- I love you, but: (Choose one) you're dead; one of us is moving to America; you ran off with someone else; you're ditching me now that we've fucked; I drank too much whiskey; your father married you to an Evil Lord.
- I like beer
- I like whiskey (see Trope 1, Verse 5)
- I like: (Choose one) My hometown in Ireland; a particular geographical aspect of Ireland; the whole darn country.
- I like one of the above things so much, that I'll sing a love song about it. (See Trope 1)
- I perform manual labor
- Help, help, I'm being repressed!
- I'm on a ship
- I like to fight
- I'm wandering off somewhere (optionally: leaving a lover behind. (See Trope 1.))
...Also asses (in the sense the word is used in These Islands), pigs, geese and hares. But for whatever reason, I don't go on so much about sheep. Or terrapins, gerbils, guinea pigs or corn snakes.
I take an interest in the juice of the barley, which is not quite the same as barley-sugar.
I am a relation of every President of the USA, including the present one.
My lover has run away to sea. (I ran away to sea too, but had to dress up as a lad to fool the captain).
My lover has gained lucrative employment as a foreign mercenary, however, when he returns I will definitely not recognise him and may or may not commit suicide/turn into a swan/enlist in the navy.
My lover gave me some useless item or small amount of money as a keepsake. Despite its nugatory value I continually clasped it to my chest/bosom.
While I was away working as a sailor/foreign mercenary/or just plain a-wandering and a-roving my lover plighted her troth to a van driver/king's son/some rogue called Johnny. I purchased plenty of exotic gifts for my lover (including on one occasion a small menagerie, but more often than not a silver or golden ring), but all were wasted, so now I'm away with a Chinese Hottentot/Napoleon Bonaparte/some rogue called Johnny.
My lover is a very old man who told me he had gold a-plenty and would buy me fine dresses and pearls. Now I've discovered he's a skinflint/pauper/sexually demanding old eejit I can't wait to push him downstairs.
My lover has teeth like ivory/deep black eyes/rosy red lips/hair like gold.
My lover, for reasons known only to himself/herself sets me a number of impossible tasks, so I spend an inordinate amount of time searching for items such as a cherry without a stone or a bird without a bone.
My lover's parents look down on me because I am a poor/bonny/simple labouring boy or roving ne'er-do-well, but I'll show them once I return from Derry, London town or Amerikay.
While I was away working as a foreign mercenary/sailor or just plain a-roving my lover has been assailed/assaulted/kidnapped/pledged in marriage to a noble lord.
When my lover roams s/he roams carelessly, often in May or down by the sea shore.
My lover has some form of deformity which I only discovered on our wedding night, well described by the following:
In the early month of May in the town of Killyleagh
Where the nettles and the holly were in bloom
This young girl she passed me by and she give me the glad eye
Beneath the bright silvery light of the moon.
It was true love at first sight and for me a great delight
So we soon began to step it up and down;
On that day in Killyleagh we were married right away
Beneath the bright silvery light of the moon.
When she squandered all my dough 'til her home I had to go
Such a place to spend our honeymoon
With no fire in the grate, you could see out through the slates.
Beneath the bright silvery light of the moon.
Then said she "We'll go to bed". I was in an awful dread
For I knew that I was going far too soon,
For there upon a peg she hung up her wooden leg
Beneath the bright silvery light of the moon.
There was worse in store for me, for when she began to snore
Sure she blew the blankets all around the room,
And there upon a chair lay her teeth, her golden hair,
Beneath the bright silvery light of the moon.
So it's young men take my advice, always look at your girl twice
For they're always out to catch a soft groom.
To make sure that she's all there, pull her teeth, her leg, her hair,
Beneath the bright silvery light of the moon.
Whatever you do, don't mount that horse by the winding mere, especially when there are grey hawks soaring about in a casual manner. Stuff is gonna happen.
And that is all good advice, Floss. But at some point, all of us fair maids snore like a freight train. (Whoops, wrong genre allusion...that would be 'snore like the roaring tide' or some such.)
