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    Aussie Rules Footy Song Parodies Book 1 (A-L)
    Aussie Rules Footy Song Parodies Book 1 (A-L)
    Aussie Rules Footy Song Parodies Book 1 (A-L)
    Ebook620 pages3 hours

    Aussie Rules Footy Song Parodies Book 1 (A-L)

    By Greg Tuck

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    About this ebook

    Over the past twelve years I have been writing parodies of songs to take the mickey out of how seriously Australians take their home grown sport of Australian rules football. Well known songs from the 50's, sixties, 70's and even the 80's have been the vehicle for my humorous take on what is akin to religion in Australia. I have also poked fun at some other sports in the process. Some over the years have been selected to play on radio as part of a Saturday sporting program. From the songs of Elvis and the Beatles through to Springsteen and Poison I have taken the opportunity to poke fun at some of the antics of individuals, fans and teams who make Australian Rules Football so Aussie. For those of you who are unaware Collingwood, is the most loved team by its fans and the most hated by everyone else. Their fans have been called everything from ferals to bogans and, from my experience, both words are high praise. Enjoy, but be warned you may never sing the original lyrics ever again without a smile on your face.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGreg Tuck
    Release dateFeb 24, 2019
    ISBN9780463491270
    Aussie Rules Footy Song Parodies Book 1 (A-L)
    Author

    Greg Tuck

    I am a former primary teacher and principal, landscape designer and gardener and now a full time author living in Gippsland in the state of Victoria in Australia. Although I write mainly fictional novels, I regularly contribute to political blogs and have letters regularly published in local and Victorian newspapers. I write parodies of songs and am in the process of writing music for the large number of poems that I have written.

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      Book preview

      Aussie Rules Footy Song Parodies Book 1 (A-L) - Greg Tuck

      Injuries

      76 Trombones from the musical Music Man

      Seventy-six broken bones and still he played

      His smashed in jaw gave him a lopsided grin

      Though looking injured and sore,

      He still tried to score

      To try to help his team to win

      Seventy-six broken bones fixed with magic spray

      Dislocated fingers in both hands

      He staggered to his knees

      While his ears began to bleed

      And managed finally to stand

      Bandaged up so much he looked like a cocoon

      An ambulance and hearse were still on their way

      They’d be calling for a blanket and a gun soon

      He’d be put down, or at least he would be put away

      They’d restarted his heart with a battery

      And were able to clean up all of the gore

      And then perhaps

      He’d let himself collapse

      When the team at last had kicked a winning score

      Bat Out of Hell by Meatloaf

      A player lies reeling and somehow he’s sure that

      His knee isn’t feeling quite right

      The doc is hovering and then starts signalling

      That he’s done and dusted tonight

      The crowd’s gone silent for it’s dawned just why

      The player can’t stay up on his feet

      Supported by trainers he leaves the arena

      All fans and teammates look gutted

      And realise he’s done his knee

      There’s no time for worrying about him

      And if he will be all right

      The umpire has bounced the ball

      And they have to beat the other side

      The doc checks him out, and there is no doubt now

      Down in the medical room

      Back on the sideline he tries to pull himself together

      Season over,

      He knows what’s coming too

      He’s done his ACL and that’s the end of his season

      Under the knife he’ll go for his ACL, his year’s gone gone gone

      He’s done his ACL and that’s the end of his season

      When the surgery’s done

      It’s only just begun

      There’s so much rehab too

      The year will be more hell than heaven

      With all that he has to go through

      Cupid by Sam Cooke

      Stupid, what would they know

      Many times, I’ve told them so

      What good is an ice bath for me, for me?

      Stupid, a man might die

      Or things shrivel inside

      From that there’s no re-covery

      Now I don’t mean to anger them, but I get so stressed

      For with doctors I’m sure not impressed

      Show me research if it at all exists

      About this worst of tricks

      So, stupid, what would they know

      Many times, I’ve told them so

      What good is an ice bath for me?

      Ev’ryone can see

      Stupid, a man might die

      Or things shrivel inside

      From that there’s no re-covery

      Now, Sunday mornings in winter we stand in the sea

      They say it’s all about recovery

      Have they got water logged brains in their heads?

      We’d be better off in bed

      So, stupid, what would they know

      Many times I’ve told them so

      What good is an ice bath for me?

      Or a swim in the sea

      So, stupid, a man might die

      Or things shrivel inside

      From that there’s no re-covery

      Hey stupid, come and join me

      Calling you………….

