WSU Greeks Writing Script For Broadway
News items: Feuding frat members from Delta Tau Delta and Phi Delta Theta at Washington State University batter each other with sticks, beer bottles, flashlights and golf clubs. … WSU officials suspend the two fraternities and ban members from contacting each other. … Prosecutors consider charges in the case of a Sigma Nu member found bound with duct tape in the burning fraternity house. …
Is it me, or is there music in the air?
Yes, I can hear it. It’s coming from down in Pullman, where Wazzu Greeks are rumbling like Sharks and Jets in a frat-boy version of “West Side Story.”
So lift your voice now as we celebrate Pullman’s preppie punks with some updated songs from my new American musical: “Greek Row Story”
We’re Tight (to the tune of “Tonight”)
We’re tight, so tight, we’re higher than a kite.
We’re tight enough to fight our frat foes.
We’re tight, so tight, and nothing feels quite,
Like a nine iron on a Phi Delt nose.
So let the campus cops arrest us,
The college heads suspend us,
There is no wrong or right.
We’re fueled by spite,
And endless ice cold cans of,
Miller Lite.
We’re tiiiiight!
Phi Delta (to the tune “Maria”)
Phi Delta, I’m pledged to a house called Phi Delta.
It was a holy call, I prayed against blackball,
And won.
Phi Delta,
Much better than Delta Tau Delta.
And if they don’t agree, we’ll chop them like a tree,
What fun!
Phi Delta,
Forgive me, I’m not bellyaching.
But they whacked me; my bottom is breaking.
Phi Delta, oh please stop the hazing,
Phi Delta.
Greek Song (to the tune of “Jet Song”)
When you’re a Greek,
You’re a Greek all the way.
From your first can of Schmidt,
To your last vomit spray.
When you’re a Greek,
You’re the talk of the town.
If you duct-tape a bro,
and the house blazes down.
When you’re a Greek,
You’re the creme de la creme.
You’re the E in elite,
You’re the Jim in Jim Beam.
When you’re a Greek,
You’re above all the rest,
of the unrushed riffraff.
You’re the best of the best.
Here come the Greeks.
Yeah, and we’re gonna rule,
Every last flippin’ geek.
In the whole flippin’ school.
In the whole flippin’,
party-hearty school.
Big Wheat Field (to the tune of “America”)
We are all stuck in a big wheat field.
Running amuck in a big wheat field.
Life really sucks in this big wheat field.
Gotta get out of this big wheat field.
We are all here in a big wheat field.
Chugging our beers in a big wheat field.
Pounding our peers in a big wheat field.
Outta control in a big wheat field.
The End.
(Thanks to Molly Quinn, the West Side Story addict who challenged me with this grand idea. Our apologies, alas, to Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim.)