The music clip thread

[mozgrame]

I have posted it before, I know, but I love the Rumjacks and Irish pub deserves another run! This time with lyrics for those that may struggle with the accent. Curious note: My step Dad was born in Sydney (my real Dad, Lismore) and his Mum in her later years had a life companion by the name of Sam. Sam was from Ireland, and when they visited us up here in Qld, as a kid, I could sit and listen to Sam talk for hours on end. The Irish accent is a wonderful thing. Closely followed by the Scottish. Even when angry, it sounds humorous and inviting. We have Irish blood in the bloodline on my Mother's side, and I wish I would have explored it further while she was still alive.

Anyway, enjoy!

There's a county map to go on the wall,
A hurling stick & a shinty ball,
The bric, the brac, the craic & all,
Lets call it an Irish pub,
Caffreys, Harp, Kilkenny on tap,
The Guinness pie & that cabbage crap,
The ideal wannabee Paddy trap,
We'll call it an Irish pub,

Whale, oil, beef, hooked! I swear upon the holy book,
The only 'craic' you'll get is a slap in the ear,
Whale, oil, beef, hooked! I'll up & burst yer filthy mug,
If you draw one more shamrock in me beer!

We'll raise the price o' beer a dollar,
We'll make em wear a shirt & collar,
We'll fly a bloody tri-colour,
And call it an Irish pub,
Jager bombs & double shots,
The underagers think its tops,
We'll spike the drinks & pay the cops,
We got us an Irish pub.

The quick one in the filthy bog,
The partin' glass across the lug,
O' the lady-O, the dirty dog,
We got us an Irish pub,
It's over to me and over to you,
We'll skip along the Avenue,
And who t'hell is Ronnie Drew?
We got us an Irish pub.

Plasma screens & neon lights,
Kara-farkin-oke nights,
The bouncers they can pick the fights,
We'll call it an Irish pub,
Plastic cups, a polished floor,
We'll hose the blood right out the door,
And let the knucklers back for more,
We got us an Irish pub,

Oh top o' the mornin', Garryowen,
Kiss me I'm Irish, Molly Malone,
Failte, Slainte, Pog ma thon,
We got us an Irish pub,
Spike the punch & strip the willow,
Strike me up the rakes o' Mallow,
The Liffey never ran so shallow,
We got us an Irish pub.

 

[mozgrame]

Not sure if I have posted this before, but it resonates in me the feeling I have toward the media and Manly knockers. I hope resonates is the right word. I'm currently trying to finish this bottle of vodka that has been making the place look untidy for the last few days...LOL!

Again, lyrics for those that struggle...

The fellow travellers are the media and knockers...

Oh now come fellow traveller, bend an ear t’ward me,
Come cease all yer rabble & row,
All yer shrill empty laughter is slicin’ right through me,
And there’s feck all so funny no never, no how.
Ye’d as well tell the Devil his work is complete,
We’ll sing ‘share the love’ but we can’t share the streets,
It’s the kick in the arse it’s the kiss on the cheek,
It’s the blows & unkind words.

My conscience rings like a siller bell & I can waltz like a dervish my dear,
Two boots full o’ gravel through your blazin’ hell
With a ****-smeared grin from ear to ear.
Some hearts are like lightning in a bottle, and others like a moth in a can,
Some hearts are a Dead Sea apple, a poison to God & man,
I’m the sweetest bag o’ rats that you’ve ever seen,
I look like trouble & I walk like a king,
It’s my thing, why bawl when I can sing
Of all the blows & unkind words?

You get around gob draggin’ on the ground like lifes gone pissin’ in yer mince,
Were you bullied as a child? Abandoned to the wild?
And been blamin’ every ****er ever since?
We’re all born blind but we’re born with a spine,
So get up & stop hatin’ all the world,
Keep callin’ out to me ‘cos its growin’ hard to see
Through all the blows & unkind words.

Oh get back to yer corners ye filthy wee savages,
No terror hast though for the brave,
Wi’ yer four letter words all at three second intervals,
Two clicks away from a frosty old grave,
If ye’re spoilin’ tae rumble then piss off to war,
And for all o’ yer trouble get hee-feckin’-haw,
For we’re staunch, fit & proud and we’ll suffer no more,
O’ yer blows & unkind words.

