A long, long time ago 
I can still remember 
How, alas, poor Yorick's jokes drew groans 
He'd dance and sing and kiss my hand 
Like Elsinore was Neverland 
But then he went and joined the Skull and Bones 

And now, Horatio, I get shivers 
With every line the ghost delivers 
All the Globe has been dark 
'Cause something rots in Denmark 

I can't recall a thing as weird 
As when dear old Daddy reappeared 
To say that he'd been poison-eared 
The day King Hamlet died 

So: 
To be or to choose not to be? 
That's the question I'm digestin' in my soliloquy 
And when fortune aims its slings and arrows at me 
Tell me how I'm gonna live through Act III? 
Answer, please, iambically 

Did you like Shakespeare in Love? 
And did you rewind for scansion of 
Gwyneth with her wardrobe gone? 
Now, do you believe in English Lit? 
Is brevity the soul of wit? 
If so, then why's this bloody play so long? 

Well, I know this role has real cachet 
For each Branagh and Olivier 
Mel Gibson draws blood nice 
Man, I dig that Passion of Christ! 

I was a young, great Dane in British schools 
With my pet Ophelia and a dad who rules 
But I knew we'd been played for fools 
The day King Hamlet died 

So here's the question: 
To be or choose rather to be 
Suicidal or to idle apathetically, 
Or is volition all it's cracked up to be 
If "to die, to sleep, to dream" is lovely? 
(Please explain the question to me) 

Less than two months since the obit ran 
And Lord knows, frailty, thy name's wo-man: 
My dumbass uncle wears Dad's ring 
So I set the stage for a royal sting 
What a script! I thought, The play's the thing 
Where I'll catch the conscience of the king 

Oh, and while the king enjoyed the show 
The players showed him whack his bro 
The king stomped off and cried 
O.J. yelled Homicide! 

So Let's Make a Deal, Queen Mother, who 
Is behind curtain number two? 
How now, a rat? I sliced him through 
The day Polonius died 

I was thinking: 
To be or to go with Plan B? 
Is it nobler just to soldier on Shakespeareanly 
Or fly off to the undiscovered country? 
Thus my conscience makes a coward of me 
Get me to a fun nunnery 

Hanky panky? Nope, Ophelia's cranky 
Could she be ticked that I nailed that Yankee? 
Maybe 'cause I knifed her dad? 
She shouted Foul! in her wrath 
(Guess my joke 'bout "country matters" made her mad) 

Now, the nymph went nutso north-northwest 
Went and took a swim completely dressed 
She sank just like a ship 
So here's the moral: skinny-dip! 

Poor Laertes missed his tour de France 
But, merde, this ain't no cheap romance 
(Ask Guildenstern and Rosencrantz) 
The day Ophelia died 

I kept on thinking: 
To be or to other-than-be? 
That's the question! Screw depression! Death sounds 
painless to me 
This too too solid flesh should melt melt like brie 
And resolve into a fondue for me 
Serve it with some crumpets and tea 

Oh, and there we were all in one place 
Equipped with poison, swords, and Mace 
With Fortune there to shape our ends 
So come on - fence me nimble, fence me quick 
Don't tase me, bro, with your tainted prick 
Or bet your royal ass we're foiled again 

So Laertes and I both got poked 
Mom drank some Chinese lead-based Coke 
The king was S.O.L. 
Thus ends his sworded tale: 

I said, My name ees Hamlet Junior, guy 
You keeled my dad; prepare to die 
(Yes, I stole that from The Princess Bride) 
The day King Claudius died 

Here's the question: 
To be or choose alternately? 
That's the question I'm processin' in Scene I of Act 
III 
To end these shocks or bear them heart-achingly, 
Quoting Sonnet Number 73? 
(That one's too depressing for me) 

I met a girl named Juliet 
And her boyfriend, whose name I forget 
(What's in a name, man, anyway?) 
I led Othello to his death 
And made life a bitch for King Macbeth 
Till the Bard said, Dude, you're in a different play 

So meanwhile back at Elsinore 
A bunch of guys come to mop the floor 
It's Fortinbras's legions 
I guess we're now Norwegians 

And the three co-stars I riled most: 
Laertes, Mom, and King Claudi-os 
Went off to hang with Daddy's ghost 
The day Prince Hamlet died 

I see dead people... 

To be or choose oppositely? 
Are we tougher if we suffer indefatigably 
Or take up arms against a turbulent sea 
Of the troubles fortune's slinging at me? 
Screw it - let's go watch some TV 

We were thinking: 
To be or to not freaking be 
That's the question we're obsessin' 'bout interminably 
But as for us, the answer's clear: Not to be 
Caught in this Shakespearean tragedy! 

Good-night, sweet prince. 

I'm not quite dead...