So many popular songs seem to be preoccupied with male-female relationships and/or human reproduction. Also, if you change a few words in certain love songs they become suitable to be sung in church or if you change a few words in certain religious songs they make good love songs.
My dear old parents keep writing to me in Amerikay, and
(a) my siblings are totally screwing up their lives.
(b) they don't understand how the postal system works, but it all turned out okay.
(c) if I manage to scape together the dough to take the family back, it will be too late.
Well done TD & M, I was just a-surfin' for that link.
From there:
"If you are a young lady and an amorous soldier, sailor, ploughboy, blacksmith, cavalry officer, or other young man fails to stop the first time you tell him he’s being too bold, knock off the maidenly protests and take more direct measures. If saying “no” the first time didn’t stop him, you’ve no reason to believe that twice will work any better."
I like wearing green. This is so I can merge into a landscape and stand out in a crowd. When did you last see someone in the street who wore REAL BRIGHT GREEN ? You don't. Unless it's on St. Patrick's day somewhere this is made much of.
Maybe there's something about green clothes that scares people and makes them back off. Think The Green Knight, or Robin Hood's bunch of outlaws...
I thought all that happened if one's lover was *not* of one's social class...maybe there's a twist here I don't follow...
Mind, there's nobody so riled as someone whose excuse for being riled has been placidly taken away...that'll be why the family is so wound up it wants them both dead...
One night, someone asked for a happy Irish love song. We all sat there with our mouths hanging open, while crickets chirped in the distance. I didn't come up with one until the drive home, and even that one involved the lad returning to marry his true love, but stopping to disguise himself to test her love as he got close to home, and only bringing her to the chapel when she passed the test. Behavior that in real life, would have gotten him slugged in the jaw by any self respecting gal!
I like all kinds of everything, because they remind me of you.
I knew someone called Madam George. I loved you there and then like a sheep...or was it a ballerina? I've been around a bit, and my eyesight is not very good.
I am familiar with the goings-on in a drunk tank. I don't care much for Christmas. Don't like Mondays, either.
Even the ones who are seemingly nice. Like the guy (his name is Donald, surprisingly), who dresses as a noble and tells his girlfriend that if she runs off with him (and her not knowing it is in fact Donald she is speaking to) she'll get riches galore, and when she tells him to sod off, he says that her lover has been fooling around with someone else, and she accuses him of lying because her lover wouldn't do that. He then takes off his disguise and marries her because she had stayed true to him in spite of a better offer. What a freakin' tool.
I keep hooking up with ungrateful lovers who soon pay press gangs to get them into the navy and hook up with gay ladies on the strand at dawn; what is the *problem* with these guys! This invariably needs me to dress up as a sailor covered with good dollops of pitch and tar and go looking for them, but then invariably get caught out because I have really milky white breasts for some reason. This is helpful though because it invariably enables me to obtain a couple of really good pistols so I can blow away my errant lover and his floozy girl. What is wrong with guys these days. The trouble I have to go to.
I keep meeting guys who feck off to war or to sea and expect to wait for seven years. Then some other bloke shows up and tells me my lover died and I should go with him but I say I will remain single forever now that my true lover ate it on the battlefield. Random dude then tells me that he IS my true lover.
What a lying a*sehole.
Then there is the one lady who does in fact hook up with someone else while her lover is at sea for years and years and the jerk has the temerity to then whine about it when he gets back.
Hey hey now, it's now just the fellers. Didn't I ever tell you about the time I went to sea for a few months on some Aussie ship? I came back with all sorts of crap for herself, China rats, Bengal cats, etc. It was only a few months. BAM! She's gone, shacked up with some local knuckle-dragging Neanderthal.
So, I got myself a nice middle aged divorcee who works in a laundry and spent the days strung out on various forms of illicit Oriental substances.
'Hey hey now, it's now just the fellers. Didn't I ever tell you about the time I went to sea for a few months on some Aussie ship? I came back with all sorts of crap for herself, China rats, Bengal cats, etc. It was only a few months. BAM! She's gone, shacked up with some local knuckle-dragging Neanderthal.'
