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Subject: 04/30/92 - The National Midnight Star #479 ** Special Edition **
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The National Midnight Star, Number 479
Thursday, 30 April 1992
Today's Topics:
SONG PARODIES (from alt.rock-n-roll)
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[ I culled this out of today's NMS because it made it close to 50K. ]
Date: 28 Apr 92 17:39:39 EDT
From: <bxe2@po.cwru.edu>
Subject: SONG PARODIES (from alt.rock-n-roll)
Enjoy these, fellow Rush fans!
[ Woof, this is a long post, but I figure it's worth it. Actually, Tom
is a member of our hallowed halls also. How come we haven't seen these
yet, Tom??? :-) Hope you don't mind Brian posting these over here.
I'll be pulling them out and adding them to the spoof file of Rush lyrics
I have somewhere, probably in the rush/special directory at the ftp site
(if it's not there now, it will be soon...) :rush-mgr ]
--- Forwarded message follows ---
From: lindaman4833@iscsvax.uni.edu
Newsgroups: alt.rock-n-roll
Subject: More Rush Parody Lyrics
Date: 28 Apr 92 15:00:48 -0500
Summary: Some wild, wacky stuff. RUSH FLAMES NEED NOT RESPOND
With the wave of parody song lyrics on this newsnet, I felt compelled to write
some of my own to particular Rush favorites of mine. This is NOT meant as a
flame on Rush fans 'cause I am one myself. It is merely an attempt to make a
fan or two smile and brighten their days (how sickening). At any rate, here we
go!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HEADLINE (sung to the tune of "Dreamline")
He's got a picture of UFOs,
Alien invaders from Mars,
Landing by the freeway.
She's got a tape recorder taping,
Catching every word
These little green guys say.
We travel like a big pack of wild dogs
Scraping up whatever dirt we can find or create
Like Phil and Geraldo
And the others seen from state to state
But we keep up by finding Bigfoot's mate.
Bigfoot's mate.
He has to call back his editor
>From a cheap motel
Not far from the freeway.
She gets kidnapped by the Martians
Taken to another world
For further analysis.
We travel on the road to Graceland
A highway packed with mobile homes and Winnebagoes
Like Sally and Oprah
Listening to guys named Moe
Saying Elvis now lives in Ohio.
Ohio.
We are dumb
Travelling the face of the Earth,
Looking for that small bit of dirt
About Michael Jackson or Madonna
Or Michael Landon's ghost.
We are scum.
Making up stuff about the starsd
Driving little cheapo cars
Wishing that we wouldn't have gotten
A mail order degree.
Time to smear a famous movie star
Run him through the muck, after crashing his new car.
Drinking, drugs, violence, and sex tapes
Used to ruin people's lives
For the sake of a few bucks.
We fabricate as much as we can
'Cause we have no scruples, morals, or ethical sense.
Like the "Globe" and "Enquirer"
We like throwing mud a presidents.
It's easy money when people are so dense.
Are so dense.
Here we come
Hiding in bushes and trees
Acting like ultimate sleeze
Taking pictures of people and doctoring film.
You can't run.
We know where you might hide.
We have no sense of pride.
Journalistic integrity is thrown out the door.
When we are done,
You'll wish you would just die.
Our never-blinking eye
Will continue to make your life
Into a living hell.
"Elvis Seen in Dayton, Ohio"
And other headlines designed to grab your last two bucks
Like Maury and Geraldo
We keep going only by total luck
Those who believe us are total schmucks
Total schmucks.
NEED SOME SPAM (sung to the tune of "Need Some Love")
Shoppin' here, I'm shoppin' there
I'm looking for the can.
There's nothing I need, nothing I want
To make me feel like a man.
I need it quick and I need it bad
Or else I will waste away
That's why I need that mystery meat
Each and every day.
CHORUS
OOO, I need some Spam
I said, I need some SPAM
OOO, I need some Spam
Packed tight with that funky clear jam
Driving here, I'm driving there
I've been searching for about a week.
'Cause no store in my town carries the stuff
And people think I'm a freak.
Well, I need some Spam to keep me alive
'Cause it's all I eat all day
I like it fried or boiled or baked or zapped
And many other ways.
REPEAT CHORUS TWICE
TOAST ON A LANCE (sung to the tune of "Ghost of a Chance")
Like a million little toasters
All the toast that we make
All the impolite customers
All the crap we take.
Oh so many different vocations
We could have occupied
Instead of working for peanuts
At this cheezy dive.
Somehow we found each other
By the backroom wall
Somehow we keep on working
Cleaning up the floor with a mop and broom.
