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Archive for the ‘Songs – Humorous’ Category

THE WORST SONG EVER WRITTEN

©2017 David Lefkowitz

I love you
I love you-woo-woo
I love you
I’ll always be true-ue-ue

You have got me
Oh so high
Floating in the big blue sky
I’m so glad I’ve won your love
I shout to the heavens above.

You’re so divine
Will you say that you’re mine?
Our love is so fine
It’s one of a kind
Never go away
Believe me when I say that

I love you
I love you-woo-woo
I love you
I’ll always be true-ue-ue

You are like a work of art
You make joy-joy in my heart
I’m so glad you are my girl
Greatest in the whole wide worl’

You are the best
And it’s not just your breasts
You are so sweet
From your hair to your feet

You’re the girl I adore
I’ll repeat what I sang just before:

I love you
I love you-woo-woo
I love you
I’ll always be true-ue-ue

Doo-wah-diddy dum-day-voo
Shooby dooby dooby doo
Tra la la la boom day-oo
Vo-dee-o do-do I love you
Vo-dee-o do-do I love you.

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SEX WITH A CHICKEN

©2017 David Lefkowitz

I’d rather have sex with a chicken

Than not have any sex at all

I’d rather get fucked

By an eiderdown duck

Than not have a partner to ball.

And yet, even though I am lonely

And forced to get mates at the zoo

I’d sooner depend on these four-legged friends

Than go on a sex date with you.

Your face and your body disgust me

I honestly wish you were dead

I’d sooner be torn

By a rhino’s great horn

Than lower myself to your bed

And therefore, if given the choice, dear

To sample your physical charms

I’d first stick my dong in a dying dugong

Than spend the night stuck in your arms

I’d rather be blown by a blowfish

Or poked by a porcupine’s prick

Than touch any part of your body

The thought of it makes me so sick, sick, sick, sick, sick

I’d rather give head to a head louse

Be clawed in the face by a toad

I’d rather be gored by a boar, you old whore

Than give you a trace of my load

I’d rather be raped by a rape fish

Or banged by a fat kangaroo

I’d rather be lickin’ a chicken, you wiccan,

Than stickin’ my dick into you.

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NOTES & BACKSTORY:

It took me literally years to finish this song. I had the opening lines, melody, and chicken finale for ages, but everything in between came in dribs and drabs until I finally tied it all together on a summer afternoon in 2017. There’s a little bit of Weird Al Yankovic’s “One More Minute” and Tom Lehrer’s “When You are Old and Gray” in here, but I really can’t blame anyone else for this but myself.

 

 

 

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THE KOSHER HOT DOG PICNIC

Come all, come one
And let’s all have some fun
At the Sons of Israel Kosher Hot Dog Picnic

There’s games, there’s rides
Balloons and slip `n’ slides
At the Sons of Israel Kosher Hot Dog Picnic

You can run a race
A clown will paint your face
There’s animals to touch
Like billy goats and such

So come and have no fear
Forget about last year
When . . .

Little Jenny Tate was beaten and raped
At the Kosher hot dog picnic

Eliezer Spitz was hacked into bits
At the Kosher hot dog picnic

Lisa and Beth were bludgeoned to death
At the Kosher hot dog picnic

Crystal and Brie were lynched from a tree
At the Kosher hot dog picnic


Now, most of these deaths weren’t planned
Things just got out of hand when…

Benjamin Scharf was choked with his scarf
At the Kosher hot dog picnic

Zev and Ari were injected with curare
At the Kosher hot dog picnic

Gail and Mike were impaled on a spike
At the Kosher hot dog picnic

Morris and Dave had to dig a deep grave
At the Kosher hot dog picnic



It’s best not to talk of those times
And the folks who committed the crimes
Like . . .

Old Rabbi Wax who went apeshit with an ax
At the Kosher hot dog picnic

We saw the Rebbetzin with blood on her chin
At the Kosher hot dog picnic

The head of the Sisterhood was up to no good
At the Kosher hot dog picnic

Vile degradation for the whole congregation
At the Kosher hot dog picnic

But that was then
It won’t happen again
At the Sons of Israel Kosher Hot Dog Picnic

Don’t be shy
You’re unlikely to die
At the Sons of Israel Kosher Hot Dog Picnic



So Claire and Freddy
Have your tickets ready

It’s only fifty cents
To go into the tents

It’s the perfect summer day
To come along and play . . .
At the Kosher hot dog picnic.

©2017 David Lefkowitz

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NOTES & BACKSTORY:
In 2016, I received an email from our local shul that they were inviting congregants and friends to a completely innocent Kosher hot dog picnic. Immediately, the refrain and Jenny Tate line began running through my disturbed head. However, I didn’t flesh the rest of the song out till a summer later. (By the way, when I lived on Long Island, the local conservative temple was called “Sons of Israel,” but any relation to events, fictional or otherwise, is purely etc. etc.)
I see this song as a modern cousin to Tom Lehrer’s “Irish Ballad” and “My Hometown” in that the depravities accumulate and worsen one by one—as well they should.

