Entertainment For Lively Minds
Burns Nicht!
It's Burns nicht the nicht!
So, in honour o' the great scoondrel himsel', here's a bit o' 'is less weel kent odes:
"Nine inch will please a lady" (or so I am told ;-)
`Come rede me, dame, come tell me, dame,
`My dame come tell me truly,
`What length o' graith, when weel ca'd hame,
`Will sair a woman duly?'
The carlin clew her wanton tail,
Her wanton tail sae ready
I learn'd a sang in Annandale,
Nine inch will please a lady.
But for a koontrie c*nt like mine,
In sooth, we're nae sae gentle;
We'll tak tway thumb-bread to the nine,
And that's a sonsy p-ntle:
O Leeze me on my Charlie lad,
I'll ne'er forget my Charlie!
Tway roarin handfu's and a daud,
He nidge't it in fu' rarely.
But weary fa' the laithron doup,
And may it ne'er be thrivin!
It's no the length that maks me loup,
But it's the double drivin.
Come nidge me, Tam, come nidge me, Tam,
Come nidge me o'er the nyvel!
Come lowse and lug your battering ram,
And thrash him at my gyvel!
AN ODE TAE A FERT
(in the styley of Burns, although quite probably someone else)
Oh what a sleekit horrible beastie
Lurks in yer belly efter the feastie
Just as ye sit doon amongst yer kin
There sterts to stir an enormous wind
Thae neeps and tatties and mushy peas
stert working like a gentle breeze
but soon the puddin wi the sauncie face
will have ye blawin all ower the place
Nae matter whit the hell ye dae
a'bodys gonnae have tae pay
even if you try to stifle
it's like a bullet oot a rifle
Haud yer bum tight tae the chair
tae try and stop the leakin air
shift yersel fae cheek tae cheek
prae to God it doesnae reek
but aw yer efforts go asunder
oot it comes like a clap a thunder
Richochets aroon the room
michty me a sonic boom
God almighty it fairly reeks
Hope ah huvnae shit ma breeks
tae the bog I better scurry
aw whit the hell it's nae ma worry
A'bodys roon aboot me chokin
wan or two are nearly bokin
I'll feel better for a while
Cannae help but raise a smile
Wis him! I shout wi’ accusin glower
alas to late, he's just keeled ower
Ye dirty bugger! they shout and stare
Ah dinnae feel welcome any mair
Where e're ye go let yer wind gan' free
sounds like just the job fur me
whit a fuss at rabbie's party
ower the sake o' ane wee ferty.
- More from oktapod.
- Login or register to post comments
-
My favoured Burns poem for this evening
Cock Up Your Beaver
by Robert Burns
I.
When first my brave Johnnie lad
Came to this town,
He had a blue bonnet
That wanted the crown;
But now he has gotten
A hat and a feather, -
Hey, brave Johnnie lad,
Cock up your beaver!
II.
Cock up your beaver,
And cock it fu' sprush,
We'll over the border
and gie them a brush;
There's somebody there
We'll teach better behaviour -
Hey, brave Johnnie lad,
Cock up your beaver!
there seem to be a
there seem to be a disproportionate number of us scoa-tash types on this site, not sure what that says about us. at least it proves some of us do live indoors and can stay sober enough to occassionally type.
mrs mingles (not her real name)and i will be celebrating with a few whiskies, an episode of masterchef and then another fine episode of wallander ( original, not the rubbish remake) maybe finished off with some Frasier and then Radio 4 shipping forecast to soothe us to sleep.
not sex n d(r)ugs n rock n roll. but bliss none the less.
Green Grow the Rashes
The haggis, neeps and tatties have been eaten. All that is needed to complete Burns Night for me is Michael Marra's lovely rendition of Green Grow the Rashes.
Burns can occasionally lapse into shortbread-esque sentimentality but this is both lovely and - as Marra likes to point out - heretical, containing as it does the suggestion that god is a wummin.
She tried her 'prentice hand on man
And then she made the lassies oh
If you're not sure about Burns' appeal, give this a listen. You wont regret it.
Marra is fantastic
but I am also partial to Eddi Reader's Burns songs.
Rerr
So it wiz.
Slightly late, but I'm sure the night isn't over
From the mighty Dick Gaughan.
There was a
great version of this a couple of years ago with Gaughan and Donald Shaw at some televised Glasgow celebration of Burns. I think Burns wrote this when he was 16.
I shall hoist a Caol Ila
And think of my grandfather.
His cremation was a Humanist service, and I had to deliver the reading: Burns, A man's a man.
Must go - some dust in my eye
Burns Night memories
Back around 1974 I briefly filled in for the guitarist in a Scots/Irish folk band (don’t ask) and on Burns Night we had two London gigs on the same evening, one south of the river and the second in Willesden. The first one ended early and we were driving along the Thames Embankment en route to the other when we suddenly encountered a police roadblock. This was at the start of the IRA mainland bombing campaign and the cops were starting to conduct random stop and searches.
I was driving and the fiddle player, who was in the passenger seat, was not only smoking a joint of impressive, Bob Marley proportions, but also had a matchbox-sided lump of finest Moroccan hash in his pocket. As I wound the window down, one of the cops stuck his head in, the better to view our amps and instruments in the back. At that very instant a night in the cells seemed a more likely outcome than a Burns Supper in NW London.
“Where you off to, then, lads?” he asked while taking in a lungful of the pungent in-car atmosphere.
“Er... Burns Night gig. Willesden” I stammered.
“A gig, eh?” said the cop. “We’d better get you boys on your way, then” he added.
And, I kid you not, to our astonishment he stepped out into the road, stopped the traffic on the Embankment and waved us through.
Perhaps it was my imagination, but I swear he gave us a wink as we drove off.
1974...
We were so much more civilized then (fawn).
I've dined out on that story
for decades and you'd be amazed how many people suddenly become experts on police procedure when they hear it.
"Well, the thing is", they usually opine sagely, "cops are very single-minded creatures. If they're looking for terrorists, they're not interested in drugs. It's too much paperwork, see".
And of course, that should have read "matchbox-sized" in my earlier post.
They do suprise you sometimes,the police...
I was involved in a downtown(Busy City) photo shoot a few years back that involved humping around a livingroom sized couch.All of a sudden these two bicycle cops were stopping traffic and pedestrians with many onlookers wondering who and how famous we were to warrant such an action.It was over in a minute but it impressed upon me that that they could've just as easily have told us to sling our hook.