The palace of the sultan near the Wadi-al-Kaseltza Contains a desert orchestra, which every Friday belts a Hot set of tunes exotic, while the ladies, that he treasures, Perform a dance erotic, solely for the sultan's pleasures. The randy band musicians never ever get a chance To see the lithe dark bodies as they caper through the dance. They're kept like every other male, in curtained isolation, The penalty for peeking is a swift emasculation. Performed with rusty scimitar, that's bound to cause infection; That somehow can't be cured by penicillin type injection. But still the fools, the brave, the would-be heroes come to try To enter the seraglio to see what they can spy. So to those marble portals came Mohammed Hassan Jones, A trader in old camels, rhino horn and tiger bones, And heard about the beauty of the sultan's many wives, And love-struck lost Lotharios, who, lusting, lost their lives. Meanwhile, while Mo H Jones was plotting, planning his pursuit Of pulchritudde, far sweeter than The pomegranate's fruit, A band of armed assassins met, and mooted mayhem, murder Of Sultan al Kaseltza, and his ever-faithful sirdar. Through corridors they crept, crouched low, close by the concubines quarter, In quiet quest of quarry, as such prowling panthers oughter. As loony, lustful Jonesy, on a ledge, up loftwards lurked, And got a glimpse of glamour through a grille, and passion perked. You've guessed: his penis pressure pushed him back,and in this farce, He floorwards fell; gang leader found his face beneath an arse Whose sphincter coping not with such an excess of emotion, Had lost all its control, and thusly passed a massive motion. The guards arrived, the sorry squad to palace hall were dragged. "I crapped upon this cruel crew of criminals!" Jones bragged. But then grew rather reticent when asked what he was doing, To find himself in pole place for performing aerial pooing. The caliph spake, his servants quailed, then rushed to do as bidden, And soon the gang were gagging as they drowned down in the midden. "But Jones, you saved my life, you perv, so what becomes of thee?" "Oh, lock me in your harem, sire, and throw away the key." The sultan nodded sagely: "Yes that's where you will reside." But was our friend Mohammed pleased? I'll leave you to decide. For what I never did discern, ere Jonesy met his fate Is if with man with scimitar he'd firstly had a date.
* * *
sirdar= ahigh-ranking oficial... OK it should be in India.
I'd like to thank for his unwitting help, Dr James Pitt Payne, a transcriber into midi format of the most obscure tunes. One of his recent creations was "Lock me in your harem and throw away the key," from 1914 which inspired this farrago.
Type his name into Google if you want to know more.
Dr J. has since sent me the lyrics of the song, and it is a surprisingly similar theme, concerning an Irishman who saves a sheikh's life and asks for confinement in the seraglio as reward.
Tuesday, December 30, 2003