John v. Paul
John's Dead. Paul's ability to write good songs died with him.
YET. . The feud goes on, thanks to the inimitible Yoko Ono.
I just knew Dirtbiker would want to know this.
YET. . The feud goes on, thanks to the inimitible Yoko Ono.
I just knew Dirtbiker would want to know this.
posted by stewdog | 2:08 PM | Permalink
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5 comments
5 Comments:
Hah! The real brains belonged to Yoko. Who else could write like she did?
Wisdom, o wisdom, thats what we ask for,
Thats what we live for no-oo-ow.
Wisdom, o wisdom, thats what we ask for,
Thats what we live for no-oo-ow.
Freedom, o freedom, thats what we ask for,
Thats what we live for no-oo-ow.
O freedom, o freedom, thats what we ask for,
Thats what we live for no-oo-ow.
McCartney, eat your heart out.
Yoko's brilliance was just misunderstood, as we can see in these wonderful lyrics.
Don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t worry,
Don’t worry, don’t worry,
Don’t worry, don’t worry,
Don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t worry, kyoko.
Don’t worry,
Don’t worry, don’t worry,
Kyoko, kyoko, kyoko, kyoko, kyoko,
Don’t, don’t, don’t worry, kyoko.
Mum’s only looking for her hand in the snow,
Mum’s only looking for her hand in the snow.
Don’t -
Don’t, don’t, don’t worry,
Don’t worry.
Don’t worry, don’t worry,
Don’t worry -
Don’t worry -.
This from the woman who wrote,
"babbaloo, babbaloo, babbaloo,
I love you". BTW, Stewdog, do you mean John's ability to write etc... (can't even bring myself to type the words "good songs" in this context). As far as I know, Paul's still converting oxygen into carbon dioxide.
- Dirtbiker for W
What worries me more than anything is that we actually know at least some of the lyrics to Yoko's "songs". I'm more worried about myself than CIV or Stewdog to tell the truth and will make a real effort to forget that I ever heard them. Time will probably take care of that but with my luck, my brain will forget everything else I've ever learned and I'll be sitting in the Old Folks'Home repeating these words over and over again.
- Dirtbiker for W
- Dirtbiker for W
my brain will forget everything else I've ever learned and I'll be sitting in the Old Folks'Home repeating these words over and over again.
I'll be sitting next to you, Dirtbiker, repeating all the commerical jingles I learned as a youth glued to the television. Already I have trouble forgetting such classics as Choo Choo Charlie, even though I never liked his candy.
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