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  • File : 1267779591.jpg-(121 KB, 350x541, zombie.jpg)
    121 KB Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)03:59 No.8413729  
    Hey /tg/,

    So, I'm running an Irish bard-type character in a D2o Modern game I'm playing in, and he loves to sing your stereotypical "Irish Drinking Song". The trouble is I lack the lyrical creativity to make up relevant songs. "What's relevant?" you may ask?

    Zombies.

    So /tg/, can you present me with some suitable Zombie Drinking Songs?
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:06 No.8413789
         File1267779992.jpg-(12 KB, 480x360, hqdefault.jpg)
    12 KB
    >thinly veiled this

    Really? On MY /tg/?
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:11 No.8413829
    >>8413789

    No, I honestly could use the help. Normally, I'm alright at this, but tonight my mind is failing me.
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:16 No.8413870
    Bumpin'
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:17 No.8413881
    There are five basic topics for Irish music, those being:
    1. Women
    2. Sailing
    3. Drinking
    4. Fighting
    5. Hating the English

    Basically, choose between one and five of these, and concoct a situation in which all of them are satisfied, then drunkenly slur it while playing a fiddle.

    For example: on account of (1) the English our protagonist is being (2) shipped to South Australia and must leave (3) Miss Nancy Claire behind.

    Once you have this basic technique down, simply add a sixth topic: Zombies.

    So, for example, perhaps two men fight over a women and one kills the other, but then his zombie stalks him across the seas.

    Or an Irishman finally and inevitably drinks himself to death (perhaps because of a woman), but his thirst is so great that he continues to drink as a zombie.

    Or maybe there's a liquor so potent that would kill any living man but can restore the zombified to life?

    Listen to The Pogues, Flogging Molly, and The Dubliners for further ideas.
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:23 No.8413937
    >>8413881

    Wow, that's pretty helpful, thanks. Just when I was thinking you guys were going the way of /v/, /tg/ helps get shit done again.
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:31 No.8414013
    A good theme to go with hating the English is revenge against the English. You could write a song about the English regiment that came to oppress a group of Irish, and ended up being eaten by the zombies of those they came to kill.
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:35 No.8414049
    So you need a zombie themed irish folksong?

    The challange. is accepted.
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:37 No.8414064
    >>8414049

    I read your post with a sense of foreboding. By starting this thread, have I created a monster?
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:44 No.8414144
    Bumping
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:50 No.8414185
    The Pogues "Sally MacLennane" with some slight changes, hopefully somebody more creative makes some OC.

    Well Jimmy played harmonica in the pub where I was born
    He played it from the night time to the peaceful early morn
    He soothed the souls of zombies and the men who had the horn
    And they all looked very happy in the morning

    Now Jimmy didn't like his place in this world of ours
    Where the elephant man smashed zombies heads
    When he'd had too many Powers
    So sad to see the grieving of the people that he's leaving
    And he took the road for God knows in the morning

    We walked him to the station in the rain
    We kissed him as we put him on the train
    And we sang him a song of times long gone
    Though we knew that we'd be seeing him again
    sad to say I must be on my way
    So buy me beer and whiskey 'cause I'm going far away
    I'd like to think I'll be returning when I can
    To the greatest little boozer and to Sally MacLennane
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:51 No.8414198
    >>8414185

    The years passed by the times had changed I grew to be a man
    I learned to love the virtues of sweet Sally MacLennane
    I took the jeers and drank the beers and crawled back home at dawn
    And ended up a barman in the morning

    I played the pump and took the hump and watered whiskey down
    I talked of whores and zombies to the men who drank the brown
    I heard them say that Jimmy's slaying zombies far away
    And some people became zombies without warning

    We walked him to the station in the rain
    We kissed him as we put him on the train
    And we sang him a song of times long gone
    Though we knew that we'd be seeing him again
    sad to say I must be on my way
    So buy me beer and whiskey 'cause I'm going far away
    I'd like to think I'll be returning when I can
    To the greatest little boozer and to Sally MacLennane

