This is the 16th in a series of pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Enjoy!

Fat Jack
sung to the tune of “Tik Tok”

(With apologies to Ke$ha, and all the party people…)

Wake up in the morning feeling like H. Percy (Hey, what up, Hal),
Pounding in my head is gonna show no mercy (Let’s go).
Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of sack,
‘Cause once I start to drink I have to keep up with Jack.

I’m talkin’…

Hanging out with the boys (boys),
At the inn the gang enjoys (joys),
Scheming out all our ploys (ploys).

Can’t stop ‘cause
Gadshill’s acting prickly,
And Bardolph’s looking sickly,
Tryna get to Mistress Quick-ly…

Sweet Ned, gone to bed,
On the floor of the Boar’s Head.
Poor Nym, look at him,
He is filled up past the brim.
Fat Jack, on his back,
After drinking too much sack.

Oh-oh-whoa-oh
Oh-oh-whoa-oh

Sweet Ned, gone to bed
On the floor of the Boar’s Head
Poor Nym, look at him,
He is filled up past the brim.
Fat Jack, on his back
After drinking too much sack

Oh-oh-whoa-oh
Oh-oh-whoa-oh

Ain’t got a care in the world,
But got plenty of tales.
Ain’t got no money in my pocket,
But I am Prince of Wales.

And all the soldiers lining up,
‘Cause they know I have power,
But we kick them to the curb,
Unless they fight like Glendower.

I’m talkin’ ‘bout – Falstaff playing my Dad (Dad),
The best role he’s ever had (had),
But the ending is much too sad (sad).

He said not to banish him ill (ill)
But I said “I do, I will.” (will)
I said “I do, I will.” (will)
And he knows I will.

Sweet Ned, gone to bed,
On the floor of the Boar’s Head.
Poor Nym, look at him,
He is filled up past the brim.
Fat Jack, on his back,
After drinking too much sack.

Oh-oh-whoa-oh
Oh-oh-whoa-oh

Sweet Ned, gone to bed,
On the floor of the Boar’s Head.
Poor Nym, look at him,
He is filled up past the brim.
Fat Jack, on his back,
After drinking too much sack.

Oh-oh-whoa-oh
Oh-oh-whoa-oh

I know you all,
And will uphold
Your idleness,
‘Till I am king.
With my head up
I’ll banish Jack,
And won’t look back
When I am king.

I know you all,
And will uphold
Your idleness,
‘Till I am king.
With my head up.
With my head up.
With my head up.

But the party will stop when I am king…

Sweet Ned, gone to bed,
On the floor of the Boar’s Head.
Poor Nym, look at him,
He is filled up past the brim.
Fat Jack, on his back,
After drinking too much sack.

Oh-oh-whoa-oh
Oh-oh-whoa-oh

Sweet Ned, gone to bed,
On the floor of the Boar’s Head.
Poor Nym, look at him,
He is filled up past the brim.
Fat Jack, on his back,
After drinking too much sack.

Oh-oh-whoa-oh
Oh-oh-whoa-oh

From Macbeth:

I have no words;
My voice is in my sword, thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out!

Shift around the letters, and it becomes:

A surly school shooter. So morbid, vivid, violent, inhuman…

Today, we grieve. Then, we act.

I’m in.

This is the 15th in a series of pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Enjoy!

Where We Belong
sung to the tune of “All Summer Long”

(With apologies to Kid Rock, and whoever that is singing the version I downloaded from iTunes…)

It was 31 BC; I was a Roman far from home,
Leading troops of soldiers rank and file.
She was Egypt’s queen; she was a sight had to be seen,
As she rode her barge along the River Nile.

When messengers from Rome
Brought letters saying to come home,
Another man might yield to Caesar’s call.
But feeling what I felt,
I said “Let Rome in Tiber melt,
And the wide arch of the ranged empire fall!”

And we’d extravagantly dine,
Dissolving pearls into our wine,
Listening to flutes and harps and boys enjoined in song,
Ignoring letters from my wives,
And endangering our lives,
So we could be together, where we belong.

Drinking from one chalice,
Dancing in her palace,
Making love on a couch enrobed in silk,
Abandoning all cares,
Of political affairs,
While servants brought us honey, figs, and milk.

And we’d extravagantly dine,
Dissolving pearls into our wine,
Listening to flutes and harps and boys enjoined in song,
Ignoring letters from my wives,
And endangering our lives,
So we could be together, where we belong.

Well I gave her my last breath, and she joined me soon in death,
But what we gained was more than we had lost.
So if you hear this song, and you know where you belong,
Then you have to go, regardless of the cost!

And we’d extravagantly dine,
Dissolving pearls into our wine,
Listening to flutes and harps and boys enjoined in song,
Ignoring letters from my wives,
And surrendering our lives,
So we could be together, where we belong.

So we could be together, where we belong.

