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'The Spoons Murder and other mysteries' |
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Subject: RE: 'The Spoons Murder and other mysteries' From: GUEST,Eoin O'Buadhaigh Date: 13 Dec 16 - 09:50 AM Con sang a new one he had composed (must be a year or so I heard it) about a man with a wig, brilliant, mind you, there was a lot of liquid being taken so song is a bit vague now but almost fell off my chair at the time. Con is on Facebook, you can search him out there. Eoin |
Subject: RE: 'The Spoons Murder and other mysteries' From: AmyLove Date: 12 Dec 16 - 10:51 PM More lyrics. On my cd the title is "Our Own Saint." The title given at the video is "Hymn to St Finbarr." Video: Hymn to St Finbarr Lyrics: You may talk of the Saints and the Scholars Whose names we all learned in school Who found Europe in sin and in squalor And brought it to order and rule A fig for these globe-trotting clerics St. Ronan, St. Brendan, St. Gall The man who gave women hysterics Was Finbarr so handsome and tall You can keep St. George and his dragons St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes For drinking the quarts and the naggins St. Finbarr the trophy must take While others were off gallivanting In Brussels, Berlin and Paris Finbarr his vespers was chanting At home in his church by the Lee His miracles all were astounding But surely of all his great work His finest achievement was founding The beautiful city of Cork You can keep St. George and his dragons St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes For drinking the quarts and the naggins St. Finbarr the trophy must take St. Canice above in Kilkenny At hurling had made quite a name He suffered an awful shock When he took on our Finbarr at the game St. Finbarr, he hurled like lightning By pulling first time, low and high He gave the poor man such a frightening He thought that the Doomsday was nigh You can keep St. George and his dragons St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes For drinking the quarts and the naggins St. Finbarr the trophy must take At bowling he cut quite a figure On tarmac or gravel or sods Men who were many times bigger He beat by incredible odds At draghunts and racetracks and meetings His dogs always won with a will And ever since then there's no beating The dogs of the boys of Fair Hill You can keep St. George and his dragons St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes For drinking the quarts and the naggins St. Finbarr the trophy must take Incensed with the heavy taxation On brandy and spirits and wine, Finbarr gave his dispensation to all Without penance or fine So the hills of West Cork were infested With men making poitín and rum Which then they consumed and digested To make themselves totally numb You can keep St. George and his dragons St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes For drinking the quarts and the naggins St. Finbarr the trophy must take Bould Finbarr being always ambitious And eager to taste a smathán In a way that was most surreptitious He founded a still in Guagán The stuff that he made was delicious And eagerly sought and imbibed But delivered an impact so vicious That no-one who drank it survived You can keep St. George and his dragons St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes For drinking the quarts and the naggins St. Finbarr the trophy must take At a conclave inside in St Peter's The cardinals said with one voice As they quaffed the red wine by the litre That Finbarr for Pope was their choice On hearing that he was elected And urgently summoned to Rome St Finbarr the job he rejected Remarking "There's no place like home!" You can keep St. George and his dragons St. Pat with his shamrocks and snakes For drinking the quarts and the naggins St. Finbarr the trophy must take |
Subject: RE: 'The Spoons Murder and other mysteries' From: AmyLove Date: 14 Jun 16 - 10:44 PM I found the lyrics to another of the songs here. The song title on my cd is In Praise of Pipers; the title at that site is The Irish Piper. You grand connoisseurs of fine reels and slow airs, A few moments you'll spare to give ear to my croon; Till without inhibition I praise a musician Adept and proficient at all kinds of tunes. For a sound that's heart-stopping, a rhythm that's topping, For cranning and popping with flair and with style, From east of the Khyber to the banks of the Tiber You won't beat the piper from Erin's green isle. This piper contrives with his elbow to drive Some fresh air which arrives in a bag 'neath his arm; He fingers the chanter as lithe as a panther, No sound could be grander for beauty and charm. When the air it is blown through the finely-tuned drones It produces a tone that amazes the ear: Regulators get going as a musical bonus, With notes so harmonious, perfection is near. I sing no encomium for pipes Caledonian Which cannot be blown on inside in the house, For your bagpiper Scottish must leave his own cottage, His unhappy lot is to play for the cows. As he stands in the rain with his lungs under strain, All his work is in vain, as