I think this is my favorite puppet history song

these lyrics are so gutwrenching and the fact that theyre sang by a puppet flower boat does makes 'em even better

SHE'S GOTTA BE WHO SHE'S GOTTA BE... CHING SHIH...

puppet history

Well the winter snow’s-a-fallin and you know your friends are all expecting
gifts oh so unique
And you really better nail it, cause you know that you’ll have failed em if
They’re not knocked off their feet 

You can get em comfy slippers, seasons tickets to the Clippers
A kazoo for playin jolly little tunes
Some nova lox or wooly socks, fancy chocolates in a box
A funny shirt they’ll prolly throw away by June

But if you wanna get em something cool and hip and new
PSST
Give their ass a mummified
Give their ass a mummified
Give their ass a mummified goose!

Can you imagine how they’ll clap
After they tear away the wrapping
And lay eyes upon an ancient dusty bird

Some hollow bones, their very own
to grace a mantle in their home
If I might say, pretty impressively preserved

So listen, hey, this holiday,
I’m not sure what else I can say
But if you really wanna throw em for a loop

You find a goose that went kaputt
Ya wrap it up from beak to foot
And you give their ass a mummified
Give their ass a mummified
Give their ass a mummified
GOOSE
(honk)

Mummified Goose

I used to spend my holidays alone
An anthropomorphic oar, pretty bored
Sittin inside of his home, oh no

But then you met me, and I suggested we
Go on a little holiday trip, really quick
And we went down to the Bahamas for a dip
And we just kept going

Christmas can be every day
When you’re travelin' the world and you’re an oar and you’re gay
We ate tangerines in Tokyo
Then caught a flight to Borneo
And spent a day in Rekjavik
The hot dogs there were pretty sick

Every trip ya take is a gift
When you love the livin' hell out of the one that you’re with
We’ve been to Bangalore
and BogoTA
Had onion rings in Omaha

Got high as hell in Amsterdam
And ate up all our Christmas ham

God damn that was a damn good ham

And now the future that we make is our own
Close your eyes and throw a dart at the map, and that’s that,
Off to destinations unknown
I hope wherever we go has more ham

Travelin’s such a wonderful ride
But it’d be a drag without you here at my side
Why don’t we stop for brunch in Saskatoon
Namibia to see some dunes
Chicago just to peep the bean
And also bone beneath the bean

Antarctica if we’ve got time
I hear that France has decent wine
To London when the tea is served
And maybe skip St. Petersburg

Hey what’s the deal with Idaho?
Like should we bother? I dunno.
Singapore or Bora Bora?
Either, oar, cause I adore ya

Either Oar

Livin in France
Out in le country
A little more limited menu than you see in Paris

Got no filet mignon
Got no boeuf bourguignon
No bouillabaisse or creme brûlée or charcuterie

Ahh but when the pangs of hunger
howling in the gut grow stronger
Fangs come out and then I long to
MUNCH ON THE TERRIFIED FRENCH

French HEADS, I’m eatin’ em nightly
Bon apetite mon frère, no need to heat I’ll eat ‘em rare

French HEADS, season ‘em lightly
A bordelaise for Claire, a pinch of pepper on Pierre

HOWLS

Call me beast
Call me a monster
Just don’t call me late when a tasty young shepherd’s in the meadow alone

Go on and shame me
Ah but ya made me
It’s whatcha get when you’re hangin with a wolf in the quiet low valleys of the ecotone

Ahhh I realize it’s reckless
But this wolfy’s feeling peckish
If you don’t protect your neck it’s
CHOMP CHOMP AU REVOIR! Ha ha ha ha

French heads, they’re oh so yummy
Paprika dusted on Denis, a side of skewered Genevieve

French heads, in my tummy
As for below the neck, no thanks
I’m good
I’ll take the check PLEASE

French Heads

I’m a city boat
Metropolitan frivolity’s my guarantee
I get a lotta folks
Steppin aboard to have a drink on me

