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Song Parodies -> "I’ve Grown Accustomed to This Place, #9"

Original Song Title:

"I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face"

Original Performer:

My Fair Lady (Musical)

Parody Song Title:

"I’ve Grown Accustomed to This Place, #9"

Parody Written by:

John A. Barry

The Lyrics

For context, see “Good?! Oh Please; It’s Ugily!”
DO-LITTLE

I’ve grown accustomed to this place…
Didn’t think so when I walked in
I’ve grown accustomed to this dude,
Although he’s got a bad ’tude,
Like me, and like me, he’s rude.
May be a clown,
But he has renown.
So through this task I will now plow.
He’s kept me out of the gin.
I was extremely gin-dependent, and I went too much to get.
Since this project commenced my whistle’s no longer wet.
I’ve grown accustomed to this kook,
Accustomed to his voice,
Accustomed to his pace.
I’ll be ready,
And then my work will appear
In a gallery; people will come to view,
And they’ll vet it,
Not regret it.
I even expect some will exclaim, “Wow!”

Yes, but for right now, I have canvases to fill
I am far from finished with this fat chore,
And so, for right now, I am keeping up the drill…
Won’t stop till I’ve painted and painted some more.
Although he’ll screech, he’s taught me a lot.
He’s got a lot in that swelled-up head—
Inside it has grown
Much matter that is gray,
A color that I get when I mix a lot.
Easy I have to go,
Or mud will be on display.
He reminds me “gently,” I must start new work.
A sadist, yes, but quite insightful,
He’s keeping my every day and night full.
At the start, he pissed me off, and, dissed, I was set to fight.
I’d have to say: We made each other gag.
I thought him an ogre; he thought me a blight.
At first I thought this project was off the wall.
Now I understand that we can both be served.
There’s no point in turning this into a bout.

Now I’m a most forgiving man.
I’ve come to wish for good; wish he would
Become much more like I am and not hold a grudge…
Be a forgiving man.
Stop enacting his lack of tact,
One in a while say “please.”
That word I sometimes intone, but it’s I and I alone.
I have given up on making to him pleas.
I’ll be ready, though!
I refuse to let his mocking, mawkish moods get in my way.

And so it goes: I’m in the throes
Of creativity, I vow!
This screeching teaching lout will make me win,
And I’m grateful to the old man.
If his actions should make me fret,
My epithet habit may surface apace.
Yet I’ve grown accustomed to fewer face-offs
When emotions flare.
Accustomed to this place.




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