Why Traditionalists Suck in Irish Music #4

Someone posted a hate message for my Irish & Celtic Music Podcast. It struck a sensitive chord with me.

Notes:

• "Old Dun Cow" by Brobdingnagian Bards from Brobdingnagian Fairy Tales
• Why Trad Nazis suck!
• Irish & Celtic Music Podcast
• Upcoming Show
• "When You're Evil" by Voltaire from The Devil's Bris

Upcoming Shows:

June 18, 2006, Father's Day Solo Show and Autoharp TutorialThings Celtic @ 3-4 PM1806 W. 35th StreetAustin, TX 78703Bring an autoharp for the tutorial.

Friday, June 30, 2006Elysium Goth Club705 Red RiverAustin, TX 78705512.478.297910 pm (Brobdingnagian Bards), 11pm (the Machine in the Garden), 12am (Voltaire)Cover: TBA (there will be one, I don't know how much)Age: Must be 21 or older to attend.

Old Dun Cow Lyrics:words and music traditional

Some friends and I in a public houseWas playing a game of chance one nightWhen into the pub a fireman ranHis 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 downLappin'' up the whiskey on the floor."Booze, booze!" The firemen criedAs they came knockin' on the door (clap clap)Oh don't let 'em in till it's all drunk upAnd somebody shouted MacIntyre! MACINTYRE!And we all got blue-blind paralytic drunkWhen the Old Dun Cow caught fire.

"Oh well," says Brown, "What a bit of luck.Everybody follow me.And it's down to the cellarIf the fire's not thereThen we'll have a grand old spree."So we went on down after good old BrownThe booze we could not missAnd we hadn't been there ten minutes or moreTill we were quite pissed.

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

Then there came from the old back doorThe 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 wineAnd you didn't save a drop for me!"

And then there came a mighty crashHalf the bloody roof caved in.We were almost drowned in the firemen's hoseBut still we were gonna stay.So we got some tacks and some old wet sacksAnd we nailed ourselves insideAnd we sat drinking the finest RumTill we were bleary-eyed.

Later that night, when the fire was outWe 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!"

Chords: KEY Dm