BSA Song Book
- Thread starter Mark
- Start date
Mark Wright
Active member
This is one of my favourites in my local folk session pub in Sheffield.
A is for as I roved out, as all good songs begin
B is for brave boys the bit the audience join in
C is for the cabin boy who turns out not to be male
D is for the drummer who is very often female
E is for the ethnic stance with hand round mug of beer
F is for the finger that you stick into your ear
G is for the garter that often comes undone
H is for the hay where you untie it which is fun
I is the Irish raskal who already has a wife
J is for John Barleycorn who keeps coming back to life
K is for the K Knave who to a K Knife and killed his sister, and brother, and father, an assortment of male servants, the lampton worm, his horse, his hawk, his budgy, his greyhound, his wife and himself, all in 47 verses
L is where he's going for to burn and bake and blister (finger in the ear, nyaaaaaa)
M is the merry month of May when youthful blood springs out
N is nine months later when you wish that it had not
O is for Oh no John no John no I don't approve of
P the perky way in which I've seen your trousers move
Q is found at festivals outside the ladies loo
R is for real ale, responsible for Q
S is for the sporrun on me bonny highland lassie
T is wild mountain time, gins a treat were fennen haddie
U is unaccompanied song of very great appraisal
V is for the vowel sounds which should preferably be nasel (fingers squeezing nose)
Wis the wife who takes a tumble with the groom
X is what her husband says on entering the room
Y is you good people all, I hope you've not been bored
Z is for the zeal with which I hope you might applaud
Mark
A is for as I roved out, as all good songs begin
B is for brave boys the bit the audience join in
C is for the cabin boy who turns out not to be male
D is for the drummer who is very often female
E is for the ethnic stance with hand round mug of beer
F is for the finger that you stick into your ear
G is for the garter that often comes undone
H is for the hay where you untie it which is fun
I is the Irish raskal who already has a wife
J is for John Barleycorn who keeps coming back to life
K is for the K Knave who to a K Knife and killed his sister, and brother, and father, an assortment of male servants, the lampton worm, his horse, his hawk, his budgy, his greyhound, his wife and himself, all in 47 verses
L is where he's going for to burn and bake and blister (finger in the ear, nyaaaaaa)
M is the merry month of May when youthful blood springs out
N is nine months later when you wish that it had not
O is for Oh no John no John no I don't approve of
P the perky way in which I've seen your trousers move
Q is found at festivals outside the ladies loo
R is for real ale, responsible for Q
S is for the sporrun on me bonny highland lassie
T is wild mountain time, gins a treat were fennen haddie
U is unaccompanied song of very great appraisal
V is for the vowel sounds which should preferably be nasel (fingers squeezing nose)
Wis the wife who takes a tumble with the groom
X is what her husband says on entering the room
Y is you good people all, I hope you've not been bored
Z is for the zeal with which I hope you might applaud
Mark
Mark Wright
Active member
And this one, written by Miles Wootton from Suffolk,
Early one evening just as the pubs were opening
A traveller went walking down a dark and a windy street
He saw a door ajar, enered the public
Landlord I would like a drink and something nice to eat
I fancy some crusty bread, the roast beef of old England
Fresh butter from the churn, a pickled onion too
And do you think you could, draw some bitter from the wood
I'll be quite content to sip a quiet pint or two
I'll sit down by your fire and I'll ponder on the infinite
The peace of your hostelry will seep into my heart
And if a regular should come into the bar
Perhaps I might entice him to a contest with the dart
Oh well said the landlord, I've got toasted fish paste sandwiches
and tasty instant sausage that I purchase by the tonne
and if you fancy it, I can defrost a bit
and serve it up with ketchup on a supermarket bun
I'll pour for you a fizzy pint of quaint new English ready brew
as advertised on telly by a famous rugby scrum
no dirty barrels here, we serve heigenic beer
safely paralised inside an aluminium drum
Sit down by the fire, I'll switch the logs on presently
how about a game of pool or else a fruit machine
three cherries in a row, that'll set your heart aglow
how about some heavy rock to really set the scene
Well the traveller sat down inside this polystyrene inglenook
the plastic beams were twanging to an electronic sound
he started to bight and chew, he took a sip of ready brew
he gave a ghastly gurgle, and fell dead upon the ground
