FINNEGAN'S FUCK

[A WHILE AGO, FELLOW TABARD INN-ER JESSE RUSSELL AND I PLANNED ON STARTING A TWO-MAN BAND WHICH WOULD PERFORM ONLY DRINKING SONGS.  SADLY, WE NEVER GOT AROUND TO ACHIEVING THIS BECAUSE OF CONFLICTING SCHEDULES AND LACK OF TIME.  I WROTE SOME LYRICS, BUT WE COULD NEVER MAKE THE TIME TO PUT MUSIC TO THEM.  I THINK I'M GOING TO START POSTING THEM HERE, SO THEY DON'T GO TO WASTE.  THIS ONE ISN'T SO MUCH OF A DRINKING SONG, BUT IT COULD EASILY BECOME ONE, AS YOU'LL BE ABLE TO SEE BELOW.]



At age fifty-four, Finnegan was no lad

Gray, puffy, and balding, but still he had
Enough lead in his pencil to write a book
Or at least a short story, by hook or crook.
But some days are limp
He’s feeling less pimp
He hates being such a gimp.



For such days he keeps on hand
A little bottle of blue pills and
The phone number of a good whore
Who always leaves him begging for more.
He gives her a call
He’s excited to ball
He’s ready to give it his all.



Finnegan! It’s your final day on earth!
Give this man a very wide berth!
Does he have bad or good luck?
Who knows? It’s time for Finnegan’s fuck!



He pops a blue pill in his mouth
And feels a tingling down south
But it’s going too slow
Can’t go with the flow
He takes two more
And sits at the door
Waiting for his favorite whore.



Finnegan! It’s your final day on earth!
Give this man a very wide berth!
Does he have bad or good luck?
Who knows? It’s time for Finnegan’s fuck!



Finnegan tears her clothes asunder
And plugs her up with a cock of thunder
He rides her with ferocity
And moves with such velocity
His heart rate soars
He’s on all fours
Wishing he had more whores.




His groin is scorched and his heart is numb
It spreads to his left arm and he knows how dumb
He was to take so many pills
But it was worth the thrills
If he could cum
Before his bum
Ticker could turn to chewing gum.



Finnegan! It’s your final day on earth!
Give this man a very wide berth!
Does he have bad or good luck?
Who knows? It’s time for Finnegan’s fuck!



His heart has stopped in his chest
And he squeezes her left breast
One last time before he’s through
At least he’s able to squirt his goo
At the last
He stops moving fast
And even in death he’s at half-mast.



Finnegan! It’s your final day on earth!
Give this man a very wide berth!
Done in by his naughty trouser snake.
And now it’s time for Finnegan’s wake!

YAR! ALESTORM!

Your life is not complete without the Scottish metal band, Alestorm. They are not just any metal band, no sir. No, they are fucking PIRATES. They’ve gone mad with rum, and they are ready to blow your brains out with their blunderbusses. And you will like it.

They sing songs of the high seas, of boozing and treasure and mutiny and all the things pirates enjoy. To put things in perspective, TREASURE ISLAND is less about pirates than Alestorm is. Take, for example, their song “Over the Seas,” a tale of how they purchase a treasure map “from an old man with a hook for a hand.” Or consider the tales of warfare at sea, like “Death Before the Mast” and “Terror on the High Seas.” In the latter song, they say, “Reload the cannons and sharpen up your swords/They will regret the day they faced the pirate horde.” These Scottish pirates do not fuck around.

And when they’re not raping and pillaging, they’re enjoying some time on land, drinking and whoring. “Nancy the Tavern Wench” is almost an advertisement for a good place to go for women, rum, and the possibility of adventure and treasure. However, “Wenches and Mead” is the superior song, showing a pirate having just returned from “a mighty quest.” He must unwind from all the stress of being a pirate. So “I head for a tavern for a drink/and get so drunk I cannot think.” Even those of us who work more mundane jobs can relate to such a need.

But the real gem of this album, so much so that the song’s title is also that of the CD, is “Captain Morgan’s Revenge,” which tells the story of a “bloody mutiny.” The ship was lost at sea, and the crew lost their patience with the higher ups, so they “took up arms and slayed the officers of rank/And with swords drawn made the captain walk the plank.” But Captain Morgan was not pleased with this and cursed each and every crew member with a looming, shadowy death before he was swallowed up by the sea. And sure enough, the curse is not a trifling matter. The narrators of this song are telling us this tale from their prison cells, waiting to face the gallows in the morning. It is all best summed up in the chorus:

“At sunrise we’ll all dance the hempen jig
So raise up your pint of rum and take another swig
The curse of Captain Morgan has led us to this fate
So have no fear and don’t look back, the afterlife awaits!”

Best enjoyed with Captain Morgan’s Reserve. Yar!

CAPTAIN MORGAN’S REVENGE
Band: Alestorm
Released by Napalm Records