Due to a series of unfortunate and bizarre multi-generational sexual encounters almost entirely within my own family, I have somehow become my own grandfather.
This got me thinking about that idea that there is only 7 plots for stories ever. Interesting link I came across. This feller runs through all the various possible numbers of plots in existence:
"One school of thought holds that all stories can be summed up as Exposition/Rising Action/Climax/Falling Action/Denouement or to simplify it even further, Stuff Happens, although even at this level of generality we seem to have left out Proust. "
[snicker] Ah yes, nothing like a good Proust joke.
How about weird bloke Long Lankin who lives in the hay, bleeds the baby and the lady of the house to death, with the treacherous connivance of the nurse and then is hanged while the nurse gets burnt. Oh, sorry, that's an English one. And when I checked the lyrics online I get invited to use it as a ring-tone. Maybe not!
Irish Song Tropes
Irish Song Tropes
- I love you, but: (Choose one) you're dead; one of us is moving to America; you ran off with someone else; you're ditching me now that we've fucked; I drank too much whiskey; your father married you to an Evil Lord.
- I like beer
- I like whiskey (see Trope 1, Verse 5)
- I like: (Choose one) My hometown in Ireland; a particular geographical aspect of Ireland; the whole darn country.
- I like one of the above things so much, that I'll sing a love song about it. (See Trope 1)
- I perform manual labor
- Help, help, I'm being repressed!
- I'm on a ship
- I like to fight
- I'm wandering off somewhere (optionally: leaving a lover behind. (See Trope 1.))
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by TheChrispy
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Clever - and how did you get the "F" word through Jeremy's
filter?
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Hup
Re: Irish Song Tropes
It possibly got through because it's in the past tense. that is it with an "ed" added?
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Tony O'Rourke
Re: Irish Song Tropes
- A British recruiting sergeant got me to I sign up. I was
p*ssed then, I'm legless now.
- I like the manufacture, consumption and proceeds of
mountain dew.
- My land is, or maybe was, more appealing than the woman
I married her for.
- Mass: a key place to check out girls.
- Church: a key place to check out girls.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by nicholas
Re: Irish Song Tropes
(- Also see: Checkout.
There must be songs about checking out girls at checkouts by now...)
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by nicholas
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Nicholas - ref:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSO90xzlGRY
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by RockyRoader
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Indeed!
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by nicholas
Re: Irish Song Tropes
- I'm on Napoleon's side against the English
and a more specific version of "I'm wandering off somewhere":
- All my potatoes have died I'm going to America because I can't stay here
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by showaddydadito
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I like watching people have sex, then documenting the young man's betrayal of his partner for posterity and general gratification...
I like greyhounds...
I like horses...
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Dragut Reis
Re: Irish Song Tropes
...Also asses (in the sense the word is used in These Islands), pigs, geese and hares. But for whatever reason, I don't go on so much about sheep. Or terrapins, gerbils, guinea pigs or corn snakes.
I take an interest in the juice of the barley, which is not quite the same as barley-sugar.
I am a relation of every President of the USA, including the present one.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by nicholas
Re: Irish Song Tropes
(He will get me out of the trouble I'm in now, I'm sure of it...)
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by nicholas
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I'm old now, but I was once quite something.
I like to tune my fiddle.
Hi dee diddly idle um, dee da tiddly idle oh.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by fidkid
Re: Irish Song Tropes
My lover turned into a swan.
My lover has run away to sea. (I ran away to sea too, but had to dress up as a lad to fool the captain).
My lover has gained lucrative employment as a foreign mercenary, however, when he returns I will definitely not recognise him and may or may not commit suicide/turn into a swan/enlist in the navy.
My lover gave me some useless item or small amount of money as a keepsake. Despite its nugatory value I continually clasped it to my chest/bosom.
While I was away working as a sailor/foreign mercenary/or just plain a-wandering and a-roving my lover plighted her troth to a van driver/king's son/some rogue called Johnny. I purchased plenty of exotic gifts for my lover (including on one occasion a small menagerie, but more often than not a silver or golden ring), but all were wasted, so now I'm away with a Chinese Hottentot/Napoleon Bonaparte/some rogue called Johnny.
