The term mondegreen, appropriately enough, has its origin in a mondegreen itself. Author Sylvia Wright coined the term in Harper’s in 1954, after explaining that she thought the lyric “laid him on the green” was “Lady Mondegreen,” in the ballad “The Bonny Earl of Murray.” Wright said, “The point about what I shall hereafter call mondegreens, since no one else has thought up a word for them, is that they are better than the original.”
Indeed, part of what makes mondegreen-collecting so rewarding is that the “wrong” lyrics so often sound so very, very right. The fraked-up collaboration between poor enunciation and worse hearing results in a type of poetry that, unlike so many lyrics themselves, is unpretentious and fresh.
Though I was a wee lad when I first heard “King of Pain,” even a wee doofus could tell that song is a hot, steaming pile of self-aggrandizing, navel-licking poppycock, so even now I am thrilled to know someone heard that lyric as “It’s my destiny to be the king of Spain.”
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