Tubthumper
25-May-07, 13:49
The Melvich Gaelic Vampire Slayers: Part 1
Oor world today is comfy, nice
‘Tis easy to forget the price
We’ve paid and always have to pay
To keep the dark unknown at bay
When gasping wifies bawl & greet
At end of Coronation Street
Or get into a nightly stew
At doings of Eastenders crew
Another monstrous drama scene
Big Brother’s foul eviction queen
And Scottish laddies fill with ale
Ne’er heeding what’s beyond the pale
A gibbering mass of football louts
Whose Scottish Culture is booze and shouts
A buck is what we need and more
Enough to just keep wolf from door
How true that term, how lucky folks
Who have the chance to make such jokes
For out of focus, in background
In silhouette, in shadow found
Stand those who have the guts and nerve
Their fellow man to stand and serve
Behind the scenes in world today
A darker land quite foul and fey
With creeping, evil, stinking creature
I speak of world of super nature
The many evil spirits who
With warlock’s spell and witches brew
Desire for life in world of men
And use the power of music when
At Halloween they get the chance
To screech and sing and laugh and dance
And jump about like senseless loons
Auld Nick has all the best of tunes
But fighting back in this gory tale
That’s set in Scotia’s deadly vale
The stars and heroes, leading players
Are the Melvich Gaelic Vampire Slayers
This bold crack team of native speakers
The bass, baritones & the wee high squeakers
From all across the county sourced
To sing and deal with ghouls and ghosts
Who patrol the world of Alba’s borders
Keeping out supernatural hoarders
Last year was noted something odd
At around the time of the national Mod
A sly affair, not right, the worst
Set late, on October thirty-first
And our heroes were invited not
Which angered proud Katrina Scott
“There’s something missing, that’s for sure
Our singing’s honest, fine & pure
Yet never an invite we’ve got
To perform, now is that fair? It’s not!”
She passed concerns up to the top
The highest point of greatest crop
To Raymond Bremner, he who steers
This group through all its hopes & fears
Now Raymond is a fine big bloke
As masculine as bull, no joke
But recently he’d took a notion
Swallowed down some steroid potion
Found upon his hairy chest
A fine big bouncing pair of breasts
Before he went to see the doctor
The choir called him the Bust Conductor
Anyway, I have digressed
With talk of Raymond’s wondrous chest
Raymond called his team together
They all sat down and had a blether
About the Mod with no joining orders
This year taking place at a Kirk in the borders
And when they heard where it would be held
They all agreed that something smelled
(And it wasn’t Pat Kieran’s feet so they say!)
For the Kirk was the auld one in Alloway!
Raymond mustered his troops, armed them all to the teeth
Because here was the challenge of dark world beneath
Beelzebub and his pals making music demonic
As a challenge to Melvich crew’s lovely harmonic
The whole affair could have become a melee
Getting transport down south without charge, gratis, free
But Hugh Millar had contacts, without any fuss
He managed to borrow a big Rapson’s bus
It was well past its best, the seats were quite saggy
But so were our heroes, so they christened it Maggie
Away at high speed down the A9 so long
With a tune in their hearts and in Gaelic a song
The laugh of the day, sure the pure finest joke
Singing songs in a language that none of them spoke
There was Scousers and Londoners, Fifers, Glaswegians
The bums at the back and fine big high heid-yins
And everyone full of a burning desire
To challenge Auld Nick and his demonic choir
To fend off the threat of eternal damnation
And offer old Scotia a chance of salvation
They arrived in the borders, and parked Maggie quiet
And Raymond’s attack plan decided to try it
They got to the Kirk, and looked over the wall
And the sight of the Mod would a tyrant appal
There was hundreds of lassies, each one a vampire
Formed up and well-dressed in a demonic choir
A parcel of zombies in baritone singing
And from the roof banshees a-howling and swinging
A man freshly hanged sang with rope still at neck
And ten drownded sailors bemoaned their shipwreck
Ghouls by the hundred were milling around
With the audience swaying to the devilish sound
A soprano Frankenstein soloed in tune
And werewolfs howled at the great gibbous moon
A warlock was practicing up on the shelf
While right at the top was Old Horny himself
Yes, Auld Nick, Beelzebub, Satan, the great disruptor
Had set himself up as the demon’s conductor
With a finger in ear to ensure the right tone
And directing cacophony with a thigh bone
Faster and faster the music went swirling
The hellish creations a-screeching and skirling
A man disembowelled leaking puddens & tripes
A skeleton piper wi’ skeleton pipes
While watching the dead as they swivelled and danced
The audience, living, were swooned & entranced
The judges of Mod were upon the high table
Paying no heed as usual, as best they were able
While our heroes looked on with grim determination
And tuned themselves up for divine recitation
‘Twas Cameron, Graham who led the first wave
A’charging right into the dance round the graves
And aiming for word-perfect Porst-a Beul striving
With wee Alex Stephen the harmonies driving
A posse of wondrous sopranos burst free
And worked round the side of the hellish melee
Then loosed with full force at a Bogeyman fellah
A burst of beautiful a-camappella
Philip Page at the front, finished off a vampire
By uttering streams of Garlic Choir
Hughie Millar provided the bass for the team
While Myrtle Gillies just sang like a dream...
