Tom Koch
MAD #305 (Sept. 1991), pp. 12-13.
Each year, millions of tiny kids are herded into day care centers and
Sunday schools where they are commanded to join in the singing of
traditional songs and carols before they are old enough to read and
understand the lyrics. The result is tragically predictable. They sing the
words they think they hear, and form a pattern that often lasts a
lifetime. Many preoccupied grownups keep right on singing the same muddled
words to the same songs in the same way. This, of course, makes us sound
like a nation of idiots as we stand reverently at such somber events as
patriotic rallies, church services and even baseball games to fill the air
with…
My Uncle, Liz and Me
My uncle, Liz and me
Eat ham with liberty.
Of tea we sing.
Ham that my father fried;
Ham when the children cried.
On every mountainside,
Let’s clean ’til Spring.
The Star Strangled Grandma
No way can you see through this song’s early light
What had sounded like hail in the night light’s loud screaming.
Who brought tripe and Mars bars to the last Eastern flight
On the rampage with scotch while the gals were all steaming.
And our pockets were bare
When they first hit the air
As they proved we were right and our bags were still there.
No way does that star strangled grandma smell Dave,
For the mandolin is free,
And our home is a cave.
That Marine! Him!
>From the Halls of Minneso-ota
To the doors of misery,
We will ride on grumpy ca-attle
In Iran and Italy.
If the Army or the navy
Ever look at magazines,
They will find the creeps with garden tools
Have been smashed to smithereens.
America, The Boot Is Full
Your boot is full of spacey guys,
And candles made by Jane,
>From curdled mounds of macrame
Above the flutes in Spain.
America! America! Go shed your grapes on me.
Your clown’s no good at motherhood.
We’ll see what we shall see.
And if you heard my son sing the National Anthem you would agree. To hear him pronounce National Anthem sounds something like:
Irrational Anthrax
I kid you not.