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November 3, 2009






"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."
Many a pub brawl was initiated as to lead lip-syncer, Jimmy McShane's North Irish birthright, but, sad and true, was its legitimacy; and however the cuckolded Celtic Clan may have felt toward their humiliation, a pint of Guinness, sipped with the knowledge that the Emerald scion was just sucklin' at the tit, allbeit a tit shaped from the disparate clay of both, 'Finnegans Wake' and 'The Archies''.
But 'bubblegum on the bedpost' palaver, had a foamy finish of mollification in an empty Imperial, satisfyin both thirst and emasculation like a 1-2 combo knockout!

WILLIAMSPORT, PA - AUGUST 24:  Jesus Sauceda #...Image by Getty Images via Daylife
Not sung by McShane!

"Another... Guinea...erm...Guinness, luv...Cheers!"

'Baltimora''s producer/ventriloquist name's unmistakable overabundance of vowels pointed, not to Belfast, but Bologna. Here was he, responsible for the blight, Blarney, and brunt of copious piss-takings-- an Italian named, Maurizio Bassi. Thanks be to Jesus!

Both music[?] and lyrics[?] of 'Baltimora'
he even added a vowel to the American city where my brother does bricklaying] were Bassi-sputum.

WILLIAMSPORT, PA - AUGUST 24:  Pitcher Jesus S...Image by Getty Images via Daylife

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 Eire's Son's pocket.

His Belfast Sheelagh and 'kiss o' the stone' had also prevented him from 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 and toast to the 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 and unimperial ha'pint as a reminder of a fine pugilist, Seamus McClellan, who--no gloves, 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 of 1947! And he did it with a one-hit...square, round to the jaw of poor Bgwwenieange, No. 2 Middle-Heavyweight, champ: 'The Welsh Bomber,' who sadly for Wales, never got up from that mat on that great...erm...gray day in Cork.

To an Hibernian! "Tarzan Boy!"
Jimmy from Belfast, who we mocked before 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."

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