This thread reminded me... I used to be on a Silly Wizard e-mail list several years ago. Several members of the band were on the list also then, including brothers Phil and Johnny Cunningham (accordionist and fiddler, repectively). I forget the exact circumstances but somebody on the list called for some humour dealing with Johnny Cunningham. So to take a piss, I responded with this parody of "The Devil Went Down to Georgia":


THE DE'IL CAM UP TAE ALBA

The Devil came up to Scotland; he was searching out some crack
After losing out in Georgia, he thought he'd try a different tack
Well, he found him a session in a pub and, pulling up a seat
He took out his fiddle and jumped right in and never missed a beat

But he found it hard to keep up with this fiddler by his side
When the Devil quit in the middle of a reel, this fiddler's grin was wide
He said, "Hi, I'm Johnny Cunningham", it hit the Devil like a brick
thinking, "Not another Johnny!", he just said, "People call me Nick"

(Johnny:)
"I heard about the deal you tried in Georgia, years ago
What brings ye tae our pub tonight? Will ye gi'e it one more go?"

(Devil:)
"Well, I've played my fiddle a thousand years, but to beat you I'm unable
Still, I'll bet your soul against the tab I can drink you under the table"

Well, Johnny, ye slacken off your bow, `cause the Devil feels like drinkin'
He made this bet, but he'll learn yet he'd better change his thinkin'
He'll learn some day it doesn't pay to piss on Fiddlers' Hill
But tonight ye drink and make him foot the bill...

Well, they started out with whiskeys, triple portions were agreed
They were off to a storming start and Johnny set the speed
And after trying ev'ry brand, they finally settled in with stout
But the Devil'd been on many a tear, so he figured he'd hold out

Now, the days grew into weeks, and how the Devil's cheek grew thin
But he hung in there with all he had, sure this mortal would give in
Still Johnny led him pint for pint and, as he called for one more round
The Devil looked up, then rolled his eyes and pitched forward on the ground

Well, the Devil only groaned when the barmaid nudged him with her heel
So Johnny handed her the Devil's purse and played him one more reel:

    Mist on the mountain; play, lads, play
    Jenny won't tak' ye, but Maggie may
    Ye'll feel as fit as the butcher's dog
    Seanair, where's your troosers? Shut yer gob!

The devil, broke, slunk back to Hell to still that bodhrán in his brain
But he's curs'd with pride that he won't hide; you know he'll try again
Though he's King of Sin, he can never win; his slips are almost Freudian
He'll always goof and here's the proof: he's learning the accordion

    Mist on the mountain; play, lads, play
    Jenny won't tak' ye, but Maggie may
    Ye'll feel as fit as the butcher's dog
    Seanair, where's your troosers? Shut yer gob!