Speccie: Going for a Song
 

George Simmers deservedly won the fiver, but Chris O'Carroll and I were snapping at his heels. Catherine Tufariello and John Beaton were just out of the money. They may feel justly miffed because this was a big entry. The next competition may be easier because you HAVE TO enter by email and I'll bet some of the old sarhorses won't be able to do this. Heh heh!


No. 2679: going for a song
You are invited to usher in the New Year with a teetotallers’ drinking song (16 lines maximum). Please email entries to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 29 December. NB. For logistical reasons, entries must be emailed.

Sarhorses? Sarhorses? Oh, Shitworth, whatever are we going to do with you? :eek: :):):)

Nice word, don't you think? I'm sorry to kiss it goodbye.

Indeed. Did not Michael Morpurgo have a book of that title? Did rather well, as I recall.

I saw a child, a girl of course, actually READING a book, engrossed in it even. It was by this Morpurgo fellow! Meanwhile - The IRN BRU song! It made me the man I am.

The Hogmanay IRN BRU Song

What gives the Scots their courage? What makes them all so frisky?
Is it syrup in the porridge? Is it ginger in the whisky?
Is it wildness in the weather? Is it puddocks in the stew?
Let's answer all together. No! It’s IRN BRU!

Some give three cheers for lager beers in knobbly mugs with lids on.
Some say, 'Hooray for Beaujolais! It's what we raise our kids on!'
Long John Silver swigs (or swogs) hot grogs with all his pirate crew.
But true Scots choose that special booze – old IRN BRU!

This wonder-working potion is the toast of kings and queens.
Take bedsprings, batteries, bicycles, and slot machines,
Souse well in prussic acid, boil a year, then strain it through
Old brillo pads and engine oil for IRN BRU!

Chinese at ease sip China Teas, stout Irish tipple stout,
Transylvanians suck maidens’ blood, then hang about.
But New Year Scots quaff pots and pots of what is tried and true,
A beverage and a religion – IRN BRU!

Great song, John, and I can easily imagine a crowd of lusty Glaswegians chanting it.
I'd read the instructions rather differently, though - as if Lucy was specifically asking for a New Year themed song. On second thoughts, perhaps she wasn't, because the previous comp was New year themed.
What do people think?

Regardless of what Lucy may think she wants I suspect she will find it hard to resist John's Irn Bru.

Congratulations to all successful songsters.

New Year is a Scots Festival, George. First-footing and all that.

This forum is so educational! Never heard of IRN BRU before, but I'm going to make a point of having a taste when I'm in the UK next summer. Delightful song, John.

I wouldn't, Catherine. It's a Scottish drink and therefore, by definition, nauseating. They are, after all, the nation that gave the deep-fried mars bar to the world. It does contain iron, however, so it does you good.

Hre's my stab at it.
It strikes me, though, that American readers may not have come across the drink referred to. Tesco, our biggest supermarket chain, runs a line of very cheap essential items, labelled "Value" products in standard and rather grim packaging. Some of these are OK (Tesco Value tinned tomatoes are an essential part of my Bolognese sauce) but others are a bit horrible. The Value lemonade contains neither lemons nor sugar and leaves a horrid aftertaste in the mouth - but it costs only 18p for two litres, so is an appropriate festive drink for these hard times.

In a New Year of recession
Shall we give in to depression,
Moaning, mournful and dismayed?
We shall not, for we've got
Tesco Value Lemonade!

Though Christmas was a washout
Since it hurt to fork the dosh out
(And some bills are still unpaid)
Thank the Lord we can afford
Tesco Value lemonade!

Though every British person
Knows next year will be a worse 'un
Don't let on that you're afraid.
Raise your mug – boldly glug
Tesco Value Lemonade!

Cripes, George. That makes even IRN BRU palatable. Terrific song though. Anybody know an old temperance ditty ditty that begins 'My drink is water bright, water bright... '

And for connoisseurs of old competitions Stanley Sharpless (wasn't it?) produced something which contained the immortal line... 'Cocoa coursing through their veins'. Because cocoa has aphrodisiac properties, or didn't you know that?

have I spelled that word right? It doesn't look right somehow. Not cocoa, you fool...

John, I once learned an old temperance song that went something like this:

Drink not, ye merry girls and boys,
of wine that sparkles but decoys,
drink water pure and bright,
drink water pure and bright.
It bringeth neither care nor pain,
but cheereth like the gentle rain,
drink water, sweet water,
drink water, water every day,
drink water, pure water,
drink water pure and bright.

Is that the one you are thinking of?

Susan

Here's another echte temperance song:

I'm a young abstainer, from drinking customs free;
if others choose the drunkard's cup, cold water give to me.
REFRAIN:
Clear cold water, that's the drink for me;
I'm a young abstainer, from drinking customs free.

The drunkard is a foolish man; when he goes on the streets,
he is pointed at with scorn by everyone he meets.
(REFRAIN)

The drunkard is a careless man, he throws his cash away;
he does not save his money up against an evil day.
(REFRAIN)

The drunkard is a cruel man, and thus we often see
his wretched wife and family in rags and misery.
(REFRAIN)

Esther

Here is Stanley J's lovely poem:

IN PRAISE OF COCOA, CUPID'S NIGHTCAP
Lines written upon hearing the startling news that cocoa is, in fact, a mild aphrodisiac

Stanley J. Sharpless

Half-past nine-high time for supper;
"Cocoa, love?" "Of course, my dear."
Helen thinks it's quite delicious,
John prefers it now to beer.
Knocking back the sepia potion,
Hubby winks, says, "Who's for bed?"
"Shan't be long," says Helen softly,
Cheeks a faintly flushing red.
For they've stumbled on the secret
Of a love that never wanes,
Rapt beneath the tumbled bedclothes,
Cocoa coursing through their veins.