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SANDY DUNCAN’S EYE

(c)2017 David Lefkowitz

Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye

It fits in
her pocket
When not in
Her socket

Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye

The bad one
The good one
The glass one
The wood one

Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye
The children play “I Spy”
with Sandy Duncan’s Eye

The scalpel
incision
The zero-20 vision

Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye
I’m Rocky Mountain High
on Sandy Duncan’s Eye

The pupil
The iris
Opaque as
papyrus

Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye
You won’t find a stye
in Sandy Duncan’s Eye

The years
Go by
The tears
run dry

Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Milkier than chai
is Sandy Duncan’s Eye

Peeka Boo
She can’t see you

Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye

Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye
Sandy Duncan’s Eye
It’s time to go bye-bye.

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SONG: Jerree

JERREE

(c)2017 David Lefkowitz

(to be sung in the voice of a spastic)

 

Jerree!
Jerry Lewis!
When you gonna let me in your house?

Jerry!
Jerry Lewis!
I will be as quiet as a mouse.

 

I just want cookies and pie
You are my favorite guy!

 

Jerry!
Jerry Lewis!
I just love to watch you on TV

Jerry!
Jerry Lewis!
Maybe you can find a room for me

 

You said that I was your buddy
Why are you treating me cruddy?

Oh-woe
You have done so much for all the kids
Even ones who flop around like squids
Just because I live inside a chair
Doesn’t mean I can’t go everywhere

 

When my last treatment is through
Why can’t I come live with you?

 

Oh-woe
You could sing and do a funny dance
You could teach me how to change my pants
I could be your bestest bestest bro
Like I was when I was on your show

 

Jerry!
Jerry Lewis!
How come you don’t answer my postcards?

Jerry!
Jerry Lewis!
Maybe you don’t really like retards

Jerry
Jerry
Jerry (fade out)

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NOTES & BACKSTORY:

In a weird way—and even though I was never a big fan—Jerry Lewis has been a running theme in my life. For two years when I was a child, I sat on the front stoop of our apartment building and collected money for Jerry’s MD telethon. To this day, I’m not sure what motivated me to do that other than the cult of Lewis’s personality. (It’s not like I spent any other mornings raising money for cancer or lupus.) And sure, I’d watch his movies, with and without Dean, when they were on afternoon TV.

But Jerry cropped up again when I was in the comedy-rock band, The Moist Sheep. We opened our first (and semi-only) show with a (mostly instrumental) song penned by other members of the band. It was called “The Jerry Lewis Telethon Hop” and was a bouncy number punctuated by occasional yelps of “Nice Lady!” I played keyboard and merrily joined in the yelping.

 Many years later, when “Jerry’s Kids” had long become a meme to envelope not just children with muscular dystrophy but retarded and developmentally disabled tykes of all stripes, the idea of a little retarded boy forlornly calling “Jerreeeee! Jerreeee!” took hold of my demented consciousness. Soon thereafter, I developed the idea for a song about a kid who goes on the telethon and mistakes Jerry Lewis’s kindness and solicitude for a more long-term invitation. The line, “Jerry! Jerry Lewis! When you gonna lemme in your house?”, came to me quickly. The rest of the song lay dormant, I kid you not, for nearly two decades. Spookily enough, I buckled down and finished “Jerry” in the summer of 2017, just a few weeks before Jerry Lewis went to the great Copa in the sky.

 

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THE MOST OFFENSIVE SONG EVER WRITTEN

© 2017 David Lefkowitz

I fucked Jesus in the asshole
Asshole asshole
I fucked Jesus in the asshole
And he cried out, “Oh, my God!”

Mary’s suckin’ on his wing-wang
Wing-wang, wing-wang
Mary’s suckin’ on his wing-wang
And he’s fondling her bod.

Don’t call me a blasphemer
Don’t call me a meanie
It’s not my fault if
Jesus Christ has a teeny-weeny weenie

God is fisting mother Mary
Hairy, scary
God is fisting mother Mary
And she cums like she’s possessed.

Matthew fucks just like a retard
Retard, can’t get hard
Matthew fucks just like a retard
And he blows on Joseph’s chest

There ain’t nothing sacred
There ain’t nothing holy
I’d fuck my mom
With the business end of a bottle of Stoli

Hitler’s fingering Anne Frank
What a skank
What a stank!
Hitler’s fingering Anne Frank
While her daddy watches and wanks

Let’s go lynch ourselves a nigger
Nigger, nigger
Let’s go lynch ourselves a nigger
And force her dad to say, “thanks.”

Go `head, be self-righteous
I won’t be defensive
Once you’ve thought it
Any idea isn’t that offensive.

I fucked Jesus in the asshole
Asshole asshole
I fucked Jesus in the asshole
Now you can’t un-hear this song.

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SONG: Oh Dat Ben

OH DAT BEN

©2015 David Lefkowitz

When I be nine years old, I hit my momma with a hammer.
When I be ten years old, I bashed my brother with a brick.
When I be eleven years old, I went apeshit with a baseball bat.
Oh lawd, I remember.
Vote for me in November.

When I be twelve years old, I hit my momma with another hammer.
When I be thirteen years old, I stabbed a classmate in the hip.
When I be fourteen years old, somehow I got hold of yet another hammer.
Oh lawd, I remember.
Vote for me in November.

But now I’s a different man, and I gots no anger
I’s got a Yale degree, and I done surgery
So listen, America, from Maine to Alabama
Vote Ben Carson.
And hide yo’ motherfucking hammers.

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