THE MURDERED SONG
(copyright Andy McKean, 1998)

At a folk club in a toon, I heard a a young man singin',
Like a constipated donkey in distress.
An' wi' a finger in one ear, the noise he made was weird,
And he went from bad to worse wi' every verse.

Chorus
Oh dear, oh dear and michty me,
He was singin' way off key and far too high.
Like a dug wi'oot a bone, he howled doon yon michrophone,
As he murdered the Fields of Athenry.

He just went on and on; his song was never endin',
I'm sure the chorus had three extra lines.
And it wisnae very nice when he sang the verses twice,
Wi' the last one sounding mair like Auld Lang Syne.

The bugger widnae stop, and the audience were groanin,
And I wished I had a rope tae hang him high;
for I'd've buried him doon deep, in ab'low the coos and sheep,
In the middle o' the Fields of Athenry.

If you do the folk club rounds and this young man's on the billin',
Mak sure that you gie him a body swerve,
Or ambush him at his car, then evacuate the bar,
Before his voice attacks your every nerve.

I heard this from Andy at Aberfeldy Folk Fest in September; his rendition was prompted by another sessioner's version of Crawford Howard/Fintan Valaly's "No Man's Land (3)"- in the DT.
RMG