“Have yourself a Cruddy Covid Christmas”
(New Lyrics for old Songs)
By
David Gottfried
SPECIAL NOTE: The formatting rules and procedures on this site are constantly changing (You know the drill: If it ain’t broke, web designers will change something to confuse people). I try to clearly delineate my stanzas, but whether something is single spaced or double spaced is subject to quirks that I have yet to discern.
New lyrics for “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”
Have yourself a cruddy covid Christmas /
Put your masks on tight
From now on
A Kiss fills us with Fright
Have yourself a cruddy covid Christmas
Play with your sex toys
In the morn
We’ll be out of girls and boys
Have yourself a cruddy covid Christmas
Sterile and pristine
Forget the quaffs
Just toast your very next vaccine
Have yourself a cruddy covid Christmas
Stay out in the cold
People indoors
Mean infections oh so bold.
Have yourself a cruddy Covid Christmas
Courtesy of Santa Trump
On this land
He Took a very cosmic dump
To Be Sung to the Tune of the Hokey Pokey
(A Meditation on the Vulgarity of New York Liberalism)
You Evict a shvatza in Brooklyn, evict a shvatza in the Bronx
You do insider trading
And you vote for Mayor Koch
You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself about
That's vat it’s all about
You have a house over here, you have a house over there
You have so many houses and you have a good time.
Darling if you're jealous we'll really feel sublime
That's what it’s all about
We live in Great Neck. We live in Scarsdale
We live so ritzy bitchy and vee dress to the nines
And when ve are faggots we're in Fire Island Pines
That's what it’s all about
We may be doctors. We may be lawyers
We may be very ordinary millionaire crooks
And when the IRS comes we'll really fix the books
That's what it’s all about
We're so liberal. We're so progressive
We wear a red ribbon and ve always vote Democratic
We get a lot of gelt for being so bureaucratic
That's what it's all about
We put welfare. The whole family
In oneroom rat traps and get four grand a month in rent
Our bourgeois liberalism is so delightfully bent
That what it’s all about
FROM MOTOWN TO FARAKHAN
(To be sung to the tune of "Stop! In the Name of Love.")
Kill, in the name of Hate and have a holy war
Think it o o ver
I used to be for good race relations
Even in the sixties conflagrations
But now I'm a real bitch baby
And I think that peace scene was crazy
So I follow Farakhan
And await my master's plan
Kill, in the name of Hate and have a holy war
Kill, in the name of Hate and have a holy war
Think it o o ver, Think it o o ver
I liked Motown and nice old Hubert Humphrey
The Apollo, ribs and dancing so real free
But the Koran told me that was decadent
And to bow to draconian precedent
Kill, in the name of Hate and have a holy war
Kill, in the name of Hate and have a holy war
Think it o o ver, Think it o o ver
My sequins shimmered on Ed Sullivan's show
All alive like the very, very best blow
But now I wear a somber black shroud
And am a peon in this mad and bad crowd.
Kill, in the name of Hate and have a holy war
Kill, in the name of Hate and have a holy war
Think it o o ver, Think it o o ver
New lyrics to “I Feel Pretty” from WestSide Story
I feel vicious, Oh so vicious, oh so vicious and vicious and mean
With such spleen I shall make such a scene
I am raging and rampaging with waves of cascading hate
And this passion you can never douse or abate
I am evil, and medieval, yes I dream of the rack and the axe
To torture and debaucher you to the max
I am stunning, with a stun gun, that can burn your body to bits
And my war plans rival Clausewitz
So start bowing, and kowtowing, and prostrate yourself to me
Oh Victoria would be green at my jubilee
I am howling, I am glowering, my eyes' glare like Jezebel's gems
And your swords are cut down to their stubby stems
New lyrics for the theme song for Green Acres, a situation comedy from the 1960’s
(Written upon reading that Yasir Arafat’s wife preferred living in Paris)
Suha Arafat’s part (modeled on Eva Gabor’s part):
I want to live in Paris France
I have to go every dance
I am a woman oh so chic
Marvel at my Arab-French mystique
Yasir Arafat:
I sow war in the Wild West
At mayhem, I’m the very best
I’m king of all the terrorists
Keep Paris and its polemicists
Suha Arafat:
I hate Islamic laws on food
It puts me in a foul mood
I want to eat some crème brulee
Don fine minks and waltz and sashay
Yasir Arafat:
Oh Suha I do understand
You require a delicate land
Something apt for a stately queen
Living rich and really quite obscene
Suha Arafat:
Send me money hubbie Arafat
Big fat checks that show some tact
I must indulge in luxury
Being a bitch is simply my destiny
The shows
The blows
Jihad
Pernod
You are my wife
Good bye Paris life
Ramallah we are here
A satire on Hospitals, sung to the tune of “Thanks for the Memories”
We are the hospitals
So checks the codicils
Of all your freaking wills
We'll only send you bills
Oh darling this instills
The terror we love
The nurse adores her fingernail
They move like a snail
Your face is deathly pale
The bread is ghastly stale
You drop your urine pail
The doctors are in the Hamptons
We have infections everywhere
For cleaning we don't care
Microbes glide through the air
Ready to trap you in their snare
And wreck you beyond repair
Oh darling, that's life
We didn't look at the lab test
But don't be a rotten pest
Although we wrecked you like the rest
Yes you're ruined at our behest
Shout and your're subject to arrest
Oh darling, we're too busy investing
We are bloomingdale's bitches
Adorned with all our riches
We laugh till we're in stitches
And put you in your niches
Which are coffins in the ditches
Oh darling, we want more caviar
David Gottfried, Copyright, 1985 to 2021
Very clever, albeit depressing "lyrics", David. did you grow up reading Mad Magazine as I did?