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Music Funny Poems | Funny Poems About Music

These Music Funny poems are examples of Funny poems about Music. These are the best examples of Music Funny poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | I do not know? |

Nasty girl

   There you go again doing things that you are not suppose to be in and then you look at 
me like oh i'm so sweet if you only knew I can be a freak without showing it. Here they 
go listening to the rumors but i'm your friend so in the end I know that they are true. 
How could you do that with him and her and they were on the ground you were pretending to 
pick up gum? You need to be safe, making out with strangers girl I aint no saint but god 
what are you doing? I don't want to see you years from now telling me you got aids, I 
worry about you and I feel like your special so I even wrote about you come on look how 
much you mean to me. You like him I get it but how many other guys have you liked in the 
past. He's your only, he's a phony make sure he's not just in it for the prize because 
girl you never know some guys are. It's the truth and you need to listen, I don't mean to 
sound bossy but soon enough your name is going to be posted on all the bathrooms walls. 
Telling things that you haven't even done yet. But you will front about it, Lie again. 
Telling everyone it's happened how do we know what's real or fake. I love your 
personality I wish I could steal it, Your loud, and flirty, daring and smart girl you got 
too much heart to be showing it to everyone who wants a sip. this is for all the nasty 
girls out there who think I don't know what i'm saying just ask anyone of them who are 
dead now or are on the streets prostitiuting. Don't be afraid to be a freak it's healthy 
but sometimes it's better when it's secret closet freaks have more fun.


Details | I do not know? |

Victim

I never wanted it to be this way, I never wanted to feel the pain. Bruises all over me. 
Invisible but I can see them.

You hurt me everywhere. My heart is shattered and the blood has frozen. But I won't be 
your victim.

Stare at me like this all you want. Try and hurt me with your words just as long as you 
don't use fists.

I don't ever want to be your victim. I refuse to be one of those few girls who end up 
losing their whole world.

Love isn't supposed to hurt, but maybe I was just naive because the moment I loved you my 
heart never stopped bleeding. 

I won't be your victim, I won't run away. If you have something to say I won't avoid it. 
I'm not scared I can take whatever you try to throw.

Don't hold back I promise you I will not cry. The moon is shining just like all the 
diamonds that you called pretend love I can't even imagine why I fell so hard.

It's never clear until the glass of water is gone. But now that you've gulped me to the 
last I want you to know I won't be your victim.

I kissed vulnerability goodbye the very last time I cried over you and I won't be your 
victim your not even worth it.

If you feel like you must shove a door in my butt but don't make me afraid because I 
don't want to be I don't want to be your victim. 

Let go of my hand so I can peacefully drive away if you want me to I can drive over you 
as well. But don't make it seem like i'm causing you pain because it's obvious to see 
that I've been a victim and it's a shame.

But I don't want to be it anymore then you so just let me go and I won't have to run. I 
promised you forever I laugh at this now you were never eternity love in my mind.

 I kept counting until the madness in ourselves would corrupt. Tears flash down my eyes 
as I speed down the lanes. Two bottles of Gin and I think i'm going insane.

It wasn't until I crashed into a tree that I realized I was never your victim I was 
merely your suicide mission. 


Details | Rhyme |

The 70's

Back in those heavy times when everything was so far out Our words were but a whisper, the mans were but a shout Flower power was spreading, and everything was out of sight Preaching peace through out the days, and gettin our groove on into the night But we were always gettin hassled, by the fuzz, the man, the pigs They didn't want us smokin doobies, and flashin peace signs, can ya dig? Then peace and love had flourished, we needed to get funky and do our thing We needed a place to get our groove on, so the discos were the scene The threads we wore back then were styling, some were off the hook! It's hard to believe with the slim bread we made, we could carry that funky look? Bellbottoms, platform shoes, and jump suits people were a cravin Boogieing away the nights in the discos, where the lights were just a blazin Then the foxy chicks started getting pregoed, and the discos no longer Dyno-mite! Men needed to start makin more bread, and trying to live the family life But gigs weren't easy to find, and life became somewhat of a drag Some of the dudes skipped town, leaving the foxy mamas holding the bag Well thats the skinny of the seventies, the lowdown of peoples ways So keep on truckin all you cool cats and foxy mamas And remember all those ~Freaky, ~Far Out, ~Out Of Sight days
Dan Kearley:1-21-12


Details | Couplet |

American Idol

Hearing talented young voices provides such pleasure
In our quest for America’s latest idol treasure

Next year the judging panel will not be the same
The man we love to hate will leave for bigger game

What will it be like without the infamous scowl
Of the Brit who tells it like it is --  Simon Cowell

“That was simply dreadful,” says he with a wry smirk
“You came off karaoke; it just didn’t work.”

