Limericks - Part 4 (Oh yes!)
This thread from two-thousand O-five,
Must come back and still stay alive,
Our limericks are clever,
Let's see if we weather
Four-hundred ridiculous rhymes.
Replies (100)
my fiddle it wears on my back,
bus driver should cut me some slack.
The person behind me
shakes his strong fist at me
they could've fit were it not for my fiddle
Oh, Laurie, please give it a rest
These limericks are well past their best
With danger I'm flirtin'
My ears they'll be hurtin'
Don't mean to insult all you folks!
Dear Laurie, I want you to know
That really I do love you so
But this site's so addictive
I lose hours just sittin'
When I should be practisin' more!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You don't have to take a straw poll
To know limericks are good for the soul.
You don't have to petition;
Just ask any musician
(Unless they're not out on parole).
This small piece of Internet heaven
Is here for you twenty-four seven
To talk with your friends
And argue on end
Making practice time even more well-spent.
I want to pay tribute to Laurie:
Punsters happily mine this quarry.
Bad rhymes and bad puns from
Violinist-Dot-Com,
More limericks-she'll be so sorry!
What talents can we now uncover,
More poets out there to discover?,
For we can write lines,
Of beauty sublime,
Away from the sites' grumpy b*gg*rs **
Some like their lim'ricks with piety,
Formed with rev'rence and sobriety,
It's sinful to waste,
Those words of bad taste,
Best to use apt impropriety
** And if you're reading this, then by definition you don't fit into that category
Alison,
Amen. ;)
Laurie, t'is an angel you are
We would never have come this far
But for the help and advice
Dished out here day and night
Come on everyone, shout 'hurrah'!
Last week I broke my first E string
And the cut it left on my hand did sting
I started to bawl
When I used alcohol
To do the required wound cleaning
I have since replaced that darned wire
But the new one is drawing my ire
It’s shrill, and it’s loud
It makes my eyes cloud
And my eardrums feel like they’re on fire
A string that’s aluminum-wound
Perhaps will make much better sound
But if it does not
Against it I’ll plot
And it too will wind up trash-bound
No matter which exercise I try,
My muscles never will multipy,
My bowings a joke,
More down than upstroke,
Resembling Olive Oyl not Popeye
A niece of the late Queen of Sheba
Got promiscuous with an ameoba.
This queer blob of jelly
Would lie on her belly,
And (panting) would murmer, "Ich Liebe."
How did Leopold Auer
Get all of his pupils to flower?
He slipped some amphetamines
Into their blue jeans,
And that's why they played with such power.
If violin competitions make you freak,
You can cure it within a week.
Don't be in a hurry,
Just listen to Buri,
And try Alexander's Technique.
Oh, you can keep your vibrato,
And your perfect downbow spiccato.
Forget all that work.
I may be a jerk,
But I'd rather win at the Lotto.
The funniest ones are from Marcus,
They seem to flow from him without fuss.
His wit is so dandy,
Please give us more, Sandy,
More limericks, please, do appease us!
I noticed when playing last week,
That I seem to be grinding my teeth.
Am I the only one,
Or are there some,
Who know of what I speak?
==
Eudoxa, a reasonable fee,
or so at the time it seemed.
I opened the mail,
My heart almost failed,
Upon discovering only a D!
You guys are really a riot
Maybe one day I get up the nerve to try it
But until then
I'll just sit here and grin
And be thankful I'm not on a diet.
With Kreutzer, Flesch, Rode and Ševčík,
you're fast and your bow is your joystick -
as technical junkie
you're still a trained monkey,
you can't make that noise, that's called... music. :(
A stone age violist with long chin
went out to his job in the cold dim,
but - what a disaster!
the glacier was faster,
rehearsal was done, when they found him.
Little riddle - which violin concerto am I?
Of course my dad tuned me in D,
six sisters are jealous of me:
two Cindies, one turkish,
two bastards, one posh dish.
Your tryst starts with "Column, right wheel!"
