Some songs have lyrics that are so unusual or funny that they just make you stop when you really listen to them. So post the really funny or wierd ones. Here's a start: The Hedgehog Can Never be buggered at all Terry Pratchett with some verses added by others Old Noah was mucking the Ark out one day when he heard a great shriek from the neighboring stall. Said he to poor Ham, who was hugging his loins, "Ah, the hedgehog, my boy, can't be buggered at all." Chorus Roll them all over and turn them around, The hedgehog can never be buggered at all. * The sheep is a classic, as well you may find, the llama's all right if he isn't too tall, the donkey's a danger for standing behind, but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. You may pounce on the cat as he walks by his lone, the mole has a hole into which you can crawl, you must blindfold the basilisk or turn into stone, but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. The sow is a darling, so slick and so tight, to cuddle and kiss as you lie next the wall, but she don't chew the cud, so you'd better not bite, and the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. * The squirrel requires the climbing of trees, which puts you at risk of a slip and a fall. The dog's man's best friend if you don't mind the fleas, but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. * You can do it with a frog in a puddle or pool, though you might catch a cold in your whatchamacall- it, or with a giraffe if you stand on a stool, but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. The rhino is often... reluctant... to flirt; the termite's a challenge because he's so small you might wash him away with your very first squirt; but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. * The bonobo monkey is willing to hump: he'll do all his friends, both the large and the small, and he'll do it to you if you show him your rump, but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. * The humans are out, if you value your life: it's incest, my son, since we're relatives all... unless you'd make love to your very own wife! But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. * I don't recommend that you tackle the skunk. I did once myself, I'm ashamed to recall; I must have been EXtr'ordinARily drunk! But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. The kangaroo's pocket can carry your tool though her kick may propel you clean over the wall. The platypus lurks in the muck of his pool but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. The camel is likely to spit in your face, but don't take it bad, for it ain't personAL: he simply detests the entire human race, and the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. As a friend to the children, commend me the Yak; he's perfect to start them on when they are small, for they cannot slip off of his very broad back, but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. You can take a wild ride on a wild catamount if your ears can stand up to his wild caterwaul. You can poke your own fist, but that really don't count, and the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. Take care when you lift up the elephant's tail or beware of the fate that else may befall: if you pick the wrong end you could wind up impaled! But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. To futter the bat you must take to the air. She'll flutter her wings and go into a stall and pitch you off into God-only-knows-where, but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. * The billygoat's habits, though pungent and weird, you've got to accept if it's him that you'd ball: he don't use cologne, he just cums in his beard, and the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. The guinea pig's timid, and brainless to boot, he's worse than no use in a ruckus or brawl, but you can't pass him up 'cause he's so bloody cute! But the hedgehog can never be buggered at all. * You can bugger a whale if you're willing to swim or an ORanguTANG if you hang from a limb; or make time with a snail if you slow... to... a... crawl..., ... but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all! :roflmao:Sorry its long but:roflmao: :roflmao:
Ok, this song isn't funny, but the lyrics are a bit weird/odd....btw this song kicks ass!! i love it! it's "Barracuda" by Heart------- btw this is a very good lyric site: www.lyricsfreak.com So this aint the end - I saw you again today I had to turn my heart away Smiled like the sun - Kisses for real And tales - it never fails! You lying so low in the weeds I bet you gonna ambush me Youd have me down down down down on my knees Now wouldnt you, barracuda? Back over time we were all Trying for free You met the porpoise and me No right no wrong, selling a song- A name, whisper game. If the real thing dont do the trick You better make up something quick You gonna burn burn burn burn it to the wick Ooooooh, barracuda? Sell me sell you the porpoise said Dive down deep down to save my head You...i think you got the blues too. All that night and all the next Swam without looking back Made for the western pools - silly fools! If the real thing dont do the trick No, you better make up something quick You gonna burn burn burn burn it to the wick Ooooooohhhh, barra barracuda. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.
