The Ultimate Love Song, Whoops Vicar, NewsRevue, Ben Murphy…, 29 February 1992

I think a basic version of this song might have sat on my jotter for years before I typed it up and tried to do something with it, but I copyrighted it 29 February 1992.

That makes the lyric proper 25 years old this week (at the time of writing), unless you are really pedantic about dates, in which case it is six-and-a-quarter. I was reminded of it, coincidentally, during its anniversary week – click here for that story. 

Anyway, I think this one first saw the light of day in the hands of Brian Jordan, who found it in the NewsRevue reject pile (probably thanks to John Random) and took it to Edinburgh in 1992 in his show, “Whoops, Vicar, Is That Your Dick?”  So I can for ever boast that my material made its Edinburgh debut in a show by that glorious name.

Subsequently (and/or perhaps simultaneously), the song did NewsRevue runs and was also picked up by west country comedy-singer Ben Murphy for recording –  click here or below to hear.

Definitely one of my bigger hits. I can even thrash it out on my baritone uke, key change ‘n’all.

Click here or below for a link to the tune and lyrics: Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love For You by Glenn Medeiros.

THE ULTIMATE LOVE SONG

(To the tune of “Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love for You”)

 

VERSE 1

Every little thing she does is magic, you will never walk alone, the winner takes it all;

I can’t give you anything but my love, together we are beautiful, it’s not unusual.

You to me are everything, I’d like to teach the world to sing;

Only you, love me do,

You don’t have to say you love me.

 

CHORUS 1

Nothing’s gonna change the way I sound,

Just take another song and swop the words round;

One thing you can be sure of,

This is a sound you’ll hear some more of.

Nothing’s gonna change the way I croon,

There isn’t too much scope with only one tune;

You can wait your whole life through

But nothing’s gonna change the songs I do.

 

VERSE 2

You’re the first, the last my everything, with you I am born again, more than I can say;

You won’t find another fool like me dear, I can’t give you anything, one day I’ll fly away.

When will I see you again? you know that you have got a friend;

She’s not there, I’ll be there,

I don’t want to talk about it.

 

CHORUS 2

Nothing’s gonna change the songs I sing,

Just churn another out and hear the tills ring;

How come I’ve made my fortune,

When I have only written one tune.

Nothing’s gonna change the way I chant,

I sorta tried it once but found that I can’t;

This style’s the one for me,

The only thing I change is key (rising to higher key, slightly beyond ability of crooner)

Nothing’s gonna change my serenade,

Despite the fact it sounds as if I’ve been spayed;

I’ve made a pile this way,

So I’m afraid this song is here to stay.

Mrs T, Attempted Spitting Image Lyric, Eventually NewsRevue Lyric, 10 February 1992

One of my earlier attempts, this.

Originally submitted to Spitting Image, 9 or 10 February 1992, I subsequently submitted it to NewsRevue.

Anything that worked to “I Will Survive” was automatically on John Random’s prohibited list, I later discovered, but I did eventually get a version of the song into NewsRevue, perhaps as late as October 1993 but I think probably before that too.

You can’t keep a good lyric down, John; this one is, in my view, quite a good lyric.

The following version is e-dated April 1992, so the original Spitting Image one might be lost for all time, but I doubt if I really changed it between February and April – just a tiny tweak I suspect, otherwise I’d have saved it as a revised version:

MRS T

(sung by Maggie Thatcher to the tune of “I Will Survive”)

 

VERSE 1

At first I was afraid; (yes, even Mrs T),

Was scared of living out my life without publicity;

But then I spent so many nights just watching “Grey Man” droning on,

And I grew strong; and I learned how to get back on.

 

So now I’m back, from outta space,

To find that people know my voice and they still recognise my face.

 

I should have sacked the bleeding lot, I should have left the EEC,

If I had known for just one second that they’d end up sacking me.

 

CHORUS 1

Oh yes it’s me,

I’m on TV,

Even though it’s only Channel 4,

Or sometimes BSkyB,

But I’ve got interviews to give,

So while I still can breath and live,

I’m on TV,

I’m on TV.

