Final week. Wednesday: Classic Car (The Always Look Underneath Song)

Always wanted an S type Jaguar

It’s wasn’t the old man’s favourite car

That was a Cortina 1600E to tell the truth

Olympic Gold, with Rostyle wheels and a black vinyl roof

But we travelled in old VX490s, Vivas

Drove to the Gospel Hall, we true believers

Where the preachers said the devil was a trickster

Who seduced us with Vauxhalls, with Crestas and Victors

A classic car

memory and pride

More than just a ride

A classic car

It’s the life you never had

Better than  your dad’s

A classic car

I bought a Wolseley, expecting it to smell

Like  I was 10, in a taxi to a Largs  hotel

But it reeked of damp and mildew, of fibreglass and rust

On the A80 in Moodiesburn, it finally bit the dust

You can’t go back, you can’t return

To when it didn’t matter how much fuel you burned

When smoking was good for your health

And you could let the babies sleep upon the parcel shelf

You can’t go back, maybe remembering is sweet

But history is what we learn so we don’t have to repeat

Build a useless border, sing some songs and raise a flag

Then from some wide-boy dealer, you buy a bodged-up deathtrap Jag

It looked great in the showroom, it filled your heart with pride

All your limousine ambitions that could not be denied

The deal is done, the trouble start, you’re in a world of pain

And you realise that you can’t go back, you can’t go back home again

Copyright 2014 Scar Quilse. All rights reserved.

Final week, a song a day, Tuesday: Scottish Forever (The Disagreement Song)

I’m a Tunnocks Teacake, you’re salt and sauce

You like cowping your caber, I couldn’t give a toss

I’m in favour of the great salt and vinegar snog

You prefer to cuddle up with a Caramel Log

We share a love of the great Vindaloo

And a nan bread each, never one between two

I’m Lagavulin or Ardbeg, you’re Glenlivet or Grants

I wear breeks, you like a kilt with stout underpants

And we’ll be Scottish forever

Agreeing never

No matter where we go

Yes or No

I’ll have Loch Lomond, you can have Loch Ness

We’ll share the monster and the wallabies, that’s probably best

Tennents or McEwens, Belhaven or Deuchars

I’ll have porridge with salt, you can have yours with sugar

I’ll just say this, we disagree

It’s Yes for you and No for me

But that’s all right, I have no doubt

I’ll be fine once the stitches get taken out

I’m for pan fried scallops, you’re into Scampi Fries

I prefer the real thing, you prefer the lies

I’m not saying I’m right, I’m not saying you’re wrong

Actually, I am. I’ve been right all along

Words and music copyright Scar Quilse 2014. All rights reserved.

Final week: A song a day, Monday. Snake Handlers in Kirkintilloch (The Act of Faith Song)

Inspired by this video of a poor deluded soul in the USA whose act of faith led to death at the hands of a rattlesnake.



My daughter's gone to live in Milton Keynes
She says she knows what independence will mean
My son's in Wick, he says the country's a mess
But if it makes things worse he'll still vote yes

I've been feeling depressed for the last two years
It's like the 18th century is still happening here
Fighting over the fate of this wee nation
Like trans versus consubstantiation

Now there's a new church down the street from me
They say they worship a God who wants Scotland free
And to prove that God doesn't make mistakes
They like to sing happy songs and play with poisonous snakes

Snake handlers in Kirkintilloch
They believe in God and border controls
Snake handlers in Kirkintilloch
Where a bite from a Copperhead can save your soul

I saw a Black Mamba and a coastal Taipan
The preacher had one of each in either hand
He shouted I believe in everything Nicola said
Then the Mamba bit him and he dropped down dead

I bought a house on the River Tweed
It's got everything I could possibly need
The border runs right across the living room floor
My own United Kingdom when I shut the door

And if they insist on a wall and some razor wire
Between the television and the electric fire
I'll tell them exactly where they can go
I had my own referendum and I voted no

But now there are Snake handlers in Selkirk
They believe in God and border controls
Snake handlers in Selkirk
They say a bite from a Copperhead will save your soul

