The Tom Lehrer Appreciation Society

[TheEarl]

About a maid, I'll sing a song, sing rickety, tickety, tin.
About a maid, I'll sing a song; she didn't have her family long.
Not only did she do them wrong,
She did every one of them in, them in, did every one of them in.

One morning in a fit of pique, sing rickety, tickety, tin.
One morning in a fit of pique; she drowned her father in the creek,
The water tasted bad for a week.
And we had to make do with gin, with gin, we had to make do with gin.

Her mother, she could never stand, sing rickety, tickety, tin.
Her mother, she could never stand; and so a cyanide soup, she planned.
Her mother died, with a spoon in her hand,
And her face in a hideous grin, a grin, her face in a hideous grin.

She set her sister's hair on fire, rickety, tickety tin.
She set her sister's hair on fire, and as the smoke and flames grew higher
She danced aroudn the funeral pyre.
Playing a violin, olin, playing a violin.

One day when she had nothing to do, sing rickety, tickety, tin.
One day when she had nothing to do, she cut her baby brother in two.
And served him up as an Irish stew.
And invited the neighbours in, bours in, invited the neighbours in.

And when at last the police came by, rickety, tickety tin.
And when at last the police came by; her little pranks, she didn't not deny.
To do so, she would have had to lie.
And lying she knew was a sin, a sin, lying, she knew was a sin.

My tragic tale, I won't prolong, rickety, tickety tin.
My tragic tale, I won't prolong, but if you have not enjoyed my song.
You've yourself to blame if it's too long.
You should never have let me begin, begin, you should never have let me begin.



Next up, if you're really bad, I may sing the Elements song.

The Earl

PS. For the Tom Lehrer fanatic, yes, I know I missed out a verse. I couldn't remember the one where she send someone down to Davey Jones, all they every found were some bones and occasional pieces of skin. Anyone fill in the blanks?

 

[Guest]

Another brother verse -

I just got back on computer - love your thread!

You're missing the verse about weighing her brother down with stones -(after the sister, before the baby)

She weighted her brother down with stones, rickety-tickety-tin
She weighted her brother down with stones and sent him off to Davy Jones
All they ever found were some bones, and occasional pieces of skin, of skin
Occasional pieces of skin.

One of my favorites? The Vatican Rag!

Opening by Tom Lehrer - Another big news story of year concerned the ecumenical council in Rome, known as Vatican II. Among the things they did in an attempt to make the church more commercial was to introduce the vernacular into portions of the mass, to replace Latin, and to widen somewhat the range of music permissible in the liturgy, but I feel that if they really want to sell the product, in this secular age, what they ought to do is to redo some of the liturgical music in popular song forms. I have a modest example here. It's called The Vatican Rag.

First you get down on your knees,
Fiddle with your rosaries,
Bow your head with great respect,
And genuflect, genuflect, genuflect!

Do whatever steps you want, if
You have cleared them with the Pontiff.
Everybody say his own
Kyrie eleison,
Doin' the Vatican Rag.

Get in line in that processional,
Step into that small confessional,
There, the guy who's got religion'll
Tell you if your sin's original.
If it is, try playin' it safer,
Drink the wine and chew the wafer,
Two, four, six, eight,
Time to transubstantiate!

So get down upon your knees,
Fiddle with your rosaries,
Bow your head with great respect,
And genuflect, genuflect, genuflect!

Make a cross on your abdomen,
When in Rome do like a Roman,
Ave Maria,
Gee it's good to see ya,
Gettin' ecstatic an'
Sorta dramatic an'
Doin' the Vatican Rag!

 

[SnoopDog]

Lehrer is german for teacher.

Snoopy

 

[Seattle Zack]

Myself, I'm particularly fond of the math songs, but rather than a musical explanation of Fermat's theorem or The Derivative Song let's try something from An Evening Wasted with Tom Lehrer

Another familiar type of love song is the passionate or
fiery variety, usually in tango tempo, in which the singer
exhorts his partner to haunt him and taunt him and, if at all
possible, to consume him with the kiss of fire. This particular
illustration of this genre is called "The Masochism Tango''.

I ache for the touch of your lips, dear,
But much more for the touch of your whips, dear.
You can raise welts
Like nobody else,
As we dance to the Masochism Tango.

Let our love be a flame, not an ember,
Say it's me that you want to dismember.
Blacken my eye,
Set fire to my tie,
As we dance to the Masochism Tango.

At your command
Before you here I stand,
My heart is in my hand...
Yeech!
It's here that I must be.

My heart entreats,
Just hear those savage beats,
And go put on your cleats
And come and trample me.

Your heart is hard as stone or mahogany,
That's why I'm in such exquisite agony.
My soul is on fire,
It's aflame with desire,
Which is why I perspire when we tango.

You caught my nose
In your left castanet, love,
I can feel the pain yet, love,
Ev'ry time I hear drums.

And I envy the rose
That you held in your teeth, love,
With the thorns underneath, love,
Sticking into your gums.

Your eyes cast a spell that bewitches.
The last time I needed twenty stitches
To sew up the gash
That you made with your lash,
As we danced to the Masochism Tango.

Bash in my brain,
And make me scream with pain,
Then kick me once again,
And say we'll never part.

I know too well
I'm underneath your spell,
So, darling, if you smell
Something burning, it's my heart... [hiccup]
'Scuse me!

Take your cigarette from its holder,
And burn your initials in my shoulder.
Fracture my spine,
And swear that you're mine,
As we dance to the Masochism Tango.

 

[snooper]

Of course, you lot are all too young to remember Lehrer at his finest, when he was Associate Professor of Mathematics at Chicago.

The songs I mean are Lobachevski, The Wienerschnitzel Waltz, When You're Old and Grey, and, perhaps the best of all, the Hunting Song.

People ask me how I do it,
And I say there's nothing to it,
You just stand there looking cute,
And when something moves, you shoot.
And there's ten stuffed heads in my trophy room right now,
Two game wardens, seven hunters,
And a pure bred Guernsey cow.

The law was very firm it
Took away my permit.
The word punishment I ever endured.
It turned out there was a reason,
Cows were out of season,
And one of the hunters wasn't insured.
But there's ten stuffed heads in my trophy room right now,
Two game wardens, seven hunters,
And a pure bred Guernsey cow.

Thinking again of Lobachevski reminds me of the Celeb section of Lit. You know:-
Every chapter I stole from somewhere else,
Index I got from old Rostov telephone directory.