Four lyrics from and associated with the Holy Waters Songbook…healthy nutrition in the West of Scotland!
When my book Holy Waters was published a couple of years ago (winner, Fortnum and Mason Awards, Drink Book of the Year, last time I’ll mention this, promise) I put together a wee group of songs and poems that were going to be performed at launch events throughout the world. Or possibly Lanarkshire. So far, The Holy Waters Songbook, aka the Electric Soup Revue, has only been performed twice, once in Lerwick Library and once in the Weaving Shed at Hillswick. As these shows were accompanied, as was their more popular predecessor, the Malt and Barley Revue (packed out in Peebles! Quite successful in Beauly and Rutherglen!) by free-poured drams, the audience reacted with increasing…positivity. Until the arrests…
Since then, I’ve found myself waxing lyrical, or doggerel, about other forms of Scottish sustenance. And in the absence of anything else exercising my Substackian brain, I thought I’d run them past you. In some cases, there are tunes, but they are possibly not very good ones, so I’ll leave them for the moment. Recording may or may not take place.
Meanwhile, you can listen to me reading the rhymes by clicking on the arrow below.
Electric Soup
They call it Cumbernauld rocket fuel
They call it Coatbridge Champagne
I drank it once mixed with Aftershock
I don’t think I’ll do that again
Sometimes it’s Vino de Jakie
Sometimes it’s Turbo wine
It’s the ideal aperitif
Before some serious crime
Electric soup
13 monks down in Devon
Electric soup
They’re on the highway to heaven
Those Benedictines are cock a hoop
Selling their electric soup
Mrs Brown or Commotion Lotion
In Ireland it’s a Bottle of Stuff
I’ve tried it in chocolates, or in ice cream
But I didn’t get angry enough
It’s better than Eldorado
Lanliq or Special Brew
Some people sniff it with Domestos
Or inject it it with some WKD Blu
You can drink it it in moderation,
But most prefer abuse
Getting wrecked religiously
On Wreck the Hoose Juice
When you’re facing the judge
There’s one way to get through it
Blame the abbot and the habit
Say “The monks made me do it!”
Electric soup
Thirteen monks down in Devon
Electric soup
They’re on the highway to heaven
Those Benedictines are cock a hoop
Selling their electric soup
Connoisseurs
Once it was McEwens
Don Cortez, Bull’s Blood too
Famous Grouse, Smirnoff
Superlager, Special Brew
Now it’s microbrewery IPAs
And a Bekka Valley Red
A 30 year old Lagavulin
Or a Longrow instead
Water that whisky
Never drink it neat
We can tell you which malt
And who cut the peat
Our descriptive powers
Are beyond compare
Though we might need some help
Climbing up the stairs
Our hearts are pure
We’re connoisseurs
Dry Martini for me
A highball for you
Between the Sheets
Or a Slow Comfortable Screw
From desire to performance
More trouble than you’d think
No need to be concerned
Have another drink
Open it up,
Fill the glasses
Throw the top away
We’ll need another bottle
Or two, I would say
We must keep our ideas
Develop and endure
We’re Connoisseurs
Square sliced sausage
Square sliced sausage
Named for Tommy Lorne
For breakfast lunch and dinner
Every day since I was born
Stork’s as good as butter
On a Morton’s roll
Soft on the inside
Well fired, as black as coal
Down to the dairy
A sweetie would be nice
A bar of Caramac
Some Ambrosia creamed rice
Bacon sliced on the machine
With beef and gammon too
And at the end of every day
A wee wipe down would do
Stornoway black pudding
And a mutton pie
A and B meat roll
A cemetery of flies
Square slice, slightly scratchy
Just add some Irn Bru
Delicious as a smoothie
You don’t even have to chew
Every day a Hogmanay(A whole new me )
Tramadol and Coca Cola
Red Bull, promethazine
Diazepam and Lucozade
St John’s Wort and caffeine
Terry’s Chocolate Orange, half-melted
With a Wispa Gold or two
A spoonful of Cremola Foam
Dissolved in Irn Bru
A triumph of the will
With some prescription pills
To help me on my calm and sober way
Back from the brink
No demon drink
Just deep fried Mars Bars every second day
Except for Hogmanay
Lavender oil mixed in with Horlicks
Will get me through most of the night
And if I’m woken by my cravings
I’ll take three or four Turkish Delights
Next I’ll head to Istanbul
For new teeth, transplanted pubic hair
I’ll start to cut down on the sugar
You can get cheap Ozempic there
A triumph of the will
With some illegal pills
To help me on my slim and steadfast way
Sugar free
A whole new me
And no more domestic violence, night or day
Except for Hogmanay
I could be on television
A social media influencer
Run for office for Reform
Maybe their first first minister
Or maybe I’ll just stick with Buckfast
Pick fights with random passers by
Eat my own weight in square slice sausage
Morton’s Rolls and mutton pies
A triumph of the will
So maybe I’ll get ill
And of heart disease at 50, pass away
Make it my mission to
Abide by tradition
Live my life the West of Scotland way
Every day a Hogmanay.
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