Subject: Lyr Add: TAM LIN (parody by Les Barker)
From:
AndyG
Date: 13 Jul 98 - 05:01 AM
Here y'go Cuilionn;
Tam Lin
I forbid you maidens all,
And a warning take by me,
Don't go down to the Chaser's Wood.
If a maid you want to return, return.
If a maid you want to return.
Lady Margaret, Lady Margaret
She's made haste to comb her hair
And she's gone down to the Chaser's Wood
She's heard what goes on there, on there.
She's heard what goes on there.
She's not pulled one rose-red daffodil
When he's sprung down from a tree.
Lady don't you touch that bloom,
It's council property, property.
It's council property.
And if you touch that red, red bloom,
You'll hang until you're dead.
So she asked for his forgiveness,
All behind the potting-shed, potting-shed.
All behind the potting-shed.
And what they did I cannot say,
So long they did lie there.
Except the earth did move so much,
She had to comb her hair, her hair.
She had to comb her hair.
Four and twenty maidens, all sitting in the Hall
All playing at the chess.
All except for the Lady Margaret,
She's in something of a mess, a mess.
She's in something of a mess.
Then up spoke one of those girls,
On her face a gleeful twitch.
I think my lady is with child.
Oo! she was a bitch, a bitch.
Oo! she was a bitch
Then up spoke another of those girls,
And a pretty-little-girl was she.
You must go back to the Chaser's Wood,
For to twine the babe from thee, from thee.
For to twine the babe from thee.
Go straight to the heart of the Chaser's Wood,
And wear a scarlet fez,
Stand on your head for half an hour,
That's what my granny says, she says.
That's what my granny says.
Lady Margaret went down to the Chaser's Wood,
Just as fast as she could tear.
Pausing only forty minutes,
For to comb her golden hair, her hair.
To comb her golden hair.
She went straight to the heart of the Chaser's Wood.
A fez upon her head.
You can't stand on your head round here,
A voice behind her said, it said.
A voice behind her said.
Tomorrow he said you will be hanged,
And must leave the Church of Rome,
And pay a fine of seven and six,
Or I'll confiscate your comb, your comb.
I'll confiscate your comb.
Yet you may live if you will help me,
The young park-keeper said.
I will tell to you my story.
Come behind the potting-shed, potting-shed.
Come behind the potting-shed.
As I rode out, on a bitter, bitter day,
'Twas from my horse I fell.
And the queen of the elvens she did take me,
In yonder green wood to dwell, to dwell.
In yonder green wood to dwell.
It is the seventh, seventh year,
And I must pay the toll of Hell.
She knew his words were truthful,
And he almost did as well, as well.
He almost did as well.
Though I will change all in your arms,
Yet you must hold me near.
For I am the father of your child.
She said "I'm glad we've got that clear.", that clear
I'm glad we've got that clear.
So she ran down to the old mill bridge,
All through the moonlit wood.
And her hair it shone like finest gold,
And so it bloody should, it should.
And so it bloody should.
First there came a black horse, and then there came a brown,
And they pulled the devil's coach.
She threw her arms around her love,
He very nearly choked, he choked.
He very nearly choked.
And they changed him then, it was all in her arms,
He'd Jeremy Beadles looks.
But she held him fast, she feared him not,
She knew it was a hoax, a hoax.
She knew it was a hoax.
And they changed him again, it was all in her arms,
"Bernard Manning", she thought, "Oh No!"
But she kept her arms around him,
Well as far as they would go, would go.
As far as they would go.
And they changed him again, it was all in her arms,
The Prince of Wales appears
She wrapped herself around him
And she grabbed hold of his ears, his ears.
She grabbed hold of his ears.
And they changed him again, and Biggles he became,
Down the tarmac they did run.
She misted up his goggles,
And left Biggles flies undone, undone.
Biggles flies undone.
And they changed him again, into John Major,
What she said frightened him so.
My name is Lady Margaret,
And I'm not letting go, letting go.
No I'm not letting go.
"Just one more, my love." he cried,
"One more and we are home."
"Hang on, I'm getting off." she cried,
"I've dropped my bleeding comb.", my comb
I've dropped my bleeding comb
Four and twenty maidens, all sitting in the Hall,
Lady Margaret she is there,
And she knows not her baby's father,
But, My God !, what lovely hair, what hair.
My God !, what lovely hair.
Les Barker/Mrs Ackroyd Band Mrs Ackroyd Enterprises / DOG Records
Gnus and Roses
AndyG
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