 

VERSE 2

I tried to warn you, John, about the EMU,

But now I fail to understand what people see in you;

Cos then you took me to one side and whispered softly in my ear,

That it was better for the party if I quietly disappear.

 

So I went back, across the sea,

Where I had organised a Brussels photo-opportunity.

 

Yes I went straight up to the top, because I’m never one to tarry,

And I tried to head-butt Jacques Delors and kneecap Ray McSharry.

 

CHORUS 2

So no more blues,

I’m in the news,

Even though it’s just page seven,

Of the Finchley Evening News,

But I have speeches left to make,

And there are photographs to take,

I’m in the news,

I’m in the news.

Here is Gloria Gaynor singing I Will Survive:

…and here is a link to the lyric to the Gloria song.

For any completists out there who are still reading, here is the October 1993 version which was adapted for some hoo-ha around Mrs T’s memoirs or something:

  MRS T – AUTUMN 1993

(sung by Maggie Thatcher to the tune of “I Will Survive”)

 

VERSE 1

At first I was afraid; (yes, even Mrs T),

Was scared of living out my life without publicity;

But then I spent so many nights just watching “Grey Man” droning on,

That I grew strong; and I learned how to get back on.

 

So now I’m back, and out in print,

My memoirs will be a best seller so I’m going to make a mint.

They detail how I discharged Howe, because he backed the EEC,

I’ve been voracious for revenge since those dumb bastards ousted me.

 

CHORUS 1

Oh yes it’s me, literally,

You know my book has been reviewed on Channel 4 and BSkyB;

And I have memoirs left to write,

That dump John Major in the shite,

I will revive, I will reprise.

 

VERSE 2

I tried to warn the public that John Major’s thick,

And that those arseholes Clarke and Lawson used to make me sick;

But then the Tory party magnets whispered softly in my ear,

That it was better for the party if I quietly disappear.

 

So I went home and wrote my book,

And now those jerks who tried to gag me are deep in the shtook,

You see my memoirs have a knack of making everyone look silly,

And they ought to circulate more quickly than Dave Mellor’s willy.

 

CHORUS 2

So no more blues, my book’s reviewed,

Even tho’ it’s one of seven in the Finchley Evening News;

But I’ve more paragraphs to draft,

Cos half my cabinet was daft,

I will surmise, I will surprise, hey, hey.

(People in white coats lead her away, saying “there there” and “just slip your arms into this nice little jacket”)

 

50 Ways To Shop Your Lover, Unused Lyric, 9 February 1992

This nasty lyric turns 25 today (the day I’m writing this Ogblog piece) so I thought its anniversary needs marking.

I had been engaging in correspondence with Spitting Image for some weeks before writing this lyric. At this juncture they were encouraging me to write slightly less topical songs as the Spitting Image songs tended to be topical-ish rather than up to the minute topical.

Indeed Bill Dare, Giles Pilbrow and others at Spitting Image were most encouraging and (in the end) recommended me to NewsRevue, where the rest was history.

I guess I was still on the very low foothills of my comedy writing craft in February 1992. Unsurprisingly, neither Spitting Image nor NewsRevue used it. Frankly, I cannot imagine this lyric being used by anyone professionally, unless it was a particular fit for a spoof musical. It has one or two quite clever lines but certainly lacks laughs.

The lyric is based on 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover by Paul Simon – click here or below for a link to a YouTube, where someone has also helpfully added the Simon lyrics.

An infinitely better spoof than mine on this Paul Simon song is Carol Brown by Flight of the Conchords; “there must be fifty ways that lovers have left me…” – click here or below for that wonderful comedy song and video.

And finally, my modest lyrics from early February 1992:

50 WAYS TO SHOP YOUR LOVER

(sung to the tune of “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover”)

 

VERSE 1

 

“The problem is all inside your head”, she said, “It’s fair,

“To want to get even at the end of an affair;

“I’d like to help you in your struggle to get square,

“There must be 50 ways to shop your lover”.

