More Filks in Progress

by Dave Aronson

Cheesteaks and Tastykakes, to the tune of Incense and Peppermints, by, uh, I forget whom....

Cheesesteaks and Tastykakes,
And Goldenberg's chews!
Pretzels with mustard
That drips on your shoes!
...
Who cares how scrapple tastes;
Those parts should have gone to waste!

The Circumcision of Sammy Green isn't a song, but a poem. Close enough, I figger, especially what with how Leslie Fish has put so much of Kipling's poetry to music. Anyhoo, the original for this is The Cremation of Sam McGee, by Robert W. Service.

There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun
by the men who mohel for gelt.
The sharpened knives that take no lives
but cut beneath the belt;
The drop of wine to stop the cryin'
for a manhood never seen;
The Black & Decker wielded at the pecker
when I circumcized Sammy Green.

Now Sammy Green's home was in Queens
where the Yidden shmooze and fress.
How he left New York with an uncut dork
is something I can't guess.
He'd always kvetch, the sorry wretch,
that women liked them trimmed;
"They like a peter not like an anteater
but a helmet slightly brimmed."

On a Purim day we were pushin' our way
to a sale we thought was sure.
Talk of your nerve! With drive and verve
he got a foot in the door.
If a sale we'd miss, commission we'd kiss
goodbye as it left us lean.
It wasn't easy but by far the greasi-
est salesman was Sammy Green.

It's still got quite a ways to go -- there are, if I remember correctly, eighteen verses in the original!

Barney and the PBS, to the tune of This Old Man, old traditional folk classic, especially the dirge-like mangling into "I Love You, You Love Me":

I love you, you love me,
Let's give PBS money,
For our great big ads
Kickbacks from me to you,
Let's make Big Bird pay some too!

Dahmer's Theme, to the tune of Some Enchanted Evening, by I forget who:

Some enchanted evening,
You maim and eat a stranger, (2x)
Stuffed in your crowded fridge....

Dead Lusers, to the tune of Dead Puppies, by I forget who:

Dead lusers,
Dead lusers,
Dead lusers aren't much fun....

They act dumb when they call,
They don't get clues at all,
Dead lusers aren't much fun.

A luser died, late last fall,
Swear it's not my fault at all,
Dead lusers aren't much fun.

Accounts says luser's days are through,
He sent too much spam to you,
Dead lusers aren't, much, fun, no no no no no.....

Eggheads, Nerds, and Geeks, to the tune of Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves, by Cher:

Eggheads, nerds and geeks
We hear it from the players on the team
They call us
Eggheads, nerds and geeks
But every night all the jocks would run around
And drink their IQs down.

Everyone Knows It's Slink, to the tune of Windy, by The Association:

What's walking down the hall and the stairway?
What can walk alone or in pairs?
What is fun for a girl and a boy now?
Everyone knows it's Slinky!

And Slinky has coils that twang,
'Cuz it's jus' a big ol' sprang,
And for the entire gang,
It's so much fun
(It's so much fun....)

Fry Like a Burger, to the tune of Fly Like an Eagle, by The Steve Miller Band

Lime keeps on drippin', drippin', drippin', into my seltzer.... (2x)
I'd like a poppy seed bagel, bagel, bagel, if you please.
Poppy seed bagel, and a shtickele cream cheese.
I'd like a poppy seed bagel, bagel, bagel, and some lox,
Oh, and tomato for wetness!

Pour the seltzer, put in a twist of lime!
Drink it up now, it goes flat over time!
I can't find something relevant to rhyme!
C-O-2 in solution!

Glock-Amore, to the tune of That's Amore, by (unknown), an ode to the world's favorite "Combat Tupperware":

With a polymer frame
And Trijicons for aim,
Glock-amore!

With a fifteen-shot clip
In a not-too-big grip,
Glock-amore!