    When Jimmy came back home he was surprised that they were gone
    He asked me all the details of the train that they went on
    Some people they are scared to croak but Jimmy drank until he choked
    And he became a zombie in the morning

    We walked him to the station in the rain
    We kissed him as we put him on the train
    And we sang him a song of times long gone
    Though we knew that we'd be seeing him again
    sad to say I must be on my way
    So buy me beer and whiskey 'cause I'm going far away
    I'd like to think I'll be returning when I can
    To the greatest little boozer and to Sally MacLennane
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:57 No.8414253
         File1267783032.jpg-(52 KB, 898x348, 1259130954317.jpg)
    52 KB
    >>8414198
    >>8414185
    FOOKING SAD IRISH SONGS
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)04:58 No.8414269
    >>8414253

    Protip: It's upbeat. Also Sally MacLennane is a beer.
    >> Shalere Al-Sabim 03/05/10(Fri)04:58 No.8414275
    Well walkin' with my bonny
    Out upon the bay
    I came upon a little man
    Who said t'me goodday
    And to this little man
    I tipped my had and said
    Excuse me, my fine sir
    You appear to be quite dead.

    Well..
    He grabbed me up 'round the neck and cracked me on the head, to give me up a nasty bite 'afore I turned and fled!

    I had to stop a runnin' when I looked down to see, my feet and face were on the floor and that's when he yelled to me.

    There ain't no livin' my fine lad, just 'cause you're alive! Y'fight and ya drink and ya eat and ya breathe, just so you survive! But when you get up out of bed to find yourself's been stricken dead, that's when you know my booooy...

    You really begin to thrive!

    Get yourself a mug and stein and drink until you please! You won't get sick, you won't fall down; you'll hold it in with ease! And since y'don't need to breathe, you don't need to stop; just tip that keg up to your lips..

    ...Y'still got lips, don't you boy?

    And drink down every drop!

    'Cause I tell ya!

    There ain't no livin' my fine lad, just 'cause you're alive! Y'fight and ya drink and ya eat and ya breathe, just so you survive! But when you get up out of bed to find yourself's been stricken dead, that's when you know my booooy...
    >> Shalere Al-Sabim 03/05/10(Fri)04:59 No.8414279
    >>8414275

    You really begin to thrive!

    But that ain't half the best part, 'bout havin' no more pulse. Me and you, ain't it true, you can't say it's false; who doesn't love to put 'em up, and knock a fella out? There's nothing like a bonny fight to make the boys all shout.

    But ain't it tiresome, all that pain and hurt? And you take too many wallops, and they put
    you in the dirt? Well let me tell you one more thing 'bout this gift of ours; we can take and
    we can punch for endless wakin' hours! (Heh, might lose an arm or two, though!)

    So I'll say again!

    There ain't no livin' my fine lad, just 'cause you're alive! Y'fight and ya drink and ya eat and ya breathe, just so you survive! But when you get up out of bed to find yourself's been stricken dead, that's when you know my booooy...

    You really begin to thrive!

    And to close me off this little tale, 'bout your new-found state.. There's one thing, we good lads,
    we all hafta hate.. When you find yourself a pretty gal, and dream that you might wed.. And then one lone and raindy day, she's with your mate instead. Well can't you just run up, and give her a little nip on the head? Because one thing, I'll tell ya boy..

    Nobody'll swipe her if she's dead!
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:00 No.8414292
    >>8414269
    ...Well that puts a whole new fucking spin on it.

    I thought that Jimmy died, Sally Maclennane was his bonny lass, and that the little boozer was supposed to be his bastard son.
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:01 No.8414300
    I'm sure Whose Line is it Anyway? has done a zombie Irish drinking song.
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:02 No.8414309
    >>8414275
    >>8414279

    OP here.