This is the 14th in a series of pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Enjoy!

Glad You’re Tame
sung to the tune of “Glad You Came”

(With apologies to The Wanted, and all women…)

The sun comes up;
I say it’s true.
If I say “moon,”
It’s that for you.
That title “Shrew”
Will never be your name.
I’m glad you’re tame.

You used to whine for me, whine for me;
You tried to fracture my spine for me, spine for me;
But then I made you fall in line for me, line for me;
And now you always behave fine for me, shine for me!

Help me show off how,
How you’ve learned to know your place;
Place a little bet;
Bet you’ll win the race.
Race speedily out,
Out to where I call,
Call you out for all,
All to see I can make,
Make you glad you came.

The sun comes up;
I say it’s true.
If I say “moon,”
It’s that for you.
That title “Shrew”
Will never be your name.
I’m glad you’re tame.

I’m glad you’re tame.

This is the 13th in a series of pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Enjoy!

The Death of Kings
sung to the tune of “Single Ladies”

(With apologies to Beyoncé, and people who don’t like song parodies…)

All the death of kings. All the death of kings.
All the death of kings. All the death of kings.
All the death of kings. All the death of kings.
All the death of kings. Now put your guard up!

Just come ashore (shore), losing the war (war),
Let’s talk of grave grim things.
Gather around (round), sit on the ground (ground),
To tell stories of the death of kings.
Some poisoned by wives (wives), or war claimed their lives (lives),
Some died of hypertension.
But when you supplant (plant), that simply can’t (can’t)
Be good for your country.

‘Cause if you liked it then you shoulda left the king on it.
If you liked it then you shoulda left the king on it.
Don’t be shocked when my heirs make a thing of it.
If you liked it then you shoulda left the king on it.

Whuh uh uh. Uh uh uh, uh uh uh, uh uh uh.
Whuh uh uh. Uh uh uh, uh uh uh, uh uh uh.

If you liked it then you shoulda left the king on it.
If you liked it then you shoulda left the king on it.
Don’t be shocked when my heirs make a thing of it.
If you liked it then you shoulda left the king on it.

I had soldiers to fight (fight), a clear divine right (right);
The Lord up in Heaven chose me.
Bolingbroke (brook), he came and took (took);
In he comes and out goes me.
Since your ascension, did I mention,
There’s significant dissention.
So you want your turn (turn), well now you’re gonna learn,
What follows when you come depose me.

‘Cause if you liked it then you shoulda left the king on it.
If you liked it then you shoulda left the king on it.
Don’t be shocked when my heirs make a thing of it.
If you liked it then you shoulda left the king on it.

Whuh uh uh. Uh uh uh, uh uh uh, uh uh uh.
Whuh uh uh. Uh uh uh, uh uh uh, uh uh uh.

Don’t think that things will be as they were before:
A bloody civil war!
The crown is what I have earned, what I deserve!
It’s a major travesty that’s a recipe for a destiny to a misery for your children’s kids and beyond…

As soldiers take up arms,
Inflicting massive harms,
More than you have ever known,
And like those kings, I’ll be gone.

All the death of kings. All the death of kings.
All the death of kings. All the death of kings.
All the death of kings. All the death of kings.
All the death of kings. Now put your guard up!

Whuh uh uh!

This is the twelfth in a series of pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Enjoy!

You Should Never Ever Trust a Bastard, Edgar
sung to the tune of “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”

(With apologies to Taylor Swift, and bastards…)

I remember when we met up this last time.
You were my brother from another mother, cause like,
We hadn’t seen each other for nine years,
Because the bastard had to be sent away. (What?)

Then I come around again and say “Eddie,
Father’s angry and you need to run away. Trust me.”
Remember how I drew on you that day?
I said “You must leave,” I fought you, you took off, I screwed you.

Oooh, you’ve never really known my mind,
But oooh, this time I’m telling you, I’m telling you…

You should never ever ever trust a bastard, Edgar.
You should never ever ever trust a bastard, Edgar.
Our father’s lands were your lands, now those lands belong to me.
‘Cause you should never ever ever ever trust a bastard, Edgar.

Like, ever!

I always thought it seemed quite out of place
For one brother to be proper and one base,
But you always seemed to think it very fine
That your birthright was so much more rightful than mine.

Oooh, you’ve never really known my mind,
But oooh, this time I’m telling you, I’m telling you…

You should never ever ever trust a bastard, Edgar.
You should never ever ever trust a bastard, Edgar.
Our father’s lands were your lands, now those lands belong to me.
‘Cause you should never ever ever ever trust a bastard, Edgar.

You never knew it was I who wrote that letter, letter
Like I heard the king say “Never, never, never, never, never.”

Ugh, so he shows up and he’s like “draw thy sword.”
And I’m like… “this sword of mine will let your treasons rest forever.”
You know? You should never trust a bastard, Edgar.

