Based on Estonia 2003
Ruffus — Eighties Coming Back
The new blinds are coming
And we’ve paid for the electric stove
The steam mop and the steel garden bin, oh what bliss
Aha, you thought I’d forgotten
Yeah, the promise once we had it all
You can trust I won’t get carried away now
Feeling calm, so…
I promise I will only bring back the one cat
A microchipped, spayed, or neutered one at that
You can even keep the engine running, for the cunning, gentle, stunning feline coming back
Aw yeah!
[Alongside meows]
I just can’t do it
So many gingers, blacks, and whites
And the sweet tabby kitten I can’t leave out
Awwwww…
Then there’s the mother of that fluffy little guy
I can see she’s only got one eye
She needs my help – I’ll take them all, they need a loving home tonight
My God!
Now we’ve just adopted eighty-seven cats
How does one look after eighty-seven cats?!
Now we must invoke the deities
There’s no space to keep all of these bloomin’ crazy rescue cats!
Meeeeewwwww!
Yeah, now the tap won’t stop running
I can’t cook with any type of fish
And every single cat wants fresh air when I open any door to go for a break somewhere outside
Though I really like these eighty-seven cats (Oh, I do really like these cats)
I can’t deal with the constant stream of dead rats (You know they’re always bringing rats back)
The solution to this great big problem (I don’t think we can come back)
Is to give up our house to the (Mad cat lady’s) Eighty-seven cats!
[Miss Mimicat Returns to Finest Bakery, Liverpool, one year on]
My currant bun – well, now, there’s something quite wrong
In a dash, I bought one – never noticed the pong
Which would have made for a gargantuan NO
But there’s much more that did taint your ‘fine’ dough
Instead of sugar, salt was used and there’s more
When it comes to currants, should be far more than four
And if you think this is some kind of deceit
Here’s my completely preserved receipt
Don’t they say that the customer is always right?
Why not admit your sorry mishap, you gobshite
So you can understand just how I feel:
My currant bun, my currant bun
Really was not good
[Kerfuffle in the queue as they try to jostle past]
[but Mimicat will not be moved]
S’pose you all think that I am out of my mind
Or class my palate as not being refined
But I had even asked of my mother dear
It ain’t just me or does this taste rather queer?
“Oh, daughter! What is this odd British bread?
Cause when I licked it, I thought you wanted me dead
What’s more, it feels like two herds of demon cows
And an echidna have crapped in my mouth”
So I tell you that customers, they are always right
Did you not see our post we sent to your website?
You must by now realise how I feel:
My currant bun, my currant bun, my currant bun
Did, in fact, taste ewwwwwwwwwww
[Mimicat strums her fingers on the counter in complete silence]
[The music you’re hearing is entirely in her head]
This can’t be right I’ll call the cops and your M.P.
Take it higher, I’m not some knucklehead, you’ll see
The Ambassador knows me by name–
Based on Germany 1995
Stone & Stone — Verliebt in Dich
Sound of spokes out on a spin
Early breakfast tray’s brought in
Tea for me, a boiled quail egg
Then it’s time for my morning prank
Sneak up on her as she leaves
Bide my time so quietly
Grab her thigh and shout out “hi!!”
Her startled yelp pleases me
Heh heh
Can she dust tall shelves?
No, she can not, but I make her try
Meanwhile I have fun
Hiding her broom just out of reach
Glassware and spoons to rinse
She smells like bleach and soap and fear
While making sure my sink’s pristine
Then sweeps the corners of my house
Go on, maid in a wheelchair
Polish the frames, unclog these drains
Wash up the linen and iron those sheets
Although she can’t use the stairs
Ground floor is clean, countertops gleam
The living room’s tidy, the upstairs reek
Sometimes I feed her twice a week
Wages are not quite my thing
She gets paid in swiffer cloths
Why bother to learn a name?
I just call her ‘Rosario’
Tuesday night, I’m feeling bored
I pour out marbles on the floor
Hiding out behind the bin
But she’s nowhere to be seen??
Go mop, maid in a wheelchair
Scour these pans! Hear my command!
Backdoor is open – oh damn, she got free?
Come home, maid in a wheelchair!
Where did you go, I miss you so
I treated you well so why did you flee?
It’s such a mystery to me
You
Can battle stains so well
I am helpless now
So please return…
…hoooooome!
Maid in a wheelchair!
Dishes pile up! All out of cups!
Guess I’ve no choice but to learn how to clean?
Should have foreseen…(should have foreseen)… this shit
And locked her in… (and locked her in)… the loo
Remember playing in the pool in summer?
You’d close your eyes and have to find the others
So much fun… paired with ESC!
So when I heard that someone was in Venice
I thought, “That’s perfect! Surely this will make his day!” So…
Marco Mengoni in a Lido resort, the full five stars
Found him poolside, watched him get in and I knew the fun could start
When I jumped in he fell off his blow-up unicorn
“You are Marco, I will be Polo!” Know what he did? He swore!
I soon found out how he responds to ‘threats’ – he
insisted that he’d call carabinieri!
Time to leave! I mean Italy
Decided I should cross the nearest border
And try again. I hoped that I’d have more fun there. So…
Eva Boto, in Novo Mesto, alone on a towpath
One would think that, given the setting, she’d know how to swim, but
When I pushed her in the river? Couldn’t even float!
To my “Marco…?” there came no “Polo” as she just flailed and choked
Sopping-wet Eva spewed, “How I despise you!” Time to go!