Gotta Do Some Cleanin', to the tune of California Dreamin', by The Mamas and the Papas:

All the carpet's brown,
And the walls are gray.
I've been for a walk,
At my old place today.
Since I couldn't sell it,
A mortgage I must pay.
Gotta do some cleanin',
That's what the agents say.

Started on the bath,
And headed for the tub.
Well I got down on my knees,
And I began to scrub.
You know the mildew stains are tough ones,
It looks like they're gonna stay.
Gotta do some cleanin',
That's what the agents say.

I Am the Very Model of a Modern Police Officer was part of a post I wrote in response to a police officer who, with the best of intentions but the worst of nettiquette, posted a request for assistance in some case (what it was now escapes me), in an utterly irrelevant forum. Much to his misfortune, said forum was the Fidonet FILK Echo (otherwise known as rec.music.filk). Once you get to the lyrics, the tune is obvious. 

MESSAGE:   115
FROM:      Dave Aronson
TO:        Charles Resch
Subject:   POLICE NEWS
Date:      12 Jun 94  20:54:56

 CR> We understand that this is a specialty Confrence, and we do
 CR> not wish to offend anyone by posting a non-subject message,
 CR> but we feel this message is of great importance to all.

IOW, "but we feel we have the right to do what we damn well please anyway, no matter what rules were set up for you peons to obey". Humph. "Gee, Officer Chuck Resch, FILK YOU!" To wit (say it fast, as in "t'wit"):

I am the very model of a modern police officer
I've posted ads in echoes from the PC in my office, sir.
I've posted them in FILK, PASCAL, and SIP_INCEST_Recovery,
And I'll write ads in many more when I make a discovery!

One day I'll get a clue and only post in echoes where
My ads have some relation to the topic that is talked of there,
Instead of sticking foot in mouth, or power-strip in keyboard,
And find out why I have become surveill'ed by a Mongol horde.

Maybe I'll drag out my old G&S books and get a closer look at the original so I can do it better, but this will do for the meantime. Y'all feel free to add....

(For the musically challenged, the tune is I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General, from the operetta HMS Pinafore, by William Gilbert Arthur Sullivan... though I always forget which did words and which did lyrics.)

I Have a Glock, on how the Isle of Man has much looser gun laws than the UK, to the tune of I Am a Rock, by Simon & Garfunkel:

I have a Glock!
I'm from the iiiiiiisland!
...
And a Glock gives him pain.
And the burglar... always... dies!

I Want a NIC, to the tune of Short Skirt / Long Jacket, by Cake:

I want a NIC with a speed like lightning,
I want a NIC with that passes all tests,
I want a NIC with signal that cuts,
and LEDs that burn like cigarettes.

I want a NIC that uses up allocations,
That is fast, and robust, and easy to hack.
It is sniffing all the traffic,
It is recording passwords,
It is connecting to CVS
And downloading Slack.
I want a NIC with a short startup and a long cable!

I'm A Luger, to the tune of I'm A User, by The Beatles -- that's luger as in "someone who rides a luge", not Luger as in "German pistol":

All of my friends think I'm some kind of nut,
Sliding down ice runs with skates on my butt.
I lie back straight so that I can go fast,
And watch the scen'ry as it whizzes past.

I'm a luger, and I hope to win Olympic gold,
I'm a luger, and the wind-chill makes me really cold....

I'm Driving Over a Four Leaf Clover, to the tune of I'm Looking Over a Four Leaf Clover, by (unknown):

I'm driving over a four-leaf clover
That I've driven o'er before!
One leaf is eastbound, another goes west,
One leaf is northbound, the one I like best!
No need explaining, the one remaining,
I don't need any more,
I'm driving over a four-leaf clover
That I've driven o'er before!

Kick Him Out, about Fidonet echo users asking the moderator to ban someone, to the tune of, um, well, I forget the title, by Paul McCartney:

Somebody's bangin' on the keyboard,
Somebody's bangin' like hell.
Do me a favor, open the door,
And kick him out....

