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Flight of the Conchords – ‘Mutha Uckers’



Too many mutha uckas u
ckin’ with my shi-


Yet another classic musical moment from the wonderful Series 1 of Flight of the Conchords.

This fine ditty comes from Ep 7 and is a nice parody, on some of the dumber aspects of hip-hop, most specifically on N.E.R.D.’s BMX fest “Lapdance”, the uncensored video for which is actually pretty fucking hot!!

Too many mutha uckas
Uckin’ with my shi-
There’s too many mutha uckas
Uckin’ with my shi-
Uckin’ with my shi-
Too many mutha uckas
Uckin’ with my shi-
With my shi-
How many mutha uckas?
Too many to count
Mutha uckas
I pay my mutha uckin’ rent fortnightly
Mutha uckas at the bank trying to play me
And I’m out for my account
‘Cause out on A.P
On AP
Yeah, you know me
Mutha ucka charge a two buck transaction fee
Makes my payment short
My rent comes back to me
Minus a twenty-five dollar penalty
So you’ll see me ’cause of your mutha uckin’ fee
Read the words
On my ATM slip, it said
We’re all mutha uckas
And we’re uckin’ with your shi-
Too many mutha uckas
Uckin’ with my shi-
My transaction shi-!
There’s too many mutha uckas
Uckin’ with my shi-
My weekly statement shi-!
My weekly statement shi-!
Too many mutha uckas
Uckin’ with my shi-
With my balance shi-!
How many mutha uckas?
Too many to count
Mutha uckas
The mutha ucka runs a racist uckin’ grocery
The mutha ucka won’t sell an apple to a Kiwi
The shi- fight’s gonna get vicious and malicious
Cut the cra- …
I need my red delicious
Tells me as a Kiwi that my money isn’t valid
Gonna dice the mutha ucka like a mutha uckin’ fruit salad
Then… … Granny Smith… …
…an avocado… … b-… -a… …
…a mango… …
Then pop an apple in his ass, yeah!
Too many mutha uckas
Uckin’ with my shi-
I’m gonna juice the mutha ucka
There’s too many mutha uckas
Uckin’ with my shi-
He’s gonna wake up in a smoothie
Too many mutha uckas
Uckin’ with my (beatboxing)
Everybody come on!
Too many mutha uckas uckin’ with my shhhhh


Lyrics credit: whatthefolk.net

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November 1, 2008 Posted by | Flight of the Conchords, Music_Parody, _MUSIC, _VIDEO | Leave a comment

Bob Dylan Parodies – Dylan Hears a Who! etc

https://i0.wp.com/napsterization.org/stories/archives/DylanHearsAWhoTracyCard-thumb.jpg

Dylan Hears a Who! – Seuss via Zimmerman
56.1 MB @ 160 kbps. 48:42

Bob Dylan’s famous ’60s tunes wrapped around the ditties of Dr Seuss? That’s what a mystery band has done with some of the Doctor’s best loved stories married to some of the bard of Hibbing’s trendsetting tunes Like A Rolling Stone, Tombstone Blues and Ballad Of A Thin Man.

The playing mimics accurately the style – Hammond organ and all – of Dylan’s band for Highway 61 Revisited.

The singing is a fantastic rip of Dylan’s amazing non-singing voice.

Best of all, the singer is able to rhyme Dr Seuss’ stories with the melodies without changing any words.

This special recording appeared unheralded on the net on or around Feb 25 2007.

Tracks:

Oh, The Things You Can Think! [Like A Rolling Stone]
Green Eggs & Ham [Tombstone Blues]
Miss Gertrudge McFuzz [Ballad of a Thin Man]
McElligot’s Pool [?]
Too Many Daves [Worried Blues]
The Zax [?]
The Cat in the Hat [Visions Of Johanna]

https://i2.wp.com/www.craphound.com/images/dylanhearsawho.jpg

PLUS:

More Dylan Parodies:

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God Nose – 5 Dylan Parodies + 1
33.7 MB @ 128-192 kbps. 35:19

5 BD parodies from God Nose, including The Enormous Room, a magnificent 12:40 spoof on Desolation Row.

Also, there’s a good National Lampoon Dylan parody.