Let's just call this one
"see-sawing duet in the wind"
I really was going to blow
But this thing is what I saw
A string that does flow
With a bow that's not all
The flute is still ready to go
Foreword: A Cornetto is a brand of ice-cream in Europe. And 'Just One Cornetto' is such a well loved commercial in the UK that this rhyme had to be contrived.
A famous musician was hustling,
While Washington Station was bustling,
What did he get-o?
As the sole proceeds of his Busking!
A fiddler of high reputation
played Bach at a metrorail station.
To his chagrin and regret-o
not even a palmetto
noticed his fine intonation.
At school these computers all crashed
Now my homework time is trashed
Luckily orchestra is next
And in there my teacher will be vexed
For our scales terribly clashed
(Was that one?)
Hi Misha, I've worked out your riddle,
It wasn't too much of a fiddle,
KV211?
Although it was done,
With special assistance from Google
With apologies to all my violist colleagues :-(
While driving on the road at my leisure
A violist and conductor did measure
The road's distance to cross
Thought I "run down the boss!"
Because one should put business before pleasure:-)
Heavy political stuff!
A number here voice their frustration,
At lack of public admiration,
Regrading Classics,
Our view Jurassic,
Is blocking Democratisation
Political tongue-in-cheek response:
Long live elitist pretense!
We guardians of good taste and sense!
The alternative, maybe,
's just a bit demo-crazy.
...and to flame me you now may commence.
;-)
Whilst you pass the grey poupon
rememberest how Like a Rolling Stone
said Napoleon abused
can't be refused
as he pares the meat from the bone(aparte)
;)
Elitist talk just gives me such pain,
Back and forth, yet still nothing to gain.
To out-snob each other
Is just a big bother
(Mara, Jim is just yanking your chain!)
Yes, of course I am. But you aren't!
This limerick has gone on for so long
I don't quite know know how to respond,
I think I will play
A simple accolade
To this thread that seems never ending.
We played a piece by Beethoven
Who knew why a volist was chosen
To play the melody
Who could do it, surely not she!
At least the beauty was not broken.
A propos this article ...
Now Russian musicians won't play -
They've gone off to have sex for the day.
But Maxim and Yuri
Are stamping in fury,
'Cos it doesn't apply if you're gay ...
Cute one, Jim. It actually made me laugh. Sometimes the saddest truths can be the funniest. Ah, how I love irony. ;)
The Brits are not so tuff,
Don`t care if you`re a poof. (pronounced puff)
However you fiddle,
Widdle or diddle,
True love is always enough.
In Russia, near nine months from now,
Each woman will be fat as a cow.
Then all of a sudden,
Babies by the dozen!
...Cripes, Putin, what have you done NOW?
There once was a fiddler named Buri
Who frequently typed in a hurry,
With letters akimbo
This guy was no bimbo,
And with prunes he could live without worry.
This stuff is hard! Please excuse me....
His eyes began ballooning,
A likely precursor to swooning.
He pried and he strained,
But its position remained,
While stating that pegs are for tuning.
Ian, that yours followed one mentioning prunes seems like it wasn't just a coincidence. Excellent use of a surprise ending. ;)
The forgetful Sir Olflang Mont George,
Born on the hills of the Norge,
Was quite the cold fellow,
For he played iron cello,
Drawn from the blacksmiths forge.
I don't know about Russia's birth rate
but expect an increase in the mirth rate.
Then again if they enjoyed it
they wouldn't avoid it.
(That's what happens when you lurk late). :)
What Would You Like to Play Next?
No, Thank You
There's one song I hate with a passion,
It brings an allergic reaction,
That one from Thais,
Is surely a piece,
That desp'rately needs to be rationed
Though difficult here to admit it,
I know I'm on a sticky wicket,
Like watching paint dry,
Does not make time fly,
It's just as boring as the cricket
It really is gushy and slushy,
And horribly sickly and mushy,
It makes me feel ill,
Go green at the gills,
And end up just totally yucky
However it can have it's uses,
So Massenet does have excuses,
I hope he was paid,
For this dental aid,
As gentle torpor it induces
Actually Mutter's version was really nice. Perhaps I've just listened to too many amateurs like me murdering it.
