Liven up your Passover Seder with these new Passover parody tunes!
For any of you looking to liven up a Passover Seder with some new Passover parody songs, here is my contribution to that genre (“Let Us Go” is my favorite). Happy Holiday!
LET US GO (to the tune of “Let It Snow”)
By Howard Zaharoff
Oh, our matzah is very shumura
And our leader’s quite the bore.
Grandma’s cakes have no yeast just dough.
To quote Moses: “Let my people go.”
Oh it doesn’t show signs of stoppin’.
Hope Elijah doesn’t drop in.
The pace is just too damned slow.
Can’t help wishing “Let my people go.”
When we’ve finally sung all tunes,
My full belly hangs over my belt.
Still I’ll squeeze in some macaroons,
Chocolate matzo and Chanukkah gelt.
Oh, our voices are slowly dyin’,
As we pray to move to Zion.
We’ve exhausted both friend and foe.
Time to let all us Seder guests go.
Let us go, let us go, let us go.
CHAROSET (to the tune of “Maria”)
By Howard Zaharoff
Charoset, I just ate a food called Charoset.
And suddenly Pesach’s like, bagels with some lox to me.
Charoset, I just downed maror with Charoset
And suddenly I’m sure, Elijah’s at my door this eve.
Charoset, apples, wine, keep your taste buds floatin’,
Also nuts, so there’s plenty of protein.
Nutritious. I’ll never stop eating Charoset.
SHALL WE FRESS? (to the tune of “Shall We Dance?”)
By Howard Zaharoff
Shall we fress?
Shall we sit at the table, shall we dine?
Shall we fress?
Shall we wash down the matzah with the wine?
Charoses, helps the bit-ter horse radish taste just fine.
Shall we join in the seder,
Treat our mother like a waiter,
Ask the 4 questions then just guess?
Did Jews really flee Egypt, just to settle in Manhattan?
Shall we fress, shall we fress, shall we fress?
Shall we fress?
Shall we read about Pharoah and then curse?
Shall we fress?
Sing Dayenu but skip most every verse?
Poor Mo-ses – he’s the hero whose name is hardly spoke.
Shall we join in the shmoozin’, sing the song about the zuzim
Which ends with the Angel of Death?
Leave our kids primed for nightmares, while we down the Manishewitz,
Shall we fress, shall we fress, shall we fress?
Shall we fress?
Shall we dip in salt water and recline?
Shall we fress?
Shall we then say “More white?” and mean “More wine!”
Here’s an egg, symbol that our cholesterol just spiked.
Next we pick up the shank bone, and pretend it is a cell phone –
Enough jokes, now it’s time to bless.
With a clear understanding we’ll repeat the order next year,
Shall we fress, shall we fress, shall we fress?
MY HAGGADAH (to the tune of “Oklahoma”)
By Howard Zaharoff
Oh, MY Haggadah
Cuts our Seder praying time in half.
I made it short, ‘cause I’m the sort
Who can’t pray too long without a laugh.
Oh, MY Haggadah
Uses songs and po-ems that can’t miss.
Like “Go Down, Mose,” and “Michael Rows,”
And some newer ones as bad as this.
I know Jews belong to a clan.
Split in tribes like Gad, Levy and Dan.
So when we say “Hallelujah” or “Oy vay,”
We’re only sayin’
We’re having fun at this seder, this seder’s okay.
On MY Passover
Our charoset’s eaten with the chrain.
And our wine is sweet, our matzah’s wheat
Though next year I’m shopping for whole grain.
Mo-SHEH Rabenu
Is the man who led us to this feast
Where the food we eat, tart or sweet,
Must be made without containing yeast.
People may think that we’re clannish Yids.
Better that, than build more pyramids!
So when we say “Yipdayenu-dayeNAY,”
We’re only sayin’
We like the way you lead seders, this seder’s okay!
P-A-S-S-O-V-E-R, Pesach’s okay!
CALL ME MOSES (to Carlie Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe”)
By Howard Zaharoff
I threw a babe in the sea, he’d been a brother to me.
He’ll help the Israelites flee, if G-d will show the way.
I hear the Egyptian cries, they’re plagued by locusts and flies.
Their Pharaoh’s very surprised, ‘cause G-d is in his way.
Your stare was burning, like a bush – no turning
Back from a people’s yearning.
Where you think you’re going, baby?
