Song Parodies by Dan Sullivan

Poor Voters

Written for Pennsylvania's Voter ID law, which disenfranchises many people who do not have drivers' licenses and are not willing to go to great lengths to secure a voter ID. To the toon of Short People by Randy Newman.

Poor people got no reason.
Poor people got no reason.
Poor people got no reason to vote.

They got little cash.
I like a great big stash.
We only need them 'round here
To carry out the trash.

They got no business sense
They barely pay their rents,
They want to keep our power
From getting more intense.

Well, I
Don't want no poor voters,
Don't want no poor voters,
Don't want no poor voters round here.

Poor people have rights the same as you and I
And we have to change that.
If they keep voting our party's going to die.

Poor people got no money.
Poor people got no money.
Poor people got no money to steal.

They got attitude.
They got a lotta nerve,
They don't understand
They're only here to serve.

They don't drive cars,
They only ride the bus.
I think that they're from Mars.
They sure don't act like us.

They're just dirtly little workers
With dirty little minds,
They think they earned their livings
When really they earned mine.

Well I
Don't want no poor voters,
Don't need no poor voters,
Can't win with poor voters round here.

Can't Buy My Vote

Written in response to the Citizens United decision in the US Supreme Court, and the massive amounts of corporate money spent on buying elections since then. Here's the original music.

Can't buy my vo-ote, vo-ote.
Can't buy my vo-ote.

Power-hungry corporate rings will spend
To get you on their side.
They'll say most anything my friend
To get you on their side.
I don't care for corporate money;
Money can't buy my vote.

They make themselves the politicians' friends;
You know that they want something, too.
They always have a lot to spend,
But what they got they took from you.
I don't care for corporate money;
Money can't buy my vote.

Can't buy my vote.
Everybody says they can.
Can't buy my vote.
Even though it's their plan!

Show me you'll respect democracy,
And I'll be satisfied.
Let us have a public policy
That money just can't buy.
I don't care for corporate money;
Money can't buy my vote.

Overdue

To the tune of "Over There" by George M. Cohan. (Click here and then scroll down to "Over There" for Melody)

This parody was written just after Congress passed bankruptcy "reform" at the request of money-lending interests.

We set mortgage rates to inflate real estate.
Making prices fly way up high to the sky;
Prices rising every day. Buy that house now. Don't delay!

We make loans unsound, spreading debt all around.
Prices then rebound, crashing down to the ground.
So much money that you owe,
And there isn't any dough!

Overdue. You're overdue,
And forclosure is coming to you.
Yes the banks are coming, the banks are coming,
We're taking everything from you.

So prepare. Say a prayer,
Soon you'll be sleeping out in the air.
We'll be over; we’re taking over,
And you'll work for us till
You're over overdue.

If you can't repay right away we will say,
Well, that's just too bad; we're impounding your pad.
We showed Congress, line by line,
How to keep you all in line.

Overdue. You're overdue,
And the bankers are coming for you.
Yes the banks are coming, the banks are coming,
And if you cannot pay you're screwed.

Step outside. You can't hide,
'Cause we now have the law on our side.
Your life is over. We’re taking over,
And you'll be our slaves till
You're over overdue.

Sixteen Grand

To the tune of "Sixteen Tons," by Merle Travis, popularized by Tennessee Ernie Ford, (Music Video) (Melody)

This parody was written for the American Monetary Institute conference of 2005. Note that the federal debt owed to private bondholders (as opposed to debt owed by one branch of government to another) is now about $19,000 for every man woman and child in the country.

I was born an American in '63,
The land of milk and honey; land of the free,
Land of the free and the home of the brave,
But we all have to borrow so the rich can save.

I owe sixteen grand of federal debt,
And more to to the state, county, school board and yet
They call it a free country but I still serve,
I owe my soul to the Federal Reserve.

I got a 40 year mortgage hanging over my head.
The word "mortgage" is French; it means pay till you're dead.
Making ends meet is gettin' so damned hard,
But now they let me buy groceries with a credit card.

I owe seventeen grand of federal debt,
And more to to the state, county, school board and yet
They call it a free country but I still serve,
I owe my soul to the Federal Reserve.

Some say our politicians issue money to spend,
But if that's all they did then all our problems would end.
Instead our money's issued by private banks,
When they lend it out at interest, we're supposed to say "thanks."

I owe eighteen grand of federal debt,
And more to to the state, county, school board and yet
They call it a free country but I still serve,
I owe my soul to the Federal Reserve.

We can build more houses; we can make more stuff,
But whatever we do it won't be enough,
'Cause no one can buy it if no one has cash,
And the banks'll take it all when the system goes crash.

I owe nineteen grand of federal debt,
And more to to the state, county, school board and yet
They call it a free country but I still serve,
I owe my soul to the Federal Reserve.

The Blood-Spattered Banner

To the tune of "The Star Spangled Banner" by Francis Scott Key. (Click here and then scroll down to "Star Spangled Banner" for Melody)

This parody was written just after George Bush, Jr. ordered the invasion of Iraq.

Oh, do you recall, when this symbol of might
Was first proudly unfurled by a weak but free nation?
How it guided us all, like a beacon of light
And a symbol of hope against world domination?

Now the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Make patriots ask, "What are we doing there?"
Oh don't let my Star-Spangled Banner yet wave,
Over people we oppress, over lands we enslave.

Bombing Run

To the tune of "The Banana Boat Song," Jamaican folk song popularized by Harry Belafonte. (Original Recording) (Snippet of Original Melody )

Oil, oy, oy, oy il
Bombing run and we blow up your home
Oil! We want oil, want oil, want oil want oil, want oy, oy, oy il
[slowly] Bombing run and we blow up your home.

