At Least Mommy's Out

We’ve all known a mondegreen at one time or another.  Either we’ve come up with it ourselves or we’ve overheard a friend or relative singing one, probably at full-lung capacity.

You see, a mondegreen is the mishearing or misinterpretation of a phrase.  People do this all of the time with songs and often don’t figure out that they’ve been singing the wrong words for years.

I was recently reminded of mondegreens when I heard the infamous “Feliz Navidad” on the car radio.  Last Christmas our neighbors were driving in their van with Christmas music blaring. Their then seven-year-old, upon hearing the song, perked up in the back seat with an innocent question.   “Why do they keep singing ‘At least Mommy’s out’?”

That has now become Melissa and my theme song.

When I told her that I was writing about Olivia’s question about Feliz Navidad, she laughed, then—in usual fashion—made me laugh again.  “At least it’s not her 15-year-old brother’s version that goes ‘Pu-lease smell my butt.’”

That got me to thinking about what other people had misheard the song to say.  Come to find out, non-Spanish-speaking folk have been singing everything from “Denise la dee da” and “Please mop it up” to “Release Mother Duck” and “Feel snot I’ve got”. 

Surprisingly, most other mondegreens for this song had to do with police, dogs, or mommies.  “Police shot my dog,”  “Police nodded off,”  “Fleas…naughty dog,” and “Release mommy’s dog” are perfect examples.  

When you try all of these, be sure to use a Frito Bandito accent.  You’ll be surprised how well they work.

Next to Olivia’s rendition, my second favorite would have to be, “Let’s grease mommy up.”  Perhaps it’s because I’ve baked with enough Crisco in my day to make it a funny visual.

Which brings me to another point:  Why do so many mondegreens have to do with food?  Maybe there’s a correlation between being hungry and hearing lyrics wrong.

Some of you remember Crystal Gayle’s “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue.”  Foodies have been known to hear it as “Doughnuts Make My Brown Eyes Blue.”  Bachmann-Turner Overdrives “Takin’ Care of Business” has been transformed to “Baking Carrot Biscuits” and the Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams are Made of This” has become “Sweet Dreams are Made of Cheese.”

My dairy farmer dad would have liked that one.

The most humorous is from “Can’t Help Myself” by the Four Tops.  As if the actual lyrics don’t boast enough calories, some food lovers try to change “Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch” to “Sugar Fried Honey Butts.”   They’re the ones (like me) who line up to get fry bread at the town’s celebration every summer.

In doing my research, I found a new song for my own household.  Seeing that my husband’s part Asian and I’m part German, I’m going to start singing Billy Joel’s song a different way.  Instead of “You may be right, I may be crazy,” I’m going to use the mondegreen, “You made the rice, I made the gravy.”

When I read some of the misinterpreted lyrics online, I began questioning people’s view on relationships.  Juice Newton’s “Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby” became “Just brush my teeth before you leave me, baby.”  Now that’s a weird visual, right along with the guy who heard Roy Orbison’s, “Pretty woman, won’t you look my way” as “Pretty woman, won’t you lick my leg.”  Weirdo.

Then there are those out looking for imperfect women.  Like the people who hear the Beatles’ “The girl with kaleidoscope eyes” as “The girl with colitis goes by.”  Or the ones who turn The Monkees’ “Then I saw her face, now I’m a believer” into “Then I saw her face, now I’m gonna leave her.”

On the other hand, some view women as super-human.  For example, what were listeners thinking when they turned Kenny Rodgers lyrics of “You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille… four hungry children and a crop in the field” to four hundred children?  It makes me not want to sit down just thinking about it.

When I read that some had sung the Beatles “She’s Got a Ticket to Ride” as “She’s Got a Chicken to Ride”,  it again brought me back to little Olivia.

Her family recently got four chickens.  I asked her 11-year-old sister what she had named hers, and she exclaimed, “Well, my chicken’s white.  So I named it White Trash.”  I asked Olivia what she had named her chicken, and she simply answered, “Fred.”  Later she would rename it Broccoli because, she informed me, “It likes green things.”

Feliz Navidad, everyone.  And, for Pete’s Sake, let Mommy out.  Or at least grease her up.