I can speak of the future, but not of the past;
I describe distribution of things you’ve amassed;
For a Smith, I’m a nickname; for George, I’m his last;
And the power of mind that can let you stand fast.

Who am I?

UPDATE: Riddle solved by Asher. See comments for answer.

I’m a game played by kids, when they’re done with Leapfrog;
I am worn by a soldier, a corpse, or a dog;
Category on Twitter, or here on the blog;
And the license plate number a driver must log.

Who am I?

UPDATE: Riddle solved by Asher. See comments for answer.

This is the 36th in a series of 40 pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Enjoy!

Courtships
sung to the tune of “Starships”

(With apologies to Nicki Minaj – she knows why…)

Touchtone
Went into the wood, could
Woo his Audrey,
And he said, they would wed, if she’d agree.
It was a nervous service, led by a vicar,
Which is unofficial, so he could leave her quicker.
But at least a priest wed them with us;
A contract is a fact, nothing to discuss.
As it turned out, they got along;
Three years gone by, and they’re still going strong.

Phebe’d abhor, abhor
Her would-be man:
A shepherd poor, poor,
She could not stand.
But she fell for, for,
My little scam,
Did what she swore, swore,
Now look at them!

Courtships, based on a lie,
You’d think would quickly die,
But may be worth a try;
It happens all the time.

Courtships, based on a lie,
You’d think would quickly die,
It happens all the time.
Worth a try…

A liar makes a lively lover!
A liar makes a lively lover!
A liar makes a lively lover!

Your brother met a shepherd girl;
He thought that.
Her simple manners won his heart;
He knew that.
But she was a princess; he didn’t get mad.
If you think it through, it isn’t so bad.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind.

Every honest lover has to say, say, say,
The complete truth and today’s that day,
Finally explain that resemblance uncanny,
My name was Rosalind, as you called me Gany.

So you fell for, for,
My little scam,
Did what you swore, swore,
And here I am!

Courtships, based on a lie,
You’d think would quickly die,
But may be worth a try;
It happens all the time.

Courtships, based on a lie,
You’d think would quickly die,
It happens all the time.
Worth a try…

A liar makes a lively lover!

I’m the window that’s lifted; the left-unlocked door;
I’m accessible source code; a functioning store;
I’m the mic that lets anyone take to the floor;
And when one band’s in concert, to play there before.

Who am I?

UPDATE: Riddle solved by Asher. See comments for answer.

From Pericles:

See how belief may suffer by foul show!
This borrow’d passion stands for true old woe.

Shift around the letters, and it becomes:

Obsessed senators would drop a few of the bombs on Hillary, so her future is iffy.

Wow.

This is the 35th in a series of 40 pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Enjoy!

Legionnaire
sung to the tune of “Billionaire”

(With apologies to Travie McCoy and… Bruno Mars, again?)

You know I’ve been a legionnaire so very long.
A well-trained army keeps the empire strong.
I’ve fought in armed conflict for my native Rome,
Keeping all our people safe at home.

Oh, every time I close my eyes
I feel consumed with battle cries.
I’m always ready for a fight, alright.
I swear, my foes better prepare,
‘Cause I’m a legionnaire!

Yeah, I went against the Volscians,
Fighting alongside Cominius.
A fine Roman he is.
At Corioles, I took the lead on an attack.
At first, the enemy was able to beat us back.
Then I managed to break open the city gates,
Which as you would think sealed the Volscian’s fates.
I got a title for playing a heroic role.
You can call me Marcius, minus the Coriol.
Ha, ha, get it? I’d probably see if I could make a run
For a public office, like consul, imagine if I’d won.
Yeah, I’d be a big deal once I’m elected.
Everywhere I go I’d be feared and respected.

Oh, every time I close my eyes
I feel consumed with battle cries.
I’m always ready for a fight, alright.
I swear, my foes better prepare,
‘Cause I’m a legionnaire!

I’ll get the support of the Roman Senate,
Whipping up the delegates.
Then I’ll ask the plebes, only in the name of etiquette.
They’re not too important, but just for the heck of it.
The plebes and the patricians should be completely separate.
For crows to peck at eagles, I can’t really back it.
I’ve earned my accession, it’s too bad if you balk at it.
I see you take offense at this. I don’t really care,
And you want to banish me which is really unfair,
When I fought in your wars. Who are you to judge me,
Eating good, sleeping soundly?
And you think you can banish me?
I banish you, you’ll no longer have
Coriolanus to kick around.