We fly up nearly to the sun.
Bombing run and we blow up your home.
Drop our bombs down on everyone.
Bombing run and we blow up your home.

Hey all you Taliban give us the Osama.
Bombing run and we blow up your home
Show respect for human life, or else we're gonna bomb ya.
Bombing run and we blow up your home

He violated a sacred trust!
Bombing run and we blow up your home
He was only s'pozed to kill for us!
Bombing run and we blow up your home

He should have known he couldn't mess with our civilians.
Bombing run and we blow up your home
He murdered thousands, but we have murdered millions.
Bombing run and we blow up your home

It's six tons, seven tons, eight tons DROP!
Bombing run and we blow up your home
A reign of terror that doesn't stop!
Bombing run and we blow up your home

And just in case there was any doubt,
Bombing run and we blow up your home
Let me tell you what this war's about!
(Bombing run and we blow up your home)

Oil, oy, oy, oy il
Bombing run and we blow up your home
Oil! We want oil, want oil, want oil want oil, want oy, oy, oy il
[slowly] Bombing run and we blow up your home.

A Pol who Cain't Say No

This parody was written during the 2005 Pittsburgh mayoral race in which the challenger blamed the incumbent mayor for bringing the city to bankruptcy, even though the challenger had supported virtually every irresponsible expenditure the mayor had exposed.

It ain't so much a question of not knowing what to do.
I know'd what's right and wrong since I been ten.
I heard a lot of stories and I figure they are true
About how city councils overspend.
I know I mustn't fall into the pit,
But when I'm in campaign mode, I fergit.

I'm just a pol who cain't say no,
Spendin's my favorite game.
When I control some public dough,
I hand it out without shame.

When a big shot wants a subsidy,
I know I oughta tell him, "that's to bad."
But whenever someone pressures me,
I always get afraid to make him mad.

I'm just a tool when lights are low.
I cain't be frugal and tight.
I ain't the type that can fight.
I cain't insist on what's right.
I cain't say no.

What'cha gonna do when a feller wants money
And starts to talk funny, what'cha gonna do?
Sposin' 'at he says he's so good for your city,
Appeals to your pity, what'cha gonna do?

S'posin' 'at he says things you shouldn't believe,
Like if his team leaves, you'll die?
Tell ya what I do when he talks that way,
Slice up the pie!

I'm just a pol who cain't say no.
Cain't seem to say it at all.
Lobbyists get me all aglow,
When they are payin' a call.

For the press I talk of budget bloat,
A-blaimin' all our problems on the mayor.
But when it comes time to cast my vote,
Good sense evaporates into thin air.

I shouldn't cave right in I know,
Our city's plight is no joke,
But saying no makes me choke,
That's why the treasury's broke,
I cain't say no.

The Taxes are Rising

To the tune of "The Faucets are Dripping," by Malvina Reynolds (Audio Snippet)

This song was written in response to Pittsburgh mayor Tom Murphy's campaigning hard for a referendum to levy a half-cent sales tax to fund the construction of new professional sports stadiums for the Pirates and the Steelers. The referendum failed, but the stadiums were built anyhow. Instead of levying a new tax, the city diverted existing taxes. Shortly afterward, it filed for bankruptcy and was made a "distressed municipality" by the state of Pennsylvania.

The taxes are rising in Renaissance City,
The taxes are rising and oh, what a pity.
The treasury's drying, because it's supplying
Those Renaissance barrels of pork.

You can't ask the mayor to hold down your taxes.
He'd rather you leave than to hold down your taxes.
Apartments sit empty and businesses fail;
The one place that's full is the new county jail.

The taxes are rising; the mayor's not content,
So now he's demanding another half cent.
You moved to the suburbs; you thought you were through,
But now he's demanding a half cent from you.

He wants to build ballparks and convention centers,
And all on the backs of homeowners and renters
Who don't hold conventions, and can't afford games,
But the mayor doesn't care; let them pay just the same.

You can't ask the mayor to hold down your taxes.
You can't ask the mayor to just do what's fair.
His own real estate is in lower-taxed Butler,
Where people are fleeing to get out of here.

The taxes are rising in Renaissance City,
The taxes are rising and oh, what a pity.
The treasury's drying, because it's supplying
Those Renaissance barrels of pork.

Perfect Harmony

Parody of the tune "I'd Lime to Teach the World to Sing," by Roger Cook, Roger Greenaway, and Billy Davis. (Video of The New Seekers version) (Coca Cola Version) (Original Melody)

It took about 30 minutes to write this song in the late 1970s, after hearing the original sung by a very self-righteous feminist.

I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony,
And all it takes is for everybody else just to sing along with me.
I've thought about it and I know I've got the perfect song,
So if you're singing something else, you're singing something wrong.

[Chorus]
I'm the real thing.
I'm where the world needs to be.
Shut up an listen to me,
Cause I'm the real thing.

For I'm the true believer. I'm the keeper of the key
To happiness and eternal bliss and the end of misery.
So come along and join us for this melody of love.
Come peacefully and sing with me or we might have to shove.

[Chorus]

I'm the Ronald Reagan brain trust with the nation's rightest minds.
I'm the Socialist Worker's Party with a hundred picket signs.
I'm "Hare Krisna," "Jesus Saves!" I represent gay rights,
And I'm Anita Bryant here on behalf of the uptights.

[Chorus]

Well soon we'll have a bloody war to decide whose song is best,
And the winners can all sing it while they're cleaning up the mess.
I'm gonna start a revolution with this wonderful song I wrote,
And if I don't set the world on fire, I'll sell the rights to Coke.