But they'll secretly admit they're going to vote No

Copyright Scar Quilse, words and music, 2014. All rights reserved

Stay Together (The Treachery Song)

Don't call me  a traitor
Because I love both north and south
You should do some thinking, son
Before you open your mouth

 I believe in democracy
That doesn't stop where you draw a line
In justice on the Forth, the Clyde
The Mersey, and the Tyne If we stay together
We can keep each other strong
So let's stand together
That's where we belong

 I never liked to gamble
Because I've seen what it can do
I believe in right and wrong
And I think that you do too

 In the times we're living in today
You can't hide behind a wall
A flag will never be enough
This world is much too small


Words and music copyright Scar Quilse 2014. All rights reserved.

My Nationalist Girlfriend (The Egg Song)

My nationalist girlfriend
She's not my girlfriend anymore
Seduced by an activist
She says she's not a separatist
 But we're separated now
I still love her anyhow
Despite the Saltire tattoo on her cheek
And the eggs she threw at me last week

My nationalist girlfriend
I'm not her boyfriend
She's not my girlfriend anymore

She believes in a currency deal
She's got a poster of Alex Neil
I said it was him or me
She said: it's just a fantasy
 But then she was canvassing in Milngavie
Met Iain, aged 50, into Hue and Cry
I said at least it's not Runrig she said he likes them too
And he's got every album released by Deacon Blue

My nationalist girlfriend
I'm not her boyfriend
She's not my girlfriend anymore

She says MI5 are active in the No campaign
They tear down posters, they break windows
And it's Yes that gets the blame
She says Eddi Reader said so, it must be true like it or not
That unionists are evil Quislings, traitors to the Scots

And I have a picture of her it's true
Just the week before she got the tattoo
I keep it next to my heart
Even though she has torn it apart

My nationalist girlfriend
She's not my girlfriend anymore

Copyright Scar Quilse 2014. All rights reserved.

A Wholly Healthy Happy Scotland (the homeopathy song)

A Wholly Healthy Scotland (The Tartan Partan Song)
 I believe in Angus the Tartan Partan
I believe there are fairies at the bottom of my garden
I believe in the National Collective
 I believe that Taggart was a real detective

 And I believe in a wholly healthy, happy Scotland

 I believe that North Sea oil will last forever
I believe that Alex Salmond used to be quite clever
I read Scottish books, they’re my artistic heartland
I love that Lesley Riddoch and that Barbara Cartland I believe in a wholly healthy happy Scotland

 A pure unblemished Scotland
Where no-one gets sick or ill
That’s the promise that’s been made to us
And I believe it still
There will be no sorrow there will be no pain
And we will qualify for the World Cup again
We’ll drink cocktails made of Eldorado, Buckfast and Champagne
In Scotland A wholly healthy, happy Scotland

 Doctors say they’ll leave, but we just laugh
We’ll have nurse practitioners and homeopaths
And so much oil the North Sea’s greasy
We’ll abolish death. It’ll be quite easy

 For I believe in a wholly healthy happy Scotland

 And it will last for a thousand years
There will be no more anguish, there will be no more tears
And everything will blossom Just like Norway
Just like Norway

The Nearest Thing to Dreams (The Fergusons Song)

 The quote from the Salford poet Robert Rose jumped out at me from a tweet posted by Dumbarton MSP Jackie Baillie. Fergusons is the last non-military shipyard on the Clyde and the last of any sort on the Lower Clyde. It now being in administration, with the potential loss of 70 jobs, is a tragedy for the communities of Port Glasgow and Greenock.


“Ships are the nearest things to dreams that hands have ever made,
For somewhere deep in their oaken hearts the soul of a song is laid.”

