Well I buggered that up didn't I... here are the lyrics.

They're cribbed first hand from a second hand recording of Nick Dow's "Poor Man's Gift" (Thank you Terry Pardoe, for supplying it back in the days when I couldn't afford records) but I'm afraid I can't do tunes; sorry. I also have no sleeve notes so I can't tell you who wrote it or even a cat. no. for the record!

The Randy Old Parson

Well it's of a farmer who lived down in Kent, with his wife and his daughter of sweet seventeen.
She was a buxom and radiant beauty, the fairest I ever had seen.
Over the hill came a randy old parson, although he was married, he fancied her still;
Oftimes he swore with the farmers fair daughter the parson would have his will.

Now one fine day as she was a walking, a viewing the fields and the meadows so gay,
The randy old parson he stepped up to her and these were the words he did say:
'Many's the time I've seen you out walking and you from a distance I've often admired,
One fine night, to lie in your arms it would put up me own hearts desire'.

'Now kind sir if you would lie with me, come to my window tomorrow at night,
Me father and mother will both be from home and there you'll enjoy me delight'.
Then the fair maid agreed with the parson and back to the cottage she quickly did run,
She sat down for to think of a plan how she might show the poor parson some fun.

The very next night the old parson came calling, she opened her window unto let him in.
She led the old parson into her bed chamber and there to undress did begin.
Once he was out of his trousers and waistcoat, she for her father so loudly did call,
'Father come quick, for here is a burglar, come for to murder us all.'

The farmer burst into his daughter's bedchamber, he picked up a stick and he beat him about,
The randy old parson in shirt and in britches so loudly for mercy did shout.
And then the old parson got out of the window and over the hill he ran for his life,
He never stopped until he got home to the arms of his nagging old wife.

The very next day they looked in his pockets, found fifty bright guineas in silver and gold.
The farmer he said, 'it's a fitting reward for a daughter so cunning and bold'.
The poor old parson awoke in the morning, both light in the pocket and sore in the head,
Then ever after, with his nagging old wife, and he wished for the day he was dead.



I have to add that in all my years of church-going, I've never met a parson with those inclinations... perhaps it doesn't happen in Dorset.

LTS