THE RETURN OF "SPOONS"
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.
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.'
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.
'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.'
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.
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."
"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."
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.
"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.
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 !
[Tune on SPOONMUR]
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