    OH WOW. That's... great! There is officially OC ITT.
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:02 No.8414314
    >>8413881 Flogging Molly
    You are officially the coolest Anon of the day.
    >> Shalere Al-Sabim 03/05/10(Fri)05:04 No.8414325
    >>8414309

    Glad I could help!
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:08 No.8414362
    >>8414309
    OP, Flogging Molly literally has a song called "May The Living Be Dead (In Our Wake)"

    I suggest checking it out.
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:10 No.8414386
    >>8414362
    http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/floggingmolly/maythelivingbedeadinourwake.html
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:19 No.8414464
    A tale of a young man who travels the world, who has the misfortune of ALWAYS running into zombies...

    Well I've drunk to drown, on every ocean I've been
    Lake Tanganyika, where the crocodiles swim
    Halifax, Nova Scotia to Van Diemen's land
    Well I drank with the Sultan, down the Suez Canal

    Cause Every Dog Has Its Day
    Like every woman, she gets her own way
    And if there's a ship that sails tonight
    I'll captain that too, just to be there with you

    Well there was old Jerry Rooney, who was dead as a doorknob
    Spillblood Maloney's chest was a red rosy blob
    That night on the bridge, with my shovel in hand
    Well they threatened to kill me, for sure he picked the wrong man

    Cause Every Dog Has Its Day
    Like every woman, she gets her own way
    And if there's a ship that sails tonight
    I'll captain that too, just to be there with you

    Well there was plague in Lagos, aboard the mean ship Skondi
    Ten or twelve days of hell, till the bastards were all dead
    McCloskey you're not dead!

    Cause Every Dog Has Its Day
    Like every woman, she gets her own way
    And if there's a ship that sails tonight
    I'll captain that too, just to be there with you

    Now I love the sea and she wants me back
    So I leave this ol' harbor, with the wind at my back
    Goodbye mother Theresa, I hope the kids settle down
    I must head for the Chinas, pray to God I don't drown

    For Every Dog Has Its Day
    Like every woman, she gets her own way
    And if there's a ship that sails tonight
    I'll captain that too

    Cause Every Dog Has Its Day
    Like every woman, she gets her own way
    And if there's a ship that sails tonight
    I'll captain that too, just to be there with you
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:21 No.8414488
    Me and me brother were drinking one night
    And what started as friendship it ended in fight
    For in to the pub walked the fairest young lass
    And I said to me brother I shall be poundin' that ass
    But me brother he yelled "No I saw her first!"
    And said "then let us get fighting after we slake all our thrist!"

    Me brother and I we were drunk off our heads,
    and all that we wanted was a young girl to bed!
    But out of the street we went fighting instead,
    an' I struck him to hard so he fell down dead.

    Chorus:
    Oh me brother me brother, I miss you so
    That It'd end this I way I couldn't know
    What should I tell your kids and your wife
    If only I could bring you back into life

    But as soon as I'd said it the corpse replied with a moan,
    But was it me brother, who had left me and gone?
    As it stood up again I filled my trousers with pee,
    For me brother hath returned as a zombee!

    Chorus:
    Oh me brother Me brother, I miss you so
    That It'd end this I way I couldn't know
    But now I am here, raised back up again
    And it would make things better if I could eat up your brain.
    (I'm not drunk, nor Irish, so cut me some slack.)
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:27 No.8414540
    In South Australia I was slain
    Heave away, haul away
    In South Australia by an English man
    Hellbound in South Australia

    Haul away you rotten bones
    Heave away, haul away
    Haul away you'll hear me moan
    We're Hellbound in South Australia
    (repeat after each verse)

    As I shambled out one evenin' fair
    Heave away, haul away
    Oh I chanced to meet my murder'r
    Hellbound in South Australia

    Well I ate him up and I ate him down
    Heave away, haul away
    An' dragged his corpse all round the town
    Hellbound in South Australia

    The one thing that still grieves my mind
    Heave away, haul away
    It's to leave my Nancy Claire behind
    Hellbound in South Australia

    Well I miss my Nancy Claire's embrace
    Heave away, haul away
    Next night I crept to her sleepin' place
    Hellbound in South Australia