CHORUS
I don't want to be a manager
At this nowhere dead end job
I don't like the new shift boss
Who is a big fat brain-dead slob
I don't want to be the Employee of the Month
And wear this stupid plastic name-tag
I want to quit this job at Toast on a Lance
And work where they put food in a bag, but I need cash.
But, I need cash.
Like a million little jellies
Spilled all over the floor
I wanna quit this stupid job
And walk out that door.
But my guidance councellor told me
I had no skills at all.
But what do you expect from someone
Living next to a mall?
Somehow I'll get a job
Where they'll treat me right
But for now I'm a mop jockey
Serving urban blight for $1.50 an hour.
REPEAT CHORUS
I want to quit at Toast on a Lance
And put food in a bag, for some real cash
REPEAT AD NAUSEUM
JAM THE PHONES (sung to the tune of "Roll the Bones")
Well, you can buy this crap
It's cheap and it won't work when you want it.
Smokeless Ashtrays and Pocket Fishermen galore
We've got diamelles
On cheap 14-karet pinky rings
They'll turn your fingers green
If you wear them too long.
You tune in to watch the crap that we are selling
When you buy stuff our bankbook keeps swelling
What you really bought, well we're not telling.
Jam the phones. Jam the phones.
Why are we rich? Because you're dumb
Jam the phones. Jam the phones.
Why do you watch us? You have no life, so
Jam the phones. Jam the phones.
Crates of Ginsu knives
Brought over with the Bamboo Steamers
Imported from Taiwan, from a guy named Egg Fu Yung
We got Slim Whitman tapes
Of him doing songs from Guns n Roses
And Boxcar Willie doing disco's greatest hits.
You pay for all the cool stuff we keep on buying.
We eat caviar while your food is frying
We will laugh at you while you keep on crying.
Jam the phones. Jam the phones.
What do we love? The impulse buy
Jam the phones. Jam the phones.
Are we remorseful? Not on your life!
Jam the phones. Jam the phones.
Our favorite words? Charge it please.
Jam the phones. Jam the phones.
Why do you listen?
Jack, relax.
Just sit there with your snacks.
Don't strain your backs or put on slacks
Just sit ther and smoke cigarettes in packs.
Face the facts.
You brain is extremely lax.
Add correct sales tax, you dig.
Don't drive around
Looking for that blonde-headed wig.
No action or reaction
Don't get put in traction
Or you'll lose interaction
With our superstar attraction
Mr. Max
You better run, phone boy.
We got some jerk all the way from Nome, boy.
What a spiel
To sell a deal.
When the phones are hot
Buy our stock.
Credit cards,
Going into hock
Bank is folding
When the money's gone
Don't go scolding
Whether platinum or golden
It's as good as gold
That's cold.
Fake diamond stones
Machines to make real waffle cones
So get out there and dial
And jam the phones.
Get busy.
Jam the phones.
Why are we here? To make cash
Jam the phones. Jam the phones.
Why does it happen? 'Cause you're stupid
Jam the phones. Jam the phones.
REPEAT AD NAUSEUM
THE BIG MAC (sung to the tune of "The Big Wheel")
Well, I was only a kid
Didn't know enough to turn away.
Needed cash,
But couldn't find another way.
Nothing to lose.
Gonna learn the fast food trade
The way the Big Mac fries.
Well, I was only a kid
With a mop in my hand.
Geeky look.
Weird colors on a human gland.
Taking orders
For food that tastes really bland
'Til I get my butt canned.
CHORUS
Cooking up fries.
I cannot wait 'til break time
Serving up food
And hoping that nobody dies
Burgers on fire
Looking for a fire extinguisher
Spritzing the grill
The way the Big Mac fries.
Well, I was only a kid
Rushing 'round in a trance
Hiding from friends
Making fun at my circumstance
I wanted Rush tickets
But I only had three bucks in my pants
The way the Big Mac fries.
Well, I was only a kid
Had to trash all my plans
I'm still broke
Working at this burger stand
Looking for heaven
And an on-the-job romance
But I work with three Stans
REPEAT CHORUS
Patties round
Frying on a silver grill
Taking no chances on these suckers burning
And the noon rush hour begins
Rushing 'round
Putting food on plastic trays
Feeling dejected at pay unexpected
Less than $2.75 for an hour
The way the Big Mac fries.
REPEAT CHORUS
Well, that's it for now. What do you Rush fans think? Just e-mail me your
responses. Thanks.
Tom Lindaman
"I'm not one to believe in magic,
But I sometimes have a second sight."
---"Presto" by Rush
--- End of forwarded message ---
bxe2@po.cwru.edu
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End of The National Midnight Star Number 479
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