Let the putrid little ****es while away their lonely nights,
Sayin’ all they wouldn’t dare by light of day,
And if the church or the state can’t find a cure for all the hate,
Then I can’t find the need to vote or even pray.
Ding dang Daisy go ahead & call me crazy,
But this shootin’ match could all be over soon,
And the big fat dame with the foreign sounding name,
Is backstage firin’ up a tune.

Oh you’ve a penny, I’ve a pound, let’s get drunk & **** around,
We’ll barricade the door against the world,
A kiss o’ life before you leave, ‘cos its growin’ hard to breathe,
Through all the blows & unkind words.

You’ve a penny, I’ve a pound, let’s get drunk & **** around,
We’ll barricade the door against the world,
I can’t take another night watchin’ grown men fight,
To music made for teenage girls.

 

[mozgrame]

Uncle Tommy. I am the worst mix available. German and Irish. I love a laugh. I love a drink. But above all, I love a fight! Poor me.

Early one November me Uncle Tommy joined the army,
Kitted him out for danger & ferried him o'er the sea,
He threw me o'er his shoulder, sang to me a dirty ditty,
Telling me when I were older “you'll be just like me”,
A half a bottle o' whisky, tattoo of a pretty lady,
Half a dozen Havana's & his Aunties rosary,
A-thunderin' oe'r the border, guns a-blazin', hells a-raisin',
“Here I am ya bastards, ye'll no be havin' me!”
Tommy was a rifle, Tommy was a razor,
Tommy was a ramblin' man,
A silver blade in the dyin' shade,
Oor Tommy was a fightin' man!
The following December he sent a card to Auntie Annie,
Tellin' her he were frozen half to death upon a hill,
Sick o' the sound o' trash cans, kickin' in doors on dear old ladies,
Sick o' the screamin' babies, he had lost the bottle tae kill.
He earn't his scars in German bars,
And breakin' the hearts o' the maids o' Norway,
Trained his guns upon the Huns,
And boxed the sons o' proud old Galway,
Tommy was a rifle, Tommy was a razor,
Tommy was a Ramblin' man,
Quick with a pound when yer luck was down,
Oor Tommy was a Jerry can.
Early one November me Uncle Tommy left the army,
Stripped him o' his regalia & ferried him o'er the main,
He took me by the shoulder, sang to me a dirty ditty,
“bastard's only love ye when ye're shootin' at yer ain!”

 

[mozgrame]

The Dropkick Murphys

I've seen a lot of sights and traveled many miles
Shook a thousand hands and seen my share of smiles
I've caused some great concern and told one too many lies
And now I see the world through these sad, old, jaded eyes

So what if I threw a party and all my friends were there?
Acquaintances, relatives, the girls who never cared
You'll have a host of rowdy hooligans in a big line out the door
Side by side with sister barbara, chief wells and bobby orr
I'd invite the flannigans
Replace the window you smashed out
I'd apologize to sluggo for pissing on his couch
I'll see mrs. mcauliffe and so many others soon
Then I'll say I'm sorry for what I did sleepwalking in her room

So what if I threw a party and invited Mayor Menino?
He'd tell you to get a permit
Well this time tom I don't think so
It's a neighborhood reunion
But now we'd get along
Van Morrison would be there and he'd sang me one last song
With a backup band of bass players to keep us up all night
Three handsome four string troubadours and Newton's old Fat Mike
I'll be in the can having a smoke with Garv and Johnny Fitz
But there's a backup in the bathroom 'cause the badger's got the ****s

You may bury me with an enemy in mount calvary
You can stack me on a pyre and soak me down with whiskey
Roast me to a blackened crisp and throw me in a pile
I could really give a **** - I'm going out in style
You can take my urn to fenway spread my ashes all about
Or you can bring me down to wolly beach and dump the sucker out
Burn me to a rotten crisp and toast me for a while
I could really give a **** - I'm going out in style

Make me up dress me up, feed me a big old shot
Of embalming fluid highballs so i don't start to rot
Now take me to Mcgreevy's, i wanna buy one final round
What cheap prick would peel an orange in his pocket
Then hurry up and suck 'em down

