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Lord Byron, by Becky
Edwards
Don Brian
I want a hero, from the Ambridge men: I need a brave and beautiful young
lion,
But as such creatures rarely leave their den, For now, I s'pose I must make
do with Brian.
There are young lads, 'tis true, a deal more pretty, More boastful, keen
and fit for fighting;
I doubt if e'en their mothers call them witty, We shall not call their company
exciting.
And while, I think, Brian's slightly past his best,
He still makes for an entertaining guest.
He's master of an admirable life, Soil never ceasing to be fecund,
He has a noble and ingenious wife, Who never seems to doubt him for a second.
(And if you plan to spend your time in pleasure, This kind of loyal woman
is a must
Who has a "history" in equal measure, Just to ensure you keep her solid
trust)
But anyway, we must digress no more,
Before the mods come knocking at our door.
So all this comfort and apparent ease Our Brahn threw over just to play
it bad,
Deaf to his neighbours' and his daughters' pleas. (He really is the most
appalling cad.)
The first good lady so to bite the dust Was the sweet, dusky maiden Caroline
And though she did protest "It ain't just lust". I swear I saw her swigging
from his wine.
(Though here I must confess that Caroline
Was ne'er a favourite soubriquet of mine)
This sordid episode dragged on a while, Until the Lady Jenny sharp found
out.
But all she really did was force a smile, Relieved that Caro was not up
the spout.
And Brian was not cured of female charms Rashly still he loved to seek the
succour
Of an evening in some maiden's arms. I think he even hit on Betty Tucker.
Believe me, folks, it took me quite a time
To think of how to cleanly make that rhyme.
But now, our hero's hapless luck is spent, His manly form is broken and
forlorn.
I think he's many an hour to repent The day he got entangled with Siobhan.
For being a Catholic girl, of good descent, Grown lovely in the misty Irish
air,
And being of a dutiful and helpful bent She unexpectedly produced an heir.
Well I for one don't wish babe any harm,
But wouldn't like to bet he'll get the farm
Dead
Poets Society
More
parodies - from Agatha Christie to Damon Runyon
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