That's the one, George. Sheer genius! And thank you, Susan. My one is an old Welsh temperance song and the chorus is:

My drink is water bright, water bright, water bright.
My drink is water bright from the gushing stream.

There is this old warhorse:
THE LIPS THAT TOUCH LIQUOR
SHALL NEVER TOUCH MINE

The Demon of Rum is about in the land,
His victims are falling on every hand,
The wise and the simple, the brave and the fair,
No station too high for his vengeance to spare.
O women, the sorrow and pain is with you,
And so be the joy and the victory, too;
With this for your motto, and succour divine,
The lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine,

The homes that were happy are ruined and gone.
The hearts that were merry are wretched and lone,
And lives full of promise of good things to come,
Are ruined and wreck'd by the Demon of Rum.
Wives, maidens and mothers, to you it is giv'n,
To rescue the fallen and point them to heav'n.
With us for your guides you shall win by this sign,
The lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine.

O mothers, whose sons tarry long at the bowl,
Who love their good name as you love your own soul,
O maidens with fathers, and brothers and beaux;
Whose lives you would rescue from infinite woes,
Let war be your watchword, from shore unto shore,
Till Rum and his legions shall ruin no more,
And write on your banners, in letters that shine,
The lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine.

They don't do it like that any more!

Drinking Song

I do not cheer for wine or beer
or liquids of that ilk,
but I'm a sucker when it comes
to creamy mother's milk.

I find vermouth and gin uncouth
and never touch a drop,
but take a dug and fill my mug,
I find it hard to stop.

Though scotch or rum appeal to some,
the drink I most enjoy
is what I sipped the day they snipped
my cord and cried, "A boy!"

In Spain sangría may just be a
way to end one's funk,
but tell your padres it takes madre's
milk to get you drunk.

More inspiration...and a rather insidious mind-worm melody, too. Here are Johnny Cash's version, Aretha Franklin's, and this overly-syrupy but otherwise very nice a cappella jazz arrangement. (Note that most singers get the words wrong.)


Ben Jonson (1572-1637)
Song: To Celia

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
...And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
...And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
...Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
...I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
...Not so much honoring thee
As giving it a hope that there
...It could not withered be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe
...And sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
...Not of itself, but thee.

That's a winner, Roger!

Yup, Roger. You've cracked it.

yes indeed...
 

good one, Roger. Mammaries are made of this.

Raj - you've nailed it.

Frank

Thanks! I've sent it off.

I wrote the first stanza 6 1/2 years ago when my son was still nursing, but the rest of the poem was written to order for Lucy.

In Vino Insanitas

(I want a deep fried Mars Bar)

I once drank a bottle of Jack in the Black,
went down to the beach with my head on the wrack.

I cursed and sputtered and spat at the hordes
(They were dressed like preppies with credit card swords).

In the fight I reclaimed the girl who just dumped me
and passed a math quiz that just recently stumped me

In a month I was deaf, in a year I was blind.
In another whatever I had labelled my mind

was still on the beach with the booze and the fray
and doing damn well for a bodiless fey.

So don't get morose when she gives you a dose
of come uppance in kind. Get comatose!

That is a fine poem, Lance. Not for Lucy but a fine poem, which is better.

first good news of the day –
 

Rip Torn pulled a suspended sentence (though the drug & alcohol tests are going to be hell). Downer: I cain't hardly get started with this damn comp. Hell, I jes' know the whole point is that it's a paradox, but I'm spinnin' mah wheels here.

One other thing: doesn't Lance Levens mean 'hordes' rather than 'hoards'?

I heard a rumor that an iconic American soft drink was crossing the pond. Here's hoping it's true. This is to be sung to the tune of the Mountain Dew Song (you can listen to Willie Nelson sing it here).

I used to swig beer to ring in the New Year,
Now I croon auld lang syne with a brew
That makes me more frisky than Tennessee whisky—
All I drink is that sweet old Mountain Dew.

Some naysayers cry that the bright yellow dye
Will lower your sperm count to two,
And shrivel your sack, and turn your teeth black;
All slanders on sweet old Mountain Dew.

When I’m on my deathbed, pump my veins with Code Red—
Don’t bother calling Code Blue.
My worn-out old heart will fire up with a start
At a sip of that sweet old Mountain Dew.

So let us give thanks for that drink of the Yanks,
Full of caffeine and sugar and goo
You can’t even pronounce, in each fizzy ounce—
Three cheers for that sweet old Mountain Dew!

that tickled me...
 

and thanks for the song link. Classic stuff. Pity there's no video with it.

Bazza, here is a video of Willie Nelson singing it with Ray Charles. Sorry about the commercial at the beginning.

thanks, Catherine
 

A great duo!

John,

Geez! In my piece I sided with the enemy! Freudian slip. I'll
take my axe to the little thing and turn 'er around for the temperance crowd. Oh, and Bazza: I did mean "hordes."

How Is a Raven
 

I've been reading the Annotated Alice and just realized George Simmers is in there for his Speccie win way back in 1991 (with an answer to the immortal "How is a raven like a writing desk?"). A very belated congratulations for a wonderful placement.

Owen, you've made my day.
My copy of the Annotated Alice is an old one, definitely pre-1991. I didn't know there had been a new edition including my little joke. I'm very chuffed to learn this, and shall seek out a copy.