All of our least ambitious lyrics were pre-lampooned by two of our best writers, Charles Dickens and Douglas Adams. Although those two contemplated poetry, some of the same general rules apply to this discussion about lyrics. Unless we are exceedingly careful, we might learn a thing or two about the subject from them. So, before discussing the worst supposedly legitimate lyric stanza in history, let's look back and see what those delightful authors had to say through fiction, starting with Charles Dickens.
In his book, The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, Dickens described a celebrated poet of that day, a socialite by the name of Mrs. Leo Hunter, no relation, who wrote a grand and seminal poem for the amazement of posterity. Here's that passage:
"My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a great taste for poetry," replied Mr. Pickwick.
"So has Mrs. Leo Hunter, sir. She doats on poetry, sir. She adores it; I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up, and entwined with it. She has produced some delightful pieces, herself, sir. You may have met with her 'Ode to an Expiring Frog,' sir."
"I don't think I have," said Mr. Pickwick.
"You astonish me, sir," said Mr. Leo Hunter. "It created an immense sensation ... and appeared originally in a Lady's Magazine. It commenced
'Can I view thee panting, lying
On thy stomach, without sighing;
Can I unmoved see thee dying
On a log,
Expiring frog!'"
"Beautiful!" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Fine," said Mr. Leo Hunter, "so simple."
"Very," said Mr. Pickwick.
"The next verse is still more touching. Shall I repeat it?"
"If you please," said Mr. Pickwick.
"It runs thus," said the grave man, still more gravely.
'Say, have fiends in shape of boys,
With wild halloo, and brutal noise,
Hunted thee from marshy joys,
With a dog,
Expiring frog!'"
"Finely expressed," said Mr. Pickwick.
"All point, sir," said Mr. Leo Hunter, "but you shall hear Mrs. Leo Hunter repeat it. She can do justice to it, sir...."
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At a giant gala event a day or two later, the eminent socialite Mrs. Leo Hunter, no relation, regales her company with her masterpiece, as described by Dickens:
"... This was succeeded by Mrs. Leo Hunter's recitation of her far-famed Ode to an Expiring Frog, which was encored once, and would have been encored twice, if the major part of the guests, who thought it was high time to get something to eat, had not said that it was perfectly shameful to take advantage of Mrs. Hunter's good nature. So although Mrs. Leo Hunter professed her perfect willingness to recite the ode again, her kind and considerate friends wouldn't hear of it on any account...." |
This bit of literary satire naturally evolved into Vogon Poetry, depicted graphically by Douglas Adams in
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, then continued its mutation into Modern Art, depicted graphically in museums everywhere, and finally, into The Disney Channel, where the arts of screenwriting and acting were finally and sorrowfully laid to rest. But before digressing too far, let's stop and smell the Vogon poetry, which was, according to Adams, not the worst poetry in the universe.
Vogon poetry is of course the third worst in the Universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their Poet Master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem "Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning" four of his audience members died of internal haemorrhaging, and the President of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos is reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his twelve-book epic entitled "My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles" when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save life and civilization, leaped straight up through his neck and throttled his brain. The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex, England, in the destruction of the planet Earth.
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That's Douglas Adams' set-up for what was about to happen to his heroes, Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect, who were caught stowing away on a Vogon spaceship, summarily found guilty and sentenced to Poetry. Let's watch as Adams describes how the sentence was executed:
The prisoners sat in Poetry Appreciation chairs--strapped in. Vogons suffered no illusions as to the regard their works were generally held in....
The sweat stood out cold on Ford Prefect's brow, and slid round the electrodes strapped to his temples. These were attached to a battery of electronic equipment--imagery intensifiers, rhythmic modulators, alliterative residulators and simile dumpers--all designed to heighten the experience of the poem and make sure that not a single nuance of the poet's thought was lost.
...
The Vogon began to read--a fetid little passage of his own devising.
"Oh freddled gruntbuggly ..." he began. Spasms wracked Ford's body--this was worse than even he'd been prepared for.
" ... thy micturations are to me/As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee."
"Aaaaaaarggggghhhhhh!" went Ford Prefect, wrenching his head back as lumps of pain thumped through it. He could dimly see beside him Arhur lolling and rolling in his seat. He clenched his teeth....