 Robert N Rose


 Heard there’s a padlock on the gates today
Went down to check, I just walked away
The Prince of Wales for a pint or two
Try to think of something else to do

 One hundred and eleven years
That’s how long there’s been a shipyard here
Not one order on the books they say
They’re saying nothing about our back pay

 The nearest things to dreams That hands have made or ever will
Now all our hopes and dreams
Have turned to unpaid bills
Through calm and storm
Those ships are sailing still
 The nearest things to dreams

 Politicians do the stuff they always do
Say it’s very sad, that much at least is true
They say there are jobs for us, that things just might be fine
In call centres, or one pound shops, or selling junk online

 And in my house there’s pictures on my walls
Too many names for me to say them all
Flying Foam, the Flying Spray, Scotia, Sulisker
The Star Capella, Tirrick and the Shalder were built here

 The Fivla and the Loch Dunvegan, Isle of Arran, Stirling Spey
The Pharos and the Falcon, the Hebrides, the Stirling Tay
I look at them, nothing can change the way I feel
The pride and mystery of my seagoing steel

The Sovereign Will Of The Scottish People (The Panda Song)

This was inspired by a post on Roger White's 'No Thanks' blog, which you can find here: http://mercinon.wordpress.com/2014/08/07/the-sovereign-will-of-the-scottish-people/ . It analysed the repetition of the phrase 'The Sovereign Will of the Scottish People' by Alex Salmond during the recent debate on STV with Alistair Darling.

An end to the biting midge in the Highlands

The eradication of ticks

A Caramel Wafer that makes you lose weight

And every pothole fixed

That’s the Sovereign Will of the Scottish People

Motorway all the way  from Perth to Inverness

Reopen all open air swimming pools

A football team that wins the World Cup

A panda in every school

That’s the Sovereign Will of the Scottish People

The Sovereign Will of the Scottish People

There’s a phrase that rings so pure

Say it in German, say it in Russian

Maybe I’m not so sure

About the Sovereign Will of the Scottish People

Deep fried Mars Bars in every nursery

A cure for asthma found in cigarettes

Cheap flights to the  moon from Prestwick

Winning money every time you bet

On the Sovereign Will of the Scottish People

          

And it shall be so

Because we say it shall be so

And the Bank of England will do as we say

For in truth, they must obey

The Sovereign Will of the Scottish People

And when aliens arrive in their spaceships at Wick

We'll welcome them like superstars

They'll take away all the nuclear submarines

And put them on the planet Mars

For that is the Sovereign Will of the Scottish People

The Sovereign Will of the Scottish People

There’s a phrase that rings so pure

Say it in German, say it in Russian

Maybe I’m not so sure

About the Sovereign Will of the Scottish People

Scar Quilse 2014

Salmondland (The Midge Song)

Salmondland (The Midge Song)

My English friends don’t know pickled eggs must be deep fried
My English relatives - they can all move to Milngavie
My English enemies can stand at the border, weeping Union Jack tears
Wishing they could get past the minefields and settle here

It’ll be marvellous, our health service will still be there
We’ll fund it by making hydrogen from water and air
And selling it all to the Russians, they’ll be happy to pay
And then we’ll all be as rich as they are in Norway

 In Salmondland Everything will be OK
 In Salmondland Richer and happier every day
We don’t let the facts get in the way In Salmondland

I believe in a land flowing with whisky and Macaroon bars
Where the unemployed will all be reality TV stars
And everyone will be pretty and handsome and rich
And midges will be genetically changed so their bites don’t itch

But now I hear the pessimists are saying That Scotland might say no
And columnists and pop stars and care home operators
Are all looking for somewhere to go

And when the Herald and the Scotsman have been bought by the Sunday Post
And Kevin McKenna has moved to the Amalfi Coast
In my darkest moments, I’m desperate and grumpy and scared
That’s because my cousin in France has told me I can’t move there

 Copyright Scar Quilse 2014

Pure Dead Amazing (The Commonwealth Games Song)

The Trongate's so clean I licked up my spilt pakora sauce last night
I got the late bus home to Possil and I didn't see a single fight
All the junkies are in a big shed at Weirs of Cathcart
They're getting sent to Edinburgh when the festival starts
And everything is pure dead amazing in Freedom City now The queue at Mother India is longer than the River Clyde
There are bowlers in the park eating pizzas that've been deep fried
I'm going to take up Judo it's right up my street
Though I'll not wear pyjamas or be in bare feet
Everything is pure dead amazing in the Freedom City now

