Skye Bridge Song

Some old sentimental songs lend themselves to parody.
I see nothing romantic about the rebellion of 1745 and the disaster it caused to many of the common folk of Scotland. 
What is great about the Skye Bridge is now it is so much easier to get to the beautiful Isle of Skye.

 
Skye Bridge
 

Skye Bridge Song(Tune: Sky boat song)

Rattle rusty van
Like a can on a string;
Over the bridge to Skye.

There’s now no toll
To drive on this thing;
That’s on the road to Skye.

Carry the sad
And all that they bring;
All the way over to Skye.

They’ve come to take
A break from the stress;
Some lazy days on Skye.

They’re come to make
A real bloody mess;
And litter the paths of Skye.

So rattle rusty van
Like a tin on a string;
Bouncing along round Skye

Yes rattle rusty van
Like a can on a string;
Over the bridge to Skye.

©Trevor Morgan 2002

Note:
The original romantic lyric follows:

Skye Boat Song

Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing
Onward the sailors cry.
Carry the lad that’s born to be king
Over the sea to Skye
Loud the wind howls
loud the waves roar
Thunderclaps rend the air
Baffled our foes
stand by the shore
Follow they will not dare
Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing
Onward the sailors cry.
Carry the lad that’s born to be king
Over the sea to Skye

When you consider this is about Charles Stewart, who led a rebellion to disaster then left with all the gold it is plain sloppy. He ended an obese dissolute waster.

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JAPANESE PRINTS AND A PORCELAIN VASE

Strange how writing comedy lyrics is harder than the dramatic!

JAPANESE PRINTS AND A PORCELAIN VASE

A guy asked me to dinner
So we could break the ice,
I very soon discovered
He had a secret vice.
I didn’t get to know him
For every time he speaks
All that he can talk of
Is his PASSION – for antiques!

Chorus

I didn’t get to know him,
I was lost and in a maze
Of Japanese prints and a porcelain vase.

So if I gathered dust
Like some old antique urn,
That could just be the way
In which I might return.
Then he would love me
And he’d not find a fault.
He’d treat me with respect
Then lock me in a vault!

Chorus

So let the cobwebs gather
On some other gal.
It’s time for me to say:
“So long darling and farewell”.
Cos’ I don’t want to know him
For every time he speaks
All that he can talk of
Is his PASSION – for antiques!

Chorus

I was lost and in a maze
Of porcelain prints and a Japanese vase

Of Japanese prints and a porcelain vase

 

© Trevor Morgan 1998

From: lyrics for “Candy Blue”

Bowlegged Buck

I like country music.
I like it because the lyrics are so integral to the art form.
Also although the songs are about Mamma, trains, getting drunk, etc., they also have a good tradition of the comic lyric.
I dedicate this to all boys named Sue!

Bowlegged Buck

A bowlegged cowboy
And his knock-kneed lady
The wanted such love
But well – maybe –
They’ll find it a chore.
They find it to so strained,
Yet, for their loving
Neither Complained.

The bed was no good.
The table all right.
So that’s where they spent
Their first lovin’ night.

Getting together
Though it was a chore
Is somethin’ they’re doin’
Now more an’ more.

But then with love
The question it begs;
How love finds a way
Through a mismatch of legs.

A bowlegged cowboy
And his knock-kneed lady
Enjoyin’ such love
And though – maybe –
They find it a chore,
They find it a strain,
Yet, for this loving
Neither Complain.

© Trevor Morgan, 2004

From: “Lyrics for Candy Blue”

Nan’s Fairy Song

Story time is fun

Fey

Nan’s Fairy Song

“Now there are fairies in each glade,
They’re by each tree and brook.
Some dwell beneath the ash tree’s shade;
You’ll see them if you look.

The young and old may see the fey,
But only if we’re kind.
There are grown men who talk to them,
But they have lost their mind.

Beware the fairy folk please do
And don’t go to their hall.
For they may play such tricks on you,
That you could cry and bawl.

Content yourself to watch the fey,
But do not heed their speech.
Then you’ll come home at end of day
And not be out of reach.

The fairy king he likes young maids,
Yes, he likes having them.
And where a maid has gone with him,
No maid comes back again.

The fairy queen she has tirades
Each time a flower’s lost.
She scolds the king with oaths so grim,
But wenches bear the cost.

The children who may come by chance
Can be blamed on the fey.
Ah, wench you’ve led a merry dance,
When you romped in the hay”

© Trevor Morgan

From: “Tales of Aethelwulf of Lyng”

The Inchcape Rock – Part II

Robert Southey was a true great.
I love his morality poem “The Inchsape Rock” so much I felt I had to compose a sequel, so I did yesterday.
In his day there were violent robbers and in his story, Sir Ralph the Rover, ends in Hell for his crimes.
The big time thieves of our day use fraud. They rob in a semi legal way through the books. Pension funds and personal savings are plundered so Wall Street and City of London gangsters can prosper. They steal from the have nots so they can have yachts.
May the knell of the Inchcape bell welcome them to hell!

