"Tarzan Boy," the 1985 debut, 'Italo-Disco' single by concept band, 'Baltimora,' was released in April, 1985, from their debut LP, "Living in the Background". The songs rhythmic, electronic melody and simple English-language lyric incorporates cinema's iconic Tarzan call.
Best known in the US for its use in Listerine commercials of the early '90s, it was also rerecorded in 1993 where it was featured in the soundtrack to the third installment of the popular Hollywood frog-franchise, "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III."
But in Ireland, Scotland and Wales, many a pub brawl was had, as to lead lip-syncer, Jimmy McShane's Northern Irish birthright.
Sad and true, was its legitimacy; and however the communal, cuckolded, Celtic Clan may have felt toward this; it weren't nothin' a pint of Guinness, served by a red-haired lassie, and sipped, whilst starin' at a dog would not cure in April of 1985. That and the knowledge that the Emerald scion was just sucklin' at the tit, albeit a tit shaped from disparate fathers: one read 'Finnegans Wake,' while the other woke up with a hard-on to 'Sugar Sugar,' by 'The Archies.''
But bedpost-bubblegum palaver, and what Jimmy McShane's mother liked in her men had a foamy finish of mollification, viewed through a usually lamentable, empty Imperial Pintglass; this one satisfied both thirst and emasculation. A 1-2-combo, knockout!Not sung by McShane!"Another... Guinea...erm...Guinness, luv...Cheers!"
'Baltimora''s producer/ventriloquist name's, unmistakable overabundance of voweling pointed, not to Belfast, but Bologna. Here was him responsible for the Blight, Blarney, and Brunt of copious piss-takings--SINCE AN ITALIAN named, Maurizio Bassi decided to put Ireland in jeapordy. Thanks Jesus, the truth was out from the BEEB!
Both music[?] and lyrics[?] of 'Baltimora' [he even italified a vowelless ending Irish immigrant city where bricks were laid side by side with Americans to a city] were Bassi-sputum.
But thanks be to wankers and yobs; naivety and confection, the bloody, Bolognese-twirler was puttin' tintinnabulation, like to be heard four miles around St. Christopher's comin' noontime, in a Son of Eire's pocket.
His Belfast Sheelagh and 'kiss o' the stone' had also helped him out of a hard day's workin' but not from its reward.
Murphy's an idiot!
And though he'd have to ask Father O'Flannery, Sunday confession, what the reparation for 'fakin' by gob, like a Limerick Piestuffer,' might be, first he must head pubways to toast little Dotori 'Italian Frankenstein.'
He should be toasted with Jameson AND Guinness for puttin' little Jim up in his kit, under the lights--not pub lights, blinkin' marquees--from Dublin to Djibouti, he thought.
And those that mentioned the hyphenated, two-word slagoff, 'one-hit wonders' were due to be served an inferior, unimperial, ha'pint as reminder of a fine pugilist, Seamus McClellan, who--no gloves in those days--made his way into the fittin' room for a brand new waistcincher as heavy as a man can wear and walk--The Irish National Boxing Championship, 1947! And he did it with a one-hit...square, round to the jaw, to poor Bagwwenieange, No. 2, Middle-Heavyweight champ: 'The Welsh Bomber,' who sadly, never got up from the mat on that great...erm...gray day in Cork.To an Hibernian! "Tarzan Boy!"Jimmy from Belfast, who we mocked fore knowin':"May you and your tune swing from the trees, with your lassie and chimp; and find a true vine, whilst we take this sip."