MONTY PYTHON'S SONGS
Always Look At The Bright Side Of Life
The Song Of The Knights Of Camelot
ALWAYS LOOK AT THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE
Cheer up, Brian. You know what they say.
Some things in life are bad,
They can really make you mad.
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle,
Don't grumble, give a wistle!
And this'll help things turn out for the best...
And...
(the music fades into the song)
...always look on the bright side of life!
(whistle)
Always look on the bright side of life...
If life seems jolly rotten,
There's something you've forgotten!
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing,
When you're feeling in the dumps,
Don't be silly chumps,
Just purse your lips and whistle -- that's the thing!
And... always look on the bright side of life...
(whistle)
Come on!
(other start to join in)
Always look on the bright side of life...
(whistle)
For life is quite absurd,
And death's the final word.
You must always face the curtain with a bow!
Forget about your sin -- give the audience a grin,
Enjoy it -- it's the last chance anyhow!
So always look on the bright side of death!
Just before you draw your terminal breath.
Life's a piece of shit,
When you look at it.
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true,
You'll see it's all a show,
Keep 'em laughing as you go.
Just remember that the last laugh is on you!
And always look on the bright side of life...
(whistle)
Always look on the bright side of life
(whistle)
(Life Of Brian)
There are Jews in the world, there are Buddists,
There are Hindus and Mormons and then
There are those that follow Mohammad, but
I've never been one of them.
I'm a Roman Catholic,
And have been since before I was born,
And the one thing they say about Catholics is
They'll take you as soon as you're warm.
You don't have to be a six footer,
You don't have to have a great brain,
You don't have to have any clothes on,
You're a Catholic the moment Dad came, because
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.
Let the heathen spill theirs,
On the dusty ground,
God shall make them pay for
Each sperm that can't be found.
Every sperm is wanted,
Every sperm is good,
Every sperm is needed,
In your neighborhood.
Hindu, Taoist, Morman,
Spill theirs just anywhere,
But God loves those who treat their
Semen with more care.
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is good,
Every sperm is needed,
In your neighborhood.
Every sperm is useful,
Every sperm is fine,
God needs everybody's,
Mine, and mine, and mine.
Let the pagans spill theirs,
O'er mountain, hill and plain.
God shall strike them down for
Each sperm that's spilt in vain.
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is good,
Every sperm is needed,
In your neighborhood.
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.
(The Meaning Of Life, paroles de Michael Palin et Terry Jones)
<spoken>
Whenever life gets you down, Mrs. Brown,
And things seem hard or tough,
And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft,
<sung>
And you feel that you've had quite eno-o-o-o-o-ough,
Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving
And reolving at nine thousand miles an hour.
It's orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned,
'Round the sun that is the source of all our power.
Now the sun, and you and me, and all the stars that we can see,
Are moving at a million miles a day,
In the outer spiral arm, at fourteen thousand miles an hour,
Of a galaxy we call the Milky Way.
Our galaxy itself contains a hundred million stars;
It's a hundred thousand light-years side to side;
It bulges in the middle sixteen thousand light-years thick,
But out by us it's just three thousand light-years wide.
We're thirty thousand light-years from Galactic Central Point,
We go 'round every two hundred million years;
And our galaxy itself is one of millions of billions
In this amazing and expanding universe.
<waltz>
Our universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding,
In all of the directions it can whiz;
As fast as it can go, that's the speed of light, you know,
Twelve million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is.
So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure,
How amazingly unlikely is your birth;
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere out in space,
'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth!
(The Meaning Of Life, paroles et musique d'Eric Idle)
I never wanted to do this job in the first place!
I... I wanted to be...
A LUMBERJACK!
(piano vamp)
Leaping from tree to tree! As they float down the mighty rivers of
British Columbia! With my best girl by my side!
The Larch!
The Pine!
The Giant Redwood tree!
The Sequoia!
The Little Whopping Rule Tree!
We'd sing! Sing! Sing!
Oh, I'm a lumberjack, and I'm okay,
I sleep all night and I work all day.
CHORUS: He's a lumberjack, and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.
I cut down trees, I eat my lunch,
I go to the lava-try.
On Wednesdays I go shoppin'
And have buttered scones for tea.