The Inchcape Rock – Part II

As Ralph the Rover arrived in hell
Tolled in down there by Inchcape’s Bell,
The fiery lake that his soul bore
Spewed him up on a brimstone shore.

How Ralph the Rover cursed his lot,
Both scalding lake and shore were hot
And all those demons dwelling there,
Gave his soul such great pains to bear.

His wreck companions rang for him
That same bell as a requiem.
They’ll keep it up for evermore
As he burns on that Brimstone shore.

One day the Abbot came to hell
What his sins were none there could tell.
Old Nick alone seemed full of glee;
Just like when sailors drown at sea.

The Rover and the Abbot then
Were burning in that demons’ den.
The Bell would ring there all the while
And make Ralph rage and Abbot smile.

“Why Abbot are you in this place?
What could have caused you this disgrace?”
Ralph asked above the Bell’s loud din,
“What could have been your secret sin?”

“Ah, during all my live long days,
I envied many their reckless ways.
My mind oft wandered as I prayed
And to naughty thoughts it strayed.

I thought me many a hearty thought
Of shameless deeds, but, I did nought.
Nought, that is save now and then,
I’d thought unseemly thoughts again

I did no harm, but to be blunt
My piety was but a front.
Oh, yes, I did all those good deeds,
But cared not much for other’s needs.

All my life I put on a show”;
He paused a while then in his woe
As demons screeching fearful ire,
Drenched him once more with flames of fire.

“Now that I’m dead some may reveal
That I’d been slippery like some eel.
I’d altered many a title deed,
I felt we had a greater need.

In my smug way I felt secure,
To feel aloof has its allure.
That Bell that saved ships on their way
I put there as my vain display

I sought to be seen good and true,
But of my frauds, well no one knew.
So, some wailing widows felt aggrieved,
I knew that they’d not be believed!

My Abbey had a greater need,
Why I had my monks and folk to feed.
What if I made some rich folk poor;
I still might feed them at my door!”

Ralph failed to hear the last word said
As he was bathed in molten lead.
But, although that word he’d missed,
His lively mind had got the gist.

“Oh, Abbot we were brothers never
Now we are partners here for ever.
I stole and I gave out much grief
But with your quill you were the thief.”

Those two their agonies they bore,
There upon that brimstone shore.
And demons torture them always
With pain until the end of days.

For frauds are just a sort of thief,
Like plunderers they cause much grief.
The Rover all folk knew was bad
But fraudsters make us really mad.

You may oft hear a howl and wail
And think it but some storm or gale
Up there beside the Inchcape shore;
But that may well portend much more.

Deep there in some dismal hell
Tormented souls forever dwell.
For sneak and thief and dirty liar
Deserve to burn there in Hell’s fire.

Lives that are lived low and aloof
Will be adjudged by open proof
Then it’s too late then to repent;
For sinful souls will be Hell sent!

© Trevor Morgan, 10/5/2018

Dedication to Robert Southey (1774AD 1843AD) a Bristolian, as am I.

Note:

Southey was fond of playing with his children and amusing his children.
This was unusual for men in his time.
So , below I attach his lovely morality poem. His children must have loved him reciting this. Good on you Robert.

The Inchcape Rock

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The Ship was still as she could be;
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock,
The waves flow’d over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

The Abbot of Aberbrothok
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
And over the waves its warning rung.

When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell,
The Mariners heard the warning Bell;
And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok

The Sun in the heaven was shining gay,
All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds scream’d as they wheel’d round,
And there was joyaunce in their sound.

The buoy of the Inchcpe Bell was seen
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walk’d his deck,
And fix’d his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,
But the Rover’s mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape Float;
Quoth he, “My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I’ll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”

The boat is lower’d, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And he cut the bell from the Inchcape Float.

Down sank the Bell with a gurgling sound,
The bubbles rose and burst around;
Quoth Sir Ralph, “The next who comes to the Rock,
Won’t bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”

Sir ralph the Rover sail’d away,
He scour’d the seas for many a day;
And now grown rich with plunder’d store,
He steers his course for Scotland’s shore.

So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky,
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land.
Quoth Sir Ralph, “It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising Moon.”

“Canst hear,” said one, “the breakers roar?
For methinks we should be near the shore.”
“Now, where we are I cannot tell,
But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell.”

They hear no sound, the swell is strong,
Though the wind hath fallen they drift along;
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,
“Oh Christ! It is the Inchcape Rock!”