Detachable Penis I woke up this morning with a bad hangover And my penis was missing again. This happens all the time. It's detachable. [background singing begins: "detachable penis" over and over] This comes in handy a lot of the time. I can leave it home, when I think it's gonna get me in trouble, or I can rent it out, when I don't need it. But now and then I go to a party, get drunk, and the next morning I can't for the life of me remember what I did with it. First I looked around my apartment, and I couldn't find it. So I called up the place where the party was, they hadn't seen it either. I asked them to check the medicine cabinet 'cause for some reason I leave it there sometimes But not this time. So I told them if it pops up to let me know. I called a few people who were at the party, but they were no help either. I was starting to get desperate. I really don't like being without my penis for too long. It makes me feel like less of a man, and I really hate having to sit down every time I take a leak. After a few hours of searching the house, and calling everyone I could think of, I was starting to get very depressed, so I went to the Kiev, and ate breakfast. Then, as I walked down Second Avenue towards St. Mark's Place, where all those people sell used books and other junk on the street, I saw my penis lying on a blanket next to a broken toaster oven. Some guy was selling it. I had to buy it off him. He wanted twenty-two bucks, but I talked him down to seventeen. I took it home, washed it off, and put it back on. I was happy again. Complete. People sometimes tell me I should get it permanently attached, but I don't know. Even though sometimes it's a pain in the ass, I like having a detachable penis.
We were at a party His ear lobe fell in the deep Someone reached in and grabbed it It was a rock lobster We were at the beach Everybody had matching towels Somebody went under a dock And there they saw a rock It wasn't a rock It was a rock lobster Motion in the ocean His air hose broke Lots of trouble Lots of bubble He was in a jam S'in a giant clam Down, down Underneath the waves Mermaids wavin' Wavin' to mermen Wavin' sea fans Sea horses sailin' Dolphins wailin' Red snappers snappin' Clam shells clappin' Muscles flexin' Flippers flippin' Down, down Let's rock! Boy's in bikinis Girls in surfboards Everybody's rockin' Everybody's fruggin' Twistin' 'round the fire Havin' fun Bakin' potatoes Bakin' in the sun Put on your noseguard Put on the lifeguard Pass the tanning butter Here comes a stingray There goes a manta-ray In walked a jelly fish There goes a dogfish Chased by a catfish In flew a sea robin Watch out for that piranha There goes a narwhal Here comes a bikini whale!
The Gift, by the Velvet Underground (yes, this is actually a song) Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now mid-August which meant that he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had to show were three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls. True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin and he to Locust, Pennsylvania she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful. But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his printed quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes, As he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothings of some Neanderthal, Finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the human mind could bear. Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn't understand who she really was. He, Waldo, alone, understood this. He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile, and she needed him, and he wasn't there. (Awww.) The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers Parade was scheduled to appear. He had just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons lawn for a dollar-fifty And had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha. There was nothing more than a circular form the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America inquiring into his awning needs. At least they cared enough to write. It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails. Then it struck him: he didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself parcel post special delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a medium sized cardboard box, just right for a person of his build. He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few airholes, some water, a selection of midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as going tourist. By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock. He'd marked the package "FRAGILE" and as he sat curled up inside, resting in the foam rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha's face as she opened the door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thud in a truck and then he was off. Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about it though. After it was over he'd said that he still respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way of nature and even though no, he didn't love her, he did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo -- but that seemed many years ago. Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend walked in through the porch screen door into the kitchen. "Oh God, it's absolutely maudlin outside." "Ugh, I know what you mean, I feel all icky." Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face. "I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but," she wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like throwing up." Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she'd seen on television. "God, don't even talk about that." She got up from the table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than steak." And attempted to touch her knees. "I don't think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again." She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported the telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," she said to Sheila's glance. Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. "After last night, I thought maybe you'd be through with him." "I know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place." She gestured, raising her arms upward in defense. "The thing is after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all he didn't really do anything Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him, you know what I mean." She started to scratch. Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth. "I'll tell you, I felt the same way, and even after a while," she bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to," and now she was laughing very loudly. It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang the door bell of the large stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen-cent tip that Marsha had gotten out of her mothers small beige pocket book in the den. "What do you think it is?" Sheila asked. Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. S he stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room. "I don't know." Inside the package Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the center of the carton. "Why don't you look at the return address and see who it is from?" Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating footsteps. It would be soon. Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. "Ugh, God, it's from Waldo!" "That schmuck," said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation. "Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the stapled flap. "Ahh, shit," said Marsha groaning. "He must have nailed it shut." They tugged at the flap again. "My God, you need a power drill to get this thing opened." They pulled again. "You can't get a grip!" They both stood still, breathing heavily. "Why don't you get the scissors," said Sheila. Marsha ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs and when she came back, she had a large sheet-metal cutter in her hand. "This is the best I could find." She was very out of breath. "Here, you do it. I'm gonna die." She sank into a large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily. Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of the cardboard, but the blade was too big and there wasn't enough room. "Godamn this thing!" she said feeling very exasperated. Then, smiling, "I got an idea." "What?" said Marsha. "Just watch," said Sheila touching her finger to her head. Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila stood quite upright and walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath and plunged the long blade through the middle of the package, through the middle of the masking tape, through the cardboard, through the cushioning and (thud) right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head, which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.
