This is the tenth of a series of pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Bon Appetit!

Gristle
sung to the tune of “Whistle”

(With apologies to Flo Rida and the faint of heart…)

Did you get some gristle, maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.
I used a different kind of meat that seemed more apropos.
You just grind the bones to powder and you cook it slow.
Did you get some gristle maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.

I heard you like sweet pies,
But I bet you’d like meat pies;
And so now take a look,
I’m dressed like a cook,
To invite you to eat pies.

You are, my gracious lord, welcome.
And, dread queen, you too are welcome.
Ye war-like Goths sure are welcome.
Lucius and all, you are welcome.

Hope you won’t complain;
Have some more champagne;
Have one more helping.
Every bite you savor
Carries a distinctively curious flavor,
But the truth is really much graver…

Did you get some gristle, maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.
I used a different kind of meat that seemed more apropos.
You just grind the bones to powder and you cook it slow.
Did you get some gristle maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.

Gristle, maybe? Gristle, maybe?
Gristle, maybe? Gristle, maybe?

You just grind the bones whole,
Then mix with blood in a bowl.
Make sure the paste is rolled.
Use a spatula to fold.
With just one hand to hold,
The dish is best served cold.

The vilest Vandal can’t hold a candle
To these two villains, so much more than I could handle.
So I baked them into pies from corona to sandal,
‘Cause you never want to mess with Titus Andro.
I fed them to their momma, and that’s the scandal.

So amusing, so if you get some gristle, it’s confusing,
When you see now how the pies are simply oozing
With the special kind of meat that I’ve been using.

Did you get some gristle, maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.
I used a different kind of meat that seemed more apropos.
You just grind the bones to powder and you cook it slow.
Did you get some gristle maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.

Gristle, maybe? Gristle, maybe?
Gristle, maybe? Gristle, maybe?

I killed your sons; you consumed them,
In the meat pies that entombed them.
You ate your kin; that’s so trippy.
Let’s call it a family, family, family recipie.
So, dread queen, now you know – oh oh oh.
It’s like that Sweeney Todd show – oh oh.

Did you get some gristle, maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.
I used a different kind of meat that seemed more apropos.
You just grind the bones to powder and you cook it slow.
Did you get some gristle maybe, gristle maybe?
Let me know.

This is the ninth of a series of Shakespeare-themed parodies of popular songs.

I’ve been contacted by the American Song Parody Regulation Agency (ASPRA) and apparently I’m in violation of federal statutes by failing to provide a parody of “Gangnam Style” in a timely manner. With this post, I hope to bring the blog back into compliance.

Enjoy!

Agamemnon Style
rapped to the beat of “Gangnam Style”

(With apologies to PSY, and his many fans…)

Agamemnon style!

‘Memnon style!

A legendary woman with a beauty like no other,
I competed and then won you for my royal younger brother,
For you to be his queen, his wife, and then his children’s mother,
But you left the King of Sparta for another.

And so please beware!
I’ll do the things I need to do for Greece and this I swear.
I had to sacrifice my daughter just to get us there.
I truly hate to interrupt your sordid love affair,
But you should prepare.

You were cared for, but let your heart roam.
Yes, you did, hey! Oh yes, you did, hey!
You were cared for, but let your heart roam.
Think on that, hey! Yes, think on that, hey!
As the face that launched a thousand ships sails home…
Agamemnon style!

‘Memnon style! Ag- Ag- Ag- Ag- Agamemnon style!
‘Memnon style! Ag- Ag- Ag- Ag- Agamemnon style!
Hey, get the lady. Ag- Ag- Ag- Ag- Agamemnon style!
Hey, get the lady. Ag- Ag- Ag- Ag- Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey…

And now in spite of those offenses that have passed before,
Deliver Helen, that’s the only thing we fight you for,
Then shall the damage we’ve consumed within this cormorant war,
Stand between our nations never more.

Trojan offender, there!
Behold my fleet of ships approach in all their splendor there,
With former suitors bound by sacred honor to defend her there.
We’re engaged to fight until your forces all surrender there,
Then apprehend her there.

You were cared for, but let your heart roam.
Yes, you did, hey! Oh yes, you did, hey!
You were cared for, but let your heart roam.
Think on that, hey! Yes, think on that, hey!
As the face that launched a thousand ships sails home…
Agamemnon style!