Too big to be submitted as one post...
To be continued…
Oor world today is comfy, nice
‘Tis easy to forget the price
We’ve paid and always have to pay
To keep the dark unknown at bay
When gasping wifies bawl & greet
At end of Coronation Street
Or get into a nightly stew
At doings of Eastenders crew
Another monstrous drama scene
Big Brother’s foul eviction queen
And Scottish laddies fill with ale
Ne’er heeding what’s beyond the pale
A gibbering mass of football louts
Whose Scottish Culture is booze and shouts
A buck is what we need and more
Enough to just keep wolf from door
How true that term, how lucky folks
Who have the chance to make such jokes
For out of focus, in background
In silhouette, in shadow found
Stand those who have the guts and nerve
Their fellow man to stand and serve
Behind the scenes in world today
A darker land quite foul and fey
With creeping, evil, stinking creature
I speak of world of super nature
The many evil spirits who
With warlock’s spell and witches brew
Desire for life in world of men
And use the power of music when
At Halloween they get the chance
To screech and sing and laugh and dance
And jump about like senseless loons
Auld Nick has all the best of tunes
But fighting back in this gory tale
That’s set in Scotia’s deadly vale
The stars and heroes, leading players
Are the Melvich Gaelic Vampire Slayers
This bold crack team of native speakers
The bass, baritones & the wee high squeakers
From all across the county sourced
To sing and deal with ghouls and ghosts
Who patrol the world of Alba’s borders
Keeping out supernatural hoarders
Last year was noted something odd
At around the time of the national Mod
A sly affair, not right, the worst
Set late, on October thirty-first
And our heroes were invited not
Which angered proud Katrina Scott
“There’s something missing, that’s for sure
Our singing’s honest, fine & pure
Yet never an invite we’ve got
To perform, now is that fair? It’s not!”
She passed concerns up to the top
The highest point of greatest crop
To Raymond Bremner, he who steers
This group through all its hopes & fears
Now Raymond is a fine big bloke
As masculine as bull, no joke
But recently he’d took a notion
Swallowed down some steroid potion
Found upon his hairy chest
A fine big bouncing pair of breasts
Before he went to see the doctor
The choir called him the Bust Conductor
Anyway, I have digressed
With talk of Raymond’s wondrous chest
Raymond called his team together
They all sat down and had a blether
About the Mod with no joining orders
This year taking place at a Kirk in the borders
And when they heard where it would be held
They all agreed that something smelled
(And it wasn’t Pat Kieran’s feet so they say!)
For the Kirk was the auld one in Alloway!
Raymond mustered his troops, armed them all to the teeth
Because here was the challenge of dark world beneath
Beelzebub and his pals making music demonic
As a challenge to Melvich crew’s lovely harmonic
The whole affair could have become a melee
Getting transport down south without charge, gratis, free
But Hugh Millar had contacts, without any fuss
He managed to borrow a big Rapson’s bus
It was well past its best, the seats were quite saggy
But so were our heroes, so they christened it Maggie
Away at high speed down the A9 so long
With a tune in their hearts and in Gaelic a song
The laugh of the day, sure the pure finest joke
Singing songs in a language that none of them spoke
There was Scousers and Londoners, Fifers, Glaswegians
The bums at the back and fine big high heid-yins
And everyone full of a burning desire
To challenge Auld Nick and his demonic choir
To fend off the threat of eternal damnation
And offer old Scotia a chance of salvation
They arrived in the borders, and parked Maggie quiet
And Raymond’s attack plan decided to try it
They got to the Kirk, and looked over the wall
And the sight of the Mod would a tyrant appal
There was hundreds of lassies, each one a vampire
Formed up and well-dressed in a demonic choir
A parcel of zombies in baritone singing
And from the roof banshees a-howling and swinging
A man freshly hanged sang with rope still at neck
And ten drownded sailors bemoaned their shipwreck
Ghouls by the hundred were milling around
With the audience swaying to the devilish sound
A soprano Frankenstein soloed in tune
And werewolfs howled at the great gibbous moon
A warlock was practicing up on the shelf
While right at the top was Old Horny himself
Yes, Auld Nick, Beelzebub, Satan, the great disruptor
Had set himself up as the demon’s conductor
With a finger in ear to ensure the right tone
And directing cacophony with a thigh bone
Faster and faster the music went swirling
The hellish creations a-screeching and skirling
A man disembowelled leaking puddens & tripes
A skeleton piper wi’ skeleton pipes
While watching the dead as they swivelled and danced
The audience, living, were swooned & entranced
The judges of Mod were upon the high table
Paying no heed as usual, as best they were able
While our heroes looked on with grim determination
And tuned themselves up for divine recitation
‘Twas Cameron, Graham who led the first wave
A’charging right into the dance round the graves
And aiming for word-perfect Porst-a Beul striving
With wee Alex Stephen the harmonies driving
A posse of wondrous sopranos burst free
And worked round the side of the hellish melee
Then loosed with full force at a Bogeyman fellah
A burst of beautiful a-camappella
Philip Page at the front, finished off a vampire
By uttering streams of Garlic Choir
Hughie Millar provided the bass for the team
While Myrtle Gillies just sang like a dream...
Too big to be submitted as one post...
To be continued…