(a parody of) YA GOT TROUBLE

by R.R. Tucci, with apologies to the ghost of Wilson Meredith (Music Man lyrics here)


Well, ya got trouble, my friend.

Right here, I say trouble right here in Jersey City

Why, sure, I’m a stringy player

Certainly mighty proud to say,

I’m always mighty proud to say it

I consider the hours I spend pulling out all my hair are golden

Help you cultivate horse sense and a cool head and a keen eye


Now, folks, let me show you what I mean

You’ve got one, two, infinitely many stringy vacua

vacua that mark the difference between a gentleman and a bum

With a capital ‘B’ and that rhymes with ‘Stree’ and that stands for ‘String’


And all week long, your Jersey City youth’ll be fritterin’ away

I say, your young men’ll be fritterin’

Fritterin’ away their noontime, suppertime, choretime, too


Ya got trouble, folks, right here in Jersey City

with a capital ‘T’ and that rhymes with ‘Stree’

and that stands for ‘String’


May I have your attention, please? Attention, please

I can deal with this trouble, friends,

with the wave of my hand, this very hand

Please observe me, if you will I’m Professor Harold Hill

and I’m here to organize a quantum computer band


Oh think, my friends, how can any stringy guess

ever hope to compete with a gold Q comp

Rah, rah, rah-da-da-da-da, rah-rah

Remember, my friends, what a handful of Apple players

did to the famous, fabled walls of I B M

Oh, corporation walls come a-tumblin’ down


Oh, a band’ll do it, my friends, oh yes

I said a Q C band, do you hear me?

I say Jersey City’s gotta have a Q C band

and I mean she needs it today

Well, Professor Harold Hill’s on hand

and Jersey City’s gonna have her Q C band

Just as sure as the Lord made little green apples

and that band’s gonna be in uniform