Based on Greece 1995
Elina Konstantopoulou — Pia prosefhi

This untold story originates in ‘82
Maltasong held in Valletta
Lost forever...

A band of five from Ix-Xagħra
Lead vocals sung so well by
A young girl called Fifuccia
Their victory: runawayed
Won the ticket to Eurovision
In quaint Harrogate

Club Croccanti
Became the hope of an entire nation
Club Croccanti
Performed a bop titled Lesbos
Chasing their dream
But when the voting reached its culmination
Club Croccanti
Had just received a mere four points

So why have you not heard about them?
And why did they fail so bad?
Lost rumours carried whispers
They did something on that stage
So vulgar and obscene they next day…
…were disqualified

Club Croccanti
They swore their innocence, but no one listened
Club Croccanti
Even Jan Leeming was appalled
Viewers threw fits
The BBC had to take drastic measures
Club Croccanti
Had to be wiped from history

Aaaaaaargh!

Club Croccanti
They were deleted from all extant footage
Club Croccanti
The voting sequence was reshot
Retcon achieved
The other artists banned from speaking of them
Club Croccanti
Yet all they did was to sing fuq

 

Based on Netherlands 1975
Teach-In — Ding-a-Dong

In the village, one night, I woke up with a fright.
Men burst in my room and said, “You! Come along!”
Out of fear I swallowed at what was to follow:
now I would be offered to Mao Zedong!

Before long I would cower as I was deflowered
by the chairman’s infamous microdong.
“Well, go on!” said my parents. “That is no deterrent!
There’s no greater honour than Mao’s wee schlong!
So run along!”

Sent off feeling contrite, at the chime of midnight,
I was carted off with a big, teeming throng
of young girls just like me, peasant girls who can’t read,
to prostrate ourselves before Mao Zedong.

All day long we were pampered, readied to be tampered.
When the moment came I felt woebegone.
What a pong! Thought I’d be sick. His breath smelled like pigshit
and his wiener looked like a champignon
three inches long.

(Here he comes! Just play along!)

“Won’t you kiss me all over?” says Chairman Mao.
Bright green teeth only add to the horror –
when he smiles, tears spring to my eyes.
(Hold on, be strong!)
“Mao Zedong, oh great teacher, I beg you:
Teach me to be worthy of love!”

Has his fill, then alights. When he casts me aside,
I picture my parents and think: ‘You were wrong.’
I feel cheap and bloodied, wounded, shamed and sullied,
angry what he’s done with that dick and tongue.

Mao Zedong never showers. His stench overpowers.
Never even sponges his tiny schlong.
Wipes his dong on bed linen, ‘cleanses’ it in women:
“Me? I wash myself in their virgin bods!”

When Zedong is inside ya, lie back, think of China,
since you know he won’t last for all that long.
Concubines are respected, even when rejected.
Daughters, unlike sons, have to settle for
what comes along.

Based on Slovakia 1998
Katarína Hasprová — Modlitba

Green room, Birmingham, 1998

As a child, I sang with pure grace
While my father was shovelling snow
Mother, reserved, but pride on her face
When I shone in the village’s shows

Cut to this week:
I think my sweet vocals impressed
In rehearsals, and then came that party:
I woke up clothed
In Guildo Horn’s velvet blue suit
Lost my virtue, this heavenly virtue
And Marie Line knows…

Feel my heart, it’s pounding so fast
As Ulrika calls Zagreb to start
Desperate for one point, maybe two, maybe four
Sharing tense smiles with cute little Lars

So it begins:
Davor giving one point to Spain
Then I’m startled there’s votes for Dawn Martin
Cyprus got four, sweat is drenching my forehead
And Malta at seven, yet I’ve still got zero
But then he says eight…

WHAT A GREAT START!!!!!!!!! Pour Slovaquie!
They liked my class, not the tacky
What if my high art won the trophy?
Stardom at last!
Stardom at last…

Smug, inside I sneer at those fools
So deluded but stranded on nil
Dana looks downbeat, not a prayer, not a hope
She’ll be mad as she hears my reprise

Soon I’ll be named
The Queen of each village and Saint
Of Cathedrals in my dear old country
Airports and schools will be named for me, they’ll put up
Statues to worship me
I’ll be far bigger than Shakespeare and Bach

I’ll sweep the board at the Grammys!
Four farewell tours in my eighties!
I’ll wed Prince Charles — you’d better curtsy!

Now votes from Greece…
…Lord, please…
…ten points at least…?

