The Curse of the Evil Knob Gag
The once was a young man
A Tavernier’s son was he
He wanted so much more from life
And all the world to see
He wanted wild and rapt applause
From hordes of star-struck fans
He wanted girls to like him
So thought ‘I’ll form a band’
He didn’t want to share, though
The limelight and the fame
He wanted all the pretty wenches
Calling out his name
He bought himself a guitar
And he taught himself three chords
And he set off for the city
To go and tread the boards
Chorus:
When you gotta make room for your ego
And find a cheap way to get laid
When you’re too bone idle to work the land
But you still got to get paid
Take the next stagecoach to the city
And feign a higher class
Get a slot on bawdy vaudeville
Take the stage and shake your ass
He got himself a booking
In a theatre of great class
But on his first night on the stage
He died upon his arse
His image truly tarnished
His act it was a joke
For though his costumes cut a dash
He couldn’t sing a note!
Distraught and disillusioned
He stumbled through the street
He has to find a way to make
His act applause greet
He knew that simple practice
A diva wouldn’t make
So he sought a dark incantor
To make his performance great
(Chorus)
The incantor called down Loki
The young lad said to him
“I’ll give you anything if you
Can just help me to sing”
Loki looked down at the boy and said
“I’ll teach you, son!”
If only that young foolish boy
Had realised what he’d done
For Loki kept his promise
But he had the final laugh
The lad could sing, but only songs
Packed with cheap knob gags
Give him a sonnet or lament
And he will have to pass
But if it tells of boobs and scrotums
He’ll be top of every class
(Parody)
“Oh, sing a song of nudity,
Fiddle de dee
Sing a song of crudity
Cheap jokes about bums
Fiddle de dum
And vinyl companions for a sum”
With his new-found talent
He boy, he became drunk
Bawdy songs that talked about
Erections and of…GIRLS!
He played bigger, better venues
His fame grew by the day
His ego, left unchecked of course,
It went a similar way
Loki looked down on him
And saw that it was good
He knew that there were finite ways
To say ‘Hey, I got wood’
For thou’ there’s many slang words
For the man’s best friend
The rhymes start getting awkward
Would he meet a sticky end?
Chorus
The boy he came to realise
He was fresh out of ideas
All possible innuendo
Had been used over the years
He was tired, he was frustrated
With trying to make words scan
And he couldn’t find a rhyme
For… The Little Bald Headed Champion
So who knows how this tale will end?
Will it climax, will it last?
Will it shrivel and dissolve away
Simply far too fast?
Will our hero pen a ditty
Without ancestral crutch?
Or be forever typecast
With crude eulogies of lust?
I’m not sure how this tale will end
Or if it ever will
I hear he has an album out
It’s called ‘My Power Drill’
But all good stories have an end
An end to truly fit
This lad has gone and made his bed
He’ll have to lie in it.
Chorus
He had to make room for his ego
And find a cheap way to get laid
He was too bone idle to work the land
But he still had to get paid
He took the next stagecoach to the city
He feigned a higher class
But however you dress it up
The man is still an ass
All Works are © Original Author
(OC Author - Charlotte Downey)