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Peter Schickele - Classical Rap

 
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So anyway, now hear the sound
Of the very best rapper for miles around
Yes, I'm the fellow who's where it's at
There's absolutely no denying that
Yes, I'm the apex, I'm the best
I'm considerably better than all the rest
The acme, the zenith, the tippest of the top
The ne plus ultra, the hippest of the hop
The summit, the pinnacle, the highest of the high
The apogee of rappers: that's I
Well, I'm doing pretty well for myself right now
I'm pulling down about eighty thou
My wife makes forty, she's a Vassar grad
And hey, for a woman, that's not half bad
So we're talking six figures here
But there's one thing I want to make crystal clear
I have to laugh and I have to scoff
When I hear people calling us well off
Anyone who thinks that we're sitting pretty
Doesn't know what it's like in the big bad city

You gotta buy your apartment, but the mortgage will be
A mere pittance compared to the maintenance fee
To get a light bulb changed in the hall
Takes 27 men; it's a union call
The doorman, the mailman, the sanitation crew
The parking attendant and the cleaning lady, too
The super and his helpers, they all get tips
And then we gotta talk about the memberships
The book club, the wine club, the health cub fees
The fruit of the month club, and the one for cheese
The opera subscription, the museum and the zoo
The Sierra Club, the ACLU
There's the magazines to which you much subscribe
There's the plumbing inspector that you have to bribe
There's the parking space you have to rent or buy
There's the country house for the month of July
You will never have money, you can never relax
With the federal, state, and city income tax
And you can't do your own returns, oh no
You might end up paying what you owe
Hey I'm no Bonnie and I'm no Clyde
I'm just trying to get along on the Upper West Side

Now anyone'll tell you that you're a fool
If you don't send your kids to a private school
And no one living here would even think
Of trying to get along without seeing a shrink
A yoga class every other day
Helps chase the subway blues away
Not to mention the blues from the doctor bills
And the root canals and the various pills
Your daughter takes flute and dancing too
Your son takes piano, guitar, and kung fu
The baby's allergic to cotton, not silk
The cat can only drink gerbil milk
A babysitter here, if she's got half a brain
Can make more money than the governor of Maine
Okay, I know, that's not hard to do
But I think my message is getting through
You've got a lot to lose, you've got a lot to hide
When you're trying to get along on the Upper West Side

On Sundays, to give my wife a treat
The kids and I used to hit the street
We'd grab some donuts and head for the park
Sometimes we wouldn't come back til dark
Well, that was only fair, I freely acknowledge
But hey, now our kids are both in college
Yet here I am still out on the street
Soaking up rain and killing my feet
By walking this dog all over the place
So my wife can have her precious space
Is this High Noon? I'm Gary Cooper
Facing the world with a pooper scooper?

In New York City, they always say
You can get anything any time of day
But you're looking at a man who can't get what he wants
Zabar's is out of chocolate croissants
The book review was missing from the Times
The Korean market is out of limes
The pool hall here closed up last week
To make room for another ice-cream boutique
You don't know a thing about suffering and pain
If you haven't tried to catch a taxi in the rain
And you can wait for a bus half an hour or more
Cause they like to travel in gangs of four
Your folks come to town, you want to take in a show
Hey, you should've bought your tickets a year ago
Seeing foreign films was a hobby of mine
But now you pay a fortune to stand in line
To get in a theater that seats twenty-nine
And listen to Vivaldi one more time!

Well, the time has come to say au revoir
I promised I'd move my sister's car
My end, so to speak, begins
With an interlocking theme of violins
Sounds pretty good, but a little bare
Let's get the violas in there
Now, cellos and basses, in you go
It's time to add the continuo
Well, that's about it, that's how it ends
But remember this, my provincial friends:
You may think you're knowledgeable, but you're not
In fact, you don't know diddly-squat
So don't go judging carelessly
If you lived here, you'd be just like me
I've got no shame, but I've got my pride
I'm just trying to get along on the

Upper Upper Upper West Side
Upper Upper Upper West Side
Upper Upper Upper West Side
Upper Upper Upper West Side
Upper Upper Upper West Side
Upper Upper Upper West Side
Upper Upper Upper West Side
Upper Upper Upper West Side
Upper Upper Upper West Side
Upper Upper Upper West Side
Upper Upper Upper West Side
Upper Upper Upper West Side

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Peter Schickele

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The meaning of the song

Biography

Peter Schickele (born July 17, 1935) is a comedian, composer, conductor and pianist best known for his parodies and satires of classical music – most often written through the fictional character of “P.D.Q. Bach”, the profoundly untalented “twenty-first of Johann Sebastian Bach’s twenty children.”

His comedy and live shows incorporate slapstick, elaborate puns, and performances of P.D.Q. Bach’s “music” that sometimes feature odd instruments (such as the “pastaphone” and the “schlagenfrappe”, the latter of which is simply a set of tuned cardboard tubes that the player hits himself on the head with); he has also written original music that is attributed to himself.

He has won five Grammy Awards; between 1990 and 1993, he won four consecutive Grammys for Best Comedy Album.

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