And I don’t know why
But I sure do cry
Thinkin bout that gal who used to hang out on me
Now she’s gettin into trouble on the seven seas

Ching Shih
You traded city livin for piracy
Ya think she
Ever thinks about a crummy little junk like me
And sure I’m jealous of her pirate ship
But I don’t blame her none for wantin to dip
She’s gotta be who she’s gotta be

I miss the good ol’ days
Rockin in the harbor til the mornin comes
But now you’re makin waves
Heard you really fuckin stuck it to that government scum

And I hope you know
That I miss you so
But I wouldn’t want ya hangin up your buccaneer suit
When there’s swashes needin bucklin and there’s booty to loot

Ching Shih
I heard some people callin you the pirate queen
It sinks me
To know you’re out there on some other boat livin your dream
But I’m happy for your sizable crew
Even if it kinda gives me the blues
Ya gotta do what ya gotta do

You’re out plundering
And I’m left wondering
Would a blubberin landlubber like me
Ever stand a chance out on the open sea

I’m drowning in the ocean
Of my own emotions
May the parting tide carry the tears I cry
To her ship as it slips neath the indigo sky

Ching Shih
It took me a while but now I see
You’re free
As the gulls that skate across the ocean breeze 
Maybe one day you’ll think of settling down
On a cozy boat that’s closer to town
Until then I guess I’ll see you around

Ching Shih

Hey!
Are you tired of bein' sad?
Wish you had more than you have?
You get the notion everybody else
Is keepin' secrets from ya and you got a hunch that they’ve all found a way

Some kinda universal key
How can you possibly compete?
Well lemme tell you something that’ll help
Just open up that notes app and jot down exactly what I’m bout to say

And keep in mind I’m nothin more than
A chest of anthropomorphic
Gold and I do not possess a brain

Just be the richest man in the world
And watch your problems disappear
And you won’t need nobody
Let the gold wipe away your tears

And if you’re askin me
"How doooooo I do that?"
Uh, well, I don’t know

But if my man Mansu Musa
Can acquire that much boodle
Then it seems to be attainable
If you apply your noodle
Have you thought of trading Funko Pops
Or smugglin precious jewels
Or you could just be a piece of shit
And steal a golden stool

Idk, you’ll figure it out

Just be the richest man in the world
Make sure you’re never satisfied
Spend all your days n night
Chasin that money until you die

(Just Be) The Richest Man In The World

Wakin up in the mornin
Drag your ass on outta the bed
Got a little somethin somethin
A-thump a-thumpin up in your head
Your ass is all clammy
Spots poppin up a freaky color of red
Catch yourself in the mirror
Lookin only slightly better than dead

You vomit, brush your teeth
And then you vomit once more
Then drain all of the fluid
From your freshly sprouted sores
Thermometer is tellin you
One hundred and four (THAT'S HOT!)
My dude you’re on your way
To rap-a-tap-a-tappin at death’s door

You got the pox!
Uh oh! Oh no no no
Not sure how best to console ya
But ya got the variola 
And you’ll probably die
But hey
On the bright side
You got a couple new friends
Who will be with you til the end
Count on us 
Scabs n pus

People can go viral 
In a myriad of ways
Unboxing vids, getting kicked in the nuts
Or tweetin shitty takes
But you picked the one that’ll leave you dead in 
Seven to seventeen days
Tis the reason for your lesions
And excruciating pains

You got the pox!
Whoops, yep you do— 
And if you think you’ve had enough then
Just wait til those blisters slough and
Sure you’ll probably die
But hey
On the bright side
You got a couple new friends
Who will be with you til the end
Count on us 
Scabs n pus
Look at us
Scabs n pus

You Got The Pox!