Mounties: He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch,
He goes to the lava-try.
On Wednesdays 'e goes shoppin'
And has buttered scones for tea.
CHORUS
I cut down trees, I skip and jump,
I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women's clothing,
And hang around in bars.
Mounties: He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps,
He likes to press wild flowers.
He puts on women's clothing
And hangs around.... In bars???????
CHORUS
I chop down trees, I wear high heels,
Suspendies and a bra.
I wish I'd been a girlie
Just like my dear papa.
Mounties: He cuts down trees, he wears high heels
Suspendies?? and a .... a Bra????
(spoken, raggedly) What's this? Wants to be a *girlie*? Oh, My!
And I thought you were so rugged! Poofter!
CHORUS
All: He's a lumberjack, and he's okaaaaaaayyy..... (BONG)
Brian...the babe they called Brian
Grew...grew grew and grew, grew up to be
A boy called Brian
A boy called Brian
He had arms and legs and hands and feet
This boy whose name was Brian
And he grew, grew, grew and grew
Grew up to be
Yes he grew up to be
A teenager called Brian
A teenager called Brian
And his face became spotty
Yes his face became spotty
And his voice dropped down low
And things started to grow
On young Brian and show
He was certainly no
No girl named Brian
Not a girl named Brian
And he started to shave
And have one off the wrist
And want to see girls
And go out and get pissed
This man called Brian
This man called Brian
(Life Of Brian)
PHILOSOPHERS SONG
Immanual Kant was a real pissant
Who was very rarely stable
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
Who could think you under the table
David Hume could out consume
Schopenhauer and Hegel
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel
There's nothing Nietzche couldn't teach ya
'Bout the raising of the wrist
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill
Plato they say, could stick it away
Half a crate of whiskey every day
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle
Hobbes was fond of his dram
And Rene' Descartes was a drunken fart
"I drink, therefore I am"
Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed
A lovely little thinker
But a bugger when he's pissed
The Song Of The Knights Of Camelot
Launcelot: Look, my liege!
(fanfare)
Launcelot: Camelot!
Robin: Camelot!
Galahad: Camelot!
Patsy: (whispered) It's only a model.
Galahad: Shh!
Arthur: Knights, I bid you welcome to your new home. Let us ride...to
CAMELOT!
song:
We're knights of the round table, we dance whene're we're able.
We do routines, and border scenes, with footwork imp-e-cable;
We dine well here in Camelot, we eat ham and jam and spamalot.
We're knights of the round table, our shows are for-mid-able
Though many times, we're given rhymes, that are quite un-sing-able
We're not so bad in Camelot, we sing from the Dia-phragm alot!
Though we're tough and able,
Quite in-de-fa-ti-gable,
Between our quests, we seek incest and impersonate Clark Gable,
It's a busy life in Camelot:
I have to push the pram-a-lot!
Arthur: On second thought, let's not go to Camelot. It is a silly place.
Others: Right, right....
THE HENRY KISSINGER SONG
Henry Kissinger, how I'm missing ya,
You're the doctor of my dreams,
With your crinkly hair and your glassy stare
And your Machiavellian schemes
I know they say that you are very vain
And short and fat and pushy, but at least you're not insane
Henry Kissinger, how I'm missing ya,
And wishing you were here.
Henry Kissinger, how I'm missing ya,
You're so chubby, and so neat,
With your funny clothes, and your squishy nose
You're like a German parakeet,
All right, so people say that you don't care,
But you've got nicer legs than Hitler, and bigger tits than Cher,
Henry Kissinger, how I'm missing ya,
And wishing you were here.
THE RHUBARB TART SONG
I want another slice of rhubarb tart.
I want another lovely slice.
I'm not disparaging the blueberry pie
But rhubarb tart is oh so very nice.
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart!
A whatbarb tart? A rhubarb tart!
I want another slice of rhubarb tart!
The principles of modern philosophy
Were postulated by Descartes.
Discarding everything he wasn't certain of
He said 'I think therefore I am a rhubarb tart.'
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart!
A Rene who? Rene Descartes!
Poor nut he thought he was a rhubarb tart!
Read all the existentialist philosophers,
Like Schopenhauer and Jean-Paul Sartre.
