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Kenilworth (The Musical!)

The song “Kenilworth” by Bill Lacy, 1970

I grew up in Kenilworth, IL, a rather well-to-do town in the northern Chicago suburbs. A friend of my parents, Bill Lacy, was a bit of a musician, and recorded a parody of the song “Camelot” as “Kenilworth” (he’s the composer, singer, and accompanist). These days, of course, anybody with a Mac or some decent software off the Internet can put together a track and publish it, but back then, it was a bigger deal. My dad found the original record and sent me a tape of it, so this is a recording of a recording of a recording, but the original sound quality was probably nothing too exciting either, so FWIW it’s not too bad.

Download or play it here: Kenilworth.mp3

I don’t own any of the rights, of course, so if anyone tells me to cease & desist I shall do so immediately. OTOH, if someone knows Bill Lacy or his family, please point them here and ask them to get in touch.

Lyrics (transcribed by ear and open to interpretation):

I know a place where care will never find you,
A consecrated peaceful bit of earth,
A place where you can leave the world behind you
Called Kenilworth.
You contemplate the quiet satisfactions
Of knowing you are qualified by birth
For life among the other Anglo-Saxons
In Kenilworth.
Kenilworth!
Unlike the plain in Spain,
It wouldn’t dare to rain,
In Kenilworth.
And when the water’s gone
There’s sprinklers in the lawn.
The train goes to Chicago every morning
Pulling me away from Kenilworth;
But things turn out alright
It comes back every night…
At least, it’s come back every night so far
To Kenilworth.
Though other people envy us they love us,
Of public admiration there’s no dearth;
Still we’re so glad there’s not too many of us
In Kenilworth.
The people here succeed with hardly tryin’,
The smell of sweet success pervades the air,
And everybody sends a bloody scion
In you-know-where.
Kenilworth
You always know just where you’re at
There’s not a living Democrat
In Kenilworth;
We all join hands in church
And pray for Mr. Birch.
I think I could be happy here forever
Until a speeding car brings me to earth.
But still no harm is done,
Just a playful neighbor’s son,
For no one ever really ever makes mistakes
In Kenilworth.

Written by

Husband & retiree. Developer, tech writer, & IT geek. I fill what’s empty, empty what’s full, and scratch where it itches. Occasionally do weird & goofy things.

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