Based on Spain 2014

Look, things haven’t gone great
Let us be honest, OT is just a talent show
And the NFs before were a blow to us

Remember Edurne, ¿no?
She failed badly
And Barei who went up and fell
Didn’t do exactly well

It fills me with such pain
¿What happened to Spain?

Strife marked what was a crime
Runner-up Mirela would have kicked some ass
But that Manel lacked any class

Forgive us for #Almaia
What they had was faker than Soraya’s face
They never went beyond first base

¿Why don’t we have a brain?
¡Please improve things, Spain!

Miki’s song was never-ending
No fun and he didn’t slay
It’s time to restore my reign
I’ll slay, for Spain

(Twenty-first and twice in twenty-second place)
¡Insane, insane, insane!
(Twenty-third and once we even came dead last)
My reign, I’ll slay, for Spain

My reign, for Spain

Chancing

Prancing

Tranciiiiiiiiiiiiing

Glancing

(Twenty-twenty)
¡Next year I’ll make the top five!

I’ve just met this chap called Siegel
He promised to make me a star
Trust me, he’s completely sane
¡I’ll slay, for Spain!

Based on Portugal 1967

Aisel! Aisel!

You’ll be Azerbaijan’s win number two
Bring us joy and shame those talentless Armenians
Clever staging concepts highlight your flair
Vocal miscues? That’s hallmark of a star

Your majestic show leaves all in awe
Even sounds in tune with backings from Sweden
The bland chorus soars, fans scream out for more
Monotone b flat: pleasant sound to hear

Albanian votes seem out of sorts
What? Treachery from the land of Bushpepa?

Things don’t look so right now that the votes are in
Still at least we’ve beaten those pesky Armenians
Who put Montenegro in semi 2?
There’ll be hell to pay when you get back here

Aisel! Aisel! Aisel! Aisel!

Based on Finland 1993

Tove Lo, born in 1987
Tove Lo, started singing as a child
Tove Lo, from a suburb north of Stockholm
Tove Lo, your first hit at 25

Tove Lo, six EMA’s and one Grammy
Tove Lo, those awards should not be yours
Tove Lo, I was next in line, before you
Tove Lo (Tove Lo)
Tove Lo (Tove Lo)
Tove Lo

No one knows that in fact you’re a fraud
Tove Lo, your career is based upon mine
Tove Lo, if it wasn’t for you, I
Would still be a famous pop star
Tove Lo

I did drugs long before you were born
Global tours? – I did Tampere to Kotka!
Tove Lo, see, the life you live was mine
Once you even stole my hairstyle
Tove Lo

Tove Lo, Lynda Woodruff said your name once
Tove Lo, now my dartboard wears your face
Tove Lo, some might think you’re my obsession
Tove Lo! (Tove Lo!)
Tove Lo! (Tove Lo!)
Tove Lo!

“Talking Body” and “Habits (Stay High)”
Tove Lo, they were made for my third album!
Tove Lo, almost every song you write
Samples “Katson Sineen Taivaan”
This is true

But one day I will get my revenge
You’ll grow old, I’ll still be somewhat in my prime
Tove Lo, your new remix failed to chart
And soon people will be asking
Tove Lo…

Mmhm…
Tove WHO?!

Based on Austria 1986

My crotch is itching, was it the razor?
Is it because the blade is so dull and gross?
My crotch is itching, is it my razor?
Maybe I should have switched the blade yesterday?

Googles “itchy red bumps
On my genitals”
It’s folliculitis
My crotch is itching!

“Exfoliate the skin
Every time you shave your groin
Then rinse with lukewarm water
Don’t shave against the hairs”
It’s an experiment
It is one worth the attempt
If it can rid me from this
gruesomely itching condition

My crotch is itching, what is it I see?
There are shellfish on my pubics, what are they?