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You'll have to find out what happened to our heroes by reading the book. (Which you should have done already. What's up with that?) Of course, you can construct your own Vogon Poetry as there's a
Vogon Poetry Generator on the internet because duh. For the sake of completeness, the entire Vogon poem is quoted
here:
Now that your appetites have been whetted, let's see if we can arrive at a consensus regarding the worst ostensibly legitimate lyric stanza in all of creation. My vote is for storytelling nonsense. It comes from the Steve Miller Band, and, hopefully, it was written while Steve Miller was higher than a space cowboy gangster of love called Maurice. From Take the Money and Run:
Billy Mack is a detective down in Texas
You know he knows just exactly what the facts is
He ain't gonna let those two escape justice
He makes his living off of the people's taxes.
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At 1:10 of the Video
Was it drugs? Did he crib this from Sarah Palin's Facebook page? I challenge all lyricists to create a rhyming couplet that can compete head to head with "Texas" and "facts is." Or, for that matter, "facts is" and "justice." Mr. Miller laid waste to meter as well, wringing, without irony, three syllables out of the word "two," which, by all rights, should have one. Listen to the video for that, as well as for his efforts at using inflection to make "Texas" and "facts is" rhyme. The grammar, alone, would scare the dickens out of you know who.
If you are going to argue in the comments that there is a worse lyric, please do not include "Yeah, yeah, yeahs" or doo-wop. Those are at least emotive and don't pretend to move the story forward. I'm still befuddled by why we needed to know the source of Billy Mack's income. I suspect that Mr. Miller wrote himself into a corner and spent weeks, maybe months, trying to find a rhyme. But, hey, if you're the kind of person who is satisfied with "Texas," "facts is" and "justice" as rhymes, then you don't need "taxes." You, instead, could have used "Alexis," "justice," "solar plexus," "brackets," "maggots," "sandwich," "fishwich," (I was hungry when I wrote this) "axis," "Pegasus," "hacksaw," "Avis," "cactus," "faxes" (how prophetic would that have been) "maxes," "rusty-ish," "saxes," "boxes," "tan-ish," "nexus," "Galactus," "vendor," "Monopoly money" or "Gollum."
The reason this particular bit of sonic drool ranks number one in my book? It offended me when I was twelve. How devoid of common sense do you have to be to cause a twelve-year-old child to think you're a dolt? I never trusted grownups again.
My Runner-up? Billy Squier from Lonely is the Night. We have to just set the needle to the vinyl to hear the offending lyric, as that particular knife to my soul begins the song, unfortunately and lamentably, a little something like this:
"Lonely is the night,
When you find yourself alone...."
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At the :13 mark of the video.
Stop! Stop right there! The only reason this isn't number one on the list of worst ostensibly legitimate lyric stanzas is because it is, to some degree, educational. If you were at all uncertain as to the definition of "lonely," this song could prove useful. Also, it is possible to be "alone in a crowd," although Mr. Squier wasn't contemplating that bit of extenuation when he penned this felony. I realize that these are feeble excuses and do not wish to gain a reputation as a Billy Squier apologist, so I'll stop.
The third-worst ostensibly legitimate lyric stanza in all of creation goes to Steve Miller, for his infamous "pompatus of love" stanza from The Joker. This selection should not be controversial, as "pompatus" does have--and does deserve--its own wikipedia page. It doesn't deserve head-of-class status, though, because although a purported love song, it is, in some respects, an ode to drugs and must necessarily be a little psychadelic. (The stanza merits third place because after having read some of Steve Miller's lyrics, I am under the distinct impression that, high or sober, he believes "pompatus" to be a word, and not just any word, but a very important word.)
What's your least favorite lyric? And why? Please remember, no "Yeah, yeah, yeahs" or doo-wop. Also, no novelty songs like "My Ding-a-Ling" or "Itsy, Bitsy, Teeny-Weeny, Yellow Polka Dot Bikini" as they are intended to be silly and not Art. Or, for that matter, psychadelic songs, like "Strawberry Fields" or "Purple Haze," which set out to explore a drug-induced and stranger side of the mind that isn't always attuned to logic or grammar.