One one things

Who said facebook was useless? The following was inspired by an insipid wallpost about the previous night’s mishaps.

Last Night

Last night a friend was leaving,
To Commons we went to see him.
A cappuccino was had, not espresso i’m glad,
But cup of tea before leaving.

After that coffee and tea,
I couldn’t sleep till three.
I dragged myself out of bed with difficulty,
Looked at the clock it was eight thirty.
Good lord at work I should be.

I spent the evening watching Sinatra at the London Palladium and was struck with a flash of inspiration. The following is a tribute to driving in Colombo, it is sung to the tune of New York, New York.

Colombo, Colombo

Start tooting the horn
I’m on Galle road
You got to run for cover
Colombo, Colombo

These drivers on booze
Are here to stay
And make our drive a living hell
Colombo, Colombo

I want to drive through this city, as if on weed
And dodge the private bus, the copper’s jeep

These little trishaws
Are making me pee
I’ll get my driver’s licence
In good old Colombo
If I can drive it there
I can drive it anywhere
It’s up to me, Colombo, Colombo

I want to drive through this city, and try not to weep
And find i’m in a pot hole, up shit creak

Where crooked kossas
Are bending the rules
I’ll get my driver’s licence
In good old Colombo
If i can drive it there
I can drive it anywhere
It’s up to me, Colombo, Colombo

Hehe composed in half an hour. For those who would like to see the extent of the bastardization, the original lyrics of New York New York are copied below.

New York, New York

Start spreading the news
I’m leaving today
I want to be a part of it
New York, New York

These vagabond shoes
Are longing to stray
And make a brand new start of it
New York, New York

I want to wake up in the city that never sleeps
To find I’m king of the hill, top of the heap

These little town blues
Are melting away
I’ll make a brand new start of it
In old New York
If I can make it there
I’ll make it anywhere
It’s up to you, New York, New York.

I want to wake up in the city that never sleeps
To find I’m king of the hill, top of the heap

These little town blues
Are melting away
I’ll make a brand new start of it
In old New York
If I can make it there
I’ll make it anywhere
It’s up to you, New York, New York.

P.s. Am grateful for one line and general quality control from housemate.

What do you do when the shit hits the fan?
I am just sitting here quietly in the loo
Wish I was home with a CD or two
Instead I’m hanging around trying to do a choo

Ranil is marching on the streets at two
In this cunning sun, must be missing a screw
I suck at poetry, how about you?
This was fun, Shakespeare who?