From 2012, please enjoy the late great Gregory Fleeman and his utterly brilliant ode to Elvis Presley and Liberace, a/k/a two guys with "Dead Twin Brothers."
Words fail me.
Longtime readers will recall my blathering about Greg (who passed away too young in 2022) on previous occasions; suffice it to say that back in the day (late 70s/early 80s) he fronted without question the most hilarious rock act I ever witnessed, the genius-monikered Gregory Fleeman and the Fleewomen. I encountered them, initially, while researching a piece on the neo-folk scene that was then briefly resurgent in Greenwich Village; here's what I wrote at the time (in The Magazine Formerly Known as Stereo Review).
...Fleeman is a young ex-actor with one of the most warped sensibilities likely to be sprung on an unsuspecting public. His band is a motley collection of aging hippies, refugees from underground S-&-M clubs and punk/jazz fusion players, and his songs are about the funniest I've heard since...oh, since Tonio K. Take "Touching Myself But Thinking of You," which asks the musical slash cosmic question "If we're all one, who needs you?" Or his children's lullabye about the little men who come out when you're asleep ("They massage your heart/and your private parts/and throw parties in your mouth"); his impassioned love song about the Tappan Zee Bridge; a 40s swing tune called "Wisconsin Moon" ("There's too much beer...here!"); not to mention his soon-to-be-immortal production number, "the song, nay metaphor" he calls simply "Showbiz" (although it's better known to his fans as "Sucking My Way to the Top").
I should add that "Showbiz," as well as "Dead Twin Brothers" and much, much more can be found on Greg's 2005 album The Right Tool for the Job, which is a masterpiece and can be purchased and/or streamed over at Amazon HERE; just about all of it is also up at YouTube if you want to browse without buying. I should also add that you should go over to Amazon Prime and treat yourself to a viewing of F/X, the hilarious sort of spy thriller (starring Bryan Brown) that Greg penned in his other life as a Hollywood screenwriter.