Sad, sad pity be to the lowly songsmith. Lord knows the songwriters and lyrical artists of our times need all the help they can get, the state of modern lyrics being what it is. For every brilliantly wrought “Pianoman,” “American Pie” or “Horse with No Name” we get a half-dozen treacley “Ooh, Baby Babies” and the odd “Rock my Jock” thrown in for good measure. I, for one, have always been happy to lend a helping hand, though I must admit my aid is often of the accidental variety.

For who has never misheard the lyrics to a favorite tune, only to discover later that the song’s true verse is a decided downgrade from what one has been singing internally for years? I have! Or haven’t, if you choose to follow the proper grammar of the previous sentence. Previous to the “I have!” part, that sentence, which was pre-previous, technically speaking.

For example, few non-mouth breathers can honestly deny an overwhelming fondness for American folkstress Carly Simon’s incendiary classic “You’re So Vain,” from its impenitrable opening bass meanderings to the deliciously mysterious identity of the song’s protagonist. Could it be Warren Betty? Mick Jagger? Charo? Regardless, this lamentably brief sprinkle of heaven masquerading as a pop song has always intrigued me with its Byzantine lyrics, particularly the line “There were clowns in my coffin,” which I always found to be a terrifying and apt metaphor for the feeling of being trapped in a failing relationship. Imagine my surprise when CarlySimon.com recently reprinted the lyrics as “There were clouds in my coffee.” Excuse me? Don’t take up my precious listening time just because you’re unhappy with Starbucks’ quality control, missy. Simon: 0, Pickles: 1.

Likewise, Ray Parker Jr.’s scabrous “I hate Mexicans!” sung during the staggering middle eight of his unforgettable theme for Ghostbusters long made this groovy classic one of my own all-time faves. Imagine my flabbergast when, during the trial over Parker’s justified “sampling” of the Huey Lewis and the News potboiler “I Want a New Drug,” word came out that Parker Jr. was supposedly singing “I hear it likes the girls” instead! Shame on you, Ray Parker. And your son.

Granted, there is room for argument in any of these lyrical corrections. Some might find the originative message of Neil Young’s “Keep on Rockin’ in the Free World” preferable to the “Keep on Rocking at Marine World” I grew up with, as is their wont. I can’t be asked to understand the psychology of individuals who hate dolphins.

But who, tell me who, wouldn’t rightly prefer the jarring, surrealistic imagery of Elton John’s classic lyric “Hold me closer, Tony Danza,” to some grotesquely undernourishing tripe about a midget doing the foxtrot? I fancy these as citizenry I’d care not to suffer.

Now, I truly am loathe to utter a singular unkind word about 80’s tunesmith Kim Carnes, a woman who has been rightly described, without exaggeration, as God. So I’ll just say a few words about her most preeminent of hit songs, “Bette Davis Eyes.” I’ll not hesitate to admit I may have been somewhat guilty of lackadaisical listening habits or a minor Sudafed addiction when I decided that the chorus of this song read as “She’s Got 30 Days to Die,” but regardless, the urgency and drama of my lyric is something I find it difficult to surrender, regardless of the fact I most certainly have been subverting the original intent of Carnes’ epic coloratura.

Drug use not my own has to be at blame for the Paul McCartney lyric “The magical mystery toad is coming to take you away,” regardless of what any of the album’s erroneous liner notes say about some kind of “mystery tour.” In the midst of an album chock-full of talking walruses and proudly singing, self-actualized Eggmen, a lyric about some boring bus tour really is vastly implausible.

And with all due respect to Jesus, and regardless of what the church says, I stand by my earlier stated claims that the entire religious experience would be improved with a recognition of my superior lyrics to “Cheese is Coming.”

Lastly, I leave you all fondly with the immortal lyrics of one Louis Armstrong:

“I sees guys of blue, clowns of white. The bright plastic day, the dogs say goodnight. And I think to myself what I won: Der Fuehrer World...”