And having got that one off my chest....
If you need to wear something strapless,
You're entering territ'ry hapless,
Things could get obscene
(You know what I mean)
Though not a problem if you're bapless*
*bap: noun Brit. a soft, round, flattish bread roll.
As a musical piece to prohibit
"Bolero" would be my exhibit.
So repetitive and charmless,
too dull to be called harmless,
the instruments go ibid., ibid., ibid.
I wouldn't say that it's a musical hero,
But I enjoy the determination of Bolero.
Not too slow or too intense,
Like a march proudly riding the fence.
Not a ten, but quite far from zero.
It's hard to play Brahms with Miss Rice,
when ill-prepared take this advice:
Don't waver - regret!!
And never forget,
she's a governing piano device!
A groupie asked Heifetz to show
the trick of his stáccato bow.
His charme was airtight,
with utter despite
and faintly he hummed: "I dunno...".
A groupie once asked Kreisler's Fritz
for the roots of his sensual wits,
a kiss on her hand,
makes her understand,
"11 pm in the Ritz?"
By all accounts, Heifetz was mean -
A perfect but ice-cold machine.
No magic potion
Made his notes show emotion,
Not even the shifts in between.
But while Jascha's critics are now in fashion,
Even their hostile, vitriolic trashin'
Can't alter the fact
That he's a class act,
With excellence, beauty, and passion.
Ernest Chausson wrote his Poeme
Cause he said, "What I want is to show'em
That the human voice sucks.
There just aren't enough bucks
For me to write Tosca or Boheme."
That rascal, Giuseppe Tartini,
Made a pact with the Devil (The meanie!!!)
To give fiddlers bursitis
From Devil's Trill-itis,
In return for a supersized weenie.
In the cello concerto of Finzi
the melodies are anything but chintzy.
So as much as you get off
on your Tchaik or Glazunov,
try something a little less blintzy.
Mitchell, thanks for that revelation,
Sounds like a great recommendation,
These tunes bitter-sweet,
For me are quite neat,
This site is a real education.
Alison, thank YOU so much.
Some pieces just have that touch.
And thanks for the enhancement
and linguistic advancement
of "baps" and "cornettos" and such.*
*Nowhere else on the map
would I have heard the word "bap."
In common language we're divided,
Which can lead to us being derided,
Thongs for the Aussies,
Suspenders on Yankees,
Can get us Brits overexcited!
Larry wrote: "Sometimes the saddest truths can be the funniest." [ ie the fact that gay couples can't bear children? ]
That's true - 'tis a terrible blight
That, through homo-erotic delight,
One can never accrue
A small Sammy or Sue;
At least, not if you're doing it right.
Wow! What a conversation stopper!
Even Alison the noted head-chopper
has been stunned into silence!
Time to put down those violins
and rhyme--lest this thread come acropper.
Jim,
Another amusing one. :) I must concede, I think you're better at this than I am, by far.
I can't think of a fargin' new limerick
To be honest it's making me sick
i can just sigh
at the well that's gone dry
wait - LSD! That's the trick!
Mitchell, I've had other things to do,
Chopped heads have last laugh -I've suffered too,
I can't keep your pace,
And run the full race,
Cos I'm banged up at home with mild flu
At first improvement in condition,
I've planned a minor expedition,
Local library,
To check out Finzi,
Let's see if it comes to fruition
I've just realised what 'banged up' means for Australians and Americans. Mock me now. It just means imprisoned here.
If you're at a limerick-al low
prod your creative self like Miro'.
He discovered that starvation
could produce an hallucination
and from that point a painting could grow.*
* And it's cheaper than LSD :))
Alison hope you're well souped
and soon no longer up you'll be cooped.