Head south? Not sure how far. You never know what you’ll find on the road…
Damir Kedžo sprawled on a lilo, relaxing in Zadar
That’s until I give him a push and he ends up out quite far!
It’s quite windy, so I wonder just how far he’ll go
Who knows? I hope Italy’s coastguards will find him from their boats…
I’ve a heavy load
It’s rainy and I’m cold
Business is a crime
We hardly get a dime
This hill will never end
The distances they send
Minimal, they say…
The wheels of aching pain… Aaagghhh…
My limbs failing,
With these orders weighing
Dodging cars colliding
Death beware!
So unaware I’m gonna fall
They won’t get anything at all!
You think it’s easy-clicking food?
Yet guys like me Deliveroo
Riding the wrong way down a lane
With two flat tyres, it’s insane!
You think your order’s coming soon?
Yet guys like me Deliveroo
Bewildered, I check now…
My bag is too full!
I’ve got a whole load of cans,
A bucket of wings,
An olive baguette!
Silence straining,
And the strange design means
It has torn the lining of my bag!
I’m chock-a-block, I’m going to fail
I’m riding slower than a snail!
You swipe, you wait, you want your food?
Yet guys like me Deliveroo!
Probably fired, I left at eight
I’m gonna be a little… late…
You pay your fee to get it chewed
Yet guys like me Deliveroo
**CRASH**
**SIRENS**
With splatted hair, covered in mud
Sirens blaring, so much blood
In shock despair I check my wound
Yeah, guys like me Deliveroo
Oh please don’t stare, it’s just a sprain
I’ll cycle through it, won’t complain
Make way, back off and let me through
Yeah guys like me Deliveroo
All is fair in love and grub! ooohhh…
Yeah, a low fare’s still a job!
So guys like me Deliveroo
Based on
Sweden 2000 / Switzerland 2004 / United Kingdom 1985 / Turkey 1980 / Finland 2002
æonian [iːˈəʊnɪən]; adjective
Lasting for an immeasurably or indefinitely long period of time
Synonyms: Eskerian, Sebastianian
Esker here. This is the 2nd ever use of the inverted footnote in ALC. If you missed the first one, well as Sigga&Sigrún once said: go on and follow this link. Being your Queen of Cowgirls, nay power bottom of ALC, I was particularly pleased to see my two-time sparring partner take the victory in 2023. That said, in the afterglow, Sebastian has become quite precious, even diva-ish, since his win.
Esker: No thanks, it reeks of Worcestershire sauce! Anyway, we had hoped to co-write again some day to complete our trilogy. But life – and death – got in the way as it often does. Following our respective victories last year, I suggested we write a potential opening ceremony AL, which Andy graciously accepted. Sebastian’s rider for co-writing was extensive. In fact, more gifts than your average Pep Guardiola mega-fan would proffer. He laughed at my dong, spurned alcohol, rejected haute-couture apparel and scoffed at some holiday vouchers. I traipsedtrudged trekked through the internet: Only when I bought him this snow globe did he confirm participation. To each his own.
Sebastian’s Review Editor, Corinna, urged us to “come together, right now, in sweet harmony.” Even though I think she had something ruder in mind, we concur:
It is our hope to inspire future Winner & Cowgirl co-creations.
Of course, as you all know, writing an AL isn’t always straightforward…
Sebastian: So we wrote a lyric about that! We felt it was important to show how even the best writers, and Esker, still get stuck sometimes.
Sebastian: He also insisted we come dressed in spectacular Eurovision outfits. An hour ago. So I chose Piero (sans Music Stars), since I already had a pink shirt, and had to rush to the bus stop to catch the limo Esker sent for me. I’m not a happy bunny…
Esker: He’s just jealous that I’m attired as Roger Pontare circa 13th May 2000.
Sebastian: Aww. I thought you were Dustin the Turkey. 🙁
Alternate reprise idea:
You’re Once, Twice, Three Times a Cowgirl (to France 1976)
Back-up Alternative reprise idea:
Where the Hell Did My Votes Go? (to Austria 2023)
…but since both those songs have been AL’d before…
Actual reprise based on UK 1989 (Live Version)
Live Report – Why Do I Always Get It Wrong?
Footnote: Yeah, I know this is the wrong place for a footnote. As in DEVIL, I’ve inverted things – get over it. This AL was written early this morning but after the Day-One voting…when Sebastian and tim,london were practically Amina’ing. Since I may not be around for some of the voting tonight, I’ve left you some optional lyrics at a couple of points. Of course, if someone else won [presumably Jonas as it was Yami last year], well, congratulations – consider this your mention. Indeed, at the moment Man in the Manor is on nul points – here’s hoping it will stay that way but I’ve also provided for the joy of points. Sing as you see fit. Without further ado…
<polite but annoyed applause>
One more sad AL for me to write
Much more heartache
Than
Death
Has brought me
Once more
Being
The voteless kind
Not quite pointless/Life is pointless
But I can’t find them/In my A.L.C.
Whenever I was writing, I thought it might do well
Yet the votes expose
My inner nincompoop-ness
What you can’t ignore
Is that my lyrics are a bore
Should have written ‘bout Sonia’s wrath
Or the purviest show on Channel 4
But-
I’m playing–
Your fool of prose⸺
Least I’ve found there’s some meaning to life
No never could I write of…
…such condimental girls /such baristastic stuff
Nor do I regret
My lyrics filled with weakness
Cause I am quite proud
My votes are rather…unendowed
(Need more bad ALs/crap ALs, Mister?)
(He can write them but you won’t like them)
