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Lyricists


hearthammer

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17 hours ago, topcat(The most tip top) said:

 


Tom Lehrer

Comic genius e.g.  National Brotherhood Week, but lacking in emotional range. I would agree with those nominating:

Leonard Cohen

Bob Dylan

Paul Simon

Shane MacGowan

and would add Ewan MacColl.

However, we're missing out all of the wonderful Broadway lyricists such as Cole Porter. The parody below was, apparently, written by Irving Berlin, and he also knew his way around words.

You're The Top!
You're a gin and tonic
You're The Top!
You're a high colonic
You're the burning heat
Of a bridal suite in use
You're the mound of Venus
You're King Kong's penis
You're self-abuse!
You're an arch
In the Rome collection
You're the starch
In a groom's erection
I'm a eunuch who
Has just been through an op
But if, baby, I'm the bottom
You're The Top!

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My favourites, off the top of my head, with the first lyrics that come to mind...

Shane MacGowan

I recall that we took care of him one Sunday
We got him out the back and we broke his fucking balls
And maybe that was dreaming and maybe that was real
But all I know is I left the place without a penny or fuckall

And it's lend me ten pounds, I'll buy you a drink
And mother wake me early in the morning

Pat the Bunny

Hasn't anybody learned
The last who make the moves
Are the first to say the words

The day I rob a bank's the first day of my life
As an honest man, an honest man
The day I rob a bank's the first day of my life
As an honest man, an honest man
The day I go to jail trying to rob a bank's
The day I finally get what I deserve

Laura Jane Grace

In all the years that went by
She said she'd always love him
And from the day that he died
She never loved again
And in his wallet she kept on her nightstand
An AA card and a lock of red hair
Kept secrets of pride locked so tight in her heart
It killed a part of her before the rest was gone

She said "If I would have known
Just how things would have ended up
I just would have let myself die"


Erik Petersen

When father bought the farm, we sold the farm
Mistook his blood for rustic charm
Sold his ghost as an antique, to the city

And kids today can’t hold a spade
Rest in peace, ye olde weary trades
In this world, there is no place, such a pity

Well, the barman shakes his head and fills my glass
Says we’re living in the past
“Why preserve a dying craft? End its misery.”

We sigh and say, “Another modern man
One of property not land.”
So I’ll hold out this battered hand
Will you listen?


Joe Hill

My will is easy to decide,
For there is nothing to divide.
My kin don't need to fuss and moan,
"Moss does not cling to a rolling stone."
My body? Ah, if I could choose,
I would to ashes it reduce,
And let the merry breezes blow
My dust to where some flower' grow.
Perhaps some fading flower then
Would come to life and bloom again.
This is my last and final will.
Good luck to all of you,

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