A Dress for the English

2007 - Paul Revere's Horse  and Bobs Bastard Boat

2006 - A Warning for Those Who Intend to Drink with Bob 

2006 - Why Can't the English Be More Like the Scots!?

But we start way back in 2003 with the classic 'When God Created the Scots'

Click to hear it being read or read it below!

When god created the Scots 
When god created the Scots 
He wasn’t at his best
You see, he’d just created Englishmen
And was in desperate need of rest

He said they’re uglier than first I feared
It’s as if they’ve all been cursed
With hairy backs and great red beards
And the men are even worse

And when they complained as well they might
God said I’ll grant you one last favor
To make up for your dreadful plight
I’ll give you the Englishmen as neighbors

Well soon the Scots found they could crawl
To this fine land to the south
We had to build a bloody great wall
Just to keep the bastards out

But slowly then the Scots became
Civilized you’d say
Some could even write their names
And tell the time of day

Some took up philosophy
Like young Willy T McLeod
Who had an fearsome curiosity
And would often think out loud

He pondered space and gravity
And all that kind of stuff
And when he wasn’t cleaning lavatories
Young Willy pondered thus

If I should climb those distant heights
And to the ground I cast
A wee drum and a great set of pipes
Would both fall just as fast

Well an Englishman with unerring wit
On hearing what was spoken
Said, no one really gives a shit
As long as both get broken

But truthfully there is in life
No finer, sweeter sound
Than that of highland drum and pipes
Being smashed against the ground

To the Scots there’s nothing quite as foreign
As the thought of loosing money
So they keep it locked inside a sporran
Nestled just below the tummy

And if you’ve ever though it rather strange
The way that they deploy it
They figure, if someone’s going to steal my change
Well, I might as well enjoy it!

For Scottish Women as well we know
Virtue is not highly prized
They say if all Scottish virgins were laid head to toe
No-one would be surprised

And they say that to please a female Scot
Should anybody choose to
That it’s little things that mean a lot
But then, that’s all there used to

For centuries it’s been mans dream
To create a super race
But we never really had the means
To put the plan in place

But in genetic engineering’s wake
With have within our grasp
The god like skills with which to make
The dream come true at last

But what then did the Scottish do
You’ll not believe their folly
 They cloned a little wooly ewe
And then they named her dolly
It was all a wee mistake they say
Next time we’ll get it right
It’s just that sheep and  Scotsman’s DNA
Are uncannily alike.

Well now Its time to put things right
And say that all has been in jest
You see I’m hoping  I can stay the night
As one of Jerry’s guest

So let us end this childish feud
Between Englishman and Scot
It’s all becoming rather rude
And dignified, its not.

So let us raise a glass this night
And our thirst for kinship quench
Join hands in friendship and unite
In our common hatred of the French!

- Robert Mansfield, Jan 25 2003

ADDRESS TO THE ENGLISH – Jeremy Bell - 2006

I am afraid my address to the Englishman this year will not rhyme 
I would love to have risen to the bait, but I didn’t have the time.
Sure I’d love to sonnet about my English friend
But since I do not have one, my song would quickly end.
-And last year we exchanged our toasts and we had lots of fun
I gave a ‘dress to an Englishman, but he didn’t put it on!
This year, I fear I will have to do a better job
And give a warning to those of you who intend to drink with Bob!

There may be those, who do not know, that Bob drinks quite a lot
If he’d only do it properly he could call himself a Scot
But he gurgles and he guzzles and it dribbles down his chin
Smirnoff vodka, Jagermeister, Captain Morgan, Plymouth gin.
-With a Galiano chaser, t'would make a grown man quiver 
The Government has yet to find, a safe place for  his liver
He spends all his money at the pub, there’s never any left
If it wasn’t for the peanuts at the bar he’d starve to death!

Well last week we found him in a ditch, his jacket was all torn
His eyes were all so bloodshot, that he still thought it was dawn
We took him an AA meet, he’s on step number ten
The first nine led him to the bar, we had to drag him back again
-He stood up at the meeting, and said he was from the south
And his only drinking problem was he only had one mouth
But last week he went T-total, and promised at AA
That he’d collect up all his bottles and he’d pour the lot away!

So he grabbed the first bottle, but he had a little drink
Cursed all bloody 12 steps as he poured it down the sink!
Took another did same as before 
But before he poured it down the sink he drank a little more!
- As he poured himself a double, he had a little toast
To the losing of the three friends he really liked the most
While thinking on his third wife he had another drink
Threw the cork in the bucket, poured the whisky down the sink!
 
Well he poured away another but it didn’t seem quite fair
So he unscrewed the drainage and he had himself a share !
He tried to lift another, but the sink was getting tight,
And the room was spinning around and round which didn’t help his plight
As he tried to gain his balance he fell against wall
But he couldn’t pull the bottle from the damn sink at all
When he finally pulled it, with a mighty plop
He fell on his English arse and drank a glass of cork!