Randy asks, "Yo, Dog, what's with the off-key pitches?" 
Ellen’s there for laughs; she leaves us in stitches

Kara strokes her long, brown hair, bats her lashes too
Asks Casey to remove his shirt, flirts as he follows through

But Simon never offers consolation prizes
Contestants' egos crash down as their anger rises

If he tells Big Mike he sounds karaoke
We may find Simon adrift in the Okefenokee

Choosing a replacement will surely not be easy
Adam Lambert? Paula's return? Oh, it makes us queasy

Simon will be missed, the show will suffer ratings
Viewers may depart for loss of the man they’re hating


Details | Rhyme |

Music, Music, Music

I reckon I'm showing my age and am pretty well set in my ways,
But I have zero tolerance for the noise called music nowadays!
The metal bands and rap are loathsome to my delicate ears.
I haven't heard a melodic tune on the radio for over forty years!

Pleasing to the ear was Vaughn Monroe and his mellow baritone.
Likewise, the romantic, comprehensible crooning of Vic Damone.
A songster who could stir even the most unromantic soul,
Was the silky-smooth delivery of debonair Nat King Cole!

I truly enjoyed the ballads belted out by the ever-living Elvis,
And got a kick out of watching in action his double-jointed pelvis!
Delightful were the songs vocalized by cheerful Doris Day.
It was so relaxing listening to the Velvet Fog, Mister Mel Torme!

Will there ever be another Patti Page, Perry Como or Peggy Lee,
Dinah Shore, Frankie Laine or Jo Stafford serenading me?
Oh, to hear again The Mills Brothers and their sweet harmony.
Now all I hear is dreadful screams and gross disharmony!

Today's drivel to my romantic soul is of great offense.
'Tis foreign to my ears and doesn't make a bit of sense.
Music back then invited you to hold your gal in close embrace,
As you danced and murmured sweet nothings face to face!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved


Details | Rhyme |

THE RELUCTANT BOOTSCOOTER

I s’pose you've heard of Tamworth and the shindig there each year, 
where country music reigns supreme and all its stars appear.  
They’re in the pubs and all the clubs and arcades 'round the town      
and Peel Street is just full of pics all strumming up and down. 
 
In years of late another breed of artists have appeared; 
Bush Poets with their rhyming verse, who are now quite revered. 
The Longyard and Imperial pubs and Leagues Club host a few, 
while golf and bowls clubs house more mobs and Peel street has them too.  
  
It happens that I'm one of them and have for six straight years 
performed to folk my style of verse -  The Laughter and the Tears. 
You make them cry, you make them laugh, you keep your tales true blue, 
for that is what the folk demand:  be Aussie through and through. 
 
Most folk they see us poets as the ocker type of bloke 
and know we see line dancing as some kind of flamin' joke.  
They stream to Tamworth each year and stretch out along Peel street. 
These hordes of blokes and sheilas with their fancy prancin' feet. 
 
They’re shapes and sizes are diverese, no two frames look the same, 
with fancy shirts embroidered with the place from hence they came.   
They tuck their thumbs behind their belts then line up in a row 
and when the music kicks on in they boot scoot to and fro. 
 
Each year they have this ritual, that really is a bore; 
They try to break the record they procured the year before. 
Like locusts they assemble and I watch them with disdain 
'cause surely they've got Buckley's chance of doing it again. 
 
[CONTINUED]


Details | Rhyme |

THE RELUCTANT BOOTSCOOTER [CONT'D]

But somehow they have done it and you can't help but admire, 
the pluck of these boot scootin' folk ... they never seem to tire. 
This year the faithful came again though couldn't help but doubt, 
no matter how they wanted to their run of luck was out. 

The M.C. kept on calling out, "All register now please. 
If we don't keep the record folks it could go overseas." 
The comment cut just like a knife.  I thought, “you man or mouse?” 
'Cause, what if they were just one short?   You'd really feel a louse.  
 
The more the M.C. made his plea the more it gnawed at me, 
until I cracked and ran on up and paid the flamin' fee. 
I stuck my ticket on my shirt and joined the middle row 
and wished they'd kick the music off and get on with the show. 
 
My biggest fear was if my mates were watching in the crowd. 
They'd never let me live it down.  The M.C. cried out loud. 
"It's time folks," and the music played.  I thought I'd take a punt 
and pranced along by following the tall chick there in front. 
 
Then when the music stopped at last I made a quick retreat, 
relieved that I had not been seen boot scootin' in the street. 
We broke the record once again and felt real good deep down, 
but please don't tell me poet mates -  they'd run me out of town! 
 
 
Each year as I've sat in front of Grace Bros. Store at the Tamworth Country Music 
Festival, performing our show and selling our product, I have observed the ritual of 
bootscooters gathering in Peel Street to break the record for the largest number of 
bootscooters gathered in one place. A record they have broken annually for some years now 
in the Guinness Book of Records.  Each year I have grappled with the thought - what if 
they were short by one? - so I had to tell the story.