‘Memnon style! Ag- Ag- Ag- Ag- Agamemnon style!
‘Memnon style! Ag- Ag- Ag- Ag- Agamemnon style!
Hey, get the lady. Ag- Ag- Ag- Ag- Agamemnon style!
Hey, get the lady. Ag- Ag- Ag- Ag- Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey…

She’s not “of Troy,” not for you to enjoy.
Maybe, maybe, your fine city here I will destroy.

She’s not “of Troy,” not for you to enjoy.
Maybe, maybe, your fine city here I will destroy.

Agamemnon style! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey…

Hey, get the lady. Ag- Ag- Ag- Ag- Agamemnon style!
Hey, get the lady. Ag- Ag- Ag- Ag- Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey…

Agamemnon style!

This is the eighth of a series of Shakespeare-themed parodies of popular songs.

Enjoy!

Countrywide Problems
rapped to the beat of “99 Problems”

(With apologies to Jay-Z, and anyone who came here looking for stuff they could use in class…)

I ain’t worried ‘bout the Maid of Orleans.
I got countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.

I got morbid fears on the war frontiers,
This thing’s been ragin’ on for a Hundred Years.
Charles the Dauphin named himself the French King.
I’m the French King, stupid, you don’t know a damn thing.
My father did conquer, or haven’t you heard,
Reclaiming the title of Edward III.
So now England and France are united as one.
If you don’t like the arrangement, too bad, it’s all done.
But with our generals shaken, an army unskilled,
With Talbot taken, and with Salisbury killed,
The French took back Champaigne and Rouen,
Rheims and Poitiers, and now Paris is gone… zut alors!
I don’t know what you take me as,
Or understand the divine right that Henry has.
We took back Rouen, but the French ain’t done.
I got countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
Back me!

Countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
I ain’t worried ‘bout the Maid of Orleans.
I got countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
Back me!

It’s 1429, and the realm is fine,
But some folks just want to step out of line.
My uncles spend hours debating my powers,
And out in the garden, they’re choosing up flowers.
Plantagenet shows up with a smirk on his face,
And actin’ like the fool thinks he owns the damn place, so I
Take the time out of planning for wars,
And I heard “I have a claim that’s better than yours.”
You don’t have a claim, who you messin’ with?
Your pops was a traitor, mine was Henry V,
So what’s this claim you think you can flaunt?
“From my mother from a brother who was older than Gaunt.”
Uh-huh. “My uncle carried the Mortimer name,
And now that he’s gone I inherit his claim.”
Descended through a female, so you missed your chance.
“If that’s how it goes, what are we doing in France?”
We use English law here, you wanna be a smart alec,
French law is different, and it’s not the Law Salic!
“Aren’t you sharp as a tack, you some type of scholar or somthin’,
Some kind of royal family historian?”
I ain’t got all the lineage trees from Burke’s,
But I know a little somethin’ ’bout how this all works.
I gave him York, but his trench ain’t done.
I got countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
Back me!

Countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
I ain’t worried ‘bout the Maid of Orleans.
I got countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
Back me!

Now once upon a time, when I had to invade,
A monarch like myself had to strong-arm a maid.
This is not a maid in the sense of some girl with a sword,
But a self-proclaimed handmaid who waits on the Lord.
My army met hers on an Angiers field,
And in force of war, York made the witch yield.
You know the type, claiming divine sight,
But she couldn’t hold her own in a brute fight.
The only thing that I’d let happen is to stop all her yappin’,
Take her to the stake and start strappin’ with the wrappin’,
And then watch the witch start bargainin’,
In a desperate attempt just to save her skin.
Such an unholy lass, so afraid of death,
That she’s spouting out lies with her dying breath.
She denied her father, claimed a noble birth,
And an unborn child to increase her worth.
But from Renier of Naples or Alencon?
So much for the “Maid” of Orleans.
We lit the fire, and the stench ain’t fun.
I got countrywide problems, burnin’ a wench ain’t one.
Back me!

Countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
I ain’t worried ‘bout the Maid of Orleans.
I got countrywide problems, but a wench ain’t one.
Back me!

Oops, I did it again! This is the seventh of a series of pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Enjoy!

Thought We Were Friends
sung to the tune of “Till the World Ends”

(With apologies to Britney Spears and, yeah, Shakespeare…)

Been servant to you for my whole life, you see.
Never seen you behave so abnormally.