    I meant to give 'er just one kiss
    Heave away, haul away
    It's hunger that made me do this
    Hellbound in South Australia

    Well Nancy Claire I'll always mourn
    Heave away, haul away
    An' now I wish to Christ I'd never been reborn
    Hellbound in South Australia
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:28 No.8414551
    >>8414488
    >>8414464

    Wow, thanks, way more response than I was expecting. Now to put them all to tunes that AREN'T the WIILA "Irish Drinking Song" thing.
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:32 No.8414579
    A poor bastard tries to fight a bonny lass he met at the pub, but ends up dyin' on the Devil's Dance Floor...

    "Devil's Dance Floor"

    Her breath began to reek
    As she stood right in front of me
    The colour of her eyes
    Were the colour of insanity
    Crushed beneath her gave
    Like a ship, I could not reach her shore
    We're all just dancers on the Devil's Dance Floor

    Well swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o
    Swing a little more, a little more next to me
    Swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o
    Swing a little more, on the Devil's Dance Floor

    Pressed against her face
    I could smell her, dead and putrid
    Her mother'd been a dead lass
    And her father was hatred

    *Girl moans, drops arm*

    But nothin' ever came
    From a life that was a simple one
    So pull yourself together girl
    And have a little fun

    *cont*
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:32 No.8414582
    >>8414579
    Well she took me by the throat
    I could see she was a fierce one
    Her legs ran all the way
    Up to heaven and past Avalon

    *Girl shrieks, claws at Bard*

    Tell me somethin' girl, what it is you have in store
    She said 'nary a word as she dragged me down
    On the Devil's Dance Floor

    Well swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o
    Swing a little more, a little more next to me
    Swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o
    Swing a little more, on the Devil's Dance Floor
    Swing a little more, on the Devil's Dance Floor

    Well swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o
    Swing a little more, a little more next to me
    Swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o
    Swing a little more, on the Devil's Dance Floor

    The scent now is rank
    Oh much ranker than it ought to be
    Another little bite
    I don't think there is much hope for me
    The blood beneath her chin
    Travels all the way
    An' headin' south
    This bleedin' heart's cryin'
    Cause there's no way out

    Well swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o
    Swing a little more, a little more next to me
    Swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o
    Swing a little more, on the Devil's Dance Floor

    Well swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o
    Swing a little more, a little more next to me
    Swing a little more, little more o'er the merry-o
    Swing a little more, on the Devil's Dance Floor
    Swing a little more, on the Devil's Dance Floor
    Swing a little more, on the Devil's Dance Floor
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:35 No.8414608
    >>8414582
    >>8414579
    ...I like that song's original version.

    And now I am imagining it being sung zombie-fashion.

    feels bad, man. I want sex, not death ;_;
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:36 No.8414613
    Zombie I hardly knew ye
    >> Anonymous 03/05/10(Fri)05:51 No.8414749
    A zombie version of Tell Me' Ma:

    I'll tell me ma when I go home,
    The dead won't leave the livin' alone.
    They ate my flesh, they gnaw'd my bone,
    But that's alright when I go home.

    She is handsome, she is prety,
    She's the only one alive in Belfast city,
    She is a hiding. One. Two. Three
    Please won't you tell me where is she?

    Now Albert Mooney says he sees her,
    All the boys are shamblin' for her.
    Knockin' down the door and raisin' hell,
    Carryin' round that awful smell

    Down she comes with an akimbo grip
    Pistols in her hand and mags on her hip
    Old Johnny Murphy says she'll die
    If she doesn't shoot the fellow with the missin' eye.

    Let the wind and the rain and the hail come high,
    And the snow come shoveling from the sky.
    She's ed-ible as apple pie,
    An' she'll get worn out by and by!

