The Legend of Parker Baul

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lyrics

Now listen to my tragic story;
And the history I will tell,
Of men who would seek dubious glory,
With rod and staff and tiny bell,

With flowery pole and well-learned dancing,
Olden times they would revive,
Broken knuckles they were chancing,
To bring their pagan roots alive

Morris, he was proud and sturdy,
Dancer of the strongest kind,
To pipe and drum and hurdy-gurdy,
A perfect rhythm he would find;

To every place that men would gather,
Morris he would call his gang
To jingle-jangle to the music,
Flutes would play and drums would bang

Now from the olden town of Dorking
Came our hero Parker Baul,
His sole intent while still a’walking,
Was to see old Morris fall,

So Parker hatched a cunning scheme,
To lay waste to the Pagan horde,
He dumped a pouch of darkest hemlock,
In the ale that was then poured

Into the jugs of dancing men,
And long and hard they then did sup,
But when the dancing recommencing,
N’ere a Morris could get up!

When Barker Paul he faced the judges,
They called for him to hang,
He answered without pause or stutter,
“Now there is no drum to bang,

No tinkling bell, no cracking stick,
No waist coat decked in flowery thread,
Would any man who sees my vengeance,
In truth prefer they were not dead?”

The judges looked at one another,
Nodding slowly in the know,
“We cannot disagree” they cried.
“Case dismissed – you’re free to go”

So should you ever get a hankering,
For the bells and old yew stick,
Remember Barker Paul’s a’waiting,
So take care which real ale you pick.

credits

from Beneath Box Hill, released January 12, 2012

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