Houghmagandy

Lyrics

The elder from the parish stands inside the taproom frame,
His coat is brushed and buttoned, he asks us to explain.
He asks what keeps us waking, what makes the lantern swing,
What leaves the barmaid breathless while the winter rain is thin.

Oh, it's nothing but some houghmagandy, sir!
It takes a heavy boot to make the sawdust turn.
You throw your weight into the wood, you keep the rhythm grand,
A loud and local custom that you wouldn't understand.
Just a chorus in the tavern, just a ringing in the ear,
There is nothing for a gentleman to see.

The syllables are heavy, they gather in the jaw,
A wall of broken granite to step around the law.
The parlor has a velvet noun, so quiet on the tongue,
But we require a thunderclap to cover what is done.
The jaw locks on the consonant before the mind can slip,
And we shout the rafters level just to keep the evening dim.

Four pounds Scots will pay the clerk if you are spoken plain,
So keep the vowels rolling to avoid the public shame.
He listens for a whisper, he's hunting for a sigh,
So we give him all four syllables and occupy his time.

Oh, it's nothing but some houghmagandy, sir!
It takes a heavy boot to make the sawdust turn.
You throw your weight into the wood, you keep the rhythm grand,
A loud and local custom that you wouldn't understand.
Just a chorus in the tavern, just a ringing in the ear,
There is nothing for a gentleman to see.

Give him all four syllables.
Loud enough to rattle the glass.
He'll write it in his ledger as a tavern dance.
Keep the rhythm.
And let the elder pass.