FIDDLEGIRL:
I am a merry maiden and an English-major Fiddlegirl
I saw this site called AmIRight; gave parody a little whirl
In all my songs, I write the wrongs, outrageous puns, my wit'll hurl
I bit the bit; in mouth, good fit; my wit'll make your spittle curl

My first position: First Musician, classy, brassy, reeds, and all
A sheepskin: English; quite distinglished; Jobs? It meets no needs at all
And so, bit later, educator; grinds their minds and feeds 'em all

[pause, then continue, speaking]
Feed their minds? Got it!

[resume singing]
I plant the seeds; whatever breeds, each writes and reads; yep, weeds and all

TOMMYTURL:
Poetic gaze cast on the days of Nature, evolutional
Gates' race disgrace, she nails apace; our twin rhymes retributional [1]
Wham! Bam! Thanks, Ma'am! .. for O-Bam slam; For brats, a song solution-al

FIDDLEGIRL:
In few short weeks, I grok the geeks; in inner circle, wangling
In brilliant streaks, I grasp techniques of parody word-mangling
I fear not thee of land nor sea; with wit of turtle, tangling
Men: Never grieve; won't ever leave your part-iciple dangling!

TOMMYTURL:
In short, in things satirical, empirical, a miracle:
She wrote in one sabbatical, a song quite Gilda Radn-ical

FIDDLEGIRL:
Yes, education's my vocation; wonder -- Can I reach them all?
A sentence, parse? A modern farce! Schools fail, but mine: no breach at all
Of nouns and adverbs, good and bad verbs; parts of speech, teach each and all
I never slip; have such firm grip; with writ and lip, beseech them all

For new ways, angling; always dangling 'ncentives for the class to learn
I feel like strangling this new-fangling "Look-say" read; their ass, to burn
My Grapes of Wrath upon "New Math"; turn grapes to whine, so pass the churn

[pause, then continue, speaking]
Modern education poor? Hmmm.... Got it!

[resume singing]
Use "Dick and Jane": in vain, what pain; kids' sad performance: mass concern

TOMMYTURL:
Delighting me: use parody from Tommy T. tto tteach them all [2]
I must confess: I write such cess when down along the beach I crawl
To Politician: Go, attrition! Had *our* way, impeach them all!

FIDDLEGIRL:
When AmIRight is out of "site" for weekend, oh, what will I do?
I'll hurl some strife at his ex-wife; on her, I spill a swill of stew
I'll have some fun with Airfarcewon, a funny little trill or two
I'll match his wits, or else, his t*ts, but quit? I won't until you do

TOMMYTURL:
Why, truancy is ruin-cy; you'll always lack for fluency
Drop out of school, you stupid fool: it's prison you'll be doin', see?

[slower]

FIDDLEGIRL:
I love my strings! (Bikini things? No, talkin' 'bout my violin!)
Please see my site at AmIRight, by broadband or by diolin
My numbers soar as I "score" more; my parodies keep piolin'
I'm Fively-rated; orchestrated puns to keep you smiolin'

Mile 888 on Interstate, El Paso, Beaumont, cruised it all [3]
'Spite Nacogdoches' plague of roaches, hardly even bruised at all
I took the "Longview". Oops! The wrong view! Me? I'm not confused at all

[pause, then continue, speaking]
Texas? Me? Got it!

[resume singing]
Yep, A'm from Texas; I like sex,-as long as not abused at all

TOMMYTURL:
Her home team lost; the trophy cost: receiver with hands slippery
["I sympathize", the turtle cries; his limbs are rather flippery]
"It's too darn hot!" Hey, Fid, so what? Unzip your zipper, stripper-y!
She's well-equipped; she rips and whips from lips such flip, hip quippery

FIDDLEGIRL:
At brocc'li, sneer; I've come to fear all veg'tables cruciferous
I'm on the outs with Brussels sprouts; I find them quite odiferous.
I voice my choice; I don't rejoice, but pan in prose vociferous
At dinner bell, they smell like h*ll, can tell with just one sniffer-us

TOMMYTURL:
In short, as each new hit, unfurl; Joella Parks, with t*tty, lure'll
She is a merry maiden and our fav'rite little Fiddlegirl!

[reprising]
In short, in things parodical, she'll make you laugh spasmodical
A prodigy, a female, ("she"), we think that makes her "prodi-gal"

[A little green smart-ass approaches the violin soloist, and asks:]
Can you do that again, but not so half-fast?

[The violin soloist looks at the conductor, and requests:]
Maestro, press this agitator's shelly plate

[repeat 3rd verse, ("I love my strings...")
at a speed even faster than the original tempo,
and without the pause or spoken part]




[1] The twin links: Author and subject submitted same OS, same title switch, same subject, same day. How scary is it to think that there might be another mind like TT's out there?!

[2] The subject graciously honored the author by asking to use his grammar parodies as teaching aides. (Gladly.)

[3] The author has driven Interstate 10 from one end (Santa Monica, California) to the other (Jacksonville, Florida). What's discouraging: cross over The Pass, or, as they say south of the border, (or illegally north of it,) El Paso, drive for a while, it gets late. Find motel, sleep, get up the next day. Drive all day (11-12 hours,) find motel, sleep. Wake up and find that *yer still in frickin' Texas*. No offense, but... Anyway, if feeble pea-brain serves correctly, from the New Mexico border to the Louisiana border was 888 Interstate miles (1429 km). Correct?