Sing, sing a song...

My last few posts have been a little on the dark side, so I am going to try and write about something a little lighter in tone.

I have a terrible habit.  I almost hate to admit it here in public.  My wife is driven to distraction by what I do, but I can’t seem to help myself.

Grab your children and cover their eyes…er, ears…

I sing the wrong lyrics…on purpose…to songs on the radio.

And not just the wrong lyrics, but the wrong lyrics with a dirty undertone.  Kind of a perverted Weird Al channel if you will.

There have been a lot of misinterpretations of song lyrics over the years.  Louie Louie by The Kingsmen is probably the most famous example.  The Monkeys (Sweet Young Thing), CCR (Lookin Out My Back Door), and Pearl Jam (Glorified G), all come to mind.  If anyone wants to discuss what I am hearing when I listen to these song, feel free to ask.

But my problem is not one of misunderstanding.  I go out of my way to change the lyrics even if it is quite obvious what the actual words are.  Here, let me unlock this dark and cobwebby place in my head and show you.

Melissa Etheridge has a great song out called “It Only Hurts when I Breath”.  I love this song, I think it is one of her best.  But when I hear it I can’t help but sing:

It’s alright, it’s alright…it only hurts when I pee…

Seems kind of obvious to me.  But really pisses the wife off.  There are some songs that she can’t listen to anymore because she now hears my rewritten version instead of the original.  Here’s another example.

The Cranberries Song “Linger”.  While the skinny little Cranberry tart is singing “do you have to let it linger”, I am belting out, “do you have to pull my finger”.  It can change the entire mood of the song.

Every song is open to reinterpretation by me, I pull no punches and allow no one to slip under my musical sights.  Probably the only music that I can’t do anything with is country, it already makes fun of itself so I’ve got nothing.  We were watching a couple of minutes of the CMA’s the other night and Trace Atkins sang a song.  “You were looking out the window, of our SUV…”, how Americana can you get…(retch, gag, blow nose)

Sorry, I hate to get some of my lunch caught in a nostril.

Anyway, any song that tells you how many times to breath in a minute and when to swallow and blink your eyes is already to far gone to be messed with.

(Disclaimer – I love bands like Big & Rich, Lyle Lovette and Dwight Yoakam…go figure)

But anyway…even the Beatles, Led Zeppelin and Alice In Chains, rock Gods that they may be, are not beyond the scope of my dementia.  I ought to write all this stuff down someday.  I know Weird Al has already made a killing off of it, but I just can’t help myself.  I have even found myself changing the lyrics to his rewritten lyrics.  

I have been quite tame here.  I am sure that most of the stuff I blurt out in the car would never make it past the censers.  Of course there is satellite radio now.  They even let Howard Stern talk without a loop button.  Hmmmm….

-P