My lover is a very old man who told me he had gold a-plenty and would buy me fine dresses and pearls. Now I've discovered he's a skinflint/pauper/sexually demanding old eejit I can't wait to push him downstairs.
My lover has teeth like ivory/deep black eyes/rosy red lips/hair like gold.
My lover, for reasons known only to himself/herself sets me a number of impossible tasks, so I spend an inordinate amount of time searching for items such as a cherry without a stone or a bird without a bone.
My lover's parents look down on me because I am a poor/bonny/simple labouring boy or roving ne'er-do-well, but I'll show them once I return from Derry, London town or Amerikay.
While I was away working as a foreign mercenary/sailor or just plain a-roving my lover has been assailed/assaulted/kidnapped/pledged in marriage to a noble lord.
When my lover roams s/he roams carelessly, often in May or down by the sea shore.
My lover has some form of deformity which I only discovered on our wedding night, well described by the following:
In the early month of May in the town of Killyleagh
Where the nettles and the holly were in bloom
This young girl she passed me by and she give me the glad eye
Beneath the bright silvery light of the moon.
It was true love at first sight and for me a great delight
So we soon began to step it up and down;
On that day in Killyleagh we were married right away
Beneath the bright silvery light of the moon.
When she squandered all my dough 'til her home I had to go
Such a place to spend our honeymoon
With no fire in the grate, you could see out through the slates.
Beneath the bright silvery light of the moon.
Then said she "We'll go to bed". I was in an awful dread
For I knew that I was going far too soon,
For there upon a peg she hung up her wooden leg
Beneath the bright silvery light of the moon.
There was worse in store for me, for when she began to snore
Sure she blew the blankets all around the room,
And there upon a chair lay her teeth, her golden hair,
Beneath the bright silvery light of the moon.
So it's young men take my advice, always look at your girl twice
For they're always out to catch a soft groom.
To make sure that she's all there, pull her teeth, her leg, her hair,
Beneath the bright silvery light of the moon.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Floss the Tethers
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I kill animals for pleasure
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by greg n'sheils
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I steal stuff and invariably get caught when my lover betrays me
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by greg n'sheils
Re: Irish Song Tropes
-Everything is the fault of the English.
-I'm pretending to be someone else just to make sure my boyfriend/girlfriend is really into me.
-If I'm in Scotland I am in love with/chasing after/avoiding the affections of some guy called Domnull, Donal, or Donald.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by TheSilverSpear
Re: Irish Song Tropes
- I'm five years old. This is my day in a linen mill.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Atahualpa Quigley
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Ok ok so you have had lots of kids to close relatives and then killed them, can I have that drink of water now.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Sean Q
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Whatever you do, don't mount that horse by the winding mere, especially when there are grey hawks soaring about in a casual manner. Stuff is gonna happen.
And that is all good advice, Floss. But at some point, all of us fair maids snore like a freight train. (Whoops, wrong genre allusion...that would be 'snore like the roaring tide' or some such.)
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Batlady
Re: Irish Song Tropes
So many popular songs seem to be preoccupied with male-female relationships and/or human reproduction. Also, if you change a few words in certain love songs they become suitable to be sung in church or if you change a few words in certain religious songs they make good love songs.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by fauxcelt
Re: Irish Song Tropes
My dear old parents keep writing to me in Amerikay, and
(a) my siblings are totally screwing up their lives.
(b) they don't understand how the postal system works, but it all turned out okay.
(c) if I manage to scape together the dough to take the family back, it will be too late.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Batlady
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I'm so damn sick of my wife.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Tall, Dark, and Mysterious
Re: Irish Song Tropes
And her b*** of a mother who can't be troubled to find another chair...
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Batlady
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Related: http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/006448.html
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Tall, Dark, and Mysterious
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Well done TD & M, I was just a-surfin' for that link.
