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YeeHaw, Raggedy beat me to it. Isn't their a bourbon called Rebel Yell?

Well, Frank may have been eating crow, but old crow is a bourbon, ya know. Having a bit with orange juice now, and for the Prince it's HOLY COW!

Was that lush aggie. This is Boozin Bob to say if it's a drinking song it should be Irish. Strongest elbows in the world.

Old Dun Cow

From: possibly on Real Men Wear Kilts

words and music traditional

Some friends and I in a public house
Was playing a game of chance one night
When into the pub a fireman ran
His face all a chalky white.
"What's up", says Brown, "Have you seen a ghost,
Or have you seen your Aunt Mariah?"
"Me Aunt Mariah be buggered!", says he,
"The bleedin' pub's on fire!"

And there was Brown upside down
Lappin'' up the whiskey on the floor.
"Booze, booze!" The firemen cried
As they came knockin' on the door (clap clap)
Oh don't let 'em in till it's all drunk up
And somebody shouted MacIntyre! MACINTYRE!
And we all got blue-blind paralytic drunk
When the Old Dun Cow caught fire.

"Oh well," says Brown, "What a bit of luck.
Everybody follow me.
And it's down to the cellar
If the fire's not there
Then we'll have a grand old spree."
So we went on down after good old Brown
The booze we could not miss
And we hadn't been there ten minutes or more
Till we were quite pissed.

Then, Smith walked over to the port wine tub
And gave it just a few hard knocks (clap clap)
Started takin' off his pantaloons
Likewise his shoes and socks.
"Hold on, " says Brown, "that ain't allowed
Ya cannot do that thing here.
Don't go washin' trousers in the port wine tub
When we got Guinness beer."

Then there came from the old back door
The Vicar of the local church.
And when he saw our drunken ways,
He began to scream and curse.
"Ah, you drunken sods! You heathen clods!
You've taken to a drunken spree!
You drank up all the Benedictine wine
And you didn't save a drop for me!"

And then there came a mighty crash
Half the bloody roof caved in.
We were almost drowned in the firemen's hose
But still we were gonna stay.
So we got some tacks and some old wet sacks
And we nailed ourselves inside
And we sat drinking the finest Rum
Till we were bleary-eyed.

Later that night, when the fire was out
We came up from the cellar below.
Our pub was burned. Our booze was drunk.
Our heads was hanging low.
"Oh look", says Brown with a look quite queer.
Seems something raised his ire.
"Now we gotta get down to Murphy's Pub,
It closes on the hour!"

In the hills of Montana
There's a timber wolf howlin'
The rangers are prowlin'
For a woman alone
She'd run away from an Indian lover
He'll never recover
She turned him to stone

She drank Canadian whiskey
Pure blended whiskey
She drank it like wine
Her eyes were the color of Canadian whiskey
Pure blended whiskey
So light brown and fine

Twenty tears later
I heard of a woman
She's living alone
Up by Yellowstone Creek
And old Trapper John
Brings her cases of whiskey
Canadian whiskey
He says she never will speak

I'm lushin' away, Boozin Bob, but I'll have you know I'm filled with remorse for I can hear Burl Ives singing ever so sweetly to me:

There's a stone in yonder graveyard with my name carved in it deep
It don't tell my life story these things it can't repeat
I never had a family I never took a wife
All I had was a barroom and I drank away my life

So bury the bottle with me for it's what tore me down
So I won't be alone tonight when they put me in the ground
When they lower my body down

A drunkard is a sinner on this I place no doubt
Oh the Lord won't share this palace with a thing he lives without
For the bottle is the devil and drinking is his name
Now the bottle is what took my soul and petrified my brain

So bury the bottle with me...
**********

Bob, I am trying to remember an Irish wake song that goes something like:

"...they took the eyes right out the corpse and put them in the beer..singing hooray for Paddy, paddy. Hooray for Paddy, he's a damn nice guy....."

Dys, that's a lonesome whistle song, and akin to Red Wing. Know that one?

walls of red wing?

Oh, the age of the inmates
I remember quite freely:
No younger than twelve,
No older 'n seventeen.
Thrown in like bandits
And cast off like criminals,
Inside the walls,
The walls of Red Wing.

From the dirty old mess hall
You march to the brick wall,
Too weary to talk
And too tired to sing.
Oh, it's all afternoon
You remember your home town,
Inside the walls,
The walls of Red Wing.

Oh, the gates are cast iron
And the walls are barbed wire.
Stay far from the fence
With the 'lectricity sting.
And it's keep down your head
And stay in your number,
Inside the walls,
The walls of Red Wing.