      Little Boxes on the Hillside by Pete Seeger

      Tick the boxes for the doctors

      Tick the boxes and they’ll all be happy

      Tick the boxes. Tick the boxes

      Tick the boxes ‘spite the pain

      There’s bleeding from my eardrum

      And my tongue feels like bubblegum

      My eyes are not quite focussing

      But I’ll go back on again

      I didn’t see him coming

      I sure didn’t feel the impact

      Tick the boxes. Tick the boxes

      Tick the boxes despite the pain

      The world keeps on spinning

      Is that what it’s supposed to do?

      I think I have amnesia

      Does anyone know my name?

      I was stretchered from the oval

      And down into the change rooms

      Suffering hallucinations

      I do the test ‘cause I’m no fool

      The priest was giving last rites

      To a giant pink elephant

      But I put ticks in the boxes

      And my score says that I am sane

      So, they give me some smelling salts

      Which taste really terrible

      I stumble to the interchange

      Where a zebra ticks my name

      I see hippos in bikinis

      There’s a blue one and a yellow one

      I am turned in the right direction

      And I run back on again

      I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts

      Everyone laughs if a player is hit in the nuts

      And give a sympathetic groan

      Football, cricket it is all the same

      And everyone, thinks it’s lots of fun

      And the highlight of the game

      Everyone laughs if a player is hit in the nuts

      He may be bent over or lying prone

      Though in great pain, they zoom in all the same

      Twittering it off on their mobile phone

      In the Ghetto by Elvis Presley

      A player lies,

      Slung in a tackle after going for the ball

      Trainers gather round and then the Doc calls

      For the stretcher

      And the crowd rise,

      They don’t mind the stop in play

      They’re worried for Robbie Gray

      On the stretcher

      As fans, they understand

      About the man on the ground

      That’s not the way that he should end his day

      They stand there to look and see

      Just how hurt he might be

      Not a sound is heard

      When the ump calls a halt on play

      They’re all concerned about Robbie Gray

      As the cold wind blows

      Every fan stands in their ponchos

      For the stretcher

      Their stomachs churn

      As the stretcher starts to leave the ground

      Clapping and cheering begins all around

      For the stretcher

      They’re aware of the situation as he gets taken away

      Port’s fav’rite son, a forward star, his day is done, the game is marred

      And the crowd sighs

      Then the whistle blows and they begin to shout

      And very soon they’ve forgotten about

      The stretcher

      It’s no surprise,

      They won’t think of it ‘til the game is won

      What was the name of that someone

      On the stretcher?

      Is he all right?

      The Ballad of Easy Rider by The Byrds

      Your hamstring goes

      It goes suddenly

      When your hamstring goes

      It’s a bad injury

      And yet you know

      As you go off the ground

      Recovery’s slow

      About six rounds

      It is not as bad

      As doing knees

      As an ACL

      Needs arthroscopy

      Though it’s a blow

      Confidence goes down

      For you never know

      If it will stay sound

      Or it will go

      Far more easily

      So, you now go

      Hesitatingly

      And you run slow

      The coach you hope

      Just doesn’t see

      And only the doctor knows

      About your anxiety

      More hamstrings go

      And players breakdown

      From too much workload

      On too harder grounds.

      Do What You Do Do Well by Ned Miller

      Down for the eight and counting

      He lay there clutching his knee

      His face was contorted in all sorts of pain

      As he writhed in agony

      You’ve done your ACL boy

      You’ve done your ACL

      He felt that his world had been torn apart

      Because he’d done his ACL

      The pain was like no other

      In his brief footy history

      He wasn’t prepared for what lay ahead

      There’d be a year in recovery

      You’ve done your ACL boy

      You’ve done your ACL

      He felt that his world had been torn apart

      Because he’d done his ACL

      He might not be the same after

      It was enough to make a grown man cry

      His tears ran free at his tragedy

      He had to kiss a year goodbye

      You’ve done your ACL boy

      You’ve done your ACL

      He felt that his world had been torn apart

      Because he’d done his ACL

      Done to Soon by Neil Diamond

      Quad on ice, blinded eyes

      Grating hip, bulging disc

      And a hernia that’s

      Starting to swell

      Shattered shin, dented chin

      Broken tooth, sore bruised glute

      And his hamstrings have

      All been shot to hell

      Fractured fibula, broken tibia

      Jaundiced yellow, damaged elbow

      Infected birth mark

      And a septic tattoo

      Damaged toe, unknown growth

      Shown on CAT scan, bring the bedpan

      Because it looks like

      He’s about to spew

      But he’s still out there

      Doing his share

      There’s still a Grand Final to be won

      Wouldn’t go to the medical room

      There’s still a Grand Final to be won

      No time to lick your wounds

      To pain he’s become immune

      Dream a Little Dream of Me by Mama Cass

      He went to take a hanger

      Using an old mate as a step ladder

      Now he’s undergoing urgent surgery

      After failing to take a speckie

      How sore must his wrist be?