Tracks:

1. “The Enormous Room” (12:40)
2. “I’m Not You” (5:22)
3. TV Commercial 1965 (never broadcast) (2:07)
4. “Ghost Town” (6:44)
5. “I’m Not There” (5:56)
6. “Positively Wall St.” (National Lampoon) (2:54)

When the novelty recording act, Negativland, asked me to write an introduction to these new God Nose tracks which are making their debut exclusively on their Internet website, I was both flattered and wistful at the prospect. These new tracks from this most influential of all American music icons and his new band, God Nose, seem to hark back to his golden glory days and mine as well. I guess the only difference between he and me is that he probably saved some of that gold for his silver years, while I was lynched by the radio business in the late 70s, taunted with vicious ageism and raging punk rock, ending up with little to show for my 20 years as a top jock but postcards of the hanging.

From my retirement RV parked here in the desert, it seems like one too many mornings have past since music has tried to do anything like these new God Nose tracks do. Maybe somewhere there is still music that makes a point, but certainly not on the only station I can pick up out here. And my persistent calls to this annoying station are completely wasted on the caliber of DJs now manning the mikes who apparently don’t know Head Hands & Feet from Billy J. Kramer & The Dakotas. Go ahead and hang up, it’s their loss.

But now the wanderin’ boot heels of fate have come knock, knock, knockin’ like an orphan’s gun butt all over my baby blue RV door with brand new music from God Nose, and I discover what may be the last return of meaning in music before it just stays gone forever. Thank the Lord for rural delivery. After listening the fourth time around to this new music, I’ll positively keep it with mine. These tracks remind me of all the time I spent in broadcast studios big and small all over this rockin’ country of ours during that perplexing decade of exploding pill boxes and motorpsycho nightmares, the 60s.

That was an exciting time for rock jocks everywhere as a country ripped by mind expansion and social turmoil just got further and further out, carried along by anthems of the airwaves from the likes of the Lemonpipers, Vanilla Fudge, Pavlov’s Dog, and Tiny Tim. But when I think of all the folk who rocked the 60s and beyond, I would have to say that no one was more charismatically influential than the man in the long black coat behind God Nose.

He’s certainly the greatest song slinger to ever bust down the barbed wire fence of idolhood and rebuild it brick by brick, constructing his own unique upscale prison, towering higher than any other above our confoundingly confused music business. But that was before this. What everyone assumed was a dying dwarf star who bade us a restless farewell from his big brass bed has now burst back again into our brand new digital sky as the word smithing shooting star we all remember, like a rising sun at the center of this stellar new music.

This unexpected music has certainly grabbed my boots of imitation Spanish leather and I can feel the blood rushing to my saddle as those old, familiar, tingle tangle feelings come flooding through the broken Cooley Dam of millennial complacency like a sign on the cross. I’m sure glad I’ve lived this long because here it is, one last chance to get all tangled up in whatever is left of whatever it was that blew us all away so many dreams ago, only probably even bigger. So get ready all you rainbow wanderers, all you seekers of the lost promise, all you yuppie sons of yippies, he’s back and it’s all new all over again. Tomorrow wasn’t such a long time after all. Congratulations, Seeland, and crawl out your window, surfers, I hope you’re as ready for God Nose as I was!

