Miscellaneous Songs

Alcoholic’s Anthem
(To the tune of Men of Harlech)

What’s the use of drinking tea,
Indulging in sobriety,
And teetotal perversity?
It’s healthier to booze.
What’s the use of milk and water?
These are drinks that never oughter,
Be allowed in any quarter.
Come on, lose your blues,
Mix yourself a shandy,
Drown yourself in brandy,
Sherry sweet,
Or whisky neat,
Or any kind of liquor that is handy.
There’s no blinking sense in drinking,
Anything that doesn’t make you stinking,
There’s no happiness like sinking,
Blotto to the floor.

Put an end to all frustration,
Drinking may be your salvation,
End it all in dissipation,
Rotten to the core.
Aberrations metabolic,
Ceilings that are hyperbolic,
These are for the alcoholic,
Lying on the floor.
Vodka for the arty,
Gin to make you hearty,
Lemonade was only made,
For drinking if your mother’s at the party,
Steer clear of home-made beer,
And anything that isn’t labeled clear,
There is nothing else to fear,
Bottom’s up, my boys.

Beer

Do, the stuff that buys the beer
Re, the guy who buys me beer
Me, the guy who drinks the beer
Fa, a long way to the pub
So, I’ll have another beer
La, la la la la la la
Ti – No thanks I’ll have a beer
Which brings us back to Do…

The Pub with No Beer

It’s lonesome away from your kindred and all
By the camp fire at night where the wild dingoes call,
But there’s nothing so lonesome so morbid or drear
Than to stand in a bar of a pub with no beer.

Now the publican’s anxious for the quota to come
There’s a far away lock on the face of the bum
The maid’s gone all cranky and the cook’s acting queer
What a terrible place is a pub with no beer.

Then the stock-man rides up with his dry dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar, pulls a wad from his coat,
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer,
When the bar man said sadly the pub’s got no beer.

Ther’s a dog on the ‘randa-h for his master he waits
But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates
He hurries for cover and cringes in fear
It’s no place for a dog round a pub with no beer.

Old Billy the blacksmith first time in his life
Has gone home cold sober to his darling wife,
He walks in the kitchen, she says you’re early me dear,
But he breaks down and tells her the pub’s got no beer.

The Sick Note (Murphy and the Bricks)

Dear Sir, I write this note to you to tell you of my plight
For at the time of writing, I’m not a pretty sight
Me body is all black and blue, me face a deathly gray
And I write this note to say why Murphy’s not at work today.

While working on the 14th floor, some bricks I had to clear
But to toss them down from such a height was not a good idea
The foreman wasn’t very pleased, he is an awkward sod
He said I’d have to cart them down the ladders in me hod.

Now shifting all those bricks by hand it was so very slow
So I hoisted up a barrel and secured a rope below
But in me haste to do the job I was to blind to see
That a barrel full of building bricks was heavier than me.

And so when I untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead
And clinging tightly to the rope, I started up instead
I shot up like a rocket, till my dismay I found
That half-way up I met the bloody barrel coming down.

Now the barrel broke me shoulder, as to the ground it sped
And when I reached the top, I banged the pulley with me head
I clung on tightly numb with shock, from this almighty blow
And the barrel spilled out half the bricks some 14 floors below.

Now when these bricks had fallen from the barrel to the floor
I then outweighed the barrel and so started down once more
Still clinging tightly to the rope, me body wracked with pain
And half way down I met the bloody barrel once again.

Now the force of this collision half way down the office block
Caused multiple abrasions and a nasty state of shock
Still clinging tightly to the rope, I fell towards the ground
And I landed on the broken bricks the barrel had scattered round.

I lay there groaning on the ground, I thought I’d past the worst
But the barrel hit the pulley wheel and then the bottom burst
A shower of bricks rained down on me, I didn’t have a hope
As I lay there bleeding on the ground I let go of the bloody rope.

Now, the barrel then being heavier, it started down once more
It landed right across me as I lay there on the floor
It broke three ribs and my left arm and I can only say
I hope you’ll understand why Murphy’s not at work today.

Supersheep Overture
Words: Harris Rosensweig
(To the tune of The William Tell Overture)

Hear a cry, hear a yell,
Hear a bleat off in the distance
‘Cause he’s on the way; he’s Supersheep:
He’ll right the wrongs and keep the meadow safe….

With a leap and a scurry and a bleat, bleat, bleat,
He’s off on his hooves, that’s Supersheep;
Saving lambs and ewes in your county seat.
Give a yell for Supersheep!

He runs so fast he can’t be seen,
He’s warm and soft and never mean,
The grass he eats is oh so green,
He churns in stomach, gut, and spleen.

He was raised by the sheepgod Mouton to
Fight for the sheep.
With a glimpse of fleece at nighttime
The townsfolk can sleep.

He’ll never try to make a buck,
He thinks the lambchop eaters suck,
He’s full of daring, skill, and pluck:
Give a yell for Supersheep!

Baaaaaaaa!

Bored of the Dance

As I walked down to the village hall
I met Charlie leanin’ on the wall
“Why are you standin’ out here, Char-lee?”
“Cause I am bored of the dance!” said he!