Googles “shellfish on pubes”
What is this I read?
Oh what have I done now!
My crotch is itching

Based on Switzerland 1992

Was watching Eurovision
When to my big surprise
I felt a bomb explode
In between my thighs

San Marino Man

Buzzing like a bumble
Who are you?
Is this what they mean
By coup-de-foudre*?
Oh you’d be perfect for me
Even though you’re off-key

San Marino Man

With your dated song of yesteryear
Chills are taking over me, my dear
Monsieur, take me in your arms
Teleport me to Mars

You’re such a delight
I’d sure love to call you anytime
Vision in white
Go sway those hips, you’re so god damn fine

San Marino Man

Humming like a bluebird
Who are you?
Is this what they mean
By coup-de-foudre*?
I crumble when you’re counting in Turkish
Oh gosh, you’re so quirkish!
Monsieur, I am so lonely
Please, don’t take it slowly

You’re such a delight
I confess you got me in a stitch
Vision in white
Think you could fall for this skinny bitch?

San Marino Man

Growling like a watchdog
Who are you?
Is this what they mean
By coup-de-foudre*?
I hear that you’re a dentist?
Rescue me
Come, fill my cavity!
Monsieur, fata morgana
Make me say na Na NAAAAAA

*love at first sight

Based on Finland 1968

In India – bumped into a cow
Not quite sure how, not driving fast
I barely nudged it, heard a moo, shrugged and thought it was fine
But when I looked round
Was shocked to find it on the ground:

I killed a cow! That’s me now in the manure
My guts for garters they’ll skewer – a godless, wicked wrongdoer
Oh holy cow! I’m stuck in Udder Pradesh:
They’ll prob’ly put me to death! I must dispose of the evidence

’Kay, where to start – reverse the car
Boom! Cow’s soon entombed, stuffed in the trunk
But now what? That’s a ton of meat. Slowly it dawns on me:
Free burgers for tea!
Ate two or three each night this week

All that fresh cow! Those Hindus’ love is misplaced
No point it going to waste, not now I’ve gotten a taste
For sacred cow – minced, stewed or curried with peas
It’s all I’ve started t’eat. In fact I’m running short. Where’s my car?

I swear I’ve tried to give it up. Wonder ’bout my success?
Well, hazard a guess.
Despite the mess, I must confess:

I’ve killed more cows! Just can’t resist the allure
The gods won’t notice, I’m sure, if there are five or ten fewer
Don’t have a cow! We worship one and the same:
Just grill mine over’a flame. No need to get annoyed.

What’s your beef?

Based on Cyprus 1986

There’s a feast of frost no-one knows
During winter season, at half moon
Colder, but in July/June
You’ll miss out, and sleep at higher cost

My friend Helga sent my by post
“Come next year, Elpida, you foodie”
An invitation, goodie!
Packed my coat, left Athens, here I go

Þorra, Þorrablót
Don’t do the Ring Road
Stay in town and skip the northern lights tour
Þorra, Þorrablót
Eat till you explode
From the buffet stuffed with Þorramatur

Some of the unique offers are
Fat of whale from Húnaþing Vestra
Moistened like days ancestral
With sour milk inside a stuffy jar

There’s a slice of jellied sheep’s toe
Lamb’s blood bread, a haddock’s dried spleen and
Hákarl, a shark from Greenland
Left to rot inside a dirty hole

Þorra, Þorrablót
Boiled head of a goat
Do not let its hollow look disgust you
Þorra, Þorrablót
Liver mixed with oats
Odour takes a minute to adjust to

Ovine, ovine, ovine testicles
Are still boiling in the kettle, bring them now-now-now-now
All the, all the, all the cats are gone
Well they must be in the cake, I’ll eat it now-now-now-now

Þorra, Þorrablót
Sickness to your throat?
Wash it down with Brennivín, like car fuel
Þorra, Þorrablót
Also, I must note:
It’s okay to cough out swallowed down wool

Þorra, Þorrablót
“Vile” is a wrong quote
Written by a tasteless Brit, I’m quite sure
Þorra, Þorrablót
Do it again? Totes
This is the most magical of nætur

Based on Denmark 2019

As birds of a feather go
This next one’s a pillowcase
Though lyrics are all abound
A problem we all must face

Pretty out of touch
It all becomes too much
We should just admit as such

And almost paranoid
We all now must avoid
Lyric-dupes or get annoyed

Angel-Chiara…
Angel-Chiara, angel-chia-rah!
Angel-Chiara…
Angel-Chiara, angel-chia-rah!
Angel-Chiara-chiara-chiara-chiara, Angel-chiara-chiara-angel
Angel-chia, oh, angel-chia, oh
Angel-Chiara-Chiara-Chiara-rah!