Oh, it's fare thee well
To the deep hollow dungeon,
Farewell to the boardwalk
That takes you to the screen.
And farewell to the minutes
They threaten you with it,
Inside the walls,
The walls of Red Wing.

It's many a guard
That stands around smilin',
Holdin' his club
Like he was a king.
Hopin' to get you
Behind a wood pilin',
Inside the walls,
The walls of Red Wing.

The night aimed shadows
Through the crossbar windows,
And the wind punched hard
To make the wall-siding sing.
It's many a night I pretended to be a-sleepin',
Inside the walls,
The walls of Red Wing.

As the rain rattled heavy
On the bunk-house shingles,
And the sounds in the night,
They made my ears ring.
'Til the keys of the guards
Clicked the tune of the morning,
Inside the walls,
The walls of Red Wing.

Oh, some of us'll end up
In St. Cloud Prison,
And some of us'll wind up
To be lawyers and things,
And some of us'll stand up
To meet you on your crossroads,
From inside the walls,
The walls of Red Wing.

That's haunting, dys, but the one I had in mind was more along the lines of Wee Wisdom.

Back later, listeners, to give a wee bit of French history, and to sing a lullaby.

Please carry on while I am gone.

and then, of course, there's the Bob Wills (and the texas playboys) Red Wing
There once was an Indian maid
A shy little prairie maid
Who sang away, a love song gay
While on the prairies she whiled away the day
She loved a warrior bold
This shy little maid of old
But brave and gay he rode away
To a battle far away.

Now the moon shines bright tonight on pretty Redwing
The breezes sighing, the night birds crying
The moon shines bright on pretty Redwing
Her brave is sleeping, and Redwing's weeping
Her heart away.

She watched for him day and night
She kept the camp fires bright
And under the skies each night she would lay
And dream about his coming by and by
But when all the braves returned
The heart of Redwing yearned
For far far away her warrior gay
Fell bravely in the fray

aggie me girl. It's up to the lips and over the gums. Look out stomach here she comes.

Whiskey Johnny - Andrew Draskoy's version

Whiskey is the life of man
Always was since the world began

Whiskey-o, Johnny-o
John rise her up from down below
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o
Up aloft this yard must go
John rise her up from down below

Whiskey here, whiskey there
Whiskey almost everywhere

Whiskey up and whiskey down
Whiskey all around the town

Whiskey killed me poor old dad
Whiskey drove me mother mad

My wife and I do not agree
She puts whiskey in her tea

I had a girl and her name was Lize
She puts whiskey in her pies

Oh whiskey straight, and whiskey strong
Give me some whiskey and I'll sing you a song

If whiskey comes too near my nose
I tip it up and down she goes

Some likes whiskey, some likes beer
I wisht I had a barrel here

Whiskey made me pawn me clothes
Whiskey gave me this broken nose

Oh the mate likes whiskey, the skipper likes rum
The sailors like both but me can't get none

Whiskey is the life of man
Whiskey from that old tin can

I thought I heard the first mate say
I treats me crew in a decent way

If whiskey was a river and I could swim
I'd say here goes and dive right in

If whiskey was a river and I was a duck
I'd dive to the bottom and never come up

I wisht I knew where whiskey grew
I'd eat the leaves and the branches too

A tot of whiskey all around
And a bottle full for the shanty man

a slightly less refined drinking song from the great irish band the pogues

Boat Train
Pogues

I met with Napper Tandy and I shook him by the hand
He said hold me up for chrissake, for i can hardly stand
the most disgraceful journey on which i've ever been
the last time that i traveled on the boat train

i had a couple of drinks in town, a few more in the port
i puked up on the gangway but some kind folks helped me board
they sat me at a table, poured whiskey down my throat
sat me at a table and i lost my watch and coat

First we drank some whiskey
then we had some gin
then we had tequila i think that's what did me in
then we had some brandy and the women had a dance
the steward then announced that we could play the game of chance

we crowded round the table with our money in our hands
i landed on the other side without a penny in my pants
woke up in the toilet when we got to holyhead
the doors were all a-banging and i wished that i was dead

then we went through customs
a couple of credited thugs
first they looked for bombs and guns
then they looked for drugs
stuck a flashlight up my ass
told some Irish jokes
said "f**k off now paddy"
so i headed for the smoke
on the boat train

we got on board the train and then we had a drink or two
started playing poker but the booze ran out at crewe
some people started sleeping, others looked for duty free
some bastard started singing "little cottage by the lee"
he then sang "paper roses," "boolavogue," "eileen aru"
somebody started slagging off the Pakis and the Jews
found a bottle of whiskey
found a bottle of gin
i sat down in the corner and i read the daily news
first i drank the whiskey
then i drank the gin
i tried to make the toilet
but i broke my f**king shin
the next thing that i knew i was in london in the rain
staggering up the platform on the boat train

Ah, Raggedy, Burl Ives and Desire Under the Elms and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Well, honey, John Barley Corn is dead, now.

