Viscosity City

Me and Phil belted out the chorus as we turned the country corner.
Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a da
Wack fall the daddy-o, wack fall the daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar.
The rain sheeted against the Jehovah sunbeams.
Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a da
Wack fall the daddy-o, wack fall the daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar.
This was fucking brammerville. Full bung and four jam doughnuts.
C’mon , Jesus Christ, c’mon, There is whiskey in the jar o
C’mon Coo’s, in the fucking jar o
What was wrong with them? Why the mood, the attitude?
The BMW wheels span, frolicking the mud upwards and down. They never flinched, nor horns did quiver.
I got out of the car, paused, quelled myself and stated.
Why can you not just fucking dance?
Across the field, the riff of moore echoed.
Like a Victorian fountain the urine flowed from one of their arses.
Respect? Respect not I, but at least respect your brethren I pleaded.
Why can you not just fucking dance?
Then shite flowed equally in viscosity as the preceding orange Pish
Phil’s silence on the MP3 was messy, as it was in life.
I replayed it. I had to, and then, suddenly, like the drunken whelks, the cows danced. God love those big Highland Horned Cows.
They danced.
Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a da
Wack fall the daddy-o, wack fall the daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar.
And they could dance, they really could dance, without handbags.
I got back into the car and took a moment to take in the wonderous vista of the white horses galloping on the angry blue.
Phil waited, and then as I drove onto the Lismore Ferry road, I looked forward to the flat, smooth stones of the bay.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s