John O'Con

Tune: Maurice Scott's "I've Got Rings On My Fingers"

John O'Con
Was cast upon
Manhattan's desert isle;
The native types
(Who fall for hypes)
Were suckers for his style.
On Threats to Salman Rushdie,
On Drug Abuse and AIDS,
They gave him plenty of scope,
And swallowed all his dope;
So he sent an envelope
To His Holiness, the Pope:

"Sure I've got rings on my fingers,
Rocks in my head;
Bugaboos to preach upon—
They're under every bed.
Come to St. Patrick's
(On Sundays, it's free)
And hear some mumbo-jumbo fiddle-de-dee,
Big P."

O'er the blue
Came John Paul Two
To hear his stooge discourse
On rigmarole
Like Birth Control,
Abortion and Divorce;
But when he sought the Vestry,
He found Beelzebub.
The Pope turned rather austere;
Said John, "Don't be severe—
I've had that souvenir
Since The Exorcist was here."

"Sure I've got rings on my fingers,
Straws in my hair;
Bugaboos to preach upon—
Chimeras everywhere.
Come to St. Patrick's,
And this Sunday, you
Will hear some oompus-boompus rannygazoo
Voodoo."

Card'nal red
The chuckle-head
Proceeded then to don;
A purple cope
Bedecked the Pope
(Which clashed with John O'Con).
When John began his sermon,
The Pope was all agog;
But when that sensible Pole
Heard John say, "Rock and roll
Corrupts the human soul!"
He responded, "Shut yer 'ole!"

"Sure you've got rings on your fingers,
Bats in your brain;
Bugaboos to preach upon—
You're certified insane.
Vacate St. Patrick's,
You misguided Euk!
When I hear hokum-bunkum gobbledygook,
I puke!"