Even Martin Heidegger agrees on one thing:
Eternal happiness is rhubarb tart.
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart!
A Jean-Paul who? A Jean-Paul Sartre!
Eternal happiness is rhubarb tart.
A rhubarb tart has fascinated all the poets.
Especially the immortal bard.
He caused Richard the Third to call on Bosworth Field:
'My kingdom for a slice of rhubarb tart!'
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb bard!
Immortal what? Immortal tart!
As rhymes go that is really pretty bard!
Sit on my face, and tell me that you love me.
I'll sit on your face and tell you I love you, too.
I love to hear you moralize,
When I'm between your thighs;
You blow me away!
Sit on my face and let my lips embrace you.
I'll sit on your face and let my love be truly.
Life can be fine if we both sixty-nine,
And we'll sit on our faces in all sorts of places and play,
'Till we're blown away!
I'm the Urban Spaceman, baby, I've got speed,
I've got everything I need.
I'm the Urban Spaceman, baby, I can fly,
I'm a supersonic guy.
I don't need pleasure, I don't feel pain,
If you were to knock me down, I'd just get up again.
I'm the Urban Spaceman, baby, I'm making out,
I'm all about.
I wake up every morning with a smile upon my face,
My natural exhuberance spills out all over the place.
I'm the Urban Spaceman, I'm intelligent and clean,
Know what I mean?
I'm the Urban Spaceman, as a lover second to none,
It's alot of fun.
I never let my friends down, I never made a boob,
I'm a glossy magazine, an advert in the tube.
I'm the Urban Spaceman, baby, here comes the twist,
I don't exist.
All things dull and ug-ly,
All creatures, short and squat,
All things rude and na-sty,
The Lord God made the lot.
Each little snake that poisons,
Each little wasp that stings,
He made their prudish venom,
He made their horrid wings.
All things sick and cancerous,
All evil great and small,
All things foul and dangerous,
The Lord God made them all.
Each nasty little hornet,
Each beastly little squid,
Who made the spiky urchin?
Who made the sharks? He did!
All things scant and ulcerous,
All pox both great and small,
Putrid, foul and gangrenous,
The Lord God made them all.
Amen.
Beethoven's gone, but his music lives on,
And Mozart don't go shopping no more.
You'll never meet Lizst or Brahms again,
And Elgar doesn't answer the door.
Schubert and Chopin used to chuckle and laugh,
Whilst composing a long symphony.
But one hundred and fifty years later,
There's very little of them left to see.
The decomposing composers,
There's not much anyone can do.
You can still hear Beethoven,
But Beethoven cannot hear you.
Handel and Haydn and Rachmaninoff
Enjoyed a nice drink with their meal.
But nowadays no one will serve them,
And their gravy is left to congeal.
Verdi and Wagner delighted the crowds
With their highly original sounds.
The pianos they play are still working,
But they're both six feet underground.
The decomposing composers,
There's less of them every year.
You can say what you like to
But there's not much of them left to hear.
Claude Achil Debussy. Died, 1918.
Christoph Willibald Gluck. Died, 1787.
Carl Maria von Weber. Not at all well, 1825.
Died, 1826.
Giacomo Meierbeer. Still alive, 1863.
Not still alive, 1864.
Modest Mussorgsky. 1880, going to parties.
No fun anymore, 1881.
Johann Nepomuk Hummel. Chattin' away 19 'an a dozen with his friends down at the Pub every
evenin', 1836.
1837, nothing.
It's Christmas in Heaven: all the children sing
It's Christmas in Heaven
Hark hark those church bells ring'
It's Christmas in Heaven
The snow falls from the sky...
But it's nice and warm and everyone
Looks smart and wears a tie
It's Christmas in Heaven
There's great films on TV...
'The Sound of Music' *twice* an hour
And 'Jaws' I, II, *and* III
There's gifts for all the family
There' toiletries and trains...
There's Sony Walkman Headphones sets
And the latest video games!
It's Christmas It's Christmas in Heaven
Hip hip hip hip hip hooray
Every single day
Is Christmas Day!
It's Christmas It's Christmas in Heaven
Hip hip hip hip hip hooray
Every single day
Is Christmas Day!'
(The Meaning Of Life, Eric Idle)