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,
He curst himself in his despair;
The waves rush in on every side,
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But even is his dying fear,
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear;
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell,
The Devil below was ringing his knell.

Robert Southey 1796AD

Sonnet – Art Gallery

Despite much effort I never was much good at art.
I have spent long hours in art galleries. They are special places.

artgallery

Sonnet – Art Gallery

Landscapes and seascapes and ships in a storm.
Portraits with poses, stiff and so haughty.
Scenes of destruction so sad and forlorn,
Some old pictures are fruity and naughty.
In some of the scenes light glints in the lime,
Baroque and rococo and old Dutch scenes.
Insides of old churches – frozen in time –
Turner’s old skyscapes like wisps from our dreams.
Seasons and weather, people and places
Sketched, drawn and painted by artists of old.
Skills are shown in the lines on the faces,
Fine are some colours with blue, red and gold.
Art of these artists, visual and vivid;
I lack their skills and that makes me livid.

© Trevor Morgan 1997

Mull Weather Song

The Island of Mull is beautiful.
But when visiting take rain coats.
I wrote this a while after my last visit. I must go again!

Duart Castle

Mull Weather Song
(Tune: Grave Diggers Song from “Oh what a lovely war”)

The windscreen wipers go “swish-swish”,
As we drive all round Mull.
The one thing that we always wish,
Is weather that’s not dull.
The windscreen wipers go “swish-swish”,
As we drive all round Mull.

The rain is going “pitter-pat”,
As we walk here on Mull.
So we must wear a coat and hat,
It rains so much on Mull.
The rain is going “pitter-pat”,
As we walk here on Mull.

The winds they blow a howling gale,
As we admire each view.
Old sun tans fade and we turn pale,
Then all our skin turns to blue.
The winds they blow a howling gale,
As we admire each view.

The waves they beat upon the shore,
As we walk by the coast.
Mull weather wets us more and more,
It’s time for tea and toast.
The waves they beat upon the shore,
As we walk by the coast.

The windscreen wipers go “swish-swish”,
As we drive all round Mull.
The one thing that we always wish.
Is weather that’s not dull.
The windscreen wipers go “swish-swish”,
As we drive all round Mull.

© Trevor Morgan 23 April 2004

The Promoter

I have met a lot of musicians. 
Few have a good word for promoters!
I have spoken to managers and promoters.
Few have a good word to say for musicians.
I wrote this lyric as part of a series of lyrics for a fictional group in the 1960s

 

promoter

The Promoter

The contract he wrote was the deal
And papers lengthy and lawful,
Make it legal for him to steal;
Conditions are really quite awful.

Chorus
‘Co s his partnership deals only make sense,
When he gets the dollars
And we get the cents

His payouts can suffer delay,
Contract conditions are artful.
We may get some money some day;
The interest he keeps by the cartful.

Chorus

Now we must have been very dim,
To our pleading he is immune.
The money we made was for him,
When he said we’d make a fortune.

Chorus

There’s one thing he likes to promote
And on this he just can’t be frank,
‘Cos we know he just loves to gloat;
‘Bout OUR cash he keeps in HIS bank.

Chorus

But we signed his awful papers.
The contract we got was his deal.
We’re stuck with his lawful capers
And it’s “legal” for him to steal.

Chorus
Yes his partnership deals only make sense
Where he gets the dollars
And we get the cents.

© Trevor Morgan 1997

E-mails unanswered

I like what techies call snail mail. They are tangible and exist in a physical form and I can file them or throw them into the flames. Press delete is for wimps!

snail

E-mails unanswered

Those e-mail’s unanswered,
How strange it now seems.
The point and the purpose;
Now lost like some dreams.

All messages were sent
And all files saved.
All the time that’s been spent
The tedium braved.

But the answers don’t come,
No answers at all.
It’s as if I’m struck dumb,
Or I talk to the wall.

There is no need to rage,
Nor to sneer, nor scoff.
I’ll close this thing down
And then turn it off.

© Trevor Morgan, 23/4/2018

Robert Burns’ Loves

The Scottish Kirk sought to uphold public morality.
With Robert Burns, Excise man, Unionist and Bard, they failed quite wonderfully.
All poets since his time can be thankful for that.
He is second only to John Clare in my admiration of his works, poetic works that is!

robert_burns

Robert Burns’ Loves

His loves were like a red, red rose
And Rabbi was the bee.
They kept producing fresh, fresh blooms
And Rabbi was the bee.

He took his pollen to the place,
So, secret there within.
The Kirk said “…this is a disgrace…”
And preached against his “sin”!

The seed was set within those hips
To grow so plump and sweet.
False lovers lies had passed his lips
His loving was a treat.

© Trevor Morgan 21 August 2003

Note:
For those who do not know Burns had many children by many ladies and by his wife!