Wow, dj. the pogues are rogues, but bless 'em.

dys, That is the one that my mom sang; she adored Bob Wills, and all this time I thought she got it from some old Indian mound. <smile>

Heard from Irish Mikey tonight. He's back at THE CAPE. Down here we called it Kennedy. I understand old Joe was a rum runner, hence Kennedy Scotch.

And before dys puts me to sleep in the cradle of the deep, I will post a bit of French history.

Jean- Paul Marat and Charlotte Corday, and just who were they?

Francis will know it, mais oui!

Signing off for tonight:

From Letty with love.

Hugs and kisses Letty

Charlotte Corday murdered Marat. She was at odds with him over the running of the Revolution in France.

Chant patriotique pour l'inauguration des bustes de Marat et Le Pelletier.

Citoyens dont Rome antique
A consacré les vertus,
Soutiens de la République,
Vous, Gracques et toi Brutus,
Brûlans de votre courage,
Les Français l'ont imité;
Ils achèvent votre ouvrage
En fondant la liberté,
En fondant la liberté,
En fondant la liberté.

Patriotic Song on the unveiling of the busts of Marat and Le Pelletier

Citizens whose virtues
Ancient Rome has consecrated
Support the Republic
You, Gracchus, and you, Brutus,
Passionate from your courage,
The French have imitated it;
They complete your task
By establishing liberty,
By establishing liberty,
By establishing liberty.

Four years after the Revolution
And the old king's execution
Four years after remember
Those courtiers took their final vow
String up every aristocrat
Out with the priests
Let them live on their fat

Four years after they started fighting
Marat keeps on with his writing
Four years after the Bastille fell
He still recalls the old battle yell
Down with all of the ruling class
Throw all the generals
Out on their ars

The famous "Death of Marat" by Jacques-Louis David, 1793...

And the not-so-famous-but-equally-masterful "Death of Marat I" by Edvard Munch, 1907...

You Went The Wrong Way, Old King Louie
by Allan Sherman

Louis the Sixteenth was the King of France in 1789.
He was worse than Louis the Fifteenth.
He was worse than Louis the Fourteenth.
He was worse than Louis the Thirteenth.
He was the worst since Louis the First.
King Louis was living like a king, but the people were living rotten.
So the people, they started an uprising which they called the
French Revolution, and of course you remember their battle cry,
which will never be forgotten:

You went the wrong way, Old King Louie.
You made the population cry.
'Cause all you did was sit and pet
With Marie Antoinette
In your place at Versailles.

And now the country's gone kablooie.
So we are giving you the air.
That oughta teach you not to
Spend all your time fooling 'round
At the Folies Bergere.

If you had been a nicer king,
We wouldn't do a thing,
But you were bad, you must admit.
We're gonna take you and the Queen
Down to the guillotine,
And shorten you a little bit.

You came the wrong way, Old King Louie.
And now you ain't got far to go.
Too bad you won't be here to see
That great big Eiffel Tower,
Or Brigitte Bardot.

To you King Louie we say fooey.
You disappointed all of France.
But then what else could we expect
From a king in silk stockings
And pink satin pants.

You filled your stomach with chop suey.
And also crepe suzettes and steak.
And when they told your wife Marie
That nobody had bread, she said
"Let 'em eat cake."

We're gonna take you and the Queen
Down to the guillotine,
It's somewhere in the heart of town.
And when that fella's through
With what he's gonna do,
You'll have no place to hang your crown.

You came the wrong way Old King Louie.
Now we must put you on the shelf.
That's why the people are revolting, 'cause Louie,
You're pretty revolting yourself!

Good morning, WA2K radio fans and contributors.

I am quite impressed with the responses to that bit of French history.

edgar, laid the corner stone and then our Eva made it come to life.
dj, turned it into song, and George followed up with Louie, Louie.

Fantastic, all. Actually the reason that Charlotte and Jean-Paul came to mind has to do with a forensic mete that I once judged. Some very young girl did a monologue on Charlotte Corday and her thoughts before, during, and after the murder. I was hypnotized by her wonderful presentation; however, being only one among four judges, my vote for her to win was over ridden, because the others said that she used too many gestures. The rest of the contestants did childish stuff, and I could not believe how the other judges looked right passed that child's talent and her choice of material.

Ah, well. I suppose the problem lay in the fact that some critics are frustrated performers, and thus unable to see past the mundane.

Back later, listeners, after coffee.