 Pure dead amazing and brilliant and completely sublime
All the poor folk are invisible, and nobody's committing crime
Nobody gets beat up here for being gay
At least not in the west end, or not every day
Everything is pure dead amazing in the city now

 See when it's over, it'll still be fantastic then
Dalmarnock's on the up and up, it's gonna be the new Bearsden
Cappuccino and focaccia and juice bars too
Life expectancy for men will rise to 52
Everything is pure dead amazing in the city now

 Copyright Scar Quilse, 2014

Naebody Ever Asked Me (The Opinion Poll Song)

I’m quiet as a moose

I very rarely leave the hoose     

Shop at the Co-op, Tesco, never

(Except if I’m desperate, cause they deliver)

I’m hardly young, but I’m no very old

I don’t like doing what I’m told

Folk say they speak for me on television

But they never asked for my permission

Naebody ever asked me

Naebody ever asked me

I’m a simple soul, I’m no in they polls

Naebody ever asked me

I call him Max for short, he’s a rescue pug

Maxton’s too long a name for a dug

My pal Sue’s got a mutt called Karl, a Staffie

She walks  him in the park, she likes to wear her baffies

Naebody ever asked me....

So will I make to the polling station

To seal the fate of this wee nation?

I’ll make it if I have to crawl

Karl and Max’ll be there and all

And me and and Sue too, you will see

We'll be voting for solidarity

For the union of the working class

Our voices will be heard at last

I could've tellt you, but you never asked...

Naebody ever asked me...

Copyright Scar Quilse 2014. All rights reserved.

One Pair o'Tartan Trews (The Fashion Song)

(Inspired by a true, or trew, story, which you can read in The Telegraph here:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/scotland/10359238/Alex-Salmonds-secrecy-battle-over-250-tartan-trews.html

One pair o’ tartan trews

What was Wee Eck trying tae do?

He can’t wear a kilt

Cause his bum gets aw chillt

And his knees get aw frostbitten too

Two hundred and fifty pounds

Ah but somehow the money was found

The taxpayer paid

The trews were tailor made

The first minister’s joy was profound

They were worn at a Chinese ball

Eck didnae go down well at all

Another Panda he sought

Bits of chicken he got

Deep fried in sweet and sour balls

He’s repaid the money at last

And those trews are a thing of the past

For as Wee Eck  expands

He needs elastic bands

To keep his pull-ups at half mast

Now the Commonwealth Games are here

And oor athletes have bonny new gear

It’s the tartan frae hell

Wee Eck’s got some as well

Made into a simmet I fear.

New Scotland (The Camper Van Song)

A camper van called Scotland

I bought a camper van on eBay

I was a wee bit nervous

The guy said he’d got it from

The St John’s Ambulance Service

He’d fitted it with a double bed

And a woodburning stove

When I got off the train in Preston to pick it up

I just fell in love

Two hundred thousand miles

It had independent suspension

Ran out of fuel on the Great North Road

I wasn’t paying attention

When the guy said it was thirsty

I thought he meant he liked a drink

Not 10 miles to the gallon

I guess I just didn’t think

I called it Scotland

My beloved Scotland

It’ll take me everywhere I want to roam

Scotland, my beloved Scotland

Don’t ever tell me Scotland’s not my home

I got a tow to a caravan site

I lit the stove and settled down

It was somewhere in Northumbria

I drank  my first can of Newcastle Brown

I found I quite enjoyed the place

The folk seemed just the same

I met a girl from Penrith called Tracy

MacMillan was her middle name

That was fifteen years ago

I’ve hardly been north since

I even found a chip shop

Sells Morton’s Rolls with mince

Sometimes I go to Peebles

That’s just like Edinburgh only wee

I suppose I live in England

It’s all Scotland to me

Copyright Scar Quilse 2014

Making History (The Bannockburn Live! Song)

