Monsier E. Izzard
By Danni Hewitt aka Izzy
Jupiter (His home planet)
Oh so clever
Naughty yet nice
Ready 4 anything
Drop dead gorgeous
OH, YOU LUCKY BRITS
Yes, we won that ancient war.
Yes, we've got stars by the score.
Yes, I guess I'm being greedy,
Or perhaps just very needy,
And I'm sure it will sound petty,
But I wish that *we* had Eddie.
Oh, he tours the U.S.A.,
But he will not stop and stay.
He flies in and does his shows,
Round and round him laughter flows.
Then he packs up and he goes,
Without leaving videos!
It is tragic, but it's true.
Hey, I wouldn't lie to you.
Finding tapes of E. Izzard,
In the U.S. is quite hard.
We can order from the Brits,
But our VCR's have fits.
So we pay an extra fee,
To get our NTSC.
It's a bother and a fuss,
For all tapes but "Glorious."
It's the one tape we can get,
But we want the whole darned set!
Hurry Eddie! Make it snappy!
Make a deal and make us happy.
Then when you go home to London,
We poor Yanks can still have some fun.
Though we can't claim that you're ours,
We would have our "Bunch of flowers!"
So, if you're a British fan,
Be as grateful as you can,
That your country nurtured Eddie,
And made sure that he was ready,
To bring smiles, and joy, and mirth,
To the whole great bloody Earth.
I am in my thirties. I've a house and a career.
I'm long past adolescence, or at least it would appear.
My acne's gone, and my hormones have reached a normal level.
At least they had 'til I was smitten by a blue-eyed devil.
His name is Eddie and he is a fascinating fellow.
He's five foot seven and a half. His hair's most often yellow.
He was born in Yemen but grew up on England's shore.
He started wearing women's clothes when he was only four.
I saw him in the summer in a show called "Dress to Kill."
I laughed and chuckled, grinned and giggled, and I'm laughing still.
I love his humor and his style! I love his attitude!
I love him so intensely that I fear I've come unglued.
At work I find it hard to think about the task at hand.
Thoughts of Eddie from my fevered brain just won't be banned.
He sneaks into my dreams at night, I don't want them to end.
For videos and tickets I just spend, spend, spend, spend, spend.
Most evenings you'll find me on his website's message board,
Chatting endlessly about this bloke who has me floored.
I haven't lost control like this since, heck, I don't know when.
But, my friend, I swear it feels like I'm sixteen again.
Eddie Izzard is a bloke with equal clothing rights.
In his makeup and high heels he goes out seeking fights.
All his shows are smashing hits and he gets lots of laughs, Talking bollocks about
bees and badgers and giraffes.
Cake or death, and cakes as hats on ladies who won't die, Choosing cake they've
leaped the scythe and told the Reaper fie!
He talks of birds, and dogs, and cats, of Hitler, and of God, Most sound like
James Mason, which is just a little odd.
Mrs. Badcrumble it seems once taught him clarinet, But sexy tunes he did not learn,
much to his regret.
Spoons and coffee, toast and jam are topics that he likes, And folks bare-headed
riding 'round on little motorbikes.
Running, jumping, standing still, climbing up in trees, Where corpses hang about
all day with cheeky French monkeys.
Star Trek, Star Wars, Great Escape, Italian Job and more, Mars Bars, sandwiches,
and Twix, chocolate eggs galore.
Sean Connery plays Noah, Dracula, and hairy kings. There's techno-joy and techno-fear
and laundry that clings.
Yes, Eddie's world is quite surreal, it's like a bonkers dream. But eddies are
supposed to swirl just off of the mainstream.