An Ill-Omened Parody

The show-stopping Food, Glorious Food, from Lionel Bart's good ol' Oliver!, had been poking its nose in the tent more than once in recent days. I'd already written one parody of it about ten months ago. Then, the recent brace of anti-war Oliver!parodies made me wonder whether a trilogy was possible (it ain't, yet). And most lately, I took the occasion of my daughter's departure for Flavortown to catch a showing of Ice Age 2: the Meltdown, and was pleasantly surprised to hear a scavengers' chorus break into the song, with slightly altered lyrics. So the thing seemed to be Fate. The press of business, stultifyingly boring business, prevented me from giving the thing the cream of the Petrikov brain until now.

As before, Bart's lyrico-musical way of thinking has proved to be a bear to replicate; somehow, the rhymes and rhythms just don't recreate themselves in my head. So what follows is in large part a dummy lyric:

Lewd, gory and crude--
Each radio station.
What used to be boo'd
Now rates an ovation.

Hip hop on the Hit Parade;
Rap 24/7.
What vacuous twit betrayed
Andre Previn?

Lewd, gory and crude--
That's rap, in a nutshell.
What murdered the Muse?
One right-in-the-gut shell.

Here's my diagnosis, folks:
Pop music is screwed.
It's lewd, gory and
Rude, sleazy and
Crude, scuzzy and
Screwed.

Lyric © 2006 Nathaniel DesH. Petrikov