Although you are my master,
Your words are a disaster.
I tell you of your honey;
You ask me for your money.
I ask you if you’re eating;
You answer with a beating.
Master, say, is everything all right?

I can’t take it, take it, take no more.
Never been like, been like this before.
C’mon get me, get me off the floor.
Master, what’d you, what’d you beat me for?

* * *

Say what else, but I know what I know did pass.
Being kicked, I should kick, if I were an ass.

You brought home guests for dinner;
The doors were locked from inner.
You left mad with the goldsmith;
A rope you said come back with.
Then, my task completing,
I earn another beating.
Master, say, is everything all right?

I can’t take it, take it, take no more.
Never been like, been like this before.
C’mon get me, get me off the floor.
Master, what’d you, what’d you beat me for?

* * *

If you beat me, I must take it.
But I really thought we were friends.
I’m the servant; you’re the master.
But I really thought we were friends.

But I really thought we were friends.
But I really thought we were friends.

This is the sixth of a series of parodies, in which I change the lyrics to a popular song to make it about Shakespeare.

Enjoy!

Mourn This Way
sung to the tune of “Born This Way”

(With apologies to Lady Gaga and, I guess, Weird Al Yankovic…)

It doesn’t matter if you loved him,
Or capital M-O-M.
Just throw some black on,
‘Cause you can mourn this way, baby!

My mama told me when I was young,
I’d one day become the king.
But when my father died, my uncle did,
While she was glad to wear his ring.

And now I’m seeing my father’s ghost;
“Avenge my unnatural death” he’ll say.
I’ll fool my uncle, keep him off his guard,
With the crafty madness I can play.

I’m gonna change how I look,
Then read some words from a book,
And I’ll wear all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I’m gonna put on a show;
I’ll get my uncle to go,
And I’ll wear all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

Mourn this way!

Oh, I’ll watch him at the play.
Maybe I can mourn this way.
Maybe I can mourn this way.

Mourn this way!

Oh, I’ll watch him at the play.
Maybe I can mourn this way.
All black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I’m not a king; I’m just a prince.
I’m not a king; I’m just a prince.
I’m not a king; I’m just a prince.

My uncle murdered Dad and took his crown;
I know just how far fetched that sounds.
But now the king’s fled from the play, so I’ll
Take the ghost’s word for a thousand pounds.

“Direct your vengeance against the king,
But not capital M-O-M.” Hey, hey, hey!
If I confront her, then the ghost will come:
Truepenny, hic et ubique.

And now my girlfriend’s gone mad,
Because I murdered her dad,
And I wore all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I took a trip with some friends;
Too bad they’ll now meet their ends,
While I wear all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

Oh, I sent them on their way.
Maybe I can mourn this way.
Maybe I can mourn this way.

Mourn this way!

Oh, I sent them on their way.
Maybe I can mourn this way.
All black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I’m not a king; I’m just a prince.
Hereditary governments
Have quite a lot to answer for
In Copenhagen, Elsinore!

And soon I’ll need to fear no toil,
I’ll shuffle off this mortal coil,
So get yourself some black today,
‘Cause, baby, you can mourn this way.

No matter king, queen, or knave,
Prince, yeoman, beggar, or slave;
You gotta wear black, baby,
When you mourn at my grave.

No matter Danish, German,
Norwegian, Pole, Swede, or Finn;
You gotta wear black, baby,
So your mourn can begin.

Out to the graveyard I’ll go,
Talk to this skull that I know,
And I’ll wear all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I’ll match Laertes with swords,
Then get my final rewards,
And you’ll wear all black, baby,
‘Cause you’ll mourn this way, yeah.

Oh, this is my final day.
Horatio, you’ll mourn this way.
Maybe you can mourn this way.

Mourn this way!

Oh, this is my final day.
Horatio, you’ll mourn this way.
All black, baby,
‘Cause you’ll mourn this way.

You can mourn this way, hey!
You can mourn this way, hey!
Just wear all black, baby,
You can mourn this way, hey!

You can mourn this way, hey!
You can mourn this way, hey!
Just wear all black, baby,
You can mourn this way, hey!

I’m DOA, so mourn this way…
I’m DOA, so mourn this way…

This is the fifth of a series of parodies, where I change the lyrics to a popular song to make it about Shakespeare.

