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denAargh. It's midnight and the local radio station 2DU just played Agadoo, right before I go to bed. "Agadoo-doo-doo, push pineapple, shake the tree." What the hell does that mean? "Agadoo-doo-doo, push pineapple, grind coffee, To the left, to the right, jump up and down and to the knees," I HATE EUROVISION SONGS THAT BECOME HITS.
Now I have to counter it with the Spitting Image piss-take version.
The Chicken Song
It's the time of year, now that spring is in the air,
When those two wet gits with their girly curly hair
Make another song for moronic holidays
That nauseate-ate-ates in a million different ways:
From the shores of Spain to the coast of Southern France,
No matter where you hide, you just can't escape this dance.
Hold a chicken in the air, stick a deckchair up your nose,
Buy a jumbo jet and then bury all your clothes,
Paint your left knee green, then extract your wisdom teeth,
Form a string quartet and pretend your name is Keith.
Skin yourself alive, learn to speak Arapaho,
Climb inside a dog and behead an Eskimo,
Eat a Renault 4, wear salami in your ears,
Casserole your gran, disembowel yourself with spears.
The disco is vibrating,
The sound is loud and grating,
It's truly nauseating,
Let's do the dance again.
Hold a chicken in the air, stick a deckchair up your nose;
Yes, you'll hear this song in the holiday discos,
And there's no escape in the clubs or in the bars:
You would hear this song if you holidayed in Mars.
Skin yourself alive, learn to speak Arapaho,
Climb inside a dog and behead an Eskimo;
Now you've heard it once, your brain will spring a leak,
And though you hate this song, you'll be humming it for weeks.
Hold a chicken in the air, stick a deckchair up your nose,
Buy a jumbo jet and then bury all your clothes,
La-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la,
La-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la-la-la, OK.
[Spoken] Ooh, we 'ad a laff.
Now I have to counter it with the Spitting Image piss-take version.
The Chicken Song
It's the time of year, now that spring is in the air,
When those two wet gits with their girly curly hair
Make another song for moronic holidays
That nauseate-ate-ates in a million different ways:
From the shores of Spain to the coast of Southern France,
No matter where you hide, you just can't escape this dance.
Hold a chicken in the air, stick a deckchair up your nose,
Buy a jumbo jet and then bury all your clothes,
Paint your left knee green, then extract your wisdom teeth,
Form a string quartet and pretend your name is Keith.
Skin yourself alive, learn to speak Arapaho,
Climb inside a dog and behead an Eskimo,
Eat a Renault 4, wear salami in your ears,
Casserole your gran, disembowel yourself with spears.
The disco is vibrating,
The sound is loud and grating,
It's truly nauseating,
Let's do the dance again.
Hold a chicken in the air, stick a deckchair up your nose;
Yes, you'll hear this song in the holiday discos,
And there's no escape in the clubs or in the bars:
You would hear this song if you holidayed in Mars.
Skin yourself alive, learn to speak Arapaho,
Climb inside a dog and behead an Eskimo;
Now you've heard it once, your brain will spring a leak,
And though you hate this song, you'll be humming it for weeks.
Hold a chicken in the air, stick a deckchair up your nose,
Buy a jumbo jet and then bury all your clothes,
La-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la,
La-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la-la-la, OK.
[Spoken] Ooh, we 'ad a laff.
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no subject
Date: 6 Aug 2003 11:12 (UTC)They should give *THAT* to the American Juniors contestants to sing!
Wouldn't *that* put a knot in the underwear of the FCC!:D Not to mention spare the rest of us from cheesy munchkins mouthing synthepop while we're cruising all 5 whoppin' big channels on our non-cable tvs:D.