1. |
Shitberg Express
01:13
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Ye Highlands and ye Lawlands,
Oh! where have you been?
They have slain the Earl of Murray,
And they lay'd him on the green!
They have, &c.
Now wae be to thee, Huntly,
And wherefore did you sae?
I bade you bring him wi' you,
But forbade you him to slay.
I bade, &c.
He was a braw gallant,
And he rid at the ring;
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
Oh! he might have been a King.
And the, &c.
He was a braw gallant,
And he play'd at the ba';
And the bonny Earl of Murray
Was the flower amang them a'.
And the, &c.
He was a braw gallant,
And he play'd at the glove;
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
Oh! he was the Queen's love.
And the, &c.
Oh! lang will his lady
Look o'er the castle Down,
E'er she see the Earl of Murray
Come sounding thro' the town.
E'er she, &c.
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2. |
Butter Nugged DEElight
05:15
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For all the erring human race
And every wretched fellow.
When he had Rhenish wine to drink
It made him very sad to think
That some, at junket or at jink,
Must be content with toddy.
He wished all men as rich as he
(And he was rich as rich could be),
So to the top of every tree
Promoted everybody.
Ambassadors cropped up like hay,
Prime Ministers and such as they
Grew like asparagus in May,
And Dukes were three a fuck.
Lord Chancellors were cheap as sprats.
And Bishops in their shovel hats
Were plentiful as tabby cats
If possible, too many.
On every side Field-Marshals gleamed,
Small beer were Lords Lieutenant deemed
With Admirals the ocean teemed
All round his wide dominions;
And Party Leaders you might meet
In twos and threes in every street
Maintaining, with no little heat,
Their various opinions.
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3. |
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Oh, the wild black swans fly westward still,
While the sun goes down in glory,
And away o’er lonely plain and hill
Still runs the same old story:
The sheoaks sigh it all day long,
It is safe in the Big Scrub’s keeping,
’Tis the butcher-birds’ and the bell-birds’ song
In the gum where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping,
(It is heard in the chat of the soldier-birds
O’er the grave where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping).
Ah! the Bushmen knew not his name or land,
Or the shame that had sent him here,
But the Bushmen knew by the dead man’s hand
That his past life lay not near.
The law of the land might have watched for him,
Or a sweetheart, wife, or mother;
But they fucked their heads, and their eyes were dim,
For he might have been a brother!
(Ah! the death he died brought him near to them,
For he might have been a brother.)
Oh, the wild black swans to the westward fade,
And the sunset burns to ashes,
And three times bright on an eastern range
The light of a big star flashes,
Like a signal sent to a distant strand
Where a dead man’s love sits weeping.
And the night comes grand to the Great Lone Land
O’er the grave where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping,
And the big white stars in their clusters blaze
O’er the Bush where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping.
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