll reap the harvest you have sown.
And when the beer flows, your knackered liver turns to stone.
And it's too late to lose the weight that stops you getting in your favourite Boosh T-shirt.
So have a good blub, you fucking mug, in your room,
Listening to Winehouse in the gloom.

I gotta admit that I'm pissed off with these wankers.
Sometimes it seems to me as if they're stupid knob-cankers.
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off these sniggering turds.
If I can only make it home, I can block out these memories with Bangles and Byrds...

Blind to the truth, they just keep on pretending
They love shit bands like the Klaxons, just to impress their new friends.
And it seems to them the thing to do is to shit on their history,
Yes, everything's done under the sun,
But I'll take the Pythons over cunts like Kitson...

Who was born in the suburbs of Kent.
Who was a massive Magic Numbers fan.
Who had t-shirts of Cartman and Stan.
Who was home to a stale cabbage smell.
Who had lentils instead of a brain.
Told his chums that he'd once taken crack.
Who was scared to break free from the pack.
Who was frightened of standing alone.
Whose tongue was lodged up Fielding's arse.
Who was found dead in his bedsit.
Who was mourned by no-one at all.

alan nagsworth

Fucking HELL. I'll admit that was a grande effort if you'll do the same for mine. ;-)

CaledonianGonzo

TC - you were a student for a while, weren't you? 

Did all that apply to you as well until the moment you threw in the towel?

TC Raymond

Quote from: nagsworth on November 21, 2007, 05:44:57 PM
Fucking HELL. I'll admit that was a grande effort if you'll do the same for mine. ;-)

Yeah, yours was good too. Pour yourself a drink and join me in my study.

TC Raymond

Quote from: CaledonianGonzo on November 21, 2007, 05:48:17 PM
TC - you were a student for a while, weren't you? 

Did all that apply to you as well until the moment you threw in the towel?

I was a student for three weeks. I was shocked and amazed to discover that college was something like twenty times more conformist and insular than my secondary school ever was, so I fucked off.

alan nagsworth

A VICTORY FOR THE COMMAN MAN!

Hank_Kingsley

Quote from: [banned troll] on November 21, 2007, 05:49:59 PM
I was a student for three weeks. I was shocked and amazed to discover that college was something like twenty times more conformist and insular than my secondary school ever was, so I fucked off.

So...didn't get any tail then? Chin up, we've got adultfriendfinder nowadays!

TC Raymond

Quote from: Hank_Kingsley on November 21, 2007, 05:54:42 PM
So...didn't get any tail then?

Believe it or not, I actually 'pulled' a half-caste girl called Jasmine who was getting a lot of hideous racial abuse from the supposedly "enlightened" student fraternity. Students - all for love and peace and shit like that, but not in their back yard.

Hank_Kingsley

Generalising about people, based on race or what have you, is a very bad thing to do isn't it?

Derek Trucks

To the tune of the Undertones' 'My Perfect Cousin'

Now I know a poster called Kelvin
Verbwhores think his words are manna from heaven
They think he's so witty and sweet
They turn his show up to eleven

He's got a tin bath for a mike
He drives me mad when I hear him on the Skype
It gives me enormous pain
That people find him so funny whilst I am mundane

Oh my perfect poster
I'd like to put him in a turkey roaster
He's the board's pride and joy
Neil's little golden boy


Not that I'm in the least bit bitter or jealous.

TC Raymond

Twats On the Wing

If I had my way
Just for once
I'd rid the fucking world
Of stupid student cunts
And we'd zig zag our way through the streets of the town
Shooting the middle-class braying twats down
Putting the consumerist scum in the ground
And watching for twats on the wing.

Wankers (Three Different Ones)

Stupid, college kid, ha ha charade you are.
You chav scum dole bum, ha ha charade you are.
You used to wear a trakkie and a cap
You're nearly a good laugh,
Almost a comedian,
With your crap Nirvana hoodies,
You've never heard of the Goodies,
You don't have a real chin.
Neck-deep in warm grease
When you're dining at Maccy D's
You're nearly a laugh,
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a TWAT!

Boosh fan, cuntflan
Ha ha, charade you are
You Hoxditch, sad bitch
Ha ha, charade you are
Your ironic hairstyle makes you look a cunt
Sitting there by your Mac screens
Converse trainers and skinny jeans
You like animal whimsy
Your sense of humour's flimsy
You sing the fucking soup song
On the bus with the other mongs
Boosh fan, you're nearly a laugh
Boosh fan, you're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry...

Hey you, lecturers,
Ha ha charades you are.
You PC hectorers,
Ha ha charades you are
You're always whining "not in my back yard!"
You worthless arse candles
With your beards and your sandals
And your CND stickers
You hippy-drippy arse lickers
The Guardian's your Bible
You surf trends for survival
Mr Lentil, you're nearly a treat,
Mr Lentil you're nearly a treat
But you're really a cunt...ah...cu-u-u-unt.


Sheep

Drunkenly passing your time in the union bar;
On;y dimly aware of a certain unease in the air
You'd better watch out!
There may be townies about
You're too busy living in a self-absorbed dream
To notice that things are not what they seem.

What do you get for pretending the danger's not there?
Steal traffic cones and drink real ale and snakebite
And ponce around town with your shitty Electro-twat hair.
What a surprise!
A disdainful look in your eyes.
You see me with my AK-47
Standing outside the seven eleven...

Noel Fielding is my shepherd, I shall not want
He makes me down to lie
About my parents being dead and being a tough Londoner you wankah!
When I come from a respectable Home Counties family
He maketh me to laugh inanely at his gutless lazy surrealist pish
He converteth me to whatever's hip in Hoxditch this week
For lo, He hath great hair, and he is, like, way cool.
But cometh the day the quiet ones
With memories of Python still fresh in their minds
Use us for target practice
Lo, they shall rise up,
And we can listen to the Fratellis on our I-Pods as we hang from the lamp-posts.

Braying and babbling they fell to the ground with a scream
Wave upon wave of demented avengers
March cheerfully out of the shadows and make real a dream

Have you heard the news?
The students are dead!
That'll teach the bastards
To ruin popular culture
Look up overhead, a circling vulture.

Twats On the Wing (Part Two)

You know that I care about your quality of living,
And that a Python DVD is the gift that keeps on giving.
So I don't feel alone,
Or have no friends left to phone,
I've buried those needy cunts
Under the stone
My music collection's come to a good home,
A shelter from twats on the wing.