Kix, to the tune of Kicks, by I forget who:

Don't it seem like
Kix cereal sure tastes mighty fine!
But this here box of Kix is all mine!
Before I'm done with this here filk,
girl get me some milk!
I can almost taste it now....

Let it Snoo, to the tune of Let it Snow, by I forget who, tho I think it was most famously sung by Bing Crosby:

Singer:
Oh the Latin for filk is filkus,
Have you ever heard such shpilkus?
And since we've nothing to do,
Let it snoo, let it snoo, let it snoo!
Shill in audience: Snoo? What's snoo?

Singer: Oh, nothin' much. What's snoo with you?

Letter B, to the tune of Let It Be, by The Beatles:

...Mrs. Grundy comes to me,
Speaking words that start with
Letter B!

Letter B, letter B,
Letter B, yeah, letter B!
Speaking words that start with
Letter B!

to the tune of the guitar solo ([lots of stuff I haven't made up yet]... Bilbo Baggins bravely bellows "Boo, bad baboon!")

Letter B, letter B,
Letter B, yeah, letter B!
Brought a billion bucks by
Letter B!

I wouldn't be surprised if someone's beaten me to this on Sesame Street, but what the heck....

Mr. Schrodinger, to the tune of Mrs. Robinson, by Simon & Garfunkel:

And here's to you, Mr. Schrodinger,
Never more I'll trust my cat to you.
Boo-hoo-hoo.
What's that you say, Mr. Schrodinger?
You can't tell if Fluffy's gone away.
Hey hey hey, hey hey hey!

Never Set the Kids On Fire, to the tune of Never Set the Cats On Fire, by, um, Frank Hayes I think:

Never set the kids on fire,
Not even if they're Satan.
It takes decades of therapy
To get through all that hatin'.
And when at last the bill comes due,
They just might do the same to you,
No never set the kids on fire.

And mend your minors,
As legislation may require,
And never set the kids on fire.

November, to the tune of September, from the musical The Fantasticks, by (unknown):

Try to remember
A shmuck in November
Whose liver's white
And belly's yellow;
Try to remember
A shmuck in November...
Don't swallow!

Something someone said in the scary devil monastery inspired My Clue-Stick All Sublime, to the tune of My Object All Sublime, from the operetta The Mikado, by W.S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan:

A more BOFHly syadmin never did in this firm exist!
If you used my systems and you ever dissed 'em you'll be on my $#!^ list!

My clue-stick all sublime
I shall wear out in time,
To lart the lusers who o'eruse MIME, the lusers who o'eruse MIME,
And when I need to vent
I'll give their skulls a dent
Until my LART is severely bent, my LART is severely bent!

(If you don't grok scary devil monastery, clue-stick, BOFH, lart, or luser... be glad.)

Off-key Filksongs, to the tune of the old Armor Hot Dogs jingle, by (unknown):

Filksongs,
Off-key filksongs.
What kind of fen sing off-key filksongs?
Bald fen, cleancut fen, fen with shaggy pates,
Fat fen, skinny fen, even fen who can get dates
sing filksongs,
Off-key filksongs.
The only kind I know!

Our Favorite LARTs, to the tune of My Favorite Things, by (unknown):

Hacksaws and band saws and cleavers and sharp knives,
After the lusers have given up their lives,
BOFHen need ways, to separate parts,
Why not use some of our favorite LARTs?

Dynamite, TNT, nitro and tac-nukes,
Those are too harsh on the poor little dumb pukes.
They hurt machines and they don't leave much meat,
If we use them, then what are we to eat?

When the LARTs fall, when the fools die, when I'm feeling glad,
I just cut them up (not across), and haul them to my pad.

If you don't understand "luser", "BOFH", "LART", and "(not across)"... be glad.

