Euromillionsvision

For those of you who are interested in such things, I have turned my hand to song writing. Well, lyric writing to be precise. I noticed while watching two semifinals and the bespangled denoument of that paragon of musicality, The Eurovision Song Competition, that more than a few people were credited with the esteemed, historical record of 'co-writer of previous Eurovision entry'. Imagine that - it seems that entire teams are at work behind each of these feather and crinolene clad, attention starved, borderline sleeping-pill suicides. Setting aside the need for melody, choreography, dancing feet and a face that is at once cheaply forgettable and youthfully arresting, I felt I should concentrate my energies explicitly on setting to paper some Euro-conquering lyrics. A kind of blitzkrieg of bouncy, rhythmic and anodyne horseshit appealing to all of the impoverished former Ruskies, gypo-haters, white muzzies, techno-homos, children under five, the German piggybank, Berlusconi-voting arsegrabbers, throwbacks, throwforwards, throwups, crazy frogs, transexuals, Louis Walsh, the catatonic and insane.

So, here goes. I see this as being a sort of duet between two of Ireland's hip young finest - perhaps Paul Galvin and one of the Bertie's daughters. As seems to be the style of the times, I've titled this one with a random series of noises.
I give you Bing Bong Wacka Wacka.

Two sweet things boy
Bing Bong Wacka Wacka
You're my Kiss toy
Bing Bong Wacka Wacka

Feel my fingers like bananas
Gently remove your bandana
I wanna be your Christmas Cracka
How about you and me Bing Bong Wack Wacka?

Girl you make me
Bing Bong Wacka Wacka
Go on have a cuppa tea
Bing Bong Wacka Wacka
 
Mmmm, yum girl, you taste like a rasher
Just lie still an' I'll give you a lasher
I'm big Paul Galvin, ready to attack ya
Put your mouth in the pillow an' we'll Bing Bong Wacka Wacka

(chorus)
Ding dong boogie woogie
Hunky Dory Crisps
Cheese and Onion Tayto
way to do the twist
Bing Bong Wacka Wacka
Boogie Woogie Woo
Bing Bong Wacka Wacka
This doobie tastes like poo


So, that's it really. Anyone with any ideas for music to go with this should send me a demo tape in enough time that we can get at least one rehearsal in before the Tubs selects next year's entry on the Too Late Late Show.

Of course, if that Jed-tard duo actually win we might have to sell ourselves into slavery to pay the levies the government throw at us to fund next years competition. Unless of course the rest of Europe want to pay for it which would be an irony fittingly appropriate to the general tone of the entire camp, diamante-studded fiasco.