You know I’ve been a legionnaire so very long.
A well-trained army keeps the empire strong.
I’ve fought in armed conflict for my native Rome,
Keeping all our people safe at home.

Oh, every time I close my eyes
I feel consumed with battle cries.
I’m always ready for a fight, alright.
I swear, Rome better prepare,
‘Cause I’m a legionnaire!

You know I’ve been a legionnaire so very long.

I’m a high-ranking title it’s good to possess;
Had a dream which became an important address;
A promotion in checkers, forbidden in chess;
And a horror-prone novelist, rife with success.

Who am I?

UPDATE: Riddle solved by Asher. See comments for answer.

This is the 34th in a series of 40 pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Enjoy!

Full Stop
sung to the tune of “Thrift Shop”

(With apologies to Macklemore, Ryan Lewis, and Wanz…)

Hey, Shakespeare! Can you write some poetry?

Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM
Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM
Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM
Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM

ABAB CDCD EFEF GG
ABAB CDCD EFEF GG
ABAB CDCD EFEF GG
ABAB CDCD EFEF GG

I’m gonna write some verse.
Only got fourteen lines in a sonnet:
I-I-Iambic Pentameter,
With a given rhyme scheme.

Nah, take up the quill like “What up? Gonna write a lot.”
Three quatrains and a couplet ending in a full stop.
Ink on the parchment, I’m so close on it,
That people like “Damn! That’s a perfect sonnet.”
Gonna get hella deep, compare thee to a summer’s day,
But it’s all in your favor, ‘cause thou art lovelier, if I may.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Yes!
It doesn’t even have to make sense!

Thinkin’ it, Writin’ it, Let me confess that we two must be twain.
Our undivided loves are one, so shall those blots with me remain.
Sometimes I write for my favorite young man,
Or else it’s the Dark Lady and…
Starting a new one, it’s: O! How thy worth with manners may I sing?
What can praise to myself bring? What can praise to myself bring?
No, for real – what a torment would thy absence prove?
Better entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Immortalized in poetry that I’ve been writin’.
You shall shine more bright in this powerful rhyme
Than gilded monuments besmear’d with sluttish time.
Hello, Hello, Good e’en, good fellow!
Petrarch ain’t got nothing on my rhyme schemes, hell no!
I could take them to the printer, bind them up, sell those.
The tavern gang would be like “Aw, he got the Quartos.”

I’m gonna write some verse.
Only got fourteen lines in a sonnet:
I-I-Iambic Pentameter,
With a given rhyme scheme.

I’m gonna write some verse.
Only got fourteen lines in a sonnet:
I-I-Iambic Pentameter,
With a given rhyme scheme.

Let me not impede the marriage of true minds.
Love’s not love which alters when it alteration finds.
If this be, If this be error, and upon me prov’d,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.
Thank God, my mistress’s eyes are nothing like the sun.
Her hairs be wires and her breasts be dun.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Chiasmus, Ekphrasis, Litotes, Ellipsis…
I use all those Greek devices, so much more than any other.
Though I know she lies, I believe my tender lover,
And that allows us both to be flattered by each other.
She be like “Oh, he believes me that I am full of truth.”
I’m like “O, she thinks that I am some untutored youth.”
It’s an illusion, just a mutual delusion.
Full of truth? To think that I’m a youth?
No, I think that I am long in the tooth.
But I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter’d be.
I still love her so.
Those lips that Love’s own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said “I hate,”
To me that languished for her sake,
So I wrote her a sonnet, she thought it was great.

She thought it was great.

Good Will! Write some verse! Yeah!

I’m gonna write some verse.
Only got fourteen lines in a sonnet:
I-I-Iambic Pentameter,
With a given rhyme scheme.

I share with you, my friend:
To Mr. W.H.,
These poems that I penned,
With a full stop at the end.

I share with you, my friend:
To Mr. W.H.,
These poems that I penned,
With a full stop at the end.

I’m gonna write some verse.
Only got fourteen lines in a sonnet:
I-I-Iambic Pentameter,
With a given rhyme scheme.

Is that a full stop at the end?

I am cattle and sheep that are raised in a group;
I am NASCAR-style racing; a summer-formed troupe;
I’m generic film footage; the base of a soup;
And the equity shares that investers recoup.

Who am I?

UPDATE: Riddle solved by Asher. See comments for answer.