Here left to lurch
Twixt two lovely swaying birch
Trees: Igor of Kiev
Husband to a wife
Who would face near any strife
To avenge his savage death

Olga
She murdered the whole town
We frankly are surprised
She hasn’t thought to chop us down

Olga
Sainthood she attained
But to cross her is to doom yourself
To join the countless maimed

She’ll off your family, Merc your friends
She’ll hunt your cat and dog and when
You think she’s finally calling it a day
She’ll catch you when you’re unaware
Pour acid down your underwear
And laugh because she’s jokerfied that way

She’ll lop your toes into a jar
And pack it up and mail it far
And on your grandma’s birthday she will find
A bloody box addressed to her
Containing nothing less than your
Ten piggies and she’ll lose her god damn mind

Olga
She may be a saint
But rightly pissed to see her sweetie
Split right up the taint

Olga
Legit she’s got no chill
Piss her off if you’d like
To experience being killed

She’ll simply make you poop your pants
That’s right she’ll make you poop your pants
And if you’re think that you won’t poop your pants
Just wait because you’ll poop your pants
Because she’ll make you poop your pants
And kill you once you’ve pooped your poopy pants

You’ll hear a knocking at the door
And when you ask who’s there to your
Relief it’s just your neighbor Joan Calhoun
You open up
IT’S OLGA! FUCK!
She’ll kick your shins and punch your nuts
Then skin you while she sings a happy tune

She’ll slit your throat like that one scene
In Gone Girl, know the one I mean
Where NPH is-- well, you get the gist
If it’s not clear the message here
Is if you hold existence dear
Make sure you don’t end up on Olga’s list

OLGA!

The song that plays at the Professor's funeral

Puppet History - The Professor's History (Funeral Song)

The Borgia Family - Horrible Histories

Window Song - Puppet History Season 5

Cloud Song - Puppet History Season 5

Hippodrome Song - Puppet History Season 6



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SW_YOUR THE ONE (Master)

Hatshepsut
She was competent as hell
They tried to wipe her from the books
As far as we can tell

A pharaoh
You should know
She really held it down
Oh just because she kept the peace
She don’t deserve renown?

Hatshepsut
Oh you haven’t heard?
She stepped up and ruled Egypt
And raised Thutmose the Third

A queen
A king
Depends which glyphs you’ve seen
But by and large
She sure took charge
And really nailed the thing

Hatshepsut
A funny claim to fame?
Her husband, dad, and kinda son
They all had the same name!

A pharaoh
Who narrowly
Missed her chance to rule
But luckily the king-to-be
Was tied up with pre-school

Hatshepsut
If you’re still asking whom?
Just show’s a pharaoh’s greatness
Can’t be measured by their tomb

A queen supreme!
Yet surreptitiously interred
I should know, me and my bro
Were mummified with her

Hatshepsut!
Commit the name to memory
Because you see, regrettably
She happens to be dead and we
Can help her out enormously
Particularly spiritually
If every now and the-ish we
Could toss a kindly thought to she
Who nearly became history
Not via Egyptology
But lost for all eternity
Erased though it’s a mystery
Why anyone would possibly
Resort to such vile treachery
And so it’s with respect that we
Remember on occasion
She kicked ass.

Hatshepsut

We were in love once
Oar, weren’t we?
Dipped into the sea
Just you and me
Wading in harmony

We were were in love once
Oar weren’t we
But now I’m a sword you see
Me and Musashi
Boy we make ‘em bleed

I long for the days our heads dunked under waves
How we splashed and we smooched , oh remember?

Well now I’m a blade and the one thing I crave
Is to slash and to swoosh and dismember

We’re meant to be, Oar
Or are we?

Now this samurai’s cuttin me/you down to size
We must be denser than wood to not realize

We just can’t be, Oar
Or can we?

It’s pretty clear to me, you’d rather be weaponry
You’re spillin’ gore on the shore and I’m lost at sea

Gore On The Shore

Matilda(s) and Stephen - song from Horrible Histories series 5
Music: Richie Webb
Lyrics: Dave Cohen
Performed by Martha Howe-Douglas, Alice Lowe, Larry Rickard and Jim Howick

Ching Shih

Puppet History

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