Louis MacNeice is among the inspirations the Scottish team, Battlefield Band. MacNeice’s poem, “Bagpipe Music, ” offers the words when it comes to track on group’s newest album enough space for many, which was nominated for an unbiased Music Award when you look at the sounding “World typical tune.”
by Louis MacNeice
It’s no-go the merrygoround, it is no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a solution for peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crêpe-de-chine, their particular shoes are made of python,
Their particular halls tend to be lined with tiger rugs and their particular walls with heads of bison.
John MacDonald found a corpse, put it beneath the couch,
Waited till it stumbled on life and hit it with a poker,
Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whisky,
Kept its bones for dumb-bells to make use of as he ended up being fifty.
it is no-go the Yogi-Man, it's no-go Blavatsky,
All we wish is a bank balance and some dress in a taxi.
Annie MacDougall went along to milk, caught the woman foot in heather,
Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna.
it is no-go your maidenheads, it's no-go your culture,
All we would like is a Dunlop tyre and devil mend the puncture.
The Laird o’ Phelps invested Hogmanay declaring he had been sober,
Counted his feet to prove the simple fact and found he had one-foot over.
Mrs Carmichael had the woman 5th, viewed the task with repulsion,
Believed to the midwife ‘go away; I’m through with overproduction’.
It’s no-go the gossip line, it's no go the Ceilidh,
All we would like is a mother’s help and a sugar-stick for baby.
Willie Murray slashed their flash, couldn’t count the destruction,
Took the hide of an Ayrshire cow and tried it for a bandage.
Their sibling caught 3 hundred cran once the seas had been lavish,
Threw the bleeders in the ocean and moved upon the parish.
it is no-go the Herring Board, it is no-go the Bible,
All we wish is a packet of fags whenever our arms tend to be idle.
It’s no go the picture palace, it's no go the arena,
It’s no-go the country cot with a pot of pink geraniums,
It’s no-go the us government funds, it is no go the elections,
Lay on your arse for fifty many years and hang your cap on a pension.
it is no go my honey love, it's no go my poppet;
Work the hands from day to day, the winds will strike the profit.
The cup is dropping hour by-hour, the glass will be seduced by ever,