Also have some tea
while thinking of Finzi.
"Knocked up" is the expression for which you groped.
*"Banged up" is probably Aussie.
O, Freunde, nicht diese dissing.
You really don't know what you're missing.
The limerick's fun is endless.
Don't end up friendless.
It's much more fun to be kissing.
Some fiddling folks who could rhyme
Put their thoughts into taut triple time
But despite their virtuosity
With dotted monstrosities
Everything kind of scanned something like this. :-P
Sandy, that's sehr interrresting,
as OJ might say, "quite arresting."
Folks open the nozzle--
don't be a schlimmazel--
and everyone join in the jesting.
I just found a new diet.
Some of you should try it.
When hunger pings
Fiddle those strings.
Weight loss and musical profit.
If aches, pains and cramps you are having,
Your temperatures hot like an oven,
Strap on a poultice,
No-one will notice,
But YOU might end up like Beethoven
If you like listening to the Three Bs,
On You Tube there are loads of Freebies,
If Prince has his way,
They’d all go today,
And we’d have to buy more DVDs
(I'm a fan, but sometimes he is a wally)
For references wierd and hermetic,
Best not use hallucenogenics,
So Jim you don't need,
To take dope or speed,
But it helps if you're an eccentric
Each suggestion here constantly lands
On Alexander's Technique for the hands.
What's with this approach?
If you need a coach,
Alexander's costs several grands.
Poor Sander wonders about my mind*,
No sweat these rhymes are done in quick time,
So you can relax,
Say 10 minutes max,
Is all that it needs to do 5 lines
*Don’t worry this patient thinks she’s fine
When lack of practice begins to bite,
I benefit from this great insight,
With help from caffeine,
Become a machine,
That can work in darkness or daylight
Though ‘wonder drug’ in common parlance,
To render my consumption harmless,
Just one of tea,
For every coffee,
Will keep the yin and yang in balance
(My profile name has changed so that a local namesake classical guitarist isn't associated with these crhymes.)
Let's not get too much into Freud;
It's the violin ideas we've enjoyed.
Besides, others I could name
Have an ulterior aim:
(To convince me that I'm paranoid).
Oh how I hate limericks
The very thought makes me turn sick
Can't even bring myself to finish it.
How come you rhyme is nothing but grime
Your prime rhyme aint worht a dime
rhyme good like you should
like you would in the hood
the way you rhyme is a organized crime
That was inspired!
If looking on in trepidation,
It’s time for some quick preparation,
Threads 1,2 & 3,
Will fill you with glee,
Providing boundless inspiration
Ma-ry's F plan could be the real thing,
To stop the spreading of this dumpling,
Let's try this diet,
Bake it not fry it,
And avoid bustin' all our G Strings
Hey, look, loads of words rhyme with string, king, sing, fling, ring, ding, ling.....
bling
I got me ole timing from limericks threads
diddly ditt dot, run through my head.
My teach was glad, maybe a little sad,
that her theory books were replaced,
by poetry so bad.
There once was a siren on cello,
Who loved almost every fellow.
She picked out a bow,
But she didn't know,
That his voice was sardonically mellow.
Some people say, "Get off your bum,
Stand up when you play with your chum!"
But I'm impossibly clunky.
It's so hard, I'm a monkey!
I have no opposable thumb.
Good council is hard to discover;
Harder yet, to find a good lover.
So simply be glad
When one’s not that bad.
And tell them to give back the cover.
A fiddler in Waukegan
tried to play Bloch's Nigun.
But he just couldn't get it
'cause his genes weren't ethnic.
So he drowned himself in a lee-goon.
When your dreams of great crowds applaudin',
A lack of a social lifes causin',
What will it getcha?
No-one will letch ya,
If your keynote is Eau de Rosin
oops I can't write that here :)
Is there no greater cause,
than endless applause,
or to claim the praise of stranger?
The world is in danger,
of chasing the wind, and holding fast to straws.