Like, ever!

No!
You should never ever ever trust a bastard, Edgar.
You should never ever ever trust a bastard, Edgar.
Our father’s lands were your lands, now those lands belong to me.
‘Cause you should never ever ever ever trust a bastard, Edgar.

From Hamlet:

I cannot live to hear the news from England;
But I do prophesy the election lights
On Fortinbras.

Shift around the letters, and it becomes:

Math prognosticator Nate Silver predicted the whole state finishing roll, one-none.

Fun hobby!

This is the eleventh in a series of pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Enjoy!

One More Knight
sung to the tune of “One More Night”

(With apologies to Maroon 5, and St. Cripin…)

You and I look hard at each other while preparing for war.
You and I assess that our troop levels are less than before.
You and I agree it’s an issue that we should not ignore.
You and I diverge on the question of our wishing for more.

Yeah, today’s the feast of Crispin, Crispianus,
This day is holy-y,
And those who fight with us here, fight with us here,
Shall be not lowly-y,
And yearly when this day comes, when this day comes,
You’ll tell the story-y,
And so the fewer the men, fewer the men,
The greater share of glory-y.

We few are enough, if we’re marked to die,
And so now I pray, wish not one more knight.
Rather take their leave, those who would not fight,
But I pray thee, coz, wish not one more knight.

Gentlemen of England,
Who are now home resting quiet in bed,
Will curse themselves,
They were not here fighting with us instead,
Hold their manhoods cheap,
And find there’s little more that they have to say,
To the heroes that fought
Alongside the King on St. Crispin’s Day.

Yeah, today’s the feast of Crispin, Crispianus,
This day is holy-y,
And those who fight with us here, fight with us here,
Shall be not lowly-y,
And yearly when this day comes, when this day comes,
You’ll tell the story-y,
And so the fewer the men, fewer the men,
The greater share of glory-y.

We few are enough, if we’re marked to die,
And so now I pray, wish not one more knight.
Rather take their leave, those who would not fight,
But I pray thee, coz, wish not one more knight.

From King Lear:

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe’er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
Your loop’d and window’d raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? O! I have ta’en
Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,
And show the heavens more just.

Shift around the letters, and it becomes:

Hurricane Sandy was a tragedy of the steepest stuff: power loss, floods, treks, homes lost, and death.

How should we justify exactly who we are?

The next test, this election ahead, is to choose among two discussed philosophies.

Romney sulks “Every man for himself.” Shut up!

Obama defends “We’re all in this together,” as he had heeded.

Help us keep up the push to stay there for one another.

Vote.

This is the tenth of a series of pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Bon Appetit!

Gristle
sung to the tune of “Whistle”

(With apologies to Flo Rida and the faint of heart…)

Did you get some gristle, maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.
I used a different kind of meat that seemed more apropos.
You just grind the bones to powder and you cook it slow.
Did you get some gristle maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.

I heard you like sweet pies,
But I bet you’d like meat pies;
And so now take a look,
I’m dressed like a cook,
To invite you to eat pies.

You are, my gracious lord, welcome.
And, dread queen, you too are welcome.
Ye war-like Goths sure are welcome.
Lucius and all, you are welcome.

Hope you won’t complain;
Have some more champagne;
Have one more helping.
Every bite you savor
Carries a distinctively curious flavor,
But the truth is really much graver…

Did you get some gristle, maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.
I used a different kind of meat that seemed more apropos.
You just grind the bones to powder and you cook it slow.
Did you get some gristle maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.

Gristle, maybe? Gristle, maybe?
Gristle, maybe? Gristle, maybe?

You just grind the bones whole,
Then mix with blood in a bowl.
Make sure the paste is rolled.
Use a spatula to fold.
With just one hand to hold,
The dish is best served cold.

The vilest Vandal can’t hold a candle
To these two villains, so much more than I could handle.
So I baked them into pies from corona to sandal,
‘Cause you never want to mess with Titus Andro.
I fed them to their momma, and that’s the scandal.

So amusing, so if you get some gristle, it’s confusing,
When you see now how the pies are simply oozing
With the special kind of meat that I’ve been using.

Did you get some gristle, maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.
I used a different kind of meat that seemed more apropos.
You just grind the bones to powder and you cook it slow.
Did you get some gristle maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.

Gristle, maybe? Gristle, maybe?
Gristle, maybe? Gristle, maybe?

I killed your sons; you consumed them,
In the meat pies that entombed them.
You ate your kin; that’s so trippy.
Let’s call it a family, family, family recipie.
So, dread queen, now you know – oh oh oh.
It’s like that Sweeney Todd show – oh oh.

Did you get some gristle, maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.
I used a different kind of meat that seemed more apropos.
You just grind the bones to powder and you cook it slow.
Did you get some gristle maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.