Chorus 
Dance! Dance! What -ever- do they see?
In prancin’ round all the time, said he
I’ll leave them all to do it without me
For I am bored of the dance, said he!

I come to the dance with my girl, he said
I told her that I’d rather go to bed,
Oh yes I’m sure you would, said she,
But first you’ll come and dance with me!

She said, You’ll come and dance right now!
But I weren’t list’nin’ when the caller told us how
They “cast left,” but “right” I went
They danced on, but I ended in the “Gents’!”

I drank with the Morris-men, James and John,
They drank with me as the dance went on and on,
We drank and we drank till it all went black.
It’s hard to dance when you’re lyin’ on your back!

Oh, how she danced on the night they were wed
She danced, he drank, and then they went to bed
I’m afraid there’s no more story to be told
She was too hot, and he was out cold!

The Sunday Driver

Well I’ve been a Sunday driver noo for many a happy year
And I’ve never had my Morris Minor oot of second gear
I can drive at fifty miles an hour on motorway or track
With me wife up front beside me and her mother in the back

Chorus
There was me and my daddy and my daddy’s mammy
And her sister’s Granny and four of her chums
And Auntie Jean!

In a crowd of fifty trippers you can always pick me oot
By my “Don’t blame me, I voted Tory” sticker on the boot
Wi’ my bunch of heather stickin’ in me radiator grille
And me stick-on transfer bullet holes and licence for to kill!

(And Auntie Peg!)

I’ve a hundred plastic pennants for to tell you where I’ve been
And my steering wheel is clad in simulated leopard-skin
Up front from the drivin’ mirror hangs a plastic skeleton
And in the back a dog wi’ eyes that flicker off and on!

(And Auntie May!)

I always drive as though my foot was restin’ on the brake
And I weave aboot the road just so’s ye cannae overtake
I can get y’sae frustrated that ye’ll finish up in tears
And the sound of blarin’ motor horns is music to my ears!

(And Auntie Liz!)

Now if ye wonder how these weekly trips I can afford
It’s because I’m on a stipend from the Scottish Tourist Board
You’re supposed tae enjoy the scenery, the finest of it’s kind
And that is why I have a convoy followin’ behind!

(And Auntie Rose!)

There’s just no way of escaping me, no matter how ye seek
For the simple fact that I’m a Traffic Warden thru the week
I’m boostin’ my efficiency, and here’s my master plan:
I’m savin’ up my pennies for to buy a Caravan!

(And Auntie Gert-trude!)

The Widow and the Devil

High atop a lonely moor, a Widow lived alone.
Well, in she kept, and as she slept,
her pillow heard her moan:
“Oh, many’s the lonely traveller
has spent the night with me,
but there’s no a man in all creation
gives content to me!

“Well, some can manage once or twice,
and some make three or four;
but it seems to me a rarity
is the man who can do more.
I’d do anything to find him,
in Heaven or in Hell.”
And as she spoke these words,
sure, she heard her front door bell.

And the wind blew cold and lonely
across that Widow’s moor,
and she never, ever turned away
a traveller from the door.

So boldly ran the Widow,
and the door did open wide,
and as she did, a tall and handsome
stranger stepped inside.
Well, she gave him bread and brandy,
and when that he was fed,
he said, “My dear, now have no fear;
it’s time to come to bed.

“For I’ve heard your plea
right down the lane,
and I’ve come to see you right.
But you must come to Hell with me
if I can last the night.”
Well, she said, “You randy Devil!
To this bargain I’ll agree,
for Hell on Earth, or Hell in Hell,
it’s all the same to me!”

And the wind blew cold and lonely
across that Widow’s moor,
and she never, ever turned away
a traveller from the door.

Now, as they tumbled into bed,
the Devil, he proved well…
and he thought before the night would end
that she’d be in his Hell.
Ah, but when they came to number nine,
the Widow cried out, “More!”
And when the twelfth time came around,
the Widow cried, “Encore!”

At twenty-five the Devil
felt compelled to take a rest,
but the Widow cried,
“Come raise your head,
and put me to the test!”
At sixty-nine, the Widow laughed.
“Again! Again!” she cried,
and the Devil said,
“Well, I can see just how your husband died!”

And the wind blew cold and lonely
across that Widow’s moor,
and she never, ever turned away
a traveller from the door.

At ninety-nine, the Devil
he began to wail and weep.
He said, “I’ll give you anything,
if you’ll let me go to sleep!”
But before the morning light was up,
the Devil hobbled home,
and the Widow, still not satisfied,
once more was left alone.

She lay there on her pillow
and she thought on ninety-nine.
“It’s a pity that poor old Devil
couldn’t manage one more time!
I’ll call him up again tonight
to see what can be done –
with a little more application,
he could’ve made the Ton !”

And the wind blew cold and lonely
across that Widow’s moor,
and she never, ever turned away
a traveller from the door.

But when she called to him that night,
no Devil did appear.
For the first time in Eternity,
the Devil, he shook with fear.
He said, “Of all the torments
I’ve witnessed here in Hell,
I never knew what pain was,
’til I rang your front door bell!”

And the wind blew cold and lonely
across that Widow’s moor,
and she never, ever turned away
a traveller from the door.

And the wind blew cold and lonely
across that Widow’s moor,
and she never, ever turned away
a traveller from the door.