I Would Never (Day 358/365)

I’m on a roll. Herewith the chorus to “I Would Never”:

CHORUS:
I would never (he’d never)
I’d never (no never)
deride or disparage an ex:
I’m such a defender
of the delicate gender,
my feelings so tender
for all of the opposite sex.

For Carol was crazy and Lucy was gay,
And as for poor Karrie, well, what can I say?
For as much as I’d love to have wrung all their necks,
I’d never, no never, disparage an ex.

In the last bit, that would change with each repetition.

For Maggie was toothless and Eleanor lisped,
And Susan would sunbathe till burnt to a crisp,
And Alicia most closely resembled T. rex,
But I’d never, no never, disparage an ex.

And that last bit I wrote while writing this post. I’m getting very good at this particular trope.

[a short while later]

For Chloe was cross-eyed and Doris a drunk
And Rita regrettably smelled like a skunk.
So I’ll say it again , if no one objects,
I’d never, no never, disparage an ex.

For Gladys had gangrene inside of her thigh,
And Molly made innocent children to cry.
For though many have given me herpes simplex,
I’d never, no never, disparage an ex.

Whee!

[even later, after another dog walking]

Amanda had scurvy, Felicia was fat,
And Winifred would end a sentence with “at.”
Because with them all I had excellent sex,
I’d never, no never, disparage an ex.

I can’t stop myself. Now I need to pile up actual verses the same way.

10 thoughts on “I Would Never (Day 358/365)

  1. Might I suggest in lieu of “Molly made innocent children to cry.” In keeping with the rhythm, but instead of the unusual infinitive: “Molly made innocent chil-der-ren cry.” Just an over-enunciation that gives it the extra syllable. I’m no lyricist. I’m just a comedy writer.

  2. I think you’re right on the nose with that. The “to” was icky, but I regarded it as a first draft anyway. Consider it changed.

  3. Egads, I’ve become lax, and forgot to correspond yesterday. Apologies.

    I’m rather surprised that you’re not a programmer; in any case, you seem technologically and politically up-to-date, and those are the main prerequisites to being a self-proclaimed programmer.

    Thank you for teaching me not to assume; I now realize that that is a very important lesson that I am now surprised I had not learned sooner. Not surprisingly, I still have quite a bit to learn about life. πŸ™‚

    I must agree with Mr. Funt, that poem is quite hilarious. Although I must say, I find it hard to believe that you could’ve had excellent sex with such an apparently ill-suited bunch of women.

    Then again, to each his own. πŸ™‚

    Belated but existent regards,
    Alvin

  4. That would be the humor in Thurgood’s song, actually, that he has nonetheless bedded all these unfortunate females.

    Not being a programmer is like someone’s definition (W. C. Fields, I think) of a gentleman: someone who can play the saxophone, but doesn’t.

  5. What do you know maybe I am a lyricist. And just a note: since I will probably be playing Thurgood wherever this gets performed, I would have said it that way anyway. πŸ˜‰

  6. I am a true bass. I can do baritone, and I can fake Groucho’s tenor when I do his voice because it doesn’t have to sound great.

  7. All rightie, we’re good. “Love Song” is not that high, and it’s good to know what our limits are before I get back to the piano.

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