Bob's yer uncle

 In honor of Bob Dylan's birthday, a couple of riffs off his stuff, excavated from the litforum archives:

King James Approximately
(Revised Standard Version)

When your pastor sends back all of your translations
And your Greek in Aramaic he exclaims
That you've misinterpreted all God's creations
Won't you come see me, King James?
Won't you come see me, King James?

Now when all denominations want back the words they lent you
And the thees and thine and thous go up in flames
And all parishoners start to resent you
Won't you come see me, King James?
Won't you come see me, King James?

Now when all the hacks that you have commissioned
Render all your verilys as all the sames
And you're sick of all this repetition
Won't you come see me, King James?
Won't you come see me, King James?

When all of your advisers cite Hebraic
Metered feet to convince you of their claims
Trying to prove that your conclusions are too archaic
Won't you come see me, King James?
Won't you come see me, King James?

Now when all the writers that you turned your other cheek to
All lay down terms in riders to cast blames
And you want somebody you don't have to speak to
Won't you come see me, King James?
Won't you come see me, King James?

and, with regard to his receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature:

They say my songs are dynamite
They give new meaning to the trite
No answer I can give too slight
A hand extends the bit to bite
With bated breath no nay despite
Lips sealed my ears are ringing

Sure is nice but the price
Out of my range don't think twice
It's alright, ma, I'm only singing

(which reminds me, that other Dylan, Thomas, in composing "Do not go gentle into that good night", did so without ever using the word fight)