And now, it has come to this.

Feste And I Know It
sung to the tune of “Sexy And I Know It”

(With apologies to LMFAO and the greater Internet community…)

Yeah, Yeah…

When I get harangued… I see no colors, ‘cause I’m too well hanged.
I’ve a motley style… when Olivia’s sad, I can make her smile, yeah.
I’m nonchalant… I have free license, say what I want.
You put me down, you get your comeuppance.
To be in your shoes, man, I wouldn’t give twopence. (Nah!)

Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Uh uh, I’m no fool!

Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Uh uh, I’m no fool!

When I jest in the streets, yeah, you like what you see. (What, ho!)
Maybe you’d consider some money for me.
I have a clownish kind of wit and I ain’t afraid to show it, show it, show it, show it…
I’m Feste and I know it.

I’m Feste and I know it.

Yo, I never cease… but I can’t begin if I hold my peace.
I live by the tabor… and by the church, ’cause it is my neighbor. (Faith!)
Olivia’s harried… she’ll have no fool ‘till she be married.
When madmen and prisoners get too obdurate,
Illyria knows me as Topaz the Curate. (Vox!)

Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Uh uh, I’m no fool!

Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Ah…girl, look at that coxcomb.
Uh uh, I’m no fool!

When I jest in the streets, yeah, you like what you see. (What, ho!)
Maybe you’d consider some money for me.
I have a clownish kind of wit and I ain’t afraid to show it, show it, show it, show it…
I’m Feste and I know it.

I’m Feste and I know it.

Check it out! Check it out!
Giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, yeah.
Giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, yeah.
Giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, yeah.
Giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, giggle, yeah.

Make you giggle, man. Make you giggle, man. Yeah.

I’m Feste and I know it.

This is the fourth of a series of parodies, where I change the lyrics to a popular song to make it about Shakespeare.

I guess we all knew this one was coming, so let’s just get it out of the way.

Call Me Lady
sung to the tune of “Call Me Maybe”

(With apologies to Carly Rae Jepsen and to former fans of this once-proud blog…)

It’s such a wonderful thing,
Just what some prophecies bring;
They said that you would be king,
But he is in your way.

I got your note from the heath;
Look like a flowering wreath,
But be the snake underneath,
‘Cause he is in your way.

Your choice affects me;
Yet thy nature doth perplex me.
Come spirits, here unsex me.
No one will suspect thee, baby!

Hey, you just got home,
And this is crazy!
But be a man and
You’ll call me Lady.

It’s good to know what
Will your fate be.
So make it happen,
Then call me Lady.

Hey, you just got home,
And this is crazy!
But be a man and
You’ll call me Lady.

And all the other Thanes,
Will kneel and praise me,
When I’m their Queen and
Not just a Lady.

You took your time with the kill;
It takes more courage than skill;
If you won’t do it, I will,
‘Cause he is in your way.

Just take your cue from the witch;
Don’t tell me you have no itch;
Don’t mean to be such a bitch,
But he is in your way.

Your choice affects me;
Yet thy nature doth perplex me.
Come spirits, here unsex me.
No one will suspect thee, baby!

Hey, you just got home,
And this is crazy!
But be a man and
You’ll call me Lady.

It’s good to know what
Will your fate be.
So make it happen,
Then call me Lady.

Hey, you just got home,
And this is crazy!
But be a man and
You’ll call me Lady.

And all the other Thanes,
Will kneel and praise me,
When I’m their Queen and
Not just a Lady.

Before resorting to the knife, I never went mad.
I never went mad. And now I’m so, so mad.
Before resorting to the knife, I never went mad.
Look at that blood splat.

So call me Lady!

This is the third of a series of Shakespeare Song Parodies.

The idea is to take a popular song and change the words so that it’s about Shakespeare. Enjoy!

Boyfriend
sung to the tune of “Boyfriend”

(With apologies to Justin Bieber and to all that is good and right in the universe…)

You’ve come to plead before me,
To let your brother go.
Ask me not for mercy,
‘Cause my blood is made of snow.

Your brother broke the law,
As his girlfriend starts to show,
Which is punishable by death,
As you must surely know.

(Shag, Shag, Shag) You do.
There’s nothing in this case that would merit review.
But if you could save his life, exactly how much would you do?
So say hello to false fellow in three, two…

(Shag)

Feel free to tell anyone you want.
Hey girl, who’d believe it’s true?