Based on Bulgaria 2009
Krassimir Avramov — Illusion

We would leave for an isle
But the forecast’s vile

Heat wave’s nearing in style
Just will cope for a WHIIIIIIIILE
(Our folks are jarred)
Now our mood is marred
(We’ll be on guard)
This will be super haaaaaaaaaaaard

Dumb me
Has long craved AC
Home, I tend to moan
Anywhere’s hot, no cool spot

More heat
Would force to excrete
Most body junk
Urine and sweat
And both I looooooOOOOOOATHE

Skin’s beginning to shine
Droplets go down our SPIIIIIIIINE
(This is no fun)
Harshness has begun
(Such sticky run)
Failed to deal with such suuuuuuuuuuuun

See our image decline
Now we look like a SWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE
(Our tunics suck)
Forced to sport this muck
(Born here: tough luck)
Wearers stink like a duck
So yuck

(Oooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwww)
Hear me, I beg
Aid us from above
Feels like pure hell
Here we plead: cast your speeeeeeeell
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW

(His condition’s not nice)
(Only seems to howl:) IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICE
(We’re all like, wow)
Having sunstroke now
(Pain in his brow)
Can’t seem to know hoooooooooooow

Feeling symptoms and signs
Only view is blurred LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINES
(He’ll have to grind)
Drugs I’ll have to find
(With dizzy mind)
Get trips of some kiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIND

(Even here on a high)
(Can’t avoid shrieking) Heeeeeeeere IIIIIIIIIIIII
(May burn like brass)
(But heat will pass) QuiiiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIT

Based on Ireland 2025
EMMY — Laika Party

(Emmy was way off)

A stray dog with heartworm that’s half-mange and half-fur
Poor Nikita Khrushchev’s plan’s absurd
Beat the USA, starting with the space race
By putting a lone little dog in space

First they pin her down, then they knock her out
Hold her all the time in a cage yay wide
To acclimatise to her rocket life

But no, Laika’s health declines, the mad regime soon makes her ill
It’s no help that they starve her and then put her on the pill
Because they fear that something bad has happened to her heart
They poke Laika full of wires

Laika’s body isn’t prized
Laika’s body’s traumatized

Poor dog suffers constant constipation
’Cause she’s trapped inside a cage and
If they feed her, it’s some space gunk
She’s depressed and in a blue funk
It’ll get much worse than this though
This is all part of the pre-show
While she’s being held in Moscow

Soon she’s vomiting and groans from the weakness in her bones
Penned up so long she can’t walk or run
She can’t do nowt but cry when she’s forced to lie
In a centrifuge to stress-test her spine

All that spinning round, hanging upside down
Leaves her terrified with half-blinded eyes
Twisted up inside, but she’s passed for flight

They dope Laika for the ride toward her Uzbeki farewell
And there they launch old Muttnik on a one-way trip to hell
The force (3 Gs) and mounting stress wreak havoc on her heart
And so Laika’s stats nosedive

Laika’s body goes haywire
Laika’s body soon expires

First off, the extreme acceleration
Causes hyperventilation
With the cabin overheating
The poor mongrel’s heart stops beating
But her story doesn’t end then
She’s been dead for months on end when
Mutt and Sputnik meet their sad end

Laika’s body hits the sky – oh!
Laika’s body starts to fry – oh no!

And then, having paved the way for spacemen
An incinerated angel
Falls to Earth from up in heaven

(“Oh, look mom, it’s snowing!”)        Laika’s body in your eyes

Based on Norway 1997
Tor Endresen — San Francisco

With no more White House soirées, Jill was bored
She opened up a new club for
All leaders’ partners, living and no more
She leads us on a party tour

A new Prince Albert Show is now in full swing
Live on stage he’s stripping
A startled horny Jill spits out her gin
When he shakes his piercing with a grin

Woah-oh… Come be obscene in Jill’s glam disco
Here’s Queen Camilla on a pole
Spins upside down and then drops too low
Jill scrapes Camilla off the floor
(“A doctor’s help is needed!”)

The secret boyfriend of the Pope’s grinding you
A peachy ass with a devil tattoo
A tipsy Jill decides she’s joining in too:
A slutdrop in her blue leatherette suit

Yeah… Of Henry’s six wives, Jill lifts two on string
High above the crowd they scream
The two beheaded wives in bling galore:
A pair of sparkly disco balls

Yeah… yeah… Jill glitters in Evita’s Dance Show
They do a vogue-off full of scorn
Woo-ooh-ooh yeah… Cry for Evita’s frock fiasco:
Her fake tan ran down her Dior

Jill sings Waterloo with a chum:
Who? Who? Who?
The ex of Napoleon, it’s Josephine
She’s been free of him since Eighteen Fifteen

Whose leather whip goes snap-crack?
Telling her gimps to seize the disco?
Michelle Obama, full of force
Wooh-ooh-ooh yeah… Jill, with a growl, says “I don’t think so!”
And shows her judo prowess:
She throws Obama out the door
Whoah yeah!

Based on Croatia 2005
Boris Novković feat. Lado members — Vukovi umiru sami

Note: This AL is based on true events

I went to play paintball with my friends
That looked like a bad plan from the start
Too much testosterone for my taste
I really hate violence

As I joined the battlefield, I felt so scared
Fear probably showing in my eyes
My friend David seemed to notice it
So, he just aimed at me

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my crotch
A paint ball had impacted on my junk
hitting right in the middle of my sack:
Testicular Armageddon!
And meanwhile, I did let out a high-pitched scream
That it could be heard even in Brazil
I saw David mocking my agony
He’d used my balls as his target

Defeated, I collapsed on the ground
My hands cupping my still aching nuts
With much effort, I stood up again,
showing some dignity

Afterwards, I went to the loo to assess
the damage inflicted to my genitals
My shriveled balls looked as red as cherries
Hope amputation’s not needed

(aching balls, hurting balls)
(nuts were crushed, nuts were cracked)
(mushy peas, scrambled eggs)
(manhood killed!)

