We were at New Year's Eve concert celebration type of thing. The main group was the Myshkin Warblers (or something) they were great...but before we could listen to them, there were three other acts. the first one was some woman with an accordian...the music sounded great...her voice got annoying...it wasn't that she sang bad...she just mostly didn't sing but made sounds...or same the same line over and over sometimes ten times in succession....

then came the next act...it was this person (the jury is still out if this person was male or female) who had a backup band consisted of recorded computerised music.. they played an electric guitar and every song was introduced with "This song doesn't have a title, but it is about me and my life. I'm sure you will like it" and then proceeded to sing the most whining moaning, bitching about everytihing songs I have ever hearrd....we were going to walk out but I wanted to see what the next act was....luckily we did wait...cause the next act was fabulous...and then the Myshkin Warblers were bloody awesome.

I wrote a song about the second act....it was to the tune of Pub With No Beer:

the song about me
(tune: the pub with no beer)

chorus:

Oh, it's awesome tonight on the stage all alone
Singing my poetry into this microphone
But there's nothin' so important so lovely you see
than to clap hands in awe to every song about me


1. Well, I stand on the stage, my guitar in my hands
Computer generated music, my backup band,
Oh, the audience is wild, this cold New Year's Eve
As they bask in the glory of the song about me.

2. I'm moaning and groaning and strumming along
Bestowing my gifts to this worshipping throng,
And the frowns on their faces quickly smile with glee
When they realise I'm singing another song about me

3. Now some people may complain the song has no name,
That my songs are no good, they all sound the same
But I'm the one who wrote them and I know you'll agree
It's a divine privilege to hear a song about me

4. Then in comes the drunkard, all covered with beer,
He pulls down a chair, and plops down his fat rear,
He burps out aloud, interrupting my key
He is showing no respect to the song about me

5. His glasses stand empty as he gets up to leave
My eyes open on shock it's so hard to believe
My soulful singing quickly turns into a plea
As I sing to an empty bar, The Song About Me.

nathan tompkins