Audience Experience of The Concert
For weeks now the anticipation,
And developing expectation,
Has made me confess,
And often obsess,
On thoughts of my pending elation
The day comes: nothing will defeat me,
Only smiling faces can greet me,
The journey's a breeze,
And passes with ease,
Like Irish, Road Rises To Meet Me
Arrival. The concert hall's buzzing,
With friends old and new, shoulder rubbing,
House lights are dimmer,
Circulates simmer,
Of breathless rev'rance for what's coming
The first note sounds and we're ecstatic,
For it's a sign firm and emphatic,
In commanding voice,
That there's but one choice:
Surrender to sounds autocratic
Time stands still. We've been here forever,
Pond'ring this catalogue of treasures,
Crowds out of focus,
I only notice,
The artist and I here together
Returning home, there's reminiscing,
On recent good times that we're missing,
Back to our ritual,
Things so habitual,
But glancing backwards for pure blissing
Why is it that we stall?
Why isn't there a ball?
We waltz and waltz away...
Why's everyone so gay!?
It's sailing that we go
But down there in the bowl
Some spud from distant land
Some flying rubber band
Why is it that we stall?
Why isn't there a ball?
We waltz and waltz away...
Why's everyone so gay!?
If country clubs so nice
Had half the wondrous mice
We find in sugarland
The rats would have no end
Why is it that we stall?
Why isn't there a ball?
We waltz and waltz away...
Why's everyone so gay!?
The pool we had today
Not ice nor snow nor hail
It's down there past the drain
Sounds like Goliath's still in pain
Why is it that we stall?
Why isn't there a ball?
We waltz and waltz away...
Why's everyone so gay!?
The Acific Patlantic shun
The one that has no gun
It's STILL not having fun
Why is that everyone!?
Why is it that we stall?
Why isn't there a ball?
We waltz and waltz away...
Why's everyone so gay!?
Of all the hurd of teachers
I had in college fair
The circus that it's call-led
There's one to pull my hair
They called her something stupid
I think it's because of her stare
Why was it that they think her plait
Is quality uncompare
She's heavy as set was big
But that's not how to swear
At her with e'vry vixen
Till she'll fall down the stair
Her eyes like two big orbits round
Went backwards into her head
She'd drool and then look up out of her bed
For something she'd not found
(nor pound)
Why is it this strange lady
Who everyone says is now dead
Still haunts my every window
And's call-led Queen Mab
Hollywood's just a dream
Please hand me some more cream
So people can stare
How lovely's my hair
While they go to The Scream
I'm sad these rickety eyes
Won't let my heart comply
With the love that I feel
That's constantly real
And blaming's not my style
I miss you like a dream
Like funny silly toes
Like hamsters trying to get out
Of the round of the roundulation
And children they had feet
In Nijinsky's Vattsa's school
The book his sister wrote
From there there is a quote
And seagulls at the park
Teaching me to fly
Catching bread in the air
I love being pregnant again
We stayed in one night to make dinner,
My guest said she was a beginner.
I hadn't a notion,
About things from the ocean,
So I called upon Ms.Spinner.
She stood crooked, hair gnarled and wavy,
And began to school us on gravy.
She stepped right in,
And finished our din!
There was no need to thank the lady.
The door quickly closed behind her.
What was seen, neither was quite sure.
Did she feel at all selfish,
While eating whole shellfish?
And what now to do about dinner?
What's the name of that movie
That they're still going to make
Johnny's so slick
Brad Pitt's a hick
Let's just flush it away
I have one or two proper limericks (or rather lime–ricks), but... You can't really post them here. so I have this: (Oh, and by the way scurvy was caused by the lack of vitamin C they say)
Where Brian Joubert?
Where's I bare? I'm bare right there?
Joubert?
There's I'm bare.
But where?
There.
I can't see.
Wanna see?
Yes I wanna see Brian Joubert.
Oh, but I told you. There I'm bare.
No I don't know. I wanna see.