From there:
"If you are a young lady and an amorous soldier, sailor, ploughboy, blacksmith, cavalry officer, or other young man fails to stop the first time you tell him he’s being too bold, knock off the maidenly protests and take more direct measures. If saying “no” the first time didn’t stop him, you’ve no reason to believe that twice will work any better."
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by SWFL Fiddler
Re: Irish Song Tropes
That's actually quite good advice for the real world, SWFL Fiddler.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Tall, Dark, and Mysterious
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Floss The Tethers - I heard that song in 1975 and have wondered ever since how most of it went!
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by nicholas
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I like wearing green. This is so I can merge into a landscape and stand out in a crowd. When did you last see someone in the street who wore REAL BRIGHT GREEN ? You don't. Unless it's on St. Patrick's day somewhere this is made much of.
Maybe there's something about green clothes that scares people and makes them back off. Think The Green Knight, or Robin Hood's bunch of outlaws...
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by nicholas
Re: Irish Song Tropes
My family hates my lover because he/she is of my social class so we'll both end up dead, or at least he/she will.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by TheSilverSpear
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I thought all that happened if one's lover was *not* of one's social class...maybe there's a twist here I don't follow...
Mind, there's nobody so riled as someone whose excuse for being riled has been placidly taken away...that'll be why the family is so wound up it wants them both dead...
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by nicholas
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Various forms of wildlife (cocks, hares, foxes, what-have-you) have definite opinions, especially about hunting and love.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Batlady
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I wish I was a bird. Then I could fly over there and sort everything out.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by grego
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I am descended from St. Patrick.
I am grateful to have landed safely in Amerikay where everyone else is, too, and no stigma attaches to the fact.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by nicholas
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Yeah, Nicholas, that's what I meant. I just can't type.
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by TheSilverSpear
Re: Irish Song Tropes
middle class parents in the Victorian era were always trying to marry their children up the social ladder
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by Earl Cameron
Re: Irish Song Tropes
They cut off our heads and put nails in our eyes...
...Our children are leaving and we have no heads
# Posted on October 19th 2009 by bc_box_player
Re: Irish Song Tropes
One night, someone asked for a happy Irish love song. We all sat there with our mouths hanging open, while crickets chirped in the distance. I didn't come up with one until the drive home, and even that one involved the lad returning to marry his true love, but stopping to disguise himself to test her love as he got close to home, and only bringing her to the chapel when she passed the test. Behavior that in real life, would have gotten him slugged in the jaw by any self respecting gal!
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by AlBrown
Re: Irish Song Tropes
There's always the King of Ballyhooley, who did marry the girl he wanted and ended up with 15 daughters all unruly. At least, I thinkl it was fifteen.
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by nicholas
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I like all kinds of everything, because they remind me of you.
I knew someone called Madam George. I loved you there and then like a sheep...or was it a ballerina? I've been around a bit, and my eyesight is not very good.
I am familiar with the goings-on in a drunk tank. I don't care much for Christmas. Don't like Mondays, either.
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by nicholas
Re: Irish Song Tropes
My personal faves:
1. Oh God, I miss Ireland, whether I have ever been there or not.
2. Oh God, I miss Ireland, whether I or the last five generations of my line have ever been there or not.
3. I met a lass.
4. Lasses, beware me.
5. This subject/occasion/disaster/holiday/lunar phase/divine visitation calls for a drink.
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by Rook
Re: Irish Song Tropes
All men are losers. No really, all of them.
Even the ones who are seemingly nice. Like the guy (his name is Donald, surprisingly), who dresses as a noble and tells his girlfriend that if she runs off with him (and her not knowing it is in fact Donald she is speaking to) she'll get riches galore, and when she tells him to sod off, he says that her lover has been fooling around with someone else, and she accuses him of lying because her lover wouldn't do that. He then takes off his disguise and marries her because she had stayed true to him in spite of a better offer. What a freakin' tool.
