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Post by edwin on Feb 2, 2013 17:11:16 GMT
I was going to parody this but it seems apt for PA anyway
We meet 'neath the sounding rafters, The walls around us are bare; They echo the peals of laughter, It seems the dead are there.
So stand by your glasses steady, This world is a world of lies. Here's a toast for the dead already; Hurrah for the next man who dies.
Cut off from the land that bore us, Betrayed by the land we find. The good men have gone before us, And only the dull left behind.
So stand by your glasses steady, This world is a world of lies. Here's a toast for the dead already; Hurrah for the next man who dies
But here is my chorus for it anyway
Here's to the dead already, Are those alive again? Oh my! Hold that baseball bat steady Here's to the next one to try.
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Post by davidc on Feb 17, 2013 11:28:48 GMT
Stand back to back defensive Face on to the howling tribe Not an inch or a step can we give or to their madness we subscribe
Here's to the dead already Are those alive again? Oh my! Hold that baseball bat steady Here's to the next one to try.
They say they're real-life zombies Even though a contradiction in terms We'll make the undead, dead wannabes So they can make friends with worms
Here's to the dead already Are those alive again? Oh my! Hold that baseball bat steady Here's to the next one to try.
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Post by edwin on Feb 17, 2013 11:34:05 GMT
Definitely worth a Yo! and a Yeah! One wonders about a youtube upload
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Post by spaceowl on May 18, 2013 10:42:34 GMT
Originally subtitled as 'Cholera Camp India' and dating to the early 1850s, a great song that can still be occasionally heard on the re-enactment circuit. Love the PA version, although, granted the source material, wouldn't a cricket bat be more appropriate, 2nd verse, third line?
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Post by edwin on Jun 2, 2013 15:40:17 GMT
Sung round the campfire of nomads of the Wasteland
Take me back to the clashing tills? For the tills don't give an iota For the beautiful civilised country That I loved.
or
There may yet be a home So I may not roam. The skies are all cloudy and grey. Seldom is heard any old word For the streets are deserted all day. I'd tell, if I had a friend That from here to the end Its no life for a nomad today.
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