Details | Free verse |

not me two cats and a mangy dog

the rain fell 
outside 
dogs and cats
Sunday 
was late in coming
rolled over in bed 
played dead

until a red 
long haired cat
named Fred
sat 
on my head
and my face 
turned red

then a stray 
mangy yellow dog
named Yellow
decided to play 
with me
chased Fred away
and decided to stay

his body heat 
was hot
and I rolled over in bed
until a cool fat black cat 
named Frank 
chased Yellow
outside to the riverbank


Frank the cool fat black cat 
started to scat 
at the top of his range
at the edge of my bed
his blues 
went straight 
to my head

then Yellow and Fred 
returned 
with guitar and bass
and played backup
to Frank
while I played the bed
to save face

it was all 
going swell
until my neighbors 
who didn’t like our chops
banged a different tune 
on the wall
and called the cops

they broke down
the door
and took away us four
along with our instruments 
less the bed of course
into a paddy wagon 
we sped 

it was in a cell 
with a cot
that we realized that we were hot
to trot
and started our prison band called 
not 
me two cats and a mangy dog


Details | Rhyme |

MAMMA ANNA MADE THE BEST BABBA' AL RHUM

Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum,
you should have seen me how it made me slightly drunk;
and jumping and screaming I danced to the beats of a drum...
then grandma joined in and she sang a classical song!


And the sweet cream was on my lips and cheeks, 
the Babba' al Rhum was delicious and I topped it with chocolate;
everybody began shouting, "It came from Paris,
but we Neapolitans reinvented it by improving its shape and taste!"


Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum, soaking it in that liqueur much longer;
and Papa' always told me to eat more of it...saying with a suppressing laughter,
"It's a man's dessert, after you eat it, you'll be strong!"
Oh, did he really tell me the truth? No, he was wrong!


It's so very sad that they aren't here,
and I am eating pretzels and drink a beer,
the harmony that stirred their passion can't possibly return...
as they danced on the terrace to celebrate the day I was born!


Mamma Anna knew how to make the best Babba' al Rhum,
and I licked the dripping rum with my finger...not my tongue!
She spoke calmly...when she should have gotten mad and picked up a broom;
no, she was never mean and rude, or ever said to me, " Go to your room!"


Details | Light Poetry |

' Boot-Legged Mama '

Mama and Daddy was always Love-Dovey
She is His Sweetheart – He is Her Honey
First Love… Real Love  -  Forever True
Pa… I Pray to find A Man Like You…

Daddy Laughed and Put His Arm Round My Shoulder
And Said, “I’ll Tell You Somethin’, Now You’re Older
It’s got to do with Your Mother’s Fame
And Why I gave Her, The Nickname…

               … Boot-Legged Mama

                  Boot-Legged Mama
Blue-jean Shorts and Vintage Tony Lama
Walked thru the Door… of A Liquor Store
… Packaged so Pretty… Pa Just had to Pour

               … Boot-Legged Mama

Ma… Was there, to get 6-packs for A Party…
Pa… Was there, ‘cause of a Taste for Bacardi
He took One Look and Knew He Couldn’t Waste Her
Pa… Gave-up ‘Drank’… Just so He Could Chase her !

Dad, Said, ‘He’d Drowned in Dark-Eyes and Sweet-Aroma
Fine-Wine, Crystal… But Tuff’ Nuff’ to Down-Drama
Pa Claims, Mama’s Labeled by the F.D.A.
And Listed on Her Driver’s License is,  A.K.A.  …

               … Boot-Legged Mama

                  Boot-Legged Mama
 Genuine Woman, Who Made Him Wanna’
Take Her to be His Lawful Moonshine
… Married at Midnight – ‘cross The County-Line

               … Boot-Legged Mama

Alcohol’s in Trauma;  and Prohibition Told Her:
"Boot-Legged Mama… Done Drove Pa Sober !"
Now, Homemade-Hooch… is His Acquired Taste
180 Proof… Kicked All Over His Case !

Right Then, Mama Flowed into The Room
Pa, Teased and Said, “Still Full-Bodied and Perfumed !
Ma Hugged Us, then Handed Me – Old Boots and A Dress…
    (and good advice)… “Go Git’ My Elliot Ness…

               … and be a Boot-Legged Mama!

( Hey !... Did I Hear Somebody, In A Country Drawl ….
          Order Up A Bottle of Kicking Alcohol !
         Well, Here She Is… Y'all ! ...
                  Boot-Legged Mama ….

Well John (Moses) Freeman... You Said You Needed
Somethin' :)  to Read tonight, before kicking up your
heels...  Well, Here It Is (Have Fun - Son)

MoonBee 

 (Thank You For All Your Wonderful Comments
Now, I Can't Get Thru The Door for My Ego.. (Smile)


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