I always wanted to be Robert the Bruce

Bonnie Scotland I would save

I lined the garden shed with loft insulation

And built myself a cave

Then I got myself a spider

From a pet shop in Mothereell

Tied it to a string, watched it swing

Till it began to smell

Mum knitted me some chain mail

From some very lovely Shetland wool

I sprayed it Volvo grey and then one Friday

I wore it to the school

I got a kicking in the playground

They tore my chainmail to bits

I swore vengeance on they English

Even though I lived in Coatbridge

 Oh Bannockburn

Or maybe it was Flodden

Or it could have been Culloden

It's all the same to me

Stirling bridge or Prestonpans

I'm just a simple fighting man

Plastic broadsword in my hands

I'm making history

In our re-enactment society

We re-enact an awful lot

We did the Battle of Jutland

On Queen's Park Pond with some model yachts

for Bannockburn I said I'd be Robert

But it was all stitched up before

I played the front end of Edward the Second's horse

Which wisnae what I signed up for

All rights reserved. By Scar Quilse, 2014

Sturgeon Wall (The Buckfast Song)

Sturgeon Wall (The Buckfast song)

Barbed wire on the border

Got to cross The Sturgeon Wall

Barbed wire on the border

Got to cross the Sturgeon Wall

You should see the tailbacks on the A7 at Mosspaul

Checking the lorries

I'm no' pleased

Got sixty crates of Buckfast heading for Dundee

The monks don't like it,

The monks don't like it

The monks don't like it, naebody likes it

Take my freedom if you like that's fine

You’ll never  take my tonic wine

Immigration man

He's wearing tartan trews

And a wee Mac10 submachine gun he's dying to use

Looking for a payoff

In those daft Caledonian groats

In my passport, sonny

there's 200 million note

That'll buy a few votes

Now I'm heading for Tayside

With my electric soup

Everybody in Broughty Ferry is pure dead cockahoop

Lanliq!

Sanatogen!

Eldorado!

ScotsMac

Copyright Scar Quilse 2014. All rights reserved.

It Wisnae Me (The CyberNat Song)

                                     
Two tins of superlager, feeling no pain

I start typing away as fast as wee Patrick Kane

Searching for unionists on the internet

I hunt them down like dogs every chance I get

But

It wisnae me

It wisnae me

I’m as nice as nice can be

I don’t even shout at the BBC

Unless I’m pissed

Then I turn into a nationalist

They say I’m a Nazi, what a load of dross

You take just one selfie with one iron cross

It wisnae even real I made it myself

From a Commando Comic cover and some fuzzy felt

That wee Ruth Davidson, she does karate

I’ll just pretend I’m in the Tory Party

If she turns up at the front door of my hoose

And then I’ll turn my pitbull Nicola loose

See all yon civic nationalism stuff?

After a while everybody's had enough

You don’t say you hate the English till you’ve had a few drams

Then you hit that keyboard and you feel like a real man

But

It wisnae me, it wisnae me

I'm as nice as nice can be

I never even shout at the BBC

Unless I'm pished

Then I turn into a nationalisht...

Bastards in the North (The Blossom Song)

If you go wandering in our kilt-infested streets
You may receive a friendly wave from everyone you meet
These are exceptions that prove the rule
Really we're just planning to deport you southern fools

Better stay inside and don't go out, friend
If you do, your illusions may come to an end
I love those words that are coming from your mouth
But there's just as many bastards in the north
As in the south

You may have heard our tartan doors are never locked
But in the hallways shotguns sit, they're loaded and they're cocked
For the most part we are polite
Secretly we're planning to provoke you into flight

And there are places no visitor should walk
We'll kill and eat you if we hear the southern way you talk
Unless of course you are prepared to pay
Just give us lots of money and quickly go away

And if you settle here, if you think we're nice
If you buy a burnt out cottage at the incomer's price
Maybe you've seen that film, The Wicker Man?
The person who was in that house before you understands

Bettter stay inside and don't go out friend
If you do your illusions may come to an end
I love those words that are coming from your mouth
But there's just as many bastards in the north
As in the south