THIS MONTH’S PARODY (May 15) Danny Boy


Music: Anon.              Lyrics: Fred E Weatherly

It sounds like a folk song that’s been around for centuries but the lyrics of ‘Danny Boy’ were written as recently as 1913 by the prolific Fred E Weatherly. He was a lawyer by profession but in his spare time managed over a lifetime to write over 3,000 poems . Half of these were set to music: 1500 published songs. Danny Boy was first recorded in 1915 by the German (later American) contralto Ernestine Schumann-Heink. Many other people have provided words for the wonderful tune known as the ‘Londonderry Air’ (its authorship is uncertain) but W J Bethancourt 111’s take is particularly fruity.

Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.
The summer’s gone, and all the roses falling,
‘Tis you, ‘Tis you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow,
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow,
For I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow,—
Oh, Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy, I love you so!

But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,
If I am dead, as dead I well may be,
Ye’ll come and find the place where I am lying,
And kneel and say an Ave there for me.
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,
And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,
For you will bend and tell me that you love me,
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!
(Oh Danny Boy, Oh Danny boy, I love you so.)


W.J.Bethancourt III
(Tune: “Londonderry Air” aka “Danny Boy”).
(c) 1990 W.J.Bethancourt III.
I watch you walk upon the streets of London.
Your mini-skirt stretched tight, and looking sweet.
I watch you walk, and walk into a lamppost
I didn’t see, upon the London street.
So turn your back, and wiggle softly from me
With mini-skirt, (perhaps, no underwear!).
Your legs are great! But, by the Gods above me,
I watch your wondrous London derriere!

The Paris girls are wonders full of beauty
And California grows the long-stemmed L.A. rose.
Berlin nights are full of life, and lovely,
But London girls don’t wear no panty-hose!
So turn your back, and wiggle softly from me!
And let me watch, and dream a dream so rare:
In my hotel, you naked there above me
Sit on my face with your London derriere!

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