THANK GOD IT'S FRIDAY
FOR THOSE who don’t know them, here are the main lyrics of the theme of the sitcom that made Will “Hard Slap” Smith so rich and powerful, he thought nothing of cuffing down Chris Rock on Oscars night. I’m going to rework them to reflect the behaviour of two rich, powerful men famous for the wrong reasons this week.
Fresh Prince of Bel Air, Original Lyrics
Now this is the story all about how/ My life got flipped, turned upside down/ And I'd like to take a minute just sit right there/ I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air/ In west Philadelphia, born and raised/ On the playground where I spent most of my days/ Chilling out, maxing, relaxing, all cool/ And all shooting some b-ball outside of the school/
…I whistled for a cab and when it came near/ The licence plate said “Fresh”/ And had dice in the mirror…/ …I pulled up to a house about seven or eight/ And I yelled to the cabbie, yo Holmes smell ya later/ Looked at my kingdom I was finally there/ To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air.
Fresh Prince of Bel Air 2022, The Scourge of Chris Rock (Rapped in a Trini accent)
Now this is the story all about how/ Chris Rock get bitch-slap, nearly cuff down/ And mankind will take a minute here, Dread/ To tell you how it had to do with mankind wife’ bald head/ In the big-shot audience, nervous and thing/ Studying if I go finally get a lil Oscar bling/ Chilling out, maxing, relaxing, all cool/ When, before April first, Chris Rock decide to play the fool/
He make a bald head joke and that came too near/ To my wife' Brazilian, mankind had was to learn to share/ Was a half-minute walk from my table to the stage/ And if Chris wasn’t grinning, I mighta hold back the rage/ Is only March, I know, April ain’t even bust/ But I seeing red ’cause I only studying August/ Is Chris get the slap and stand up there bazodee/ But if I coulda get him, I woulda mark Anthony/ I walk back to my table and puff my hero movie chest out/ And shout to Chris to keep my wife out he mouth/
Alopecia, call police, Suh, me ent care ’bout that/ If you can’t hit your horner-man, give a joker-man a slap/ Ricky Gervais coulda tell me what he want/ But Chris Rock sister, auntie and mother can’t/ I cuff down a man and, fussing all over me/ Denzel washing tongue like a royal pus--/ T’ing to cry, I laughing, not one ounce of regret/ My whole life turn now to one green screen movie set/ I’s the hero, I’m the man, I share licks without a care/ And that is how I became the Fresh King of Everywhere.
Fresh Prince of Windsor, Andrew Catching His Royal Ar-- (Spoken in reverent BBC-reporting-on-a-tragedy Queen’s English)
Now this is the story all about how one/ Has remained one’s mother’s favourite son/ Bear with one, and one shall admit with candour/ One is effectively now head of the House of Windsor/ In extreme privilege, rotten to the soul, born and raised/ Deflowering prepubescent girls, one spent most of one’s days/ Chilled champagne in the palace (Buckingham, of course)/ Impressing 13-year-old girls (and Bucking-ham, or worse)/ One is so wealthy and handsome, no one can resist one/ (And if they can, one can simply have them sent to prison)/ Like my old girl, my old nonce (Queen’s English for a pimp)/ One walks away from fatal crashes without a limp/ One knows what battles one must win/ If one is to continue enjoying one’s life of sin/ Forget the throne, one wouldn’t want it, anyway/ It would interfere in one’s lifelong commitment to par-tay/
One sidelines family challengers, one wrings them by the neck/ Could Philip, Anne or Ned get Mum to write a £12m cheque?/ One dumps one’s nemesis, that idiot nephew Harry/ One says yes when he asks if it’s a good idea to marry/ A Negro, far too old, to attract this one to slaughter/ (But one might consider one’s future duty to a teenaged daughter)/ One holds Mum’s hand when Her Majesty must bury Dad/ One neither sweats nor regrets since one was but a lad/ One knows one must play the royal card and royal role/ One is greatly assisted by the absence of one’s soul/ One must act always a cruel king without mercy/ Until one’s faithful subjects realise the truth of monarchy.
BC Pires is the Prince of Dark Humour. Read the full version of this column on Saturday at www.BCPires.com