As far as solutions go
This one’s fairly elegant
For when you are in the know
You can be more eloquent…

…(with) other songs you choose
Less likely then to lose
Joyfulness for me and you

Before your lyrics bake
The choice is yours to make
Risk the dupe or pick anew

Angel-Chiara…
Angel-Chiara, angel-chia-rah!
Angel-Chiara…
Angel-Chiara, angel-chia-rah!
Angel-Chiara-chiara-chiara-chiara, Angel-chiara-chiara-angel
Angel-chia, oh, angel-chia, oh
Angel-Chiara-Chiara-Chiara-rah!

Même si tu ne comprends pas
La règle est pour t’aider
C’est grâce aux anges-claires
Que toi tu es informé

Ähnen sich zu nah’
Da kommt die Clara ja
Glaub’ mir, es ist besser so

De briller, du har på
de gør dig helt blind så
Denne tekst slog mig K.O.

Cet ange est une Clara
Cet ange est une Clara, une Clara d’un ange
Cet ange est une Clara
Cet ange est une Clara, une Clara d’un ange
C’est une Clara-clara-clara-clara, Cet ange est une clara-clara
L’ange, c’est, oui, l’ange c’est
Une Clara-trala-lala-Clara-ra!

Based on Denmark 1986

Out on the piss
Said I couldn’t stay for longer
You disagreed, that’s all right

Stayed up for you
Said you’d have one more? You liar
I see the truth
As you stumble through the door

You are full of wine
Nodding slowly, drooling slightly
Randy little smile, leering too
With that look in your eye
I bet you’re thinking you’re in luck here
But I could use my beauty sleep tonight

You said you’d text
You sent an aubergine emoji
That wasn’t what I had planned

Put down the beer
And no, I won’t make you a sandwich
What makes you think I enjoy your roaming hands?

You are full of wine
Hard to be seductive
When you’re looking at my face, seeing two
So don’t act like it’s fine
The traffic cone you brought back with you
Is getting action more than you tonight

Then you get all maudlin
Say your love is real
I tell a bedtime story and you try to grab a feel

I can see that
(I can smell that)

You are full of wine
Or you brushed your teeth with Merlot
Couldn’t get it up if you tried

You are full of wine
Can’t you see your talk is boring?
Slurring every line, pleading too
You’re pawing at my thigh
But any moment you’ll be snoring
So take your socks off and turn out the light

You’re lucky you’ve an understanding wife

…Well, okay then, maybe just tonight

Based on Cyprus 1989

You see there’s no deceit
We were sceptical too

But we saw our son get his jabs, then started acting mad:

He sings The Real Me dawn ’til dusk!

You cannot trust the doctors
Despite their kind words and degrees

They never even mentioned
These horrid side-effects: he also sings Brazil

Don’t opt for vaccination:
A manifesto for our times
So says a site we’ve googled

It’s full of super tips, may even have a cure

It seems too much hygiene has made our children weak

To:
– Bring back kids’ good health
– Cure mental lunacy

That webpage shows how to proceed:

Bring sprogs around on Tuesdays
Exposing them to other’s germs

Should they remain quite healthy
These subtle extra tasks will kickstart their immune:

Spread snot on the halloumi
And share it out cut up in cubes

Then sneeze on the tzatziki
While telling everyone the double dip’s approved

With luck one of them gets
Sniffles (or much worse)

Don’t bin that crap they cough up
No, store it in a jar

Mix phlegm with kounoupidi
And use a spoon licked clean by dogs

Stuff pus inside the koupes
And serve it dipped in spit…

You’ll hear the kids scream “ooooo”

We recommend this treatment
Our son’s song taste is much improved

He now sings Aspro Mavro
He’s almost good as new, though still he sings Shiru

Let’s sing aloud these lyrics
To friends and strangers, far and near

“A pox on all your children!”

Explain that it is not

The insult they’d assume