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User Name Thread Name Subject Posted
Moira Cameron Parody Folk Circle I (93* d) RE: Parody Folk Circle I 24 Aug 97

Barry Finn (several messages above mine) quoted the parody, "And the Band played'And the Band Played Waltzin' Matilda'". My father used to sing some of this guys parodies and humourous songs; I've been searching for the author's name for years. If anyone recognizes him, please let me know. He also wrote "Throw Away your razor, lad, and grow yourself a beard" (Which my beard sporting father loved to sing), as well as a must for all musicians who have ever experienced the performance from hell--the song's goes like this:

You're a bloody rotten audience, whilst I am very good.
If brains were made of oak and ash, then you'd have balsa wood.
I'm ethnic and authentic, and I'm really full of class.
You're ignorant, you're cultureless, you're Philistines en masse.

Another good place to look for parodies is from the pen of Ian Robb. His e-mail is

No one seems to have mentioned "The Folk Musician" (Tune: "The Boxer") I believe it was written by Fred Wedlock.

I am a folk musician and my songs are seldom sold
For I massacre folk music with three feet of Spanish chipboard and a capo.
I do requests--but just those with only two chords; I disregard the rest,
But with Dylan's luck, some day I'll be the best.

Seeking free beer and expenses, I come looking for a gig, but I get no offers;
Just a come on from a groupy here in (INSERT NAME).
I do declare! I've had trouble with my sex life since I fell and broke my wrist.
Hey, my other songs are just as good as this.

Lye lye lye...etc.

I left my home with a repertoire of my all-time favourite songs
And a music stand with a neon sign that says "Let's sing along, I'm doing favourites!"
Bending low--playing Weaver hits for quarters to a reggae dance tempo,
Looking for the chords I guess I'll never know.

Lye lye lye...etc.

And when I sing traditional, I stick my finger in my ear
Because half the songs I sing, I just can't stand to hear--but I'm an artist.
Bar after bar, to the rhythm of a Chrysler-one-string-out-of-tune-guitar,
Lye, lye, lye, lye lye lye lye.

Lye lye lye...etc.

In (INSERT PLACE NAME), I clean forgot the forty second verse,
So I sang the twenty seventh TWICE AS LOUD and in reverse--and no one noticed!
I stood and bowed. I took a long look at my wrist watch; took a survey of the crowd--
Thank God! They never listen! But they still say it's too loud.

Lye lye lye...etc.

I stand here on the stage--a folkie by my trade,
And I carry the reminders of ever gig I've played
Like last thursday at the Legion when I fled in mortal fear
With the imprint of a Guinness bottle stamped upon my ear
And a crowd that yelled "DON'T PLAY THAT STUFF ROUND HERE!"

Lye lye lye...etc.

have fun!


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