the Gael hoists his kilt. He can blow till he's crocked, but his way will be blocked, For to play a high octave his pipes aren't built. Some people declare that all pipers are quare With a manner that scares timid people and weans. Their behaviour so strange and their wits half-deranged, As if some sort of mange infiltrated their brains. Playing those pipes problematic takes skills acrobatic Which turns them fanatic, obsessive and grim: So those cynics deride all his properties vital, To slander our idol's their purpose and whim. For howe'er they may slight him, our hero's a Titan, A brave gallant knight and a champion supreme; Though he's often attacked as being thorny as cactus He's not half as cracked as he sometimes may seem. He's bright and flamboyant, his heart's full of joy and He's almost clairvoyant, with wisdom endowed; He's keen as a razor when he starts Colonel Fraser And he drives women crazier by playing Miss McLeod. I could write an epistle on screechy tin whistles Or the germ-filled drizzle that drips from the flute; The tone-deaf accompanist happily thumpin' his Strings, causing grumpiness, rows and disputes. Those musical rookies who torture bouzoukis Make noises so spooky, for mercy you'll plead; Forget all those villains, your píobaire uilleann Is famed for his brilliance at handling a reed. So if your life is like slime and your verses won't rhyme And the days of your prime are a memory frail, Avoid treatments quixotic like drink or narcotics, Just hear the hypnotic bagpipes of the Gael. 'Twould take Archimedes a hundred and three days To grasp how that reed is created from cane. But my powers they grow scanty, I'd need the poet Dante Or the Spaniard Cervantes to sing this refrain. |
Subject: RE: 'The Spoons Murder and other mysteries' From: JHW Date: 05 Mar 16 - 03:55 PM So which Wetherspoons was it? |
Subject: RE: 'The Spoons Murder and other mysteries' From: GUEST Date: 05 Mar 16 - 04:03 AM You always scan your book. (I've already found the King Lear lyrics here on mudcat. On my cd the song has the title Jig-time Shakespeare.) The introduction to the song in the book is titled 'jig time Shakespeare' both in the book and on the CD (cover included in the book) the song is given its proper title of 'King Lear' |
Subject: RE: 'The Spoons Murder and other mysteries' From: GUEST Date: 04 Mar 16 - 06:56 PM Here's the title song, and an anonymous addition. 1. In the tavern one night we were sitting I'm sure 'twas the last week in March; From our drinks we were cautiously sipping To ensure that our throats didn't parch. We played music both lively and dacent To bolster our spirits and hopes, And we gazed at the females adjacent And remarked on their curves and their slopes. 2. 'Til a gent wandered into the session And decided to join in the tunes: Without waiting to ask our permission He took out a large pair of soup-spoons. Our teeth in short time we were gritting As he shook and he rattled his toys, And the company's eardrums were splitting With his ugly mechanical noise. 3. Hopping spoons off our heads to provoke us He continued the music to kill; Whether hornpipes, slow airs or Polkas They all sounded like pneumatic drills. Then he asked if we'd play any faster As his talent he wished to display With a grin on the face of the bastard Like the cat as she teases her prey. 4. Our feelings by now were quite bloody And politely we asked him to quit We suggested a part of his body Where those spoons might conveniently fit. This monster we pestered and hounded We implored him with curses and tears, But in vain our appeals they resounded In the desert between his two ears. 5. When I went out the back on a mission He arrived as I finished my leak He says "this is a mighty fine session I think I'll come here every week". When I heard this, with rage I was leppin' No more of this torture I'd take I looked 'round for a suitable weapon To silence this damn rattlesnake. 6. Outside towards the yard I did sally To find something to vanquish my foe. I grabbed hold of a gentleman's Raleigh With 15 speed gear and dynamo. Then I battered this musical vandal As I shouted with furious cries "My dear man your last spoon you have handled Say your prayers and await your demise." 7. With the bike I assailed my tormentor As I swung in a frenzy of hate Til his bones and his skull were in splinters And his health in a very poor state. And when I was no longer able I forestalled any last minute hitch By removing the gear-changing cable And strangling the sonofabitch. 8. At the end of my onslaught ferocious I stood back and surveyed the scene. The state of the place was atrocious Full of fragments of man and machine. At the spoon's players remains I was staring His condition was surely no joke For his nose was clogged with ball-bearings And his left eye was pierced by a spoke. 