Speeches - Address to Lassies and their Reply

It is 'customary proseedcake' for the lads to slag off the lassies and then they get their own back. Here are the ones that were written to rhyme! The first was delivered by members of the Single Malt and Song Society - a fine group that add equal parts song to whisky. See their website here

The Lassies o the Morning
Let us count the forces that do drive the world along
How they grip us, how they trip us, whether right or wrong
Shelter, food, adventure, aren't the only siren songs
We are drawn too toward the lassies O the morning.

Way back in Eden's garden, which no hand ever tilled
Adam lounged contentedly, his every need fulfilled
He'd just rest and sip his whisky, peace and quiet reigned... until
God sent a bonnie lassie one fine morning.

As I sailed into Glasgow city, a rash and roving blade
There I spied sweet Nancy Whisky, what a fair young maid
Seven years I loved her well, but oh the price I paid
Oh Nancy cost me dearly every morning.

When the English chased Prince Charlie 'twas a lassie rowed him o'er
Which made up for how a lassie's blanket killed MacPherson's roar
And we'd not have Bobby's poetry if not for Jean Armour
How we suffer for these lassies O the morning.

Oh every year we gather here, on Burns' birthday night
We toast immortal mem'ry and we make a merry sight
But who prepares the banquet, while the menfolk all get tight
Tis no one but the lassies O the morning.

Oh why is it we push ourselves and often play the fool