Oh and there is a song based perfect for the concept of this thread. Explanation is in the video. [YOUTUBE]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TiH9dbAsAp0[/YOUTUBE]
"Fairytale of New York" by the Pogues Sung by a drunk sounding(and he usually was) guy and woman with a clear, strong voice. I'll designate "him" and "her" (him) It was Christmas eve, babe In the drunk tank An old man said to me, wont see another one And then he sang a song The rare old mountain dew I turned my face away And dreamed about you Got on a lucky one Came in eighteen to one Ive got a feeling This years for me and you So happy christmas I love you baby I can see a better time When all our dreams come true (her) They've got cars big as bars They've got rivers of gold But the wind goes right through you Its no place for the old When you first took my hand On a cold Christmas eve You promised me Broadway was waiting for me (her)You were handsome (him)You were pretty Queen of new york city (her)When the band finished playing They howled out for more Sinatra was swinging, All the drunks they were singing We kissed on a corner Then danced through the night (both)The boys of the NYPD choir Were singing "Galway bay" And the bells were ringing out For Christmas day (her)Youre a bum Youre a punk (him)You're an old slut on junk Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed (her)You scumbag, you maggot You cheap lousy faggot Happy Christmas your arse I pray God its our last (both)The boys of the NYPD choir Still singing "Galway bay" And the bells were ringing out For Christmas day (him)I could have been someone (her)Well so could anyone You took my dreams from me When I first found you (him)I kept them with me babe I put them with my own Cant make it all alone Ive built my dreams around you
^Rock Lobster....basically one of the best songs around. Me and my mate Tarran, will just randomly break into "Everyone had matching towels! Somebody went under the dock, and there they found a rock. But it wasn't a rock...It was a ROCK LOBSTER!' [YOUTUBE]http://youtube.com/watch?v=aD_vJRatx-A[/YOUTUBE] And to appreciate how bad the lyrics are, here is the Alanis Morisette version (which is much better in my opinion: [YOUTUBE]http://youtube.com/watch?v=W91sqAs-_-g&feature=related[/YOUTUBE]
If you're wondering how this song sounds, here it is ^^ [YOUTUBE]http://youtube.com/watch?v=mI-YiaWDgB4[/YOUTUBE]
Why Don't We Get Drunk And Screw Jimmy Buffet I really do appreciate the fact you're sittin here Your voice sounds so wonderful But yer face don't look too clear So bar maid bring a pitcher, another round o' brew Honey, why don't we get drunk and screw Why don't we get drunk and screw I just bought a water bed, it's filled up for me and you They say you are a snuff queen Honey I don't think that's true So, why don't we get drunk and screw Pick it coral reefers, here we go... (swing instrumental) Why don't we get drunk and screw I just bought a waterbed it's filled up for me and you They say you are a snuff queen Honey I don't think that's true So why don't we get drunk and screw Yeah, now baby I say, (lord!) Why don't we get drunk and screw.
