Tuesday 24 June 2008

More music-hall recitations!

No Good Boyo graced the Armenia thread (see below) with the charming music-hall ditty "I slew the Black Armenian". In similar vein, Major Buffy Fortescue-Trouserbugle bids me quote his most famous work, in the style of J. Milton Hayes. With pleasure, major:

The Green Eye er the Little Yeller Dame de Nuit

There's an idle yeller Dayak ter the East er Tanjung Kot
With a British Army spade lodged in his head;
While a broken-molar'd maiden tends the grave er "Scottie" Scott -
And the silly blighter isn't even dead.

He was known as "Scottie" Scott because his name was Captain Scott,
And his Christian name was Scott as well ter boot,
But what made his dull life bearable out there in Tanjung Kot
Was the maiden fair ter whom he pressed his suit.

Her eye was green, her hair jet-black her cheongsam it was red,
And the name above her door was 'Fu Man Minh' ;
But though Scottie loved her dearly she'd grace any feller's bed
Fer a satayed goat and sev'ral pints er gin.

Her uncle was Scott's orderly, his name was Corporal Ngurk;
Though Dayak-born he'd risen through the ranks,
And though diligent by daylight ter avoid a stroke er work,
By night he had a love er boyish pranks.

Miss Minh went ter her uncle to request a favour great -
A potion strong it was her dearest wish;
But what Ngurk put in the potion she intended fer her mate
Was an extract from the deep-sea puffer-fish

Poor Scottie hadn't any sort er inklin' of a notion
Why young Fu Man Minh ran screaming from the room,
But then her potion from the ocean set his motions in commotion,
And his thunderbox exploded with a 'BOOM!'

His boots flew North, his hat flew East his Sam-Browne sped North-West
And the handle of his spade went swiftly South,
Where - though tryin' ter escape young Miss Fu's efforts were the best -
It struck the poor young gel right in the mouth.

I'll speak no ill of a lady lest I face m'comrades' censures
And the thing I hafter say may seem quite tacky,
But her adventures with entrenchers sadly robbed her of her dentures
And what's left was only fit fer chewin' baccy.

Old Ngurk did even worse because the blade er Scottie's spade
Flew true - although the edge was rather dull -
And though Ngurk was cacklin' foully at the work his prank had wrought,
He stopped laughin' when it landed in his skull!

When the CO heard about it (it was I, I must confess),
His voice rang forth like peals er summer thunder;
And respondin' ter his bellows men came pourin' from the Mess,
Carved a gravestone fine and placed young Scottie under.

There's an idle yeller Dayak ter the East er Tanjung Kot
With a British Army spade lodged in his head;
While a broken-molar'd maiden tends the grave er "Scottie" Scott -
And the silly blighter isn't even dead.

4 comments:

Mrs Pouncer said...

Yes, you see what bothers me is that this is all funded by licence payers' money and during company time.

Mr Pouncer and I are in the full blush of our retirement in the certain knowledge that we have contributed fully to the wealth of the nation, and have organised many beetle drives, whist evenings, mushroom rambles etc. Sharing music hall memories with Mr Boyo should not count as work. Cordially etc

Gyppo Byard said...

Au contraire madame, 'twas the work of seconds, and at home no less, to cut and paste this longstanding farrago of whatsit. One always strives to give service to the great British public. And anyone else who wanders by.

Neither Boyo nor I (can't say about Scaryduck...) would ever allow the ramblings of bloggery to undercut the keen-edged professionalism of our jobs. And besides, Mrs Boyo would never allow it.

No Good Boyo said...

This is all true. On the other hand it would increase the sum of human knowledge if more BBC journalists stopped churning out random reports on stuff that happened somewhere ("news" they call it) and got on with some droll busied themselves web blogging.

Gadjo Dilo said...

I'm working on a modern version of Ivan Scavinsky Scavar, relevant to the on-going ethnic conflicts of the Caucasus region. You think the BBC would use it as a theme tune for a documentary?