He tried to get up to his feet, but found that they were slack.
He held the room with one hand as knocked buggers bac!
He tried to count the empties as they danced before his eyes
He’d only counted 22 when much to his surprise ...
There were 12 sinks of whisky, everyone uncorked,
And the sink in the bottle it was very badly blocked.
So he laid his head down carefully upon the kitchen floor
He really likes this therapy and has signed up for more!
 
Pause!
 
Last year we heard Bobs idea of a gentleman and a friend,
Is a man who plays the bagpipes, but who doesn’t in the end!
But I confess, (tho’ in a dress), I am a better fella,
I gave him this bottle for Christmas but I keep it in my cellar
(holds up the bottle in question!)
-For if I let Bob take it home, there’d be nothing left to show
Sure if the bottle did not have a neck, he’d down one in a go,
So instead I dole it out to him. I know he calls me tight
Well I’ve got good news for you my friend, tonight’s your lucky night.
 

Yes I’m giving you a great big glass of this liquid Scotland
In the name of Robert Burns, who I think would understand
That we Scots must let the English think they’re in control,
But we’ve got them by the curlies in the shape of a bottle!
-We must ration liquid passion, keep the English at our heel
Watch them eat a plate of haggis, make them dance a Scottish reel
And once a year outnumber them - about 29 to one
Just one night we choose the anthem. It’s their turn to sing along!
 
Well I might have burnt a bridge or two but now its time to mend .
Bob you’re the only bloody Englishman I could ever call a friend .
Both you and me love eau-de-vie, we share this common bond
That unites us in good fellowship, my drinking buddy I’m so fond .
-Darling, when we sit together and I see you through the glass
You seem more like a Scots brother, less of an English ass !
Your blood it is worth bottling, what more can I say
Your two men in one man’s body, (that’s now legal in LA).  

So I raise my hand to a good bloke - a gentleman through and through
He’s a man for all the seasons, and he’s always treats you true
You’re the peach in my apple pie, you’re a plum in my plain yogurt
You’re the filling in my jam tart Bob, (or can I call you Robert?)
- For when we drink, I do think, you are a splendid bean
You’re the paragon of excellence. You’re wizard, man you’re keen!
(kneeling)
You’re a smashing, spiffing sort of chap. Now would I ever lie ?
I’m remain your humble servant, and I beg for my reply!!

Bob gets the better of me again!

Here is 2006 piece  entitled Why Can't the English Be More Like the Scots!? 

Why can’t the English be more like he Scots
It’s not as if we’re really so different a lot.
Admittedly the English are far more refined
But you can’t judge a man just by the breadth of his mind.
In Scotland it’s all about a way a mans built
It’s not what’s in his head, but what’s under his kilt
And if we believe Jerry, that can be quite a lot
So, why can’t we English be more like you Scots.

When speaking the English try to sound upper class
As if something unpleasant’s been stuck up their arse
When meeting each other we say “how do you do”
Do what you might ask well we haven’t a clue.
But when Scotsmen meet there’s none of this crap
No la-di-dah language or tippin’ of hats
It’s just straight to the point with no more ado
They say “fuck you Jimmy” and “fuck you too”.
It’s so marvelously brief and yet it says such a lot
So, why can’t we English be more like you Scots.

For the English drinking’s a most tedious affair
We sip cups of tea with our finger in the air
We nibble on scones and make idle chat
Saying how dreadful the weather
Or how nice the Queens hat.
But a Scotsman when drinking is far less restrained
He just sucks on a bottle till he’s out of his brains
And if anyone cares well he doesn’t give a jot
So, why can’t we English be more like you Scots.

For leisure the English play a game we call cricket
Where we throw little balls at each other wickets
The games are interminable and as far as I know
The only excitement is seeing the grass grow
But when Scotsmen play games it’s real manly stuff
There’s no mention of googlies or silly mid-off
They put on their kilt, drink a bottle of Scotch
and balance great telegraph poles on their crotch
Now that’s what sports all about is it not ?
So, why can’t we English be more like you Scots

When seeking a mate the English it seems,
Are obsessed with finding the girl of their dreams.
She must witty and pretty and oh so well bred
Only to find that she’s hopeless in bed.
But for Scotsman these problems simply do not exist,
You see they do most of their courting while totally pissed
Is she pretty, is she human, he’s never quite sure.
I mean 2 legs or 4 legs, who’s keeping score.
It make for an interesting life does it not.
So, why can’t we English be more like you Scots

So I stand before you forlorn and depressed
Wondering why all the those around me are dressed
In  colorful regalia that I can’t help but admire
While I look like a penguin in butlers attire
But if you’ll indulge me, I’ll not ask of you much
Just to delight in your company and drink deep of your scotch
For this is my heritage, and such is my lot
That I am an Englishman who would be a Scot

A Note about Bob Mansfield

Bob Mansfield is a wonderful chap - honestly! We do a gig together every year at the Higgins Armory Wine Festival. I go up to people and ask if they would like a whisky and if they say yes, but wonder where the bottle is I click my fingers and shout 'Mansfield' and my butler appears!

Next 2007 - Paul Revere's Horse  and the classic 'Bobs Bastard Boat'

2008 - He keeps a low profile at a rather sensitive wedding.