The British Curse for the Person (Bugger)

Lyrics

[Intro]My mum, she'd say it with a sigh."Oh, bugger off," she'd say, and smile.Just a sound, a bit of air.But every word comes from somewhere.[Verse 1]Let's go back. Languedoc, 1229.The air is sharp with burning pine.A man is tied, his hands are rough.He believed in two gods. That was enough.The cleric points a trembling hand.A foreign word, to curse the land.From the Bulgars, far away.A word to make the good folk stay away.[Chorus]And the word, it travels.Oh, the word, it flies.From a pyre in France under cold grey skies.Crossed the water on a salt-stained breeze,Left the heresy and the cypress trees.Just a ghost of a name for a man who prayed wrong,Now it’s just the chorus to a drinking song.[Verse 2]The inquisitor wrote it with a quill.An accusation meant to kill.*Bougre*, he wrote, on the parchment sheet.A word for poison, for deceit.For a love that the church could not abide.For everything they had to hide.It was a weapon, clean and sharp.Played on a different kind of harp.[Chorus]And the word, it travels.Oh, the word, it flies.From a pyre in France under cold grey skies.Crossed the water on a salt-stained breeze,Left the heresy and the cypress trees.Just a ghost of a name for a man who prayed wrong,Now it’s just the chorus to a drinking song.[Bridge]They even used it for the men who lent,For money made that was misspent.An unnatural profit, a wicked gain.The same damn word to hold the stain.But the fire dies down. The centuries turn.And there's nothing left of it to burn.The meaning bleeds out on the tavern floor,'til no one knows what it was for.[Outro]So when you hear some bloke complain,"The silly bugger's missed his train,"Remember Languedoc. The chill.The echo on that silent hill.It’s just a sound. A bit of air.Carrying ghosts from everywhere.