I told you there I'm bare.
Where!?
Where I told you.
I don't see.
Well, you have to go there to see.
What!?
Okay I'll show you.
Oh
Nice
But what about Brian?
Who's Brian!?
Her cheeks they are so bright,
The stars are out of sight.
What shall we do
With Juliet
Whose better than a lamp?
No more with these cheap oils
They camper more than boil
Why is it that
The cat whose back
Won't slither when they ...
a quickie ^o^
There was a violist named Maia
who spent Christmas playing Messiah.
She dozed off at midnight,
but woke to a bright light -
she'd snoozed while the church was on fi-ah!
I just got the new book by Ricci,
And he turns out to be quite a teachie.
Your left hand's the holder,
Which frees up your shoulder.
Now isn't that just simply peachie?
Though you may hate about what he is talking,
It's a revolution that Ricci is stalking -
Keep your hand in one place,
And it acts like a brace;
Let your fingers do all the walking.
One and two and three
What is this we see?
The ticking stopped
The clock's been topped
gasp! We have a dead beat!
Mc Gonagal she's a teacher
And IF you think you can cheat her
She'll tail like a cat
Wherver you're at
And send the chairs to meet you
A violin student was wishin'
to practice while she was fishin':
"For the halibut, cookie!"
But her playing got flukey
and she floundered in her audition.
A friend of mine was just concertmaster in a run of La Bohemé, so:
There was a young lady named Mimi.
"Rodolfo, I see's glad to see me.
But poem-boy lacks gumption
To deal with consumption,
So lately, I'd say, sucks to be me."
That' doll that has the blues
It tells me of the news
I'll blow it up
And chop it up
And make it into glue
The toomb-burr-airy
The noose of the day
And like just I say
They are completely gay
Why am I! so distraced-ed
(from Jo)
The art of ventriloquism
That's how you shoot som j#$&*sm
Just let it speak
From beat to beat
And say "heh here's some Mozart..."
"ventriloquism" and "Mozart" rhyme?? ;-)
And how much money did you make?
You and your sick people
Come into my life that way
To desecrate my steeple!?
A violinist perky and funky
said that she found me quite hunky.
For a while we went out
till she started to pout
and I went back to slapping the monkey.
Are all luthiers so hard-pressed,
To discover one who’ll confess,
A superior wood,
That’s consistently good,
At producing what the heavens possess?
I made my Strad from a del Gesu.
And while most concert halls refuse me,
I’m still very glad,
I moved the f holes a tad,
With permanent marker and car key.
What else is unique of my fiddle?
Oh the differences are vastly little!
The sound post is rock,
And I removed all the blocks.
The neck only wiggles a little.
I threw out all the fine tuners,
And wish I had done it sooner.
I now turn the pegs,
With my teeth and both legs,
But Pliers make adjustments much smoother.
So many are in awe of the sound,
That they often drop right to the ground!
Like a dry field of grain,
They fall at sustains,
And cry like a pack of wild hounds.
I found this website
one quiet night
I dont remember what I was looking for
but there it was the great v.com door
I lurked for a week
and then joined ever so meek
I can't believe I lived for so long
without the wisdom of ya'll
Chops he stood like a gargoyle
At the entrance which was a door
If a guillotine it was
the house itself
Would have been simply sideways
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/d/dickens/charles/d54gi/
http://www.fullbooks.com/A-House-to-Let2.html
A song there's in the woods
From trees and quite some bees
Why is it that
Since that holy strad
Mine are considered worthless!?
And could you turn us over
With no seperation
As if we're in the clover
With your anticipation
masnation indigterbation
And turn us around
where we would be bound
For further down the road
Jesus might come down
This discussion has been archived and is no longer accepting responses.
September 10, 2007 at 02:29 PM · I fear, with disaster, I'm flirtin'
'Cause my neck, it does much too much hurtin'
My shoulder rest sucks
(And it cost forty bucks!)
I hope, for my fiddlin', it's not curtains