This is just (David hit him in the balls)
The worst ever punishment for a man
I hope this does not affect my sperm count
I still want to be a father
And there’s just one thing I want to do now
I want to kick David's balls hard

(sweet revenge!)

Based on Portugal 1966
Madalena Iglésias — Ele e ela

Liberally
Takes the bring-your-child-to-office work policy
Vivian upsets her colleagues, "ain't he adorbz"?
Boy hits a wrong switch, ejecting mum
From tenth floor
☠️

Alan prevailed
He's elected in, the far-right lobby availed
Doctors got deported with no cause overseas
Can't consult his tick bite and then died
Lyme disease
☠️

Saul shouts at waiters
Off-menu orders
"Sole meunière, faster!"
Sent plates back four times
Caught salmonella, was under-fried
☠️

Sophie felt safe when
Trans banned from toilets
Then on her way home
Predator caught her
Whom she considered as a real guy
☠️

Simon's okay
With how his foie gras's produced, enjoys his pâté
Liver has erupted after one hefty course
Overstuffed himself until he died
Fed by force
☠️

Bella is an
Influencer housewife of traditional ways
"Wash your house, make sure your man adores every dish"
Caught him buying pizza - angered, died
As I wished
☠️

Show no regret for Anton's misfortune
"World needs more babies", anti-abortion
Froze in a tent, now rent's overpriced
☠️

Nor for the next one, my flatmate Amber
Leaves no hot water, shower offender
I tried to tell her, heard no reply
Got legionella from the hot pipe
This one has made me most satisfied
☠️

Based on Finland 1975
Pihasoittajat — Old Man Fiddle

We were short on time
When we met this charming gent
We bet a dime
He came to make us spend
We nearly left, yet he convinced us
Our funds weren’t what he meant
He just fiddled while he spoke
The text he’d penned

[Fiddler starts foisting loads of toxic beliefs
on them to, well, *fiddle* with their minds]

First reaction wasn’t too great
His ideas looked like glaring bait
He’d cite all kinds of junk on fate
But we slowly got onboard
Felt inspired by faithful hordes
And Fiddler’s anthem struck a chord

So here’s our news: just had
This profound epiphany
Wondering why it’s safe to trust this guy?
Well, his forebears slid
The sage’s creed to him
He’s just conveying many aeons’ advice

[The prospects enter a loop of false promises]

He’ll name us both in future songs
If our faith’s firm and we commit
Serve in such devout commune
He shall grant us his esteem
When we’re both active on the scheme
And enlist the most recruits

Our peers are true good pals
Rest are clowns, our enemies
Wondering why we press all passers-by?
Well, our deity
Just wants all efforts in
Millions of preys would never really suffice

[The flooding of lies and myths continues, but the prospects
suddenly stop listening to try and think for themselves]

Did we let go of our reins?
Are we twits Fiddler would confound?
We need to find some sense on this
In fact, these doubts were just unbased
This new life here is what’s correct
Our saviour’s awesome, got our bliss

From here we’ll do just fine
With our chosen family
Wondering why we’ve let our blood ties die?
Well, our parents did
Suggest deprogramming
We’re bugged that they behave like we’re a device

[Final rush of wild delusions
until the brainwash is complete]

Based on Greece 2006
Anna Vissi — Everything

Now I feel my head aching,
as submissions soon close.
I got no ideas, or a place that I keep
lyrics, songs, half or full
not prepared, not close to done.

No verified AL.
No smart inside joke.
No fun stuff to say,
or cute list for you.
It’s what they call a writer’s block ☹
No automatic place
for the final show.
Wildcard please here.
Not a shoo-in Q.
Vowels to relate.
Soundalikes to fit.
Syllables to count.
No time, I am screwed…

I envision them saying:
“Lyric fit is not there.”
Esker goes………………….. *goes on for ages, but the gist is*
“Correct all that.”

*Author eagerly waits for other reviews, then gets depressed when they come*

“What does the author mean?”
“Find it kind of dull.”
“Maybe it’s their first.”
Pat me on the back!

The heavy hitters say:
“Nothing ready yet!”
Easily get 3,
and they’re all so good!

No wheelchair maid, to mistreat, oh.
No Sarah Bray to research for.
Condiments, not something I can write of.
Andy, give extra time,
faut du temps,
einsam Zeit.

Cause everything I write,
turns into a bore.
Stress of words is off.
Nothing rhymes with “Boo”
Every brain cell sweats,
ass and armpits too.
While I shed a tear,
got this rant for you.

Please don’t judge,
my clear incompetence