If there's a god the girls you loved will all come walking through the door
Maybe they'll feel bad for me and this stiff will finally score
You've got the bed already
And nerve and courage too
Cause i've been slugging from a stash of desi queally's 1980s bathtub brew

You may bury me with an enemy in mount calvary
You can stack me on a pyre and soak me down with whiskey
Roast me to a blackened crisp and throw me in a pile
I could really give a **** - I'm going out in style
You can take my urn to fenway spread my ashes all about
Or you can bring me down to wolly beach and dump the sucker out
Burn me to a rotten crisp and toast me for a while
I could really give a **** - I'm going out in style

You may bury me with an enemy in mount calvary
You can stack me on a pyre and soak me down with whiskey
Roast me to a blackened crisp and throw me in a pile
I could really give a **** - I'm going out in style
You can take my urn to fenway spread my ashes all about
Or you can bring me down to wolly beach and dump the sucker out
Burn me to a rotten crisp and toast me for a while
I could really give a **** - I'm going out in style
You may bury me with an enemy in mount calvary
You can stack me on a pyre and soak me down with whiskey
Roast me to a blackened crisp and throw me in a pile
I could really give a **** - I'm going out in style
You can take my urn to fenway spread my ashes all about
Or you can bring me down to wolly beach and dump the sucker out
Burn me to a rotten crisp and toast me for a while
I could really give a **** - I'm going out in style
You may bury me with an enemy in mount calvary
You can stack me on a pyre and soak me down with whiskey
Roast me to a blackened crisp and throw me in a pile
I could really give a **** - I'm going out in style

Spread all my ashes about
Dump the sucker out
Toast me for a while
I'm going out in style

 

[mozgrame]

 

[mozgrame]

 

[mozgrame]

Now, dear children, pay attention *
I am the voice from the pillow
I have brought you something
I ripped it from my chest

With this heart I have the power
to blackmail the eyelids
I sing until the day awakes
a bright light on the heavens
my heart burns

They come to you in the night
demons, ghosts, black fairies
they creep out of the cellar shaft
and will look under your bedding

Now, dear children, pay attention
I am the voice from the pillow
I have brought you something
a bright light on the heavens
my heart burns

They come to you in the night
and steal your small hot tears
they wait until the moon awakes
and put them in my cold veins

Now, dear children, pay attention
I am the voice from the pillow
I sing until the day awakes
a bright light on the heavens
my heart burns

My heart burns

 

[Captain Moondog]

I have posted it before, I know, but I love the Rumjacks and Irish pub deserves another run! This time with lyrics for those that may struggle with the accent. Curious note: My step Dad was born in Sydney (my real Dad, Lismore) and his Mum in her later years had a life companion by the name of Sam. Sam was from Ireland, and when they visited us up here in Qld, as a kid, I could sit and listen to Sam talk for hours on end. The Irish accent is a wonderful thing. Closely followed by the Scottish. Even when angry, it sounds humorous and inviting. We have Irish blood in the bloodline on my Mother's side, and I wish I would have explored it further while she was still alive.

Anyway, enjoy!

There's a county map to go on the wall,
A hurling stick & a shinty ball,
The bric, the brac, the craic & all,
Lets call it an Irish pub,
Caffreys, Harp, Kilkenny on tap,
The Guinness pie & that cabbage crap,
The ideal wannabee Paddy trap,
We'll call it an Irish pub,

Whale, oil, beef, hooked! I swear upon the holy book,
The only 'craic' you'll get is a slap in the ear,
Whale, oil, beef, hooked! I'll up & burst yer filthy mug,
If you draw one more shamrock in me beer!

We'll raise the price o' beer a dollar,
We'll make em wear a shirt & collar,
We'll fly a bloody tri-colour,
And call it an Irish pub,
Jager bombs & double shots,
The underagers think its tops,
We'll spike the drinks & pay the cops,
We got us an Irish pub.

The quick one in the filthy bog,
The partin' glass across the lug,
O' the lady-O, the dirty dog,
We got us an Irish pub,
It's over to me and over to you,
We'll skip along the Avenue,
And who t'hell is Ronnie Drew?
We got us an Irish pub.