    When she's ate down to the bone
    She won't tell her ma when she comes home.
    So let them all come give chase
    But it's Patrick Murphy that's lyin' in wait
    >> Bumblescut !V930Zsl3N6 03/05/10(Fri)08:08 No.8415975
    Because sometimes real drinking songs are best:

    Oh the night that Paddy Murphy died, is a night I'll never forget
    Some of the boys got loaded drunk, and they ain't got sober yet;
    As long as a bottle was passed around every man was feelin' gay
    O'Leary came with the bagpipes, some music for to play

    Chorus:

    That's how they showed their respect for Paddy Murphy
    That's how they showed their honour and their pride;
    They said it was a sin and shame and they winked at one another
    And every drink in the place was full the night Pat Murphy died

    As Mrs. Murphy sat in the corner pouring out her grief
    Kelly and his gang came tearing down the street
    They went into an empty room and a bottle of whiskey stole
    They put the bottle with the corpse to keep that whiskey cold

    About two o'clock in the morning after empty'ing the jug
    Doyle rolls up the ice box lid to see poor Paddy's mug
    We stopped the clock so Mrs. Murphy couldn't tell the time
    And at a quarter after two we argued it was nine

    They stopped the hearse on George Street outside Sundance Saloon
    They all went in at half past eight and staggered out at noon
    They went up to the graveyard, so holy and sublime
    Found out when they got there, they'd left the corpse behind!

    Oh the night that Paddy Murphy died, is a night I'll never forget
    Some of the boys got loaded drunk and they ain't been sober yet;
    As long as a bottle was passed around every man was feelin' gay
    O'Leary came with the bagpipes, some music for to play

    Chorus between it verse.
    >> Bumblescut !V930Zsl3N6 03/05/10(Fri)08:09 No.8415987
    >>8415975
    Obviously, not Zombied up. But it shouldn't be hard to incorporate it.

    Mostly, I think the idea of a bottle of whiskey with a corpse to keep it cold is awesome.
    >> Bumblescut !V930Zsl3N6 03/05/10(Fri)08:12 No.8416014
    And a Tom Lehrer song (someone I've considered basing a bard off in the past) which also includes a little cannibalism.

    About a maid I'll sing a song,
    Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
    About a maid I'll sing a song
    Who didn't have her family long.
    Not only did she do them wrong,
    She did ev'ryone of them in, them in,
    She did ev'ryone of them in.

    One morning in a fit of pique,
    Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
    One morning in a fit of pique,
    She drowned her father in the creek.
    The water tasted bad for a week,
    And we had to make do with gin, with gin,
    We had to make do with gin.

    Her mother she could never stand,
    Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
    Her mother she cold never stand,
    And so a cyanide soup she planned.
    The mother died with a spoon in her hand,
    And her face in a hideous grin, a grin,
    Her face in a hideous grin.

    She set her sister's hair on fire,
    Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
    She set her sister's hair on fire,
    And as the smoke and flame rose high'r,
    Danced around the funeral pyre,
    Playin' a violin, -olin,
    Playin' a violin.
    >> Bumblescut !V930Zsl3N6 03/05/10(Fri)08:13 No.8416024
    >>8416014
    She weighted her brother down with stones,
    Rickety-tickety-tin,
    She weighted her brother down with stones,
    And sent him off to davy jones.
    All they ever found were some bones,
    And occasional pieces of skin, of skin,
    Occasional pieces of skin.

    One day when she had nothing to do,
    Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
    One day when she had nothing to do,
    She cut her baby brother in two,
    And served him up as an irish stew,
    And invited the neighbors in, -bors in,
    Invited the neighbors in.

    And when at last the police came by,
    Sing rickety-tickety-tin,
    And when at last the police came by,
    Her little pranks she did not deny,
    To do so she would have had to lie,
    And lying, she knew, was a sin, a sin,
    Lying, she knew, was a sin.

    My tragic tale, I won't prolong,
    Rickety-tickety-tin,
    My tragic tale I won't prolong,
    And if you do not enjoy the song,
    You've yourselves to blame if it's too long,
    You should never have let me begin, begin,
    You should never have let me begin.



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