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Lyr Req: For forty years I've been buggered

GUEST,shantyjohn 28 Aug 10 - 04:32 PM
Gurney 29 Aug 10 - 01:57 AM
Jim Carroll 29 Aug 10 - 03:35 AM
Fred McCormick 29 Aug 10 - 06:31 AM
Jim Dixon 29 Aug 10 - 08:10 AM
Jim Dixon 29 Aug 10 - 08:39 AM
Jim Dixon 29 Aug 10 - 09:01 AM
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Subject: Lyr Req: For forty years I've been buggered
From: GUEST,shantyjohn
Date: 28 Aug 10 - 04:32 PM

I heard this as a monologue several years ago, can't now remember more than the first line, although varicose veins are mentioned.

Can anyone help with the words please?


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: For forty years I've been buggered
From: Gurney
Date: 29 Aug 10 - 01:57 AM

Shantyjohn, have you searched the monologues website?
Google 'Monologues' or 'Make 'Em Laugh' to find the site.

Can't help you any further, I'm afraid.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: For forty years I've been buggered
From: Jim Carroll
Date: 29 Aug 10 - 03:35 AM

Shantyjohn
It's a song around this area, recorded some time in the early 1970s from an elderly local man, now long dead, who had a couple of similar ones, including The Farting Competition.
The little I remember begins:
This forty-five years I've been buggered,
With all kinds of horrible pains,
-------
From rupture to varicose veins

And ends:
My life it is spent in the shite-house,
Or roaring and groaning in bed,
And my friends say, when quietly passing,
It's time that that poor whore was dead.

Will sort out my recording of it and put up a transcription of the text - when I get time.
Jim Carroll


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: For forty years I've been buggered
From: Fred McCormick
Date: 29 Aug 10 - 06:31 AM

This Forty Five Years I've Been Buggared

This forty five years I've been buggared
With all kinds of horrible pains.
And I've every ailment I reckon
From ruptures to varicose veins.

Arthritis with me is a hobby,
I've got bunions and corns on my feet.
And I seem to breed stones in my bladder
Like bloody great lumps of concrete.

Gastric acid they say is my trouble
And I do not mind telling you this
I have to whistle the last Rose of Summer
To coax my old doodle to piss.

So I've spent a small fortune on potions
On doctors and hospital beds
And the stuff that they give me to swallow
Has torn my poor arsehole to shreds.

And despite the advice I am taking
There isn't a day I feel fit
And it takes an ounce of gunpowder
Before I can bloody well shit.

So my time is all spent in the shitehouse
Or moaning and groaning in bed.
And the folks they all say as they're passing
Tis time that poor old soul was dead.


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Subject: Lyr Add: IT'S TIME THE POOR BASTARD WAS DEAD
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 29 Aug 10 - 08:10 AM

Lyrics copied from a songbook called Snatches and Lays: Songs Miss Lilywhite Never Taught Us edited by Sebastian Hogbotel & Simon Ffuukes (Boozy Company, 1962), found at John Patrick's Drinking Songs, Folklore Dept., California State University, Fresno:


IT'S TIME THE POOR BASTARD WAS DEAD

For forty-odd years I've been buggered
With all sorts of horrible pains.
I've had every ailment I reckon
From ulcers to varicose veins.

I've spent a small fortune at chemists,
And lain months in hospital beds,
And the stuff that I've taken to shift me
Has torn my old arse-hole to shreds.

I've a neurotic nerve as a torture.
They say I've a valvular heart,
While I strain like a bloody great carthorse,
And all I squeeze out is a fart.

I've got rheumatic gout in my fingers.
It's made them all sizes and shapes,
And the piles that I have in my rectum
Hang down like a great bunch of grapes.

My diet is fuck-awful putrid.
If I have a square meal I feel sick,
And there's also a funny sensation
Like rats gnawing holes in my prick.

Uric acid they say is my trouble,
So I do not mind telling you this:
I've got to whistle "The Last Rose of Summer"
To coax the old doodle to piss.

And as for a first-class erection,
The idea is just simply absurd,
For my cock's like an under-sized maggot,
And as soft as a night-commode turd.

I spend all the day in the shit-house,
Or moaning and groaning in bed,
While my bowels simply murmur in passing:
"It's time the poor bastard was dead."


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Subject: Lyr Add: BUGGERED
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 29 Aug 10 - 08:39 AM

Another version, found at another forum:


BUGGERED

For forty long years I've been buggered
With all sorts of horrible pains.
I've had every ailment I reckon
From rupture to varicose veins.

Neuritis with me is a hobby.
I've bloody great corns on my feet,
And I seem to breed stones in my bladder
Like bloody great lumps of concrete.

I've a sciatic nerve that's a bastard,
And I'm told I have a valvular heart,
And I strain like a bloody Namek*
Before I can squeeze out a fart.

Rheumatics and gout in my fingers
Have made them all horrible shapes,
And the piles I've got in my arsehole
Hang down like bunches of grapes.

I've spent a fortune on chemists
And laid a month on hospital beds,
And the stuff I've taken to shift them
Has torn my arsehole to shreds.

Uric acid they say is trouble,
And I don't mind telling you this:
I have to whistle the 'Last Rose of Summer'
To coax my poor 'Super saiyajin'* to piss.

I can't even sleep with Bulma*.
My tool's as limp as a rag
And draws itself up in my belly
If anyone mentions a shag.

For forty long years I've been buggered.
There's never a day I've been fit.
I take 22 lbs of dynamite
Before I can bloody well shit.

Now my time is spent in the shit house
Or moaning and groaning in bed,
And my 'pals' simply say when they're passing,
"It's time that bastard Prince* was dead."


[* These seem to be jargon words from the world of Manga/Anime. I suspect they were inserted by the person who posted this as a sort of inside joke.]


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Subject: Lyr Add: BUGGERED
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 29 Aug 10 - 09:01 AM

From "Fester," a mimeographed songbook found at The Jack Horntip Collection:

FESTER
1967

Printed and published by the Society for the
Promotion of Immoral Impulses and the Stamp
Out Virgins Society, at their unregistered
office, [...] New Zealand.
New and revised Edition 1967.
Copyright S. P. I. I. and S. O. V. S. 1967.
Printed in New Zealand.

...

BUGGERED
Tune: "Botany Bay"

For forty years I've been buggered
With horrible aches and pains.
I've had every ailment I reckon
From rupture to varicose veins.

[CHORUS] Singing too-ra-li-oora-li-addity,
Too-ra-li-oo-ra-li-addity,
Singing too-ra-li-oo-ra—li-addity,
Too-ra-li-oora-li-aa.

Neuritis with me is a hobby.
I've bunions and corns on my feet,
And I seem to bred [sic] stones in my bladder
Like fuckin' great lumps of concrete.

I've spent a small fortune on chemists.
I've lain months in hospital beds,
And the stuff I've taken to shift me
Has torn my poor stomach to shreds.

And In spite of the cures I'm taking,
There's hardly a day I feel fit,
And it takes a full pound of gunpowder
Before I can bloody well shift. [sic]

I've a stricture in the tube of my penis,
And I don't mind tolling you this:
I've to whistle "The Last Rose of Summer"
To coax my poor doodle to piss.

And as for a first class erection,
The idea is simply absurd,
For my cock's like an undersized maggot
And as soft as a night commode turd.

So my time's all spent in the shithouse
Or moaning and groaning in bed
While my friends they all murmur when passing,
"It's time the poor bastard was dead."


[The Jack Horntip Collection, by the way, seems to be an updated version of John Patrick's Drinking Songs, which I mentioned earlier. A better copy of "Snatches and Lays" can be found here.]


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