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Song Parodies -> "Vox Stylin' (for Agrimorfee)"

Original Song Title:

"Rock Island"

Original Performer:

Music Man soundtrack

Parody Song Title:

"Vox Stylin' (for Agrimorfee)"

Parody Written by:

John A. Barry

The Lyrics

On August 12, I posted several songs from "The Bu'shit Man," my parody of "The Music Man," about the bungling Bush administration. Agrimorfee liked my parody of "76 Trombones" and concluded his comment with: "Now I defy you to parody 'Rock Island'!" Done—and presented here for review. A little context: A group of linguists, including Noam Chomsky of MIT, have a much more daunting task that parodying "Rock Island": teaching Bush to speak coherently. "Vox Stylin'" is about their frequently digressive discussions about how to accomplish their task. The pacing may not warrant a 5, but I think it's pretty close, given the difficulty of matching the rhythm and syllabication of the original. (For anyone who wants to attempt to plough through this, you can find the original, typos and all, at
1st Linguist: Cash for to advertise, cash for to hoodwink.

3rd Linguist: Cache, where the con man's hid, cache for his records.

1st Linguist: Cash to get Nancy's vote.

2nd Linguist: Cask cracked his noggin, because he used to swig firkins.

3rd Linguist: Cash from the dickheads, cant from the Dummy John. Cash from the crackers and the hicks who can't read a paper.

4th Linguist: Look, howdayatalk? Howdayatalk? Howdayatalk? Howdayatalk? Howdayatalk?

5th Linguist: Alliteration.

4th Linguist: Howdayatalk?

1st Linguist: When ya talk, when ya talk, it's allit'rative when ya talk; allit'rative when ya talk. It sounds dilettantish, it does.

Chomsky: Yeah, it does, yeah, it does; but we're trying to teach the Terror Tory.

Sybillant [sic] Serpent (Cheney): Ssssssssssssssssssss.

3rd Linguist: Why it's the whole-language horde made the trouble. Made the poor kid not know, wanta phonet up, phone it in, not know if there's seven, eight, nine, ten twelve, fourteen, twenty-six letters in the alpabete.

1st Linguist: What, sir? What, sir?

3rd Linguist: Has to be patronized; a little-bitty, 'bout 84, was his IQ score.

4th Linguist: Howdoeshetalk? Howdoeshetalk?

5th Linguist: Like he's from Texas.

3rd Linguist: Fawns, fawns, fawns. Fawns on the godhead—tapped the Dummy John. Fawns to the crackers, beer-lulled—pickled Darryls. Brain pan—gone though the Shrub went to Yale, where he cheered.

2nd Linguist: We're going to have to give the fellow some drills?

3rd Linguist: Drills?

4th Linguist: Drills?

5th Linguist: Drills?

Chomsky: So!

4th Linguist: We'll have to give him practice and drill.

2nd Linguist: So what does he know, the Terror Tory?

1st Linguist: Some call him the "Error Tory."

3rd Linguist: Make him say some lines?

2nd Linguist: It'll take much more than lines.

1st Linguist: Would help if he had a mind.

2nd Linguist: It's a bad noggin. He cannot keep the beat, tells something, words fall, talks slow, redneck rappin', slips up things, every time a bullshit salesman. That is him upon the Hill, upon the Hill.

3rd Linguist: That's what you opine?

5th Linguist: All opine.

Chomsky: He can't make talk, and he's a bumbling Terror Tory.

4th Linguist: He can't talk? Can't talk the talk? Can he walk the walk? Cakewalk in Iraq?

2nd Linguist: He's aphasic, man.

1st Linguist: He can't talk?

3rd Linguist: He can't talk?

2nd Linguist: Near-aphasic man. He can't spell, either, yet—like a kid who's the clown who gives a big groan when the SAT comes—dumbass, dumbass, dumbass. And he picks his nose, he picks his nose. Wore a uniform, too. Whiny—a silver spoon in his mouth. And a yellow stripe runnin'. . . .

1st Linguist: Well, I do believe he's a scam, but you know we're here to be givin' him bons mots, yes sir. Mandibles tricked, perhaps, is why he doesn't sound smart.

2nd Linguist: No cerebellum's been banged, big-banged. I know he is a dull wit, but he lives like a king with no allies. And he dithers; he f*cks up, and whines. And he took some chances, certainly. Ploys. What else? He'll pay the piper. Yes sirs, yes sirs, yes sirs, yes sirs. We'll take our chances. Blurtingly, noise. . .we'll make him pipe up so folks understand him. Yes, sirs!

Chomsky: But he doesn't know sh*t. . .Error Tory!

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Original Song: 
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Voting Results

Pacing: 4.6
How Funny: 4.2
Overall Rating: 4.2

Total Votes: 5

Voting Breakdown

The following represent how many people voted for each category.

    Pacing How Funny Overall Rating
 1   0
 2   0
 3   1
 4   0
 5   4

User Comments

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Johnny D - September 28, 2004 - Report this comment
Whew! Tour-de-Force!
John Barry - September 28, 2004 - Report this comment
Thanks, JD. Hope the challenger reads it.
Agrimorfee - September 29, 2004 - Report this comment
Well my goodness sakes! I am honored to be dedicated in the title! :) (just recently I was jokingly complaining about how I am never mentioned by name in tribute parodies...well, now one gets what they wish for !). Anyhow, I giggled and chortled...very good job, John! It wasn't perfect...I definitely would have taken a little more care to match the pace ("how's he talk, how's he talk..." "Big dumbass, Big dumbass" for example). But I cannot fault the work at all, especially when it's in the context of the rest of your Bull Sh*t Man opus. Give this man some 5s!

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