Hey I just met you, it’s caused delirium, but here’s my number, and call me Miriam.
Hey, I’m Israelite, not Assyrian, but here’s my number, and call me Miriam.
G-d killed my 2 sons, my life is barren, but Moses needs me, so call me Aaron.
____________________________________
You took your time with the plagues, but Pharaoh’s heart never gave,
You finally got us away, the Red Sea in our way.
You begged and borrowed and stole, until our matzah grew cold,
But just as G-d had foretold, nothing stands in our way.
Your stare was burning, like a bush – no turning
Back from a people’s yearning.
Where you think you’re going, baby?
Hey I just met you, don’t crush my toes’es, but here’s my number, so call me Moses.
You killed my people, cut off their noses –but I got your number, just call me Moses.
While Pharaoh’s hated, I smell like roses, so here’s my number, just call me Moses.
___________________________________________
Before you came into my life, I needed slaves bad, to build my new pad, and a tomb for my dad,
To build my pyr’mids, I need you so bad, and you should know that, I need you so so bad.
___________________________________________
Hey, on the lintel, blood of lambs is; so here’s my number, and call me Ramses.
In Mitzrayim, the land is narrow. G-d killed my first born, so call me Pharaoh.
And now it’s springtime, birdsongs and clover, so thank you, Pharaoh, for our Passover.
TICKET TO RIDE: A SONG OF LOVE, OBSERVANCE AND PASSOVER
(to the Beatles’ “Ticket to Ride”)
By Howard Zaharoff
I think Passover is here, I think it’s tonight.
I bought Haggadahs and wine … but where is my wife?
She’s got a brisket to buy, she’s got some livers to fry-y-y,
She’s got some matzah to brie, but she don’t care.
She said that living with me is like bitter herbs,
As if the Israelites were slaves in the ‘burbs.
She’s such a critic tonight, she’s such a cynic tonigh-igh-ight.
She’s not too cryptic tonight, that she don’t care.
I don’t know when she’s making charoset.
She gotta dip twice, she gotta skip rice, for me.
We’ll all recite together what Mose’ said:
“Please let my peeps go, we’ll live on flat dough, but free!”
She said my Seder’s too long, a comatose bore.
Our guests wind up fast asleep, you can hear them snore.
She’s got some chicken to buy, an afikoman to hi-i-ide,
She can’t mix leaven with rye, but she don’t care.
I don’t know why she thinks we’ll spin dreidels –
She can’t remember, that’s in December, with me –
I hope she’ll still have time to make knadles –
I like the light ones, no dense and tight ones for me.
I think we’re hosting a meal, I think it’s tonight.
My wife is driving me mad – we’ll soon have a fight.
‘Cause she’s got a shankbone to roast, onions on matzah to to-o-oast,
Run out of time to mix chros’t, but she don’t care.
My lady don’t care. My lady don’t care.
THE SEDER WITH THE FRINGE ON THE TOP
(to “The Surrey with the Fringe on Top”)
By Howard Zaharoff
Chicks and ducks and geese we’ll eat later
When it’s time to dine at our Seder
Also pot roast and mashed potato
So please come along.
First we’ll wash, then point to the plate o’
Bitter greens and eggs, now let’s grate a
Horse radish, but save it for later
‘Cause it’s time for song.
We’ll sing about Moses Goin’ on Down,
Next we’ll Wade in the Water.
Then a chorus on Miriam and her dancing gals,
While zuzim are paid for a slaughter.
Four bright children to sing a song to.
Ask four questions, truly I long to
Grab a bagel but I’d be wrong to
‘Cause it’s pure chametz.
So let’s ladle out some chicken soup and fill up our plates.
_______________________________________
Now a hero enters the story.
Joseph, dreamer, destined for glory.
But memory’s short and most Pharaohs worry.
Shortly we’re enslaved.
Then wise Moses showed up and freed us.
Wouldn’t let no dumb Pharoah breed us.
Through the desert God had to feed us.
Till at last we’re saved!
We’ll sing dayenus till our throats are sore
Then munch down the afiKOman.
We’ll invite Elijah through our open door
And praise Miryam – she’s quite the WOman!
________________________________________
Next time we’ll have guests sign a prenup,
Binding them to stay for the cleanup.
Meanwhile let us not get our spleen up and let’s skip a fight.
‘Cause we’re doing it all over again TO-morrow night.
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