9. At the sight I was feeling quite squeamish So I washed up and went back inside Then I drank a half gallon of Beamish For my throat in the struggle had dried. Unpolluted by cutleries clattered The music was pleasant and sweet For the rest of the night nothing mattered But the tunes and the tapping of feet. 10. At the inquest the following September The coroner said "I conclude The deceased by himself was dismembered As no sign could be found of a feud. And the evidence shows that the fact is, As reported to me by the Guards He indulged in the foolhardy practice Of trick-cycling in public house yards. 11. So if you're desperately keen on percussion And to join in the tunes you can't wait Be you Irishman, German, or Russian Take a lesson from his awful fate. If your spoons are the best silver-plated Or the humblest of cheap stainless steel If you play them abroad, you'll be hated So just use them for eating your meals. 1. When next at the tavern we gathered, (I think it was sometime in May) We raised up our glasses and chattered As the pipes and the fiddles did play. The tunes and the songs flowed around us And the porter it flowed down our throats, The temperature rose like a furnace; And we loosened the collars of our coats. 2. I drew into the spirit of the occasion, By bestowing a kiss on a lass; (She was of the female persuasion, And single, with curves smooth as glass.) I said 'My young lass, are you willing To try your good fortune with me? For I have in my purse some bright shillings That I'd spend in your good company.' 3. But my passion was dowsed in cruel fashion, And no answer she gave unto me, For a stranger strode into the session, And sat down betwixt her and me. I told him the seat had been taken And that there was room in the bars, But he said I was sorely mistaken For he'd sat here before, kiss my arse. 4. 'You're welcome, kind stranger,' I told him, 'Though I hardly remember your face. Did you sing, play or dance in times olden Ere politeness evolved in your race? For my father's grandfathers, God bless them, Have fiddled and piped here as well, And never a soul dared disturb them But a spoonsman who now bides in Hell.' 5. The temperature fell like an icicle, And the stranger announced to the room, Said he 'It is due to a bicycle That ever I met with my doom. For the last time I came to this session My skills on the spoons I displayed, But I met with unwonted aggression And got murdered by velocipede. 6. But we spoonsmen let nothing deter us, Even death shall not make us quit - And so I arrived at Saint Peter's To play with the angels a bit. He said: "Oh you're welcome in Heaven, And we've got some fecking great tunes, Sure all of your sins are forgiven, But I can't say the same for your spoons." 7. "But don't worry," he says very civil, "You're dead lucky you met me, you know, For there's a fella who plays like a divil Runs a hell of a session below. In a room at the foot of the staircase You can hear some most infernal tunes, The crack it is fast and its furious, But the racket needs help from your spoons." 8. So I joined the cacophanous rabble, And the records of Hades will tell That since Adam ate half of Eve's apple Such discords were ne'er heard in Hell. And such was their utter amazement At the rattles and rolls of my spoons, They sent for the hostelry's management And summoned him into the room. 9. "This fella will make us demented," They all cried aloud with one voice, "We were never so vilely tormented By such cruel and unusual noise." The Devil he said, and he meant it, "You've a talent I wish I could use, But the sin hasn't yet been invented That I'd punish with such an abuse. 10. Go home and take all of your cutlery You can practice little bit more - It may take a couple of centuries, But I'll call when we want you, I'm sure." 'So I'm back, and I've something to please youse.' And as we stifled our horrified groans, He threw off his coat, and bejasus, He proceeded to play on his bones! |
Subject: RE: 'The Spoons Murder and other mysteries' From: AmyLove Date: 03 Mar 16 - 10:35 PM I have the book and cd. Marvelous songs. Now I'm hoping someone here can direct me to the lyrics online somewhere -- I find it more convenient while singing along to follow the lyrics on my computer rather than referring to the book. (I've already found the King Lear lyrics here on mudcat. On my cd the song has the title Jig-time Shakespeare.) |
Subject: RE: 'The Spoons Murder and other mysteries' From: GUEST Date: 23 Mar 07 - 04:49 PM Should be able to get in touch with him through the Spalpin Fanach Club in Cork - Cap'n Birdseye should have a contact number. Jim Carroll |
Subject: RE: 'The Spoons Murder and other mysteries' From: GUEST,Curious Clouseau Date: 23 Mar 07 - 12:01 PM Does anyone have and address for Con O Drisceoil? Any help would be much appreciated. |
Subject: RE: 'The Spoons Murder and other mysteries' From: GUEST Date: 28 Sep 06 - 10:49 AM Refresh |
Subject: 'The Spoons Murder and other mysteries' From: MartinRyan Date: 25 Sep 06 - 07:29 PM Fans of Con (Fada) O'Drisceoil might like ot know that his long-awaited magnum opus has just appeared! "The Spoons Murder and other mysteries" is a book/CD package of Con's (very) originals. Not cheap but a beautifully produced package and worth every cent! click here for details at eh Pipers Club web-shop. Regards |
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