Belated Christmas present

For a year now, Ezra has been singing 'Money, Money, Money' by Abba.
He doesn't want to. It was inflicted on him and his class by the worst music teacher that ever taught anybody anything. I think they had to sing it one by one in some sort of ritualistic torture employed by this sadist woman. Anyway, suffice to say, soon enough it had wormed its way into my brain, replacing a rather amazing song by British sea power - Machineries of joy. 
There was no escape; on waking in the night it would be there - those two women, auburn and blonde hair covered with a silver crocheted . . . hat? Money, money, money, must be funny . . . aargggg!!!!!
After many days and nights, I discovered a cure while driving in my hire car in the UK and fiddling around with the radio, not wanting to listen to Money Box on radio 4.
Heart FM were playing (no idea why!) the above featured . . . thing. I hated it in 1972, and I hate it now; but it is the most effective way of removing any circling-song in your head. Just three words and it's there, implanted like a tic, an infestation of schmaltz, swamping and coating any previous lingering note.
Now I've just got to find something to replace it with.

Incidentally: Wikipedia informs me that the origins of the word Schmaltz is rendered goose fat . . .

Go on, press the arrow . . . three words - I'll be your . . .