The Tourettes Song Book
I’ve described before how tics sometimes come out to a particular tune. The last few days have been full of ticced songs that arrive out of the blue. Here’s a selection of lyrics from the latest batch:
To the Blackadder theme:
“You’re Blackpool, you’re Blackpool, your good times have now gone.”
“You’re biscuit, you’re biscuit, you’re biscuit ‘til I die.”
To Dizzee Rascal’s Fix Up Look Sharp:
“Stand up look sheep. Fuck a bear, fuck a beast.”
To an unknown whimsical tune (like something Rod, Jane and Freddy would’ve sung):
“I have a cunt, made out of steel and bears.”
“I have a cunt, made out of banging punk.”
“I have a cunt made out of sand dunes. I have a cunt.”
“I have a bra made out of a satellites.”
“I have a mum, made out of bras and hair.”
“I have a lion made out of Dagenham.”
“I’ve got a mind made out of Flashdance.”
“The archbishop on the bus says don’t eat crisps.”
“The wheels on the bus say shit yourself.”
To He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands
“He’s got Boris Johnson’s hair in his hands.”
“I’ve got a horny unicorn on my head.”
I’m finding some tics, like biting myself and dropping to the floor, really tough at the moment. But thinking about some of the things I’ve said or sung in the last few days makes me smile. I don’t think I’d want to lose them and the strange humour they add to my life.
Related tics
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You’re Blackpool, you’re Blackpool, your good times have now gone.
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I’ve got a horny unicorn on my head.
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He’s got Boris Johnson’s hair in his hands.
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I have a mum made out bras and hair.
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The wheels on the bus say, ‘Shit yourself.’
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The archbishop on the bus says, ‘Don’t eat crisps.’
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I have a bra made out of a satellites.
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I have a lion made out of Dagenham.
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I have a cunt made out of sand dunes.
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I have a cunt made out of banging punk.
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I have a cunt made out of steel and bears.
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Stand up look sheep. Fuck a bear, fuck a beast.
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You’re biscuit, you’re biscuit, you’re biscuit ‘til I die.
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I’ve got a mind made out of Flashdance.
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