Few people know this outside of my immediate family, who rarely speak of it, but I love messing with the lyrics to perfectly good songs.
This usually manifests with spontaneous alternate words to nursery rhymes and kid’s songs, like the Pumpkin Carols I’ve mentioned and a couple of personalized things,* plus basic variations on Go to sleep, go to sleep, let your cries sto-op, go to sleep, please go to sleep, ‘cause your Mom’s about to drop set to Brahm’s Lullaby.
I also do one holiday song a year for my department at the library,** but they don’t know it’s a habit.
The rest I write and tuck away, hoping that one day in the middle of a concert Weird Al Yankovic will sprain a vocal chord and develop temporary aphasia and the worried theater manager will come on stage and ask, “Is there a demented lyricist in the house?” And I will stand and say, “Why, yes! I’m a demented lyricist! And I brought my bassoon!”
Oh, yes. I have dreams.
So a week or so ago, one of the few people*** who know my shameful secret asked me why I always “mess about with old, stodgy stuff nobody knows anymore”^ and dared me to write new lyrics to a something released in the last five years. On the topic of her choice.
Being an incredibly huge nerd, as well as one of my dearest friends^^ she chose Star Wars.
And then she double-dog dared me to post it on my blog. Or she’d teach her firstborn child—due in six months—to call me Auntie Weenie.
Auntie. Weenie. This from a woman who was once scared of matzoh.
Honey, it is so on.
(With my deepest apologies to Katy Perry and George Lucas)
This was never the way I planned
To celebrate the Alliance
I got so brave, drink in hand
Wanted to show my defiance
It’s not what I’m used to
Just wanna try you on
I’m curious—but I’ll swear you to silence.I kissed a Wookie–I liked it, the tickle of his furry mustache.
I kissed a Wookie to try it–I hope that Han don’t mind it.
It felt so wrong, it felt so right, won’t be flying a Solo tonight
I kissed a walking carpet.
I liked it.I love how you howl my name
Your volume flatters
You’re my experimental game
Just rebel nature.
Not what a princess does
Not how Senators behave (Ha!)
My senses get confused
Don’t ever shave . . .I kissed a Wookie–I liked it, the tickle of his furry mustache.
I kissed a Wookie to try it–I hope that Han don’t mind it.
It felt so wrong, it felt so right, won’t be flying a Solo tonight
I kissed a walking carpet.
I liked it.Wookies are so debonair, that howl, that hair, so kissable
Hard to resist, so pet-able, too good to deny it
Ain’t no big deal, he’s a co-pilot.I kissed a Wookie–I liked it, the tickle of his furry mustache.
I kissed a Wookie to try it–I hope that Han don’t mind it.
It felt so wrong, it felt so right, won’t be flying a Solo tonight
I kissed a walking carpet.I liked it.
Okay, Siobhan, now get your rear to the States—you owe me dinner. And all of these nice people an apology.
___
*Do you see that baby in the window?
The one with the curly, curly hair?
That’s my Sunny-baby in the window—
I’d miss her if she wasn’t there.
(to How Much is That Doggie, etc.)
**“Patrons We have Heard on High” and “I want a Genealogy for Christmas.” This year, I’m thinking, “I had a Little Patron, who turned my hair all gray.”
***Before I confessed online. Gotta stop doing that.
^It’s called covering my rear, honey. And if the ‘eighties are old, stodgy stuff, then what precisely does that make us?
^^If you suspect this isn’t an oxymoron, you’d be right. If you suspect that most of my friends glory in shoving me of out my Comfort Zone, you’d also be right. I’m very lucky.
Earful of Cider 