Plasma screens & neon lights,
Kara-farkin-oke nights,
The bouncers they can pick the fights,
We'll call it an Irish pub,
Plastic cups, a polished floor,
We'll hose the blood right out the door,
And let the knucklers back for more,
We got us an Irish pub,

Oh top o' the mornin', Garryowen,
Kiss me I'm Irish, Molly Malone,
Failte, Slainte, Pog ma thon,
We got us an Irish pub,
Spike the punch & strip the willow,
Strike me up the rakes o' Mallow,
The Liffey never ran so shallow,
We got us an Irish pub.

It's not an Irish pub if it's not in Ireland !

 

[Captain Moondog]

I'm currently trying to finish this bottle of vodka

Should be poteen with this music.

 

[mozgrame]

Should be poteen with this music.

Yes! Bloody white filth vodka is. Still, it's gone now. Problem solved. Always happy to take one for the team, you know, just to keep the family safe from its evil. 😉

Hey, I am a little seedy today, but I am sure I saw on the channel 7 morning show today that Tasmania produced a bottle of Whisky that won the award for worlds best! Bloody Tasmania!!

 

[mozgrame]

It's not an Irish pub if it's not in Ireland !

Hahaha! Yep! If you take the Blarney Stone out of Blarney Castle, wrap it in all the bubble wrap you can muster and fly it to Australia......all you've got is a bloody big rock!

 

[mozgrame]

 

[Captain Moondog]

Yes! Bloody white filth vodka is. Still, it's gone now. Problem solved. Always happy to take one for the team, you know, just to keep the family safe from its evil. 😉

Hey, I am a little seedy today, but I am sure I saw on the channel 7 morning show today that Tasmania produced a bottle of Whisky that won the award for worlds best! Bloody Tasmania!!

Well it was only Whisky and not Whiskey. Tullamore Dew would be hard to duplicate. I remember the water was brown out of the taps from the peat moss in the surrounding Bog Of Allen. That's what gives it it's flavour....the old man was a big poteen fan. I used to see him wake up pissed as on a Sunday morning. Mum would always say don't annoy your father he's a bit tired lol.

 

[Captain Moondog]

Hahaha! Yep! If you take the Blarney Stone out of Blarney Castle, wrap it in all the bubble wrap you can muster and fly it to Australia......all you've got is a bloody big rock!

My Uncle used to live right across from Blarney Castle. He took me and my brother across the river Lee to the castle. The Stone is about five feet down the wall, it's been kissed smooth over the years. They hang you by your
ankles so you can get to it. I hear they've got a safety cage around it now but they did'nt when we were there. We went across the river in this strange German boat he had called a folbot that you could fold up and put into bags.

 

[mozgrame]

My Uncle used to live right across from Blarney Castle. He took me and my brother across the river Lee to the castle. The Stone is about five feet down the wall, it's been kissed smooth over the years. They hang you by your
ankles so you can get to it. I hear they've got a safety cage around it now but they did'nt when we were there. We went across the river in this strange German boat he had called a folbot that you could fold up and put into bags.

I hope you are writing all these stories down @Moondog ! When my old man passed, I find that not being able to sit and listen to these old yarns over a beer or two is something I really miss. It'd be great for your kids to have a little hand written book of stories and funny observations to browse through should melancholia comes calling.

Here's to you having many, many more long years to fill it!!

 

[globaleagle]

I hope you are writing all these stories down @Moondog ! When my old man passed, I find that not being able to sit and listen to these old yarns over a beer or two is something I really miss. It'd be great for your kids to have a little hand written book of stories and funny observations to browse through should melancholia comes calling.

Here's to you having many, many more long years to fill it!!

I wish my dad would as well. I mean we aren't best of mates but it's amazing to hear about the things he has done in his life. snippets would be so much better if they were full stories!

Maybe "cats in the cradle" should be the next clip!!!

 

[Captain Moondog]

Last time I saw my old man was when I was sixteen, wish I'd spent more time with him.

 

[mozgrame]

Cold comfort, maybe, but look at it this way...Could it be, as some ancient astronaut theorists believe, that if not for some decisions made by our Fathers, and the outcomes of some decisions forced upon our Fathers, there is a really, really good chance that none of us 3 would be here on this site, today, posting about this.

*Insert X-files music*. Quantum, mind feck, freaky sh1t !

Think about it!

 

[mozgrame]

 

[mozgrame]

Righto...back to the silly stuff!