Oxymoronic Things, to the tune of My Favorite Things, by (unknown):

"Milit'ry Intelligence", "Honest Pol'tician",
"Liberal thought" about any position,
"Polite Sarcasm" midst argument's stings,
These are a few oxymoronic things!

The PC Beeps Tonight, about a stupid BBS user paging the sysop late at night, to the tune of The Lion Sleeps Tonight, by (unknown):

In the bedroom,
The quiet bedroom,
The sysop sleeps tonight....

(Go away, go away, go away, go away...)

Near the sysop,
The mighty sysop,
The user beeps tonight....

Ring of the Code, to the tune of King of the Road, by I forget whom:

Got spy stuff when I sent
Boxtops and fifty cents.
No badge, no guns, no gals,
I can't call M-I-5 pals.
Ah, but four hours of homework's done,
Now it's time to have some fun.
Got a vanishing ink pen and
Ring of the code!

Tagline Writer, to the tune of Paperback Writer, by The Beatles (yes, I know these lines are not necessarily in order):

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my line?
It took me hours to write, will you say it's fine?
It's fifty chars, give or take a few,
I'll be writing more in a day or two.
If you really like it, you can steal it now,
It's in a million quote files anyhow.
It's a dirty tag about a dirty man,
Whose PC-illiterate wife doesn't understand.

Take the Honey and Run, to the tune of Take the Money and Run, by the Steve Miller Band:

This here's a story about Tigger and Winnie the Pooh,
Two stuffed animals with nothing better to do.
They'd sit around the Woods, lie back and watch the blue,
And here's what happened when they wanted some sweet goo.

Go on, take the honey and run! (2x)

Technical Things, to the tune of My Favorite Things:

TCP/IP and window subclasses,
Memory leaks that bite us on our asses,
Firewall packets and access-code strings,
These are a few of the technical things....

When the apps crash, when the phone rings,
Users feeling mad,
I simply remember those technical things,
and then I don't feel so bad.

(Chorus credit to Esther Nasjleti.)

They're Coming to Take All My Guns, to the tune of They're Coming to Take Me Away, by Napoleon XIV:

They're coming to take all my guns, ha ha,
They're coming to take all my guns,
ho ho, hee hee, ha ha,
to the melting plant,
where fires are burning bright all the time
and I'll be happy to see
those U.N. troops in their blue berets
and they're coming to take them awaaaaaayyyy!!!

Twelve Days of Chanukah, to the tune of Twelve Days of Christmas, by (unknown):

On the nth day of Chanukah, my true love sent to me...
Twelve dreidels spinning,
11 pickles (kosher),
10 latkes (lumpy),
...
6 gelt a'shining,
Five Goldenbergs!
Fo-our Co-o-hens,
Three Finklesteins,
Two Teitelbaums,
And a dreidel that spins endlessly!

What It Be, to the tune of Let It Be, by The Beatles:

When I find myself in heaps of trouble
Mugging mofos jump at me
Thinking that I dissed 'em, what it be.

And in the streets of darkness
They are standing there all around me.
Thinking that I dissed 'em, what it be.

What it be, what it be, what it be, yeah, what it be!
Damn, I shot and missed 'em, what it be.

Workin' in a Spam Mine, to the tune of Workin' in a Coal Mine, by I forget who:

Workin' in a spam mine, loadin' down down down
Workin' in a spam mine, WHOOPS he's gettin' shut doooooown....
Ten o'clock in the morning, a load of spam is gone,
Come five in the evening, Nyarlathotep's havin' fuuuun, because she's
Workin' in a spam mine, scrollin' down down down
Workin' in a spam mine, WHOOPS he's gettin' shut doooooown....

(Explanation: Nyarlathotep is one of the Evil Abuse Minions (i.e., people who work at their abuse department, under the justly famous Afterburner) at erols.com. Once upon a time, we were corresponding and she ended a note with "Back to the spam mines" and that inspired this....)

More Titles

(see also Silly Lunch Songs)

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