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THE BALL OF BALLYKNURE Four and twenty virgins Came down from Inverness, And when the ball was over There were four and twenty less. CHORUS: Singing, balls to your partners, Arseholes against the walls, If you never got laid on a Saturday night, You'll never get laid at all. Four and twenty prostitutes Came up from Glockamore, And when the ball was over They were all of them double bore. The village cripple he was there, He wasn't up to much, He lined 'em up against the wall, And diddled 'em with his crutch. The Queen was in the parlor, Eating bread and honey, The King was in the chambermaid, And she was in the money. First lady forward, Second lady back, Third lady's finger Up the fourth lady's crack. The village policeman he was there, The pride of all the force, They found him in the stable, Wanking off his horse. The village plumber he was there, He felt an awful fool, He'd come eleven leagues or more And forgot to bring his tool. There was humping in the hallways And humping in the ricks, You couldn't hear the music For the swishing of the dicks. 'Twas ballocks in the kitchen, And ballocks in the halls, You couldn't hear the music For the clanging of the balls. 'Twas fellatio in the anteroom, Cunnilingus on the stairs, You couldn't see the carpet For the cunts and curly hairs. Sandy McPherson he came along, It was a bloody shame, He fucked a lassie forty times, And wouldna take her haim. The parson's daughter she was there, The cunning little runt, With poison ivy up her bum, And thistle up her cunt. The vicar's wife, well she was there, A-sitting by the fire, Knitting rubber johnnies Out of India rubber tire. The village idiot he was there, Sitting on a pole, He pulled his foreskin over his head And whistled through the hole. Mrs. O'Malley she was there, She had the crowd in fits, A-jumping off the mantelpiece And bouncing on her tits. The bride was in the kitchen Explaining to the groom, That the vagina, not the rectum, Is the entrance to the womb. The village magician he was there, Up to his favorite trick, Pulling his arsehole over his head, And standing on his prick. The village smithy he was there, Sitting by the fire, Doing abortions by the score With a piece of red hot wire. The blacksmith's brother he was there, A mighty man was he, He lined them up against the wall And buggered them three by three. Now farmer Giles he was there, His sickle in his hand, And every time he swung around He circumcised the band. The vicar's wife she was still there, Back against the wall, "Put your money on the table, boys, I'm fit to do ye all." The vicar and his goodly wife Were having lots of fun, The parson had his finger Up another lady's bum. The village doctor he was there, He had his bag of tricks, And in between the dances He was sterilizing dicks. Father O'Flanagan he was there, And in the corner he sat, Amusing himself by abusing himself, And catching it in his hat. The vicar's wife was yet still there, Dressed in a long white shroud, Swinging on the chandelier And pissing on the crowd. They was shagging in the couches, They was shagging in the cots, And lying up against the wall Were rows of grinning sots. Farmer Brown he was there, A-jumping on his hat, For half an acre of his corn Was fairly now fucked flat. Giles he played a dirty trick, We canna let it pass, He showed a lass his mighty prick, Then shoved it up her arse. Bayard Stockton he was there, Drunk beyond a doubt, He tried to stuff the parson's wife, But couldna get the root. Jockie Stewart did his business Right upon the moor, It was, he thought, much better Than fucking on the floor. A couple of Hashers they were there, A-looking for a fuck, But every cunt was occupied And they were out of luck. Mike McMurdock when he got there, His stand was long and high, But when he'd shagged her forty times, His balls were squeezed and dry. McTavish, oh yes, he was there, His piston long and broad, And when he'd stroked the furrier's wife She had to be rebored. McCardew-Roberts he was there, His flagpole all alert, But when half the night was done, It was dragging in the dirt. The chimney sweep he was there, They had to throw him out, For every time he passed his wind, The room was filled with soot. The doctor's daughter she was there, She went to gather sticks, She couldna find a blade of grass, For cunts and standing pricks. The village builder he was there, He brought his bag of tricks, He poured cement in all the holes, And blunted all the pricks. Little Jimmy he was there, The leader of the choir, He hit the balls of all the boys, To make their voices higher. Now little Tommy he was there, But he was only eight, He couldna root the women, So he had to masturbate. The village postman he was there, The poor man had the pox, He couldna shag the ladies, So he fucked the letterbox. The village idiot he was there, A-leaning on the gate, He couldna find a partner So he had to flatulate. The blacksmith's father he was there, A-roaring like a lion, He'd cut his rod off in the forge, So he used a red-hot iron. A pregnant woman she was there, Her belly was well hung, And when I tried to eat her, A tiny hand grabbed my tongue. And so the ball was over, They all went home to rest, And the music had been exquisite, But the fucking was the best.
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