      Broke it as he fell on his twisted knee

      He should stick to his commentary

      Stead of trying for a great speckie

      Stars fading not quietly into the background

      Still acting like kids

      Not acting like there age is now

      Can lead to this

      Past dreams should be left behind you

      Aching bodies are there to remind you

      You’re closer to senility

      Than taking a great speckie

      Eve of Destruction by Barry McGuire

      His leg is strapped, to stop the bleeding

      Vital signs, the doctor’s reading

      The stretcher’s brought out, the ground he’s leaving

      If he was a horse, they’d bring out black sheeting

      But it’s a morphine shot, that he’s really needing

      Please don’t tell him

      His season’s over, yes over, my friend

      He’s going to need

      A complete knee

      reconstruction

      Eve of Destruction by Barry McGuire

      Hawthorn’s season, started imploding

      The day Mitchell’s, leg was broken

      It wasn’t the news, that they’d been hopin’

      Bookies struck him off, from Brownlow votin’

      Even before the surgeons, started probin’

      On the telly

      Said over and over and over again, it’ll mend 

      But, we have to believe

      He’ll spend a year out of action

      Who’s going to amass, his stats in a game?

      Maybe Sam Mitchell could come back and play

      Wearing a disguise but with the same name

      Even so they won’t make the top eight

      [Take a look around ya Hawks. Haven’t a prayer ya Hawks]

      On the telly

      Said over and over and over again, it’ll mend 

      But, we have to believe

      He’ll spend a year out of action

      Francis Bourke would have played on without hesitation

      But now the League has rules and regulations

      How did the Hawks end up in this situation?

      It’s something of their own creation

      What the coach said’s not fit for publication

      And no-one knows what he’s contemplatin’

      Watch out walls as he vents his frustration

      On the telly

      Said over and over and over again, it’ll mend 

      But, we have to believe

      He’ll spend a year out of action

      Every little Bit Hurts by Brenda Holloway

      Every little bit hurts

      Every little bit hurts

      Just above my eye

      And my left thigh

      I’m trying not to cry

      There’s broken bones

      And I can’t feel my toes

      And the pain just mounts

      And the pain just mounts

      Glad I can’t see

      All my injuries

      Shattered knees

      My leg is broken in two

      Left with just one front tooth

      Glad now at last

      The ambulance has come for me

      Looks like I will

      Miss quite a few games

      As my nose starts to bleed

      Doctors tell me

      I’ll need surgery

      Never seen one like this before

      Then they talked about their fees, yeah

      That just adds to the hurt

      That just adds to the hurt

      Well they’re overjoyed

      I’ll keep them employed

      All I can say’s

      How much will I pay?

      Then they put me, on the gurney

      My world’s crashed in

      I just can’t win,

      Dropped my dim sim

      And it landed right on the floor

      To be squashed by feet, yeah

      That’s what really hurts

      That’s what really hurts

      That’s what really hurts

      That’s what really hurts

      Father and Son by Cat Stevens

      No-one left on interchange

      We’re chock full of injuries

      Punctured lung, medial strain

      To hospital, two had to go

      The captain has, gone down

      From the ground he’s been carried

      And the coach, you can tell, he’s not happy

      He’s come out on the ground and you can see that he’s seething

      He’s not calm and wants to know what’s going on

      Change of ends, well we got

      Such a spray when he lost the plot

      It may be fine for the seniors, but for Little League it’s not

      Our parents tried to explain, that it’s just a game

      There’s no need for this ‘no guts no glory’

      And there’s much more to life than sport and just winning

      Didn’t stop his tirade and as we went back out to play

      Our tears began to flow

      Well we got thrashed in the game

      Left the ground feeling hollow

      We’re so young, it’s not our fault

      It’s a shame what we had to go through……………

      Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover by Paul Simon

      The problem is the hamstring in your leg, he said to me

      "The answer is easy if you take it logically

      I'd like to help you in your struggle to get ready

      You’ve just got fifteen days to recover"

      He said, "Your chances aren’t looking very good

      But you’d like to know that you’ve done all that you could

      Nod your head to show that you’ve understood

      You’ve just got fifteen days to recover

      Fifteen days to recover"

      Just swim in the sea, please

      Walk in the sand, man

      A bath full of ice’s nice

      But watch those knees

      Try not to bend, friend

      Lots of high carb food’s good

      Just please don’t choose booze

      And you’ll be ready

      Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash

      I feared Buddy was comin’

      Not on his kicking bend

      Though I was in the best position

      This could be my bitter end

      I’ve got a bad concussion

      I can see stars in the day

      But one thing I learned was

      Don’t get in Buddy’s way

      He took out Gary Rohan

      Two weeks ago today

      Horse said "Better watch out.

