I am the very model of a fan of oldie poppy rock
I hate, with passion, all the rappers: load o’ bull and poppycock
We had the best, in England, and I quote the Stones’ back catalogue
With “Paint It, Black” an’ “Jumpin’ Jack”, no wonder I’m still that agog

They’re very swell; I rate The Who; their singles were sensational
His writin’, grand: P Townshend; for him, music: occupational
No doubt the young ‘uns’ll jeer ‘em; they’re screaming for them *grotty crews
(Spoken line)
Ooh, Diddy crews, Fiddy crews…hate ‘em!
(Resume singing)
So many fearful males; a din they blare; she’s fake: their *dotty *muse

(So many leer-full tales of how, once bare, they make the *totty ooze)
(So many near-full tails; a bitch’ll swear, but take the *botty bruise)
(So many near-full jails; they best beware an’ brake their dotty, *potty views)

I finish work at “5:15”; “My Generation”: pub, we root
I try to *shag terrific dames; no uglies will I “Substitute”
For sport, of girlies, I’m “The Seeker”; when I *pull, I’m “Happy Jack”
They often run a mile when they hear I’m full o’ crappy yack

(For short an’ curlies: like ‘em sleeker; wire wool: not “Happy Jack”)
(When soft an’ fun: a smile; like ‘em sheer, not full: a snappy crack)

-----

I know our Clapton’s history; The Yardbirds: where he started off
But after “For Your Love” hit: feelin’ quitty, paced, then darted off
I note that his *replacement did some tracks with audio zing in ‘em
The Breakers I once saw, long after Eric did his thing in ‘em

I…know well, the Cream had riffy skills: “Cat’s Squirrel”, “Badge” and “Ulysses”
But now that Baker’s ancient, if he gives it all, he’ll duly wheeze
The guy could drum: a “Toad”, in which we heard ol’ Ginger bangin’ ‘em
(Spoken line)
Ooh, bangin’ ‘em, clangin’ ‘em…love it!
(Resume singing)
When vocal: much ignore; we ran for cover when he sang in ‘em

(When vocal: such a bore; I bet his mother would be dangin’ ‘em)
(When vocal: such a chore; ears will recover, but it stang in ‘em)
(When vocal: such a snore; ears: not a lover, for the *tang, it stang in ‘em)

Then Eric made a supergroup; The Dirty Mac was groovy stuff
The gig was only temp’ry; played the *Circus, but the movie: duff
The band had Lennon, Mitch an’ Richards; coulda been so really big
It was the very model of a super group I really dig

(I’m glad the Lennon *witch was silent; woulda been one crappy gig)
(Instead, the very model of a super-duper happy gig)

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Then Blind, was Eric, in the Faith; not long before: *“God” doo-dl-in’
“Do What You Like” was shite; a lousy earful; dire noo-dl-in’
Then E.C. met his next band; they’re the Bramlett’s, though not with ‘em yet
“Not funny”, said Delaney: Eric *nicked his backin’ rhythm set

Well, I then learned that Derek and The Dominos were ruddy good
An’ I could tell, that white kids play the blues as well as Muddy could
A shock when he did heroin, with Jim M. dead so recently
(Spoken line)
Ooh, I say, that’s a bad one *innit: *smack, an’ that crack, ha, ha, ha, ha…stupid!
(Resume singing)
With Lymon, Joplin, Wilson: dead, ‘em all, an’ so indecently

(Then Whitten, Taylor, Buckley: dead, ‘em all, an’ so indecently)
(Then Bolin, Kossoff, Culloch: dead, ‘em all, an’ so indecently)
(Then Hardin, Slovak, Davis: dead, ‘em all, an’ Staley much more recently)

Hope my parody was solid; if it’s sucky, bet you’re long asleep
I could’ve been the clown an’ done a TT, i.e. song o’ sheep
Or write a story ‘bout Obama; Democrats: I’d grill ‘em all
Or one with lots of booze in, an’ a pal; of how we’d swill ‘em all

(Or write a story ‘bout Osama; ruddy rats: I’d kill ‘em all)
(Or one with lots of ewes in, an’ a gal; of how I’d drill ‘em all)