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by TheSilverSpear
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I keep hooking up with ungrateful lovers who soon pay press gangs to get them into the navy and hook up with gay ladies on the strand at dawn; what is the *problem* with these guys! This invariably needs me to dress up as a sailor covered with good dollops of pitch and tar and go looking for them, but then invariably get caught out because I have really milky white breasts for some reason. This is helpful though because it invariably enables me to obtain a couple of really good pistols so I can blow away my errant lover and his floozy girl. What is wrong with guys these days. The trouble I have to go to.
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by Duijera Dubh
Re: Irish Song Tropes
It could be an English song trope though.
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by Duijera Dubh
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Where do we find these losers?
I keep meeting guys who feck off to war or to sea and expect to wait for seven years. Then some other bloke shows up and tells me my lover died and I should go with him but I say I will remain single forever now that my true lover ate it on the battlefield. Random dude then tells me that he IS my true lover.
What a lying a*sehole.
Then there is the one lady who does in fact hook up with someone else while her lover is at sea for years and years and the jerk has the temerity to then whine about it when he gets back.
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by TheSilverSpear
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Hey hey now, it's now just the fellers. Didn't I ever tell you about the time I went to sea for a few months on some Aussie ship? I came back with all sorts of crap for herself, China rats, Bengal cats, etc. It was only a few months. BAM! She's gone, shacked up with some local knuckle-dragging Neanderthal.
So, I got myself a nice middle aged divorcee who works in a laundry and spent the days strung out on various forms of illicit Oriental substances.
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by SWFL Fiddler
Re: Irish Song Tropes
'Not' just the fellers, that is.
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by SWFL Fiddler
Re: Irish Song Tropes
My flute was burnt as a heretic.
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by nicholas
Re: Irish Song Tropes
But, hey doesn't it sound pretty good, in spite of the flames?
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by Batlady
Re: Irish Song Tropes
'Hey hey now, it's now just the fellers. Didn't I ever tell you about the time I went to sea for a few months on some Aussie ship? I came back with all sorts of crap for herself, China rats, Bengal cats, etc. It was only a few months. BAM! She's gone, shacked up with some local knuckle-dragging Neanderthal.'
Please pay attention, SWFL! Covered already.
# Posted on October 20th 2009 by Floss the Tethers
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I keep getting pushed in a river
# Posted on October 21st 2009 by Conán McDonnell
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I shot my girlfriend, in the mistaken belief she was a waterfowl.
# Posted on October 21st 2009 by sechan
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Due to a series of unfortunate and bizarre multi-generational sexual encounters almost entirely within my own family, I have somehow become my own grandfather.
# Posted on October 21st 2009 by Jusa Nutter Eejit
Re: Irish Song Tropes
The English are not all bad. (Nah, only kidding)
# Posted on October 21st 2009 by sechan
Re: Irish Song Tropes
All men are bar studs, especially sailors and the military, so keep away from them.
# Posted on October 21st 2009 by RockyRoader
Re: Irish Song Tropes
Oops! My bad.
This got me thinking about that idea that there is only 7 plots for stories ever. Interesting link I came across. This feller runs through all the various possible numbers of plots in existence:
http://www.straightdope.com/columns/read/2366/what-are-the-seven-basic-literary-plots
"One school of thought holds that all stories can be summed up as Exposition/Rising Action/Climax/Falling Action/Denouement or to simplify it even further, Stuff Happens, although even at this level of generality we seem to have left out Proust. "
[snicker] Ah yes, nothing like a good Proust joke.
# Posted on October 21st 2009 by SWFL Fiddler
Re: Irish Song Tropes
How about weird bloke Long Lankin who lives in the hay, bleeds the baby and the lady of the house to death, with the treacherous connivance of the nurse and then is hanged while the nurse gets burnt. Oh, sorry, that's an English one. And when I checked the lyrics online I get invited to use it as a ring-tone. Maybe not!
# Posted on October 21st 2009 by RichardB
Re: Irish Song Tropes
I killed my dad and married my mom, but then realized my error and gouged my eyes out.
Oooops, never mind, I thought this was the ancient Greek tropes discussion!
# Posted on October 22nd 2009 by AlBrown