      We need some left to play"

      Now he’s done it again

      And all I can see is sky

      I’ve gotta massive headache

      Feel like I might die

      He wears blinkers when he’s leading

      He focuses on the ball

      If you stand between them

      You’re the one who’ll fall

      So if you hear Buddy comin’

      You better hope and pray

      That your feet start a movin’

      And you get out of his way

      Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen

      Now they’ve told me that those days are gone

      But memories still linger on

      A hit, like a freight train, running through yer

      A roundhouse hit by some half wit

      Chicken wings and scissors lifts

      They'd say, You’ll get what’s coming to yer!

      Fractured tibia, broken fibula

      Shattered femur, busted u-u-u-ulna

      A broken jaw and a missing tooth

      Is all you need as living proof

      You’d get what’s really coming to yer

      Accidental grab of hair

      A wedgie breaking your underwear

      And from split lips you scream I’ll do yer!

      Fractured tibia, broken fibula

      Shattered femur, busted u-u-u-ulna

      You get up despite the pain

      To get hit by another train

      You hit the ground and start seeing stars

      When you play the Pines just take my word

      They want you just to feel the hurt

      The crowd there are quite peculiar

      Fractured tibia, broken fibula

      Shattered femur, busted u-u-u-ulna

      Saw it coming, felt the crunch

      Fingers numb lost sense of touch

      My eyes are black, I can’t see through them

      There’s a hearse pulling up to park

      My head is swimming, it’s going dark

      They’re saying, You got what’s coming to yer

      Feeling peculiar, feeling peculiar.

      Feeling peculiar, feeling peculiar.

      Feeling peculiar, feeling peculiar.

      Feeling peculiar, feeling peculiar.

      Feeling peculiar, feeling peculiar.

      Handle With Care by The Traveling Wilburys

      Been beat up and battered 'round

      Been set upon, and I've been knocked down

      Now I’m carried on a stretcher off the ground

      To intensive care

      My brain they think isn’t saveable

      Last rites they say is advisable

      My condition is now unstable

      I’m in intensive care

      Why’s the banner built so strongly

      Surely they build it with more give

      I thought crepe paper was meant to tear

      Everybody looked at me and they laughed long

      As my body hit the ground, they cheered on

      I was carried off, looking like a fool

      I was taunted and ridiculed

      To leave that way was so uncool

      Life is so unfair

      Love Hurts by Nazareth

      Bumps hurt, you see stars, bumps wound

      and jar leave mental scars

      If you’re not tough or strong enough

      They cause a lot of pain, cause a lot of pain

      Bumps are really just

      A physical part of the game

      Bumps hurt…….. ooh, ooh bumps hurt

      I’m tough I know but even so

      A shirtfront, given to you

      Splits you right in two

      You’re flattened on the spot, flattened on the spot

      Bumps are part of the game

      Whether you’re ready or not

      Bumps hurt…….. ooh, ooh bumps hurt

      I lost some consciousness,

      Knocked out I guess, with finesse

      Most bumps are witnessed

      And played again on TV

      I’ll be black and blue and every other hue

      I feel like I could die

      My lips are turning blue

      Bumps hurt…….. ooh, ooh bumps hurt

      ooh, ooh bumps hurt

      How Much is That Doggie in the Window by Patti Page

      On crutches with a knee reconstruction

      It’s a much often told footy tale

      On crutches doing rehabilitation

      Players knees seem so awfully frail

      Money

      9 to 5 by Dolly Parton

      Staggering to the phone

      Just to hear the coach pleading

      Looks like it’s me that he is needing

      I’m a footy star, it’s such a hard life

      Got half an hour

      Better start changing

      Grab my phone

      Hot dates I’m arranging

      Some people don’t know that they are alive

      Chorus:

      Workin 2 to 5

      So hard making a living

      Maybe you should try

      Always being

      Chauffeur driven

      And working three hours

      One day on some weekends

      I get paid so much

      I don’t know how to spend it

      2 to 5 for all that adulation

      Well I know that I

      Am God’s gift to creation

      Such a figurehead

      And a lifestyle to match it

      I’m idolised day and night by the public

      Mmmmm...

      Then there’s TV

      And the endorsements

      Just read the script

      It’s such a lot of nonsense

      They don’t realise I’ve lost another day

      Then some time

      Left to my own devices

      I always partake all the vices

      That money can buy

      But often I don’t have to pay.

      In the Early Morning Rain by Elvis Presley

      It’s a strange pre-season game

      The one called AFLX

      Just kick to kick on a square

      What will the League think of next?

      Flashing lights are everywhere

      Balloon animals are made for fans

      Players score up to twenty points

      In rules no-one understands

      There’s game changers and super goals

      And a thing called a launch zone

      The whole thing is a circus

      With a

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