Jumpin’ Jack Jackson

Buzzing Fly, Nevada

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Professor Blowgun the stone drudge from the academy of weights & measures–where begrudgery is a way of life–accuses me of kidnapping my songs & leaving my fingerprints on somebody else’s crimes–\”a kid in East Orange wrote the words & you ripped-off the tune from ‘the carrion crow’\”–& sells this to newsweek with the secret identity of the cowboy poet where I got my name which started out to be Kanezervitz & how I oughta render unto Caeser where royalty is due–but all songs lead back to the sea & don’t get scared but the clothesline people come back at night–so rally round all you prosecutin attorneys–

in a torpor like a tar pit the melted records revolve in the Encantada Lounge on the narrow stretch of No Man’s land between the railroad tracks & the ragged sea cliffs–Gummy Mr Hyde runs the all night shooting gallery on the fifth floor of the ramshackle digs he threw up with Ramundo the Skunk after they were castaways from the prison ship trawler that sank off the coast…the weary denizens of the Train Trestle Hotel trade cats-eyes from the riverbed for glasses of the green fairy at the make-shift bar where Flaminga lights small fires in the ashtray to get things started–\”in my country I was a great torch singer,\” she boasts to the newcomers with almost a flicker of hope…meanwhile the residents of the Milky Way model homes on the ridge above outfit Bucky Farque with a watch shaped like a noose–he’s the new policechief supposed to do something about those people down there who scrawl punctuation marks across the War Memorial town clock & leave op-art sleeping bags in the boat house–Mrs Coldcream the chairwoman speaks to the first families over tea biscuits & gin & says she’s gonna root out licentiousness & protect her intellectual property–\”it all began when those pickers’ shacks went up down by the tank farm,\”–she thinks she put her finger on it…meanwhile the flatbeds roll up with the rides at the circus grounds near the beach–Dr Faustus shows the roustabouts where he wants his tent & tells them hands-off Mortado the Human Fountain if they need a drink just ask him–Cripple Pills the ringleader who used to play clarinet reminds the good st. doc, \”Mr Mephistopheles says you stole his act,\”–\”STOLE HIS ACT?! why he’d be lucky to be running a shell game in Dinkytown!\”–Mephistopheles is doing the geek routine this tour…Judge Chester Mounds is considering a run for high office & has his iron gate shaped into a confident smile to keep up his front & has his donkeys undermine the moorings below the Encantada Lounge–\”out of sight, out of mind,\” remarks Lucien Swig his understudy at the dinner theater where they’re doing \”Les Mis\” this summer…Gummy considers himself something of a damned poet & burns his prose poems of delirium & squalor right after he writes them–\”the wind from the coastal train at midnight blows the embers up to Beulahland to outshine the stars\”…the Skunk is sick of this & says \”ah told ya ’bout them marbles\” & threatens to douse his works in flame retardent if he don’t stop making such a spectacle of himself in front of Ahmed who’s painting his boots & the Fallen Angels on the nod–he’s cooking up a scheme to get the well-to-do into the gallery & charge a few clams to hear the lightbulbs make that popcorn sound when the ferris wheel rolls into the surf & thinks Gummy’s poems might be worth something if he’d only drop the dramaturgy down a hair

winds up in a montage of music & mimicry aimed at excavation–the multicolored proboscis that opened a passage for Frank & for Tiny Tim & all the rest of the sideshow crowd…e.e.cummings’ typewriter with recording tape for a ribbon playing ecstatic eruptions in the long grass on Aquidneck Island–with Robert Mitchum dressed up as the Pope rolling a smoke–demanding roof-removal from subterranean sepia cafes & from your house–an American Gothic along the jet-pilot fly-over to Ho Chi Minh City…the spectral hitchhiker soaking a harmonica to get that holy slow train whistle sound & wearing Vivaldi’s green velvet jacket second-hand & drawing in a yellow notebook holding the half-remembered vespers against the metallic air & grotesque clouds of extinction…a badluck Childe ballad sung in the golden reeds of aspiring youth.”

God Nose

Thanks to the original poster

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Mail us: stupidand@gmail.com

May 9, 2008 Posted by | Music_Parody, _BOB DYLAN, _MUSIC | Leave a comment