Ahem.  I know this probably isn't the kind of lyrics TNÖ intended, but whatever, they're lyrics.

from Ruddigore, or The Witch's Curse.  Lyrics by W.S. Gilbert.  Music by Sir Arthur Sullivan.

Bridesmaids.
Hail the Bride of seventeen summers:
In fair phrases
Hymn her praises;
Lift your song on high, all comers.
She rejoices
In your voices.
Smiling summer beams upon her,
Shedding every blessing on her:
Maidens greet her –
Kindly treat her –
You may all be brides some day!
Bucks & Blades.
Hail the bridegroom who advances,
Agitated,
Yet elated.
He's in easy circumstances,
Young and lusty,
True and trusty.
All.
Smiling summer beams upon her,
Shedding every blessing on her:
Maidens greet her –
Kindly treat her –
You may all, may all be brides some day!

(Background to following section:  Robin Oakapple is actually Ruthven Murgatroyd, the heir to the Baronetage of Ruddigore.  These baronets are cursed to do a bad deed every day, so Ruthven ran away from home and disguised himself.  Now he's found out.)

Robin & Chorus.
When I'm/he's a bad Bart. I/he will tell taradiddles!
On very false fiddles I'll/he'll play a bad part!
I'll/He'll play a bad part on the falsest of fiddles.
And tell taradiddles when I'm/he's a bad Bart.
Chorus.
When he's a bad Bart. he will tell taradiddles!
On very false fiddles he'll play a bad part!
He'll play a bad part on the falsest of fiddles.
And tell taradiddles when I'm/he's a bad Bart.

(Spoken/sung by Ruthven's foster brother Richard, this I think is one of Gilbert's funniest lines EVER.)

Within this breast there beats a heart
Whose voice can't be gainsaid.
It bade me thy true rank impart,
And I at once obeyed.
I knew 'twould blight thy budding fate –
I knew 'twould cause thee anguish great –
But did I therefore hesitate?
No! I at once obeyed!

(A chorus of ghosts visits Ruthven later in the operetta because his bad deeds aren't bad enough.)

Sir Roderic.
When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies,
And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies –
When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay at the moon,
Then is the spectres' holiday – then is the ghosts' high-noon!

...

As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie low on the fen,
From grey tomb-stones are gathered the bones that once were women and men,
And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too soon,
For cockcrow limits our holiday – the dead of the night's high-noon!

...

And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds takes flight,
With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim "good-night";
Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its jolliest tune,
And ushers in our next high holiday – the dead of the night's high-noon!

(Mad Margaret, a lovesick woman, laments her fate.)

To a garden full of posies
Cometh one to gather flowers,
And he wanders through its bowers
Toying with the wanton roses,
The wanton roses,
Who, uprising from their beds,
Hold on high their shameless heads
With their pretty lips a-pouting,
With their pretty lips a-pouting,
Never doubting – never doubting
That for Cytherean posies
He would gather aught but roses!

In a nest of weeds and nettles
Lay a violet, half-hidden,
Hoping that his glance unbidden
Yet might fall upon her petals,
Upon her petals.
Though she lived alone, apart,
Hope lay nestling at her heart,
But, alas, the cruel awaking,
But, alas, the cruel awaking
Set her little heart a-breaking,
For he gathered for his posies
Only roses – only roses!

Ahhh, Ruddigore is my favorite now and forever.

@Christina: No, Leaf isn't my real name, as Ima said.  That would be rather cool though... :)

@Ima: Okay, that makes sense.  I went back and looked at the video which said it was a parody, so it's all good. :)  I proceeded to look him up and saw one of his videos during a life show, and oh my goodness, he is talented!  If you look up Mal Webb on YouTube, the first video that comes up is the one I found, something about sampling beat box.  It's hard to believe that he's actually making all those noises.

Now for another song.  This is "My Eyes," from Dr. Horrible.  Music by Jed Whedon.  Lyrics by Maurissa Tancharoen, Jed Whedon, and Joss Whedon.  Performed by Neil Patrick Harris and Felicia Day.

HORRIBLE

Any dolt with half a brain

Can see that humankind has gone insane

To the point where I don’t know

If I’ll upset the status quo

If I throw poison in the water main

Listen close to everybody’s heart

And hear that breaking sound

Hopes and dreams are shattering apart

And crashing to the ground

I cannot believe my eyes

How the world’s filled with filth and lies

But it’s plain to see

Evil inside of me is on the rise

PENNY

Look around

We’re living with the lost and found

Just when you feel you’ve almost drowned

You find yourself on solid ground

And you believe

There’s good in everybody’s heart

Keep it safe and sound

With hope, you can do your part

To turn a life around

I cannot believe my eyes

Is the world finally growing wise

‘Cause it seems to me

Some kind of harmony

Is on the rise

HORRIBLE (overlapping with Penny below)

Anyone with half a brain

Could spend their whole life howling in pain

‘Cause the dark is everywhere

And Penny doesn’t seem to care

That soon the dark in me is all that will remain

Listen close to everybody’s heart

And hear that breaking sound

Hopes and dreams are shattering apart

And crashing to the ground

I cannot believe my eyes

How the world’s filled with filth and lies

But it’s plain to see

Evil inside of me is on the rise

PENNY

Take it slow

He looks at me and seems to know

The things that I’m afraid to show

And suddenly I feel this glow

And I believe

There’s good in everybody’s heart

Keep it safe and sound

With hope, you can do your part

To turn a life around

I cannot believe my eyes

How the world’s finally growing wise

And it’s plain to see

Rapture inside of me is on the rise

Let's not die just yet, thread. 

*** 

Here's a little story that should make you cry,
About two unhappy dames.
Let us call them Lucy X and Jessie Y,
Which are not their real names.

Now Lucy has the purity
Along with the unsurety
That comes with being only twenty-one.
Jessie has maturity
And plenty of security.
Whatever you can do with them she's done.

Given their advantages,
You may ask why
The two ladies have such grief
This is my belief,
In brief:

Lucy is juicy
But terribly drab.
Jessie is dressy
But cold as a slab.
Lucy wants to be dressy.
Jessie wants to be juicy.
Lucy wants to be Jessie
And Jessie, Lucy.

You see, Jessie is racy
But hard as a rock.
Lucy is lacy
But dull as a smock.
Jessie wants to be lacy,
Lucy wants to be Jessie.
That's the sorrowful précis;

It's very messy.

Poor sad souls,
Itching to be switching roles.
Lucy wants to do what Jessie does;
Jessie wants to be what Lucy was.

Lucy's a lassie
You pat on the head.
Jessie is classy
But virtually dead.
Lucy wants to be classy.
Jessie wants to be Lassie.
If Lucy and Jessie could only combine,
I could tell you someone
Who would finally feel just fine!

***

That is The Story of Lucy and Jessie, by Stephen Sondheim, from Follies. And a fantastic testament to what the man can do with words. Check out the rhymes. Seriously.