Tuesday, April 18, 2006

A Family Affair


This is (by some people's calculations) the birthday of Lucrezia Borgia. In her dishonor, sing this to the tune of "Band Of Gold":
Now that you're wed,
All he fears is your ring of gold;
All he hears is its mistress bold,
With a hand so cold,
Could just do him in, and not think it sin,
To be free -- to love her kin.

He took you -- for a dowry, not for romance,
Knowing others' fate.
But he still took the chance,
And no matter how it looks,
His food is -- by his own commands --
Prepared by separate cooks.

You twist your hair in frustration into knots,
Concocting schemes, making plots,
Planning soon that he'll slip,
And take a sip
From a cup touched by your fingertip.

Now that you're wed,
All he fears is your ring of gold;
All he hears is its mistress bold,
With a hand so cold,
Could just do him in, and not think it sin,
To be free -- to love her kin.

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