Storming down the isles and doing our best
People who arent are counting the rests
The other band, from the land is staring at us
We continue to march, they continue to fuss

We are the ones you knew at your in high school
Always hanging out when the band didnt have to
Attention we dont crave, we cannot behave
Were sick of hearing jokes that movie made

We dont wanna waste our time
Talking to the non-bandies of our own school
We will never change our minds
Back down and try to be cool
Never will

Because we dont
Conform to the rest and think were the best
A formidable enemy with not to mess
Bari sax and bells are our toys for play
Conductor and band camp are the jokes that we say

We like having fun at the conductors expense and,
They are about to strangle us before the routine ends
If we faint during the show, the people never know,
And bandies will try not to step on toes

We dont wanna waste our time
Talking to the non-bandies of our own school
We will never change our minds
Back down and try to be cool
Never will

Please count your rests, be sure to come in
Please count your rests, not just to ten
Please count your rests, come in on two
Please count your rests, or prepared to be chewed!

Well, real good at those eighth-not runs
Cases carried around for status or somethin
Standing on the corner of the b-hall and math
Should we stick around or go to class?
In the end we stay, the bell rings off the hook
Were on the tardy list, wanted for the detention books
Like music with trills and uniforms with frills
The conductors said that hes gonna get some kills
We dont wanna waste our time
Talking to the non-bandies of our own school
We will never change our minds
Back down and try to be cool
Never will

Waste our time with them
Non-bandies of our own school
Waste our time with them
Not back down and try to be cool
Never will

Music of the Band
A parody by paqi and Renni of "Colors of the Wind" from Pocohontas, which belongs to Disney studios. Again, no money is being made here, so please don't sue. I have to save up for college!

You think you own whatever song you pick up;
the music's just a dead thing you can play.
But I know that there is more to the music
than the notes that are written on the page.

You think the only bandos who are people
are the people who play your instrument,
but if you go and try out someone else's,
You might find out what they have always meant.

Have you ever tried soprano sax, or a contrabassoon?
Or asked the French hornist what key she's in?
Can you entertain the drummers with a plunger?
Can you pass the gruelling All-State audition?
Can you pass the gruelling All-State audition?

(breif instrumental)

Come count your rests and hold at the fermata,
come play the prettiest solo on this earth!
Start on time and cut off with the conductor,
and for once, show those band geeks what you're worth.

The oboes and the altos are my brothers,
the tubas and the bass clars are my friends!
And we are all connected to each other
in the band hall, where the good times never end. [Renni's favorite line. Just to let you know.]

How high can a piccolo play? If you cut her off, we can never say.
And you'll never try the saxes, or a contrabassoon,
for whatever clef we choose to play in,
we need to entertain the drummers with a plunger,
need to pass the gruelling All-State audition.

You can play in band and still, all you'll play is bad until, you can pass
the gruelling All-State audition.

Band Geek
A parody on "All Star" by Smash Mouth, by paqi and Renni (which is not meant to imply that I have any right to use the song title or whatever, but no money is being made here, so please don't sue. "All Star" belongs to Smash Mouth--but "Band Geek" belongs to me).

Somebody once told me I'll never get a soli; I'll go on playing third clarinet.
Well he was lookin' kinda dumb; he was beatin' on his drum, but we all knew that he had a rest.
Well, the tunes start comin' and they don't stop comin', back to the band room where people are drummin'.
Didn't make sense not to live with band; you might have time but your life gets bland.
So much to play, so much to see, so what's wrong with playing the backbeats? (credit TheKathrynator@aol.com)
You never know if you don't go.
You never suck if you don't blow.

Hey now, you're a band geek, get your charts out, go play!
Hey now, it's a concert, get your tux on, get praise!
And all that glitters is brass.
Only real band geeks pass the class...

It's a cool place to hang out in the morning.
You go every day, it'll never get boring.
But the chorus members beg to differ;
they have always envied the sound we deliver.
The songs we play are getting pretty hard,
but if you ever need some support get the guard.
Our band's on fire; how 'bout yours?
That's the way we like it and we'll never get bored.

Hey now, you're a band geek, get your charts out, go play!
Hey now, it's a concert, get your tux on, get praise!
And all that glitters is brass.
Only real band geeks pass the class...

(instrumental)

Hey now, you're a band geek, get your charts out, go play!
Hey now, it's a concert, get your tux on, get praise!
And all that glitters is brass.
Only real band geeks...Well somebody once asked, "Could you give me some reeds fast? I need to practice for my auditioning."
I said, "Yep! What a concept; I could use a little practice myself, and we could all use a couple reeds..."

Well, the tunes start comin' and they don't stop comin', back to the band room where people are drummin'.
Didn't make sense not to live with band; you might have time but your life gets bland.
So much to play, so much to see, so what's wrong with playing the backbeats? (still credit TheKathrynator@aol.com)
You never know if you don't go.
You never suck if you don't blow.

Hey now, you're a band geek, get your charts out, go play!
Hey now, it's a concert, get your tux on, get praise!
And all that glitters is brass.
Only real band geeks pass the class...

And all that glitters is brass.
Only real band geeks pass the class...

'Valve Oil' (Parody of 'Sleigh Ride')
By Kris Heiby

Hear the conductor sayin that
We're not playin, and why?
I guess it's time dump spit
Then a valve oil, my trumpet and I
The flutes are resting, sayin
That they are playin so high
I guess it's time to dump spit
Then a valve oil, my trumpet and I

Rest BLAT rest BLAT rest BLAT no more
Syncopation's a bore
Sometimes low brass parts make me snore
Rest BLAT rest BLAT rest BLAT it's fine
This oil of mine
I'll oil through rust if I must
All of this class until lunch time

Our bells are nice and shiny
The flutes are whiny, not we
The saxes blend like flavors
Like someone signing wavers with glee
Whip out your snake it's for the best
Do we only rest? Sigh.
I guess it's time to dump spit
Then a valve oil, my trumpet and I

The conductor holds the fermata like it's his brain
It'll be the forte ending of a forte strain
We'll be oiling our valves, inspecting them, repeat and never stop
Look real close and then you can see the droplets drop
Drop! Drop! Drop!
There's a happy feeling nothing in the world can buy
When our oil, smooth and shiny, perfect, we apply
And the band will sound like an eery crane, an old hag, pale and meek
Because no one wants to play out but the high and some low brass geeks