Tip A Glass To Rabbie Burns

Anne Laurie reminds us that it’s the Ploughman Poet’s birthday. Here’s two versions of perhaps my favorite Burns poem turned into song, the first by the Corries, the second by the Dubliners, with Luke Kelly singing lead:


Comments: 44


Think we should tell the Dubliners that Burns was a Scot?


Luke Kelly’s grandmother was a Scot, apparently.


Gaelic solidarity. From one of my favouritest poems EVAR:

Maloney watched the battle, and his brows were bleakly set,
While with him paused and panted his Hibernian Quartette.
For sure it is an evil spite, and breaking to the heart,
For Irishman to watch a fight and not be taking part.
Then suddenly on high he soared, and tightened up his belt:
“And shall we see them crush,” he roared, “a brother and a Celt?
A fellow artiste needs our aid. Come on, boys, take a hand.”
Then down into the mêlée dashed Maloney and his band.



I’m kind of in love with the librarian with the hipster glasses and the pixie haircut in the second video.


The best-laid moms o’ DKW, Gangbang aft agley


Best adaptation of a Burns poem:


I shall celebrate the day wearing my clan tartan, staying in and drinking heavily. Its called going into Hiberniation.


Tony Blair, the British Prime Minister, is being shown around a Glasgow hospital. Towards the end of the visit, he is shown into a ward with a number people with no obvious signs of injury or disease. He goes to greet the first patient and he replies:

“Fair fa’ your honest sonsie face, Great chieftain e’ the puddin’ race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm; Weel are ye wordy o’ a grace as lang’s my arm.”

Tony, being somewhat confused (very easily done) goes to the next patient and greets him. He replies:
“Some hae meat, and canna eat, and some wad eat that want it, but we hae meat and can eat, and sae the Lord be thankit.”

The third starts rattling off as follows: “Wee sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, wi bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an chase thee, wi murdering pattle!”

Tony turns to the doctor accompanying him and asks what sort of ward is this. A mental ward? “No,” replies the doctor, “It’s the Burns unit.”


I shall celebrate the day wearing my clan tartan, staying in and drinking heavily. Its called going into Hiberniation.

Sounds like a normal Wednesday to me.

I was recently informed by my father that my people have a castle in Scotland. Also, some crap about the Battle of Hastings. I remain skeptical.


You’re going to hell for that, PM.


my people


moderately good looking not so hunchback

Stay smashed until Charles Bukowski’s birthday on August 16



Nah, although it would have been pretty sweet if there were a bunch of librarians at the Battle of Hastings.


What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt?

Yer Mom’s lipstick


I always thought it was weird I managed to be a bit of everything from over yonder BUT Irish. Srsly. English? Yes, very. Scottish? Yes, very. Welsh? Also. Too. But no Irish. WTH?

Gorgeous song that’s sorta on topic


What’s worn underneath my kilt?

Nothing lass, it’s all in A-1 condition I assure ye.


English? Yes, very. Scottish? Yes, very. Welsh? Also. Too. But no Irish. WTH?

Ah yes, the Scots, who always kept the Sabbath and anything else they could get their hands on. Also, the Welsh, who prayed on their knees and preyed on their neighbors. And then there’s the Irish, who never know what they want but are always willing to fight for it.


From the Slacker vault.

Two Welshmen meet -> They start a choir.

Two Scotsmen meet -> They start a bank.

Two Irishmen meet -> They start a fight.

Two Englishmen meet -> They form a queue.


Tee hee.

Hey, I’m German too. German jokes not as funny…?


ACHTUNG! ALLES LOOKENSPEEPERS! Das computermachine ist nicht
fuer gefingerpoken und mittengrabben. Ist easy schnappen der
springenwerk, blowenfusen und poppencorken mit spitzensparken.
Ist nicht fuer gewerken bei das dumpkopfen. Das rubbernecken
sichtseeren keepen das cotten-pickenen hans in das pockets muss;
relaxen und watchen das blinkenlichten.

Spengler Dampniche

Speaking of which, by coincidence, I wrote the following in an email to one of the producers of “Skins,” the MTV show that has everyone in a tizzy:

“Ae’m a feckin Calvinist, dy’e ken, sae et’s a mickle aeronic ae’m defendin’ mesael agin’ a glisk on underage minge betimes. Tha Yank bastarts hae t’gurr a’ feckin’ kittlins.”

So obviously I was channeling Burns.


Hey, I’m German too. German jokes not as funny…?

No! Reference-Sgt Schultz.


Listening to K. T. Tunstall while making eggs drappit.

Burns babby Burns!

Spengler Dampniche

This is yer feckin’ author at the feckin’ Oscars, d’ye ken.

Why do bagpipers always march when they play? To get away from the music.

Try the veal.


The way I heard it was,

Two Englishmen meet -> They didn’t do anything, because they hadn’t been properly introduced.

Although either punchline begs the question, and I’m going to go ahead and ask it, inspired by staying for a month at a Malaga hotel that caters to English people:

When did the days of tea-drinking, politeness and tweedy clothes end, and the days of binge-drinking, boorishness and polyester clothes take their place?

Spengler Dampniche

Substance, thanks for the McGonagall link. I grew up on the works of Spike Milligan, who did more for the great poet than the poet himself.


Bad people have sometimes plundered the wealth of McGonagall but fortunately the bad people disappear and are never heard from again.

Spengler Dampniche

O bonnie tits you show em
Wi’ yer cameraphone so lewd
On thine artistic bloggie
Preggers with some skully dude.


You must believe that America is the greatest, kindest, most free, just and generous nation ever to exist in the tide of time, because, well, because it is.

And Raymond Shaw is the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human being I’ve ever known in my life.


Three Germans are shipwrecked on a desert island. They have an election. The winner appoints his best friend chief of police, the third becomes bishop by default, and they then obey each other until they are rescued.


Oh,and the winner of the election became mayor. Sorry. I blame Steve Jobs. And abortion.


The Delgados did the best version of Parcel of Rogues.


We can’t have this tip o’ the glass without recalling one of the better Frank Muir (or was it Dennis Norden — btw, am I the only one who, having read the novels first, imagined Dennis Norden as Arthur Dent and Frank Muir as Ford Prefect?) lines from My Word: “many of famous poets were members of the clergy: the Rev. [name of poet here — alas I forget the example used … but it was some poet who was a Protestant minister], Alexander Pope, Rabbi Burns”


@ Thread Bear: Jokes coined, no doubt, by Englishmen. Nothing like being called a money-grabber by the guys who invaded and looted your country. Projection: the imperialists haz it.

@ Hmmm… Except for the polyester, they’ve always been around. And the repression and the tweed haven’t gone away. Different classes of Sassenach, different stereotypes.

(Before any mortally offended Southron jumps in, I’ve lived in England most of my adult life and will be marrying an Englishwoman in the summer…)


I’m still very fond of the version by Steeleye Span on their album of the same name.


smut clyde said,
January 26, 2011 at 21:46

A pint of plain.


Big Bad Bald Bastard

Think we should tell the Dubliners that Burns was a Scot?

Goidels is Goidels!


Was the Protestant (in this case, C. of E. priest) John Donne?

Note that a lot of people at that time became priests or the equivalent as the only way of getting a living and intellectual training at the same time (see Rabelais).


Liam Clancy’s version of Parcel o’ Rogues blows all these others away!


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