Oh no, said the landlord, as he turned the colour telly up
another dreadful accident the third this week I fear
If they can't hold their own, why don't they stay at home
I must say we get some funny customers in here
Mark
Early one evening just as the pubs were opening
A traveller went walking down a dark and a windy street
He saw a door ajar, enered the public
Landlord I would like a drink and something nice to eat
I fancy some crusty bread, the roast beef of old England
Fresh butter from the churn, a pickled onion too
And do you think you could, draw some bitter from the wood
I'll be quite content to sip a quiet pint or two
I'll sit down by your fire and I'll ponder on the infinite
The peace of your hostelry will seep into my heart
And if a regular should come into the bar
Perhaps I might entice him to a contest with the dart
Oh well said the landlord, I've got toasted fish paste sandwiches
and tasty instant sausage that I purchase by the tonne
and if you fancy it, I can defrost a bit
and serve it up with ketchup on a supermarket bun
I'll pour for you a fizzy pint of quaint new English ready brew
as advertised on telly by a famous rugby scrum
no dirty barrels here, we serve heigenic beer
safely paralised inside an aluminium drum
Sit down by the fire, I'll switch the logs on presently
how about a game of pool or else a fruit machine
three cherries in a row, that'll set your heart aglow
how about some heavy rock to really set the scene
Well the traveller sat down inside this polystyrene inglenook
the plastic beams were twanging to an electronic sound
he started to bight and chew, he took a sip of ready brew
he gave a ghastly gurgle, and fell dead upon the ground
Oh no, said the landlord, as he turned the colour telly up
another dreadful accident the third this week I fear
If they can't hold their own, why don't they stay at home
I must say we get some funny customers in here
Mark
Mark Wright
Active member
I'm on a roll,
In the busom of young Abigail
was written the price of her tail
and upon her behind
for the use of the blind
was the same information in brail
Mark
In the busom of young Abigail
was written the price of her tail
and upon her behind
for the use of the blind
was the same information in brail
Mark
Mark Wright
Active member
A regular song heard in the Peak Hotel in Castleton, sung by Jim Hurlston of the TSG
Joe, he was a young cordwangler,
Munging greebles he did go,
And he loved a bogler's daughter
By the name of Chiswick Flo.
Vain she was and like a grusset
Though her gander parts were fine,
But she sneered at his cordwangle
As it hung upon the line.
So he stole a woggler's mooly
For to make a wedding ring,
But the Bow Street Runners caught him
And the judge said "He will swing."
Oh, they hung him by the postern,
Nailed his mooly to the fence
For to warn all young cordwanglers
That it was a grave offence.
There's a moral to this story,
Though your cordwangle be poor,
Keep your hands off other's moolies,
For it is against the law.
Mark
Joe, he was a young cordwangler,
Munging greebles he did go,
And he loved a bogler's daughter
By the name of Chiswick Flo.
Vain she was and like a grusset
Though her gander parts were fine,
But she sneered at his cordwangle
As it hung upon the line.
So he stole a woggler's mooly
For to make a wedding ring,
But the Bow Street Runners caught him
And the judge said "He will swing."
Oh, they hung him by the postern,
Nailed his mooly to the fence
For to warn all young cordwanglers
That it was a grave offence.
There's a moral to this story,
Though your cordwangle be poor,
Keep your hands off other's moolies,
For it is against the law.
Mark
Mark Wright
Active member
What shall we do with the drunken nurker,
What shall we do with the drunken nurker,
What shall we do with the drunken nurker,
He's bending his cordwangle.
Hit him in the nadgers with the bosun's plunger,
Slap him on the grummitt with a wrought iron lunger,
Cuff him in the moolies with the Captain's grungerrrrr....
Till his bodgers dangle.
Mark
What shall we do with the drunken nurker,
What shall we do with the drunken nurker,
He's bending his cordwangle.
Hit him in the nadgers with the bosun's plunger,
Slap him on the grummitt with a wrought iron lunger,
Cuff him in the moolies with the Captain's grungerrrrr....
Till his bodgers dangle.
Mark
Mark Wright
Active member
This and the previous two are from Rambling Syd Rumpole.
When I was a clencher's bogleman in famous Lincoln town
I often clenched my bogling fork for less than half-a-crown
And I would joggle and nurk, my boys, as I shall quickly tell
Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night, on a foggy night as well.
Oh, once I took my moulies and set them in a snare
'Twas there I spied a scroper's man a whirdling a hare
But I was not afeared, my boys, of that there is no doubt.
Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night when the coppers aren't about
Although I'm over 80 now, my boggles still I clench
And I will flutter my artefacts at any passing wench
I've tickled many a screebling nut as on my way I go
Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night at one-and-nine a throw."
"D'ye ken Jim Pubes with his splod so bright
As he traddles his nadger in the bright moonlight?
He wurdles his posset all through the night,
But he can't turn it off in the morning.
Oh the sound of his groat threw me from my bed,
As he blew up his mooly fit to waken the dead,
Oh the noise of his grunge nearly blew off me head,
And removed all the paint from the awning.
D'ye ken Jim Pubes? Now his splod's turned white,
And his nadger's been struck with an awful blight,
And he can't find his posset without a light,
And he can't turn it on in the morning.
Oh his poor old groat, it has sprung a leak,
And the sound of his mooly's reduced to a squeak:
Though he blows and he blows till he's blue in the eek,
We'll no more hear him grunge in the mor-or-or-orning.
Mark
When I was a clencher's bogleman in famous Lincoln town
I often clenched my bogling fork for less than half-a-crown
And I would joggle and nurk, my boys, as I shall quickly tell
Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night, on a foggy night as well.
Oh, once I took my moulies and set them in a snare
'Twas there I spied a scroper's man a whirdling a hare
But I was not afeared, my boys, of that there is no doubt.
Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night when the coppers aren't about
Although I'm over 80 now, my boggles still I clench
And I will flutter my artefacts at any passing wench
I've tickled many a screebling nut as on my way I go
Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night at one-and-nine a throw."
"D'ye ken Jim Pubes with his splod so bright
As he traddles his nadger in the bright moonlight?
He wurdles his posset all through the night,
But he can't turn it off in the morning.
Oh the sound of his groat threw me from my bed,
As he blew up his mooly fit to waken the dead,
Oh the noise of his grunge nearly blew off me head,
And removed all the paint from the awning.
D'ye ken Jim Pubes? Now his splod's turned white,
And his nadger's been struck with an awful blight,
And he can't find his posset without a light,
And he can't turn it on in the morning.
Oh his poor old groat, it has sprung a leak,
And the sound of his mooly's reduced to a squeak:
Though he blows and he blows till he's blue in the eek,
We'll no more hear him grunge in the mor-or-or-orning.
Mark
Rhys
Moderator
Mark Wright
Active member
Its a quiet day at the Magna Tower.
I've heard cavers sing all these songs so they must be caving related.
Mark
I've heard cavers sing all these songs so they must be caving related.
Mark
bograt
Active member
Mark said:
Considering the size of the task I appear to have set myself, I'm inclined to agree that caving related songs should take priority, most of the non-caving bawdy ones can be found elsewhere anyway.
BTW Mark, can you find a copy of the 'Teddy Bears picnic/Big Dig' song?
Alan Jeffreys
New member
All these songs are published in 'They Words, They Words, They 'Orrible Words' edited by Nick Cornwell-Smith (1993) Copie sof the GSG 'Caving Songs of Mendip' can be supplied to order.
Goon
Goon
bograt
Active member
Alan Jeffreys said:
Doubt whether area specific songs are included, such as 'Dwarf Cavers Lament' (Peak District) or the ones I received recently from Andys (Yorkshire). However, I would like to get my hands on a copy to transcribe, anyone got one I could borrow?
Alternatively, is Nick available on-line?
bograt
Active member
Just come across this one, immediately thought of Old Ruminator, (I can't think why?) 
Boulder Have a Crunch
(Tune; Cocaine Bill)
Of all the caves on Mendips face, St. Cuthberts Swallet has pride of place.
CHORUS:
Singing boulder have a crunch, have a crunch on me,
Boulder have a crunch on me.
Two boulders piled up in the air, many's the caver who's ventured there.
CHORUS:
The leader said with a puzzled frown, 'these weren't here on the last trip down'.
CHORUS:
They came to a boulder painted red, the sign on it said 'mind your head'.
CHORUS
They came to a boulder painted pink, the sign on it said 'safe, I think!'.
CHORUS:
They came to a boulder painted blue, the sign on it said 'Lawders through'.
CHORUS:
They came to a boulder painted black, the sign on it said, 'f--k you Jack!'.
CHORUS:
They came to a boulder painted green, the sign on it was most obscene.
CHORUS:
I came to a boulder looking lost, the sign on it said 'f--k Frank Frost'.