If I was your boyfriend, I’d let your brother go.
Torture him to death, girl, if you tell me No.
He won’t have to die, though, if you give me love.
If I was your boyfriend, I’d let your brother go.
I’d let your brother go.

I hear that you’ve been studying.
You want to be a nun.
But you haven’t been invested yet.
We could have some fun.

Your virtue gets me going.
No strumpet ever could.
Do I desire you foully,
For that which makes you good?

You fear for your salvation,
As that’s your only goal.
But just yield me up your body;
I talk not of your soul.

If I say you must do it,
Well then, of course, you must.
Just close your eyes and think about
How the law is just.

Feel free to tell anyone you want.
Hey girl, who’d believe it’s true?

If I was your boyfriend, I’d let your brother go.
Torture him to death, girl, if you tell me No.
He won’t have to die, though, if you give me love.
If I was your boyfriend, I’d let your brother go.
I’d let your brother go.

This is the second of what is now a series of Shakespeare Song Parodies.

The idea is to take a popular song and change the words so that it’s about Shakespeare. Enjoy!

Dutiful
sung to the tune of “What Makes You Beautiful”

(With apologies to One Direction and anyone reading this…)

You act demure.
Don’t know what for.
You could defend yourself for marrying a Mo-o-or.
But rumors spread.
Some people said
That you and Cassio have been in be-e-ed.

Everyone else in this town could see it,
Everyone else but me-e.

Baby, you light up my world, yea, I say amen;
So I must put out the light, then do that again;
You must die else you may betray other men.
I don’t know, oh, oh,
I don’t know you’re dutiful.

If you saw what Iago has helped me see,
You’d understand why I’m so filled with jealousy;
I know that you burned your dad, but would you burn me?
I don’t know, oh, oh,
I don’t know you’re dutiful.

My hankerchief:
It was a gift.
And now it’s lost; that’s what started this ri-i-ift.
You dare to lie,
And now you’ll die,
But I pause first to kiss you goodbye-eye-eye.

Everyone else in this town could see it,
Everyone else but me-e.

Baby, you light up my world, yea, I say amen;
So I must put out the light, then do that again;
You must die else you may betray other men.
I don’t know, oh, oh,
I don’t know you’re dutiful.

If you saw what Iago has helped me see,
You’d understand why I’m so filled with jealousy;
I know that you burned your dad, but would you burn me?
I don’t know, oh, oh,
I don’t know you’re dutiful.

You defended me down to your dying yell,
You’re like a liar who’s now gone to burning hell.
So Emelia, what was it you had to tell?
Now I know, oh, oh,
Now I know you’re dutiful.

I’ve long enjoyed the Shakespeare song parodies posted by Bardfilm and ShakespeareGeek. Now, it’s my turn to join in the fun. If this works out, maybe I’ll make it a regular feature.

The idea is to take a popular song and change the words so that it’s about Shakespeare. Here is my first attempt. Enjoy!

Filled with Woe
sung to the tune of “Somebody That I Used to Know”

(With apologies to Gotye, Kimbra, and my readers…)

Now and then I think of when you were my whole tomorrow,
Like when I kissed you at your father’s masquerade;
Told myself that you were right for me,
But felt alone under your balcony,
And yet I always felt that parting was such sweet sorrow.

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness,
Like how we know our parents never would approve;
So when you heard that I was banishéd,
Well, you said that we would still be wed,
But I’ll admit that I feared it was over.

But you didn’t have to kill yourself,
Taking poison on your wedding day and come to nothing,
And losing you was hard enough,
But you’re lying dead near Tybalt and that feels so rough.

O, you didn’t have to do this, no,
But I bought some poison, killed Count Paris, now I join your number;
Thus, with a kiss, I let you go,
Now I die somebody who is filled with woe!

Now I die somebody who is filled with woe!
Now I die somebody who is filled with woe!

* * *

Now and then I think about our plan to stay together,
And now I’m guessing that you never really got my note;
A pity you did not survive,
Because the whole time I was still alive;
Thy lips are still warm, Romeo,
And so, happy dagger, kill me –
I’m somebody who is filled with woe!

* * *Somebody!
Filled with woe!
Somebody!
Filled with woe!

Now I die somebody who is filled with woe!