A Bumbling Englishman by The Shambles


The Shambles' Comments: After all I said about parody, I have written one. Well it's not meant to be a parody of A Rambling Irishman, I have just stolen the tune to make a point. A naive point may be but I had this dream the other night where the whole of Ireland, North and South joined in one huge session and danced together . . . But what do I know, I'm just a bumbling Englishman? I do so love the music though.


There was a bumbling Englishman,
Ambition in him burning.
He'd seen all those 'Riverdancing' shows,
And he became determined.
He bought him a fiddle of great renown,
And it cost him lots of 'fivers'.
He vowed he play that fiddle too,
Just like Eileen Ivers.

He went and sold his guitar,
Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy.

Eileen could do no wrong in his eyes,
A star that would not tarnish.
He coated his fiddle in 'NITROMORS',
To get off all that varnish.
He painted that poor fiddle blue,
To initate his hero.
His lust and ambition you could not fault,
But his taste and talent was zero.

He went and sold his guitar,
Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy.

When he started scraping away,
People left the area.
He was quickly left all on his own,
Just like he had Malaria.
There was one tune, he was determined to play,
It was poor old 'Fanny Power'.
If she could have heard it the way he played,
She'd have prayed for her final hour.

He went and sold his guitar,
Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy.

Andy said if he carried on,
He'd take that fiddle and burn it
. So he thought he would cross the Irish Sea,
What better place to learn it?
Found himself lost in the North,
Without much rhyme nor reason.
Looking for a place to learn his tune,
In the middle of the marching season.

He went and sold his guitar,
Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy.

When he came to a barricade,
They'd let him go no further.
Did not notice the stony glares,
Intent on bloody murder.
He sat down to play his tune,
And he didn't need to say it.
A young lad took his whistle out,
And showed him how to play it.

He went and sold his guitar,
Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy.

An old man came from the other side,
He could not stand his scratching.
He stepped up smart and took his bow,
And now the notes were matching.
A flute joined in and started a reel
And then the dancing started.
He soon forgot his violin,
For his dancing was whole-hearted.

He went and sold his guitar,
Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy.

So many people played that day,
They'd forgotten why they came there.
Thanks to that bumbling Englishman,
It never was the same there.
They thought it was a good idea,
To send him where there was trouble.
For as soon as he started to play his tune,
They'd all leave at the double.

He went and sold his guitar,
Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy.

The moral of this tale is clear,
That when you've nearly lost it.
The very best ones to sort it out,
Are the very ones that caused it.
And where is the hero of our tale,
Who's not been heard of latterly.
When he's not peace-making for the U.N.
He's understudy for Michael Flatley.

He went and sold his guitar,
Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy.

Roger Gall 1999.