CHORUS:
I came to a boulder painted yellow, the sign on it said 'Frost fine fellow'
CHORUS:
I came to a boulder painted brown, the sign on it was upside down.
CHORUS:
I came to a boulder covered in shit, I looked at the roof and added my bit.
CHORUS:
I came to a boulder painted blue, the sign on it said 'up your flu'.
CHORUS:
I came to a boulder looking queer, the sign on it said 'Dave was here'.
CHORUS:
See Mike Holland, how absurd, pissing along like a clockwork turd.
CHORUS:
There's boulders in the roof, there's boulders in the floor,
There's boulders in the stream in Swildons Four.
CHORUS:
Boulder Have a Crunch
(Tune; Cocaine Bill)
Of all the caves on Mendips face, St. Cuthberts Swallet has pride of place.
CHORUS:
Singing boulder have a crunch, have a crunch on me,
Boulder have a crunch on me.
Two boulders piled up in the air, many's the caver who's ventured there.
CHORUS:
The leader said with a puzzled frown, 'these weren't here on the last trip down'.
CHORUS:
They came to a boulder painted red, the sign on it said 'mind your head'.
CHORUS
They came to a boulder painted pink, the sign on it said 'safe, I think!'.
CHORUS:
They came to a boulder painted blue, the sign on it said 'Lawders through'.
CHORUS:
They came to a boulder painted black, the sign on it said, 'f--k you Jack!'.
CHORUS:
They came to a boulder painted green, the sign on it was most obscene.
CHORUS:
I came to a boulder looking lost, the sign on it said 'f--k Frank Frost'.
CHORUS:
I came to a boulder painted yellow, the sign on it said 'Frost fine fellow'
CHORUS:
I came to a boulder painted brown, the sign on it was upside down.
CHORUS:
I came to a boulder covered in shit, I looked at the roof and added my bit.
CHORUS:
I came to a boulder painted blue, the sign on it said 'up your flu'.
CHORUS:
I came to a boulder looking queer, the sign on it said 'Dave was here'.
CHORUS:
See Mike Holland, how absurd, pissing along like a clockwork turd.
CHORUS:
There's boulders in the roof, there's boulders in the floor,
There's boulders in the stream in Swildons Four.
CHORUS:
Pitlamp
Well-known member
This is resurrecting an old topic - and I'm hoping Mark sees this.I was looking through some old journals and stuff and came across the BSA Song Book, A collection of various caving songs, below is a sample.
If anyone is interested I will scan it and post on here
I was recently reading a (now rare) publication: "CDG Letter to Members issue no 20, 31st December 1950". It mentions a songbook produced by Bob Leakey; here's all it says (verbatim):
"Songs of a Potholer a collection of songs (with the music), seventeen of them, from R. D. Leakey, The Sutcliffe House, Giggleswick, for 2s 0d."
Is anyone aware of the existence of this song book? (Maybe one in a club library somewhere?) I got in touch with Mark Wright about this and he'd love to see it. He also said Rostam would almost certainly be interested too.
There is the possibility that this is referring to the BSA songbook which Mark flagged up 10 years ago (see quote above). Mark - can you tell us any date on that BSA songbook / an indication who wrote it / how many songs are in it / is there music as well as the words?
(For the avoidance of confusion, "Mark" and "Mark Wright" on this forum are two different people.)
langcliffe
Well-known member
That does appear to be by Bob Leakey. According to Jenny Potts there are 17 songs in it:
ukcaving.com
Caving Songs
Does anyone write caving songs anymore? I've re-written a few and here a cheerful one I like: called 'Caving' based on 'Sailing' by Mike Oldfield (see what I did there), lyrics below. Original here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgpS6dQVHbg to put the lyrics & pace in context and hopefully...
ukcaving.com
Pitlamp
Well-known member
Thanks Langcliffe; I was hoping you'd chip in. Yes, the right number of songs (but not all have "R.D.L." at the end).
Unfortunately I can't see any date, which would clinch it.
Balcombe also referred specifically to the title "Songs of a Potholer" which is absent from this copy.
Then again it appears that the front page is hand labelled, so other copies of the same manuscript may have been entitled differently?
Does anyone know of a songbook anywhere with this title from that period?
Unfortunately I can't see any date, which would clinch it.
Balcombe also referred specifically to the title "Songs of a Potholer" which is absent from this copy.
Then again it appears that the front page is hand labelled, so other copies of the same manuscript may have been entitled differently?
Does anyone know of a songbook anywhere with this title from that period?