She said,  “excuse me, but this point I must impress,

“With famous lovers you can always find redress;

“Pick up the telephone and notify the press,

“There must be 50 ways to shop your lover”.

50 ways to shop your lover.

 

CHORUS 1

 

Just call Private Eye, Guy, spill out the works, Dirk;

Unbutton your lip, Chip, I know it sounds kitsch.

Give out the scoops, troops, make sure they’re the hot poops;

Blow out the gaff, Taff, and ruin that bitch.

 

Just spill all the beans, Jean, go shoot the breeze, Denise;

Give out all the dirt, Flirt, the bastard won’t sleep.

Sing like a canary, Mary, say he’s really a fairy;

Sell a bum steer, dear, just nail that creep.

 

VERSE 2

 

She said, “you shouldn’t view loves ending as defeat,

“The story is valuable, you’ve landed on both feet”;

I said, “I appreciate that, but would you still repeat,

“About the 50 ways……….”

She said, “this conversation has really turned me on,

“Why don’t we sleep on it and talk some more at dawn?”

And then she kissed me, and I realised, her tape machine was on,

There must be 50 ways to shop your lover.

50 ways to shop your lover.

 

CHORUS TWO

 

Put a tap on the phone, Joan; record every date, Kate;

Make sure you’re both seen, Jean; and hardmouth that worm.

Bug the latrine, Katrine; that’s bound not to be clean;

Make sure you’ve got dabs, Babs; and make the slime squirm.

 

Just burgle the flat, Matt, Keep a line up your sleeve, Steve;

Break into the safe, Ralph, And lift all the muck.

Put a mike in your crutch, Dutch, you don’t need to record much;

Then sell on the dirt, Kirt, you’ll make mega bucks.

copyright © Ian Harris 1992

Eugène Terre’Blanche, NewsRevue Lyric, 7 February 1992

Today (1 January 2017) I received a text from John White which says:

…started singing Eugene Terre Blanche to the tune of Sweet Gene Vincent in the shower this morning. One of yours – can you Ogblog it when you get a chance as it’s now an ear worm!

Well, John, what are friends for?

I want to elaborate on this one at some stage as it’s one of my faves and there are some tales to tell. But Janie and I are off to the pictures now, so you’ll have to make do with the bare minimum for now, in order to de-worm your ear.

The version below was written before I discovered NewsRevue – I’ll write more about this lyric’s journey through NewsRevue later. The extraordinary thing, to me, is that the version below will be 25 years old in a few weeks time.

Click here or below for the Ian Dury and the Blockheads version

EUGENE TERRE’BLANCHE

(to the tune of “Sweet Gene Vincent”)

 

INTRO BIT (Optional)

 

I like to get out of Cape Town sometimes and drive round the Karoo,

I like to watch youngsters run like Zola Budd and bowl like Garth Le Roux,

I like to watch the springboks rutting, I like to eat them barbecued.

 

Eugene Terre’Blanche, Neo-Nazi baas, Eugene Terre’Blanche.

 

Who, who, who’s that baas?

 

1st MAIN BIT (Compulsory)

 

White face-black shirt, whites rich-blacks poor, Afrikaner-Hottentot, white’s right-black’s not:-

 

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

There’s one in every town;

I’m fond of dressing up like the Ku Klux Klan,

In a pointed hat and gown.

 

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

I am a crashing Boer;

Before we cede power to the ANC,

We’ll fight a civil war.

 

Well, the Nationalist Party is much too soft,

I think they’re Botha jerk,

But I’d still sooner have to take my Pik,

Than F.W. de Klerk.

 

2nd MAIN BIT (Still compulsory)

 

White Meneer-black Kaffir, whites vote-blacks don’t, Afrikaner-Bantu, hate blacks and Jews:-

 

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

They say that I’m like Himmler;

I haven’t yet caused as much violence as him,

But our accents sound quite similar.

 

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

I’m the baas laager lout;

We’re gonna cause trouble in the RSA,

Until we get thrown out.

 

Eugene Terre’Blanche,

I’m just a big fat git;

I’d like to end this song on a profound note,

But I’m afraid that’s it.

7 February 1992