Friday 17 July 2009

Superstitious Homeopathy Blues

After reading up quite a bit recently on a number of alternative medicines, it seems to me that homeopathy must be quiet the silliest. I have therefore attempted to rewrite Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” in recognition of the absurdity of this treatment. I also thought I’d have a go at singing it, which my wife reliably informs me was a big mistake, but hear it is anyway.

Hahnemann’s in the basement.
Mixing up the Medicine.
I’m on my iMac.
Blogging ‘bout the daft quack.
The man in the lab coat.
Looking for the essence.
Says there is no evidence.
It has any potence.
Look out woo.
We’re coming after you.
God Knows Why.
You peddle such a lie.
You better prove your efficacy.
To be taken seriously.
The man in the drug store.
Doesn’t look too sure.
He may be unwell.
And doesn’t need a water spell.

Charlie makes a tincture.
Cornish water, so pure.
Mummy is so cock sure.
It provides the best cure.
Duchy cures at a guess.
Are completely useless.
Remedies have no success.
Complete and utter BS.
Look out woo.
You haven’t got a clue.
Logic must take a hit.
If you want to market it.
Evidence, not a bit.
Clinical trials, omit.
Don’t trust, this fuckwit.
His remedies, are unfit.
You don’t need scientist.
To tell you that he’s full of shit.

Dilute, shake well.
Active ingredients, expel.
Always say its natural.
If you potion’s gonna sell.
Wolfsbane, insane.
Wont cure migraine.
Rather have, chow-mein.
C’mon guys, use your brain.
Look out woo.
Truth is your taboo.
And if like cures like.
I will take a hike.
Now we know it’s utter shite.
Girl on the treadmill.
Looking for a new pill.
Don’t follow health quacks.
Charlatans with phony plaques.

Try hard, to believe.
Trusting, and naïve.
If you manage to decieve.
Placebo effect you’ll receive.
You’ll never, treat me.
Even for, a modest fee.
It’s all just a fantasy.
Bad science clearly.
You don’t have a remedy.
Look out woo.
Your principles untrue.
Debate, ignite.
Don’t treat snakebite.
Skeptics, unite.
Reason takes flight.
The anecdotes you recite.
As evidence its pretty slight.
You can’t bottle sunlight.
Thunderstorms or starry night.

Comments are most welcome as always, but you needn’t bother commenting just to tell me that I can’t sing, I’m well aware of that. I was asked to leave the school choir.

Oh and thanks to these guys who provided the great instrumental version for me to ruin


Michael Kingsford Gray said...

Pure Genius!
Not homœpathically diluted.

We are amused!
As your Regent, I hereby decree and command that you provide a hi-res version of the audio for retention in perpetuity, and to replay to my minions for both entertainment and education!

Whence may one download the 'mp3' Edison Cylinder?
(Or even the .wav version)

As a furtherance of your Knighthood, I choose to award you with an ODE.
(Order of Dylan Exceedance)
For you sing far more in key than he was ever able.

No,seriously:- One thinks that this is utterly brilliant.

Michael Kingsford Gray said...

Lord Ernie Mandelson Cash, (my financial advisor), wants to "hire" Abbey Road studios, and reform Ken Bishop's nice 12** and make what he termed a 'sure fire smasheroony hit' from your lyrics.
He even provided a 427 page contract for you to sign.
So, what's not to like?
(Apart from the 'fine print'.
Which is the print of a court fine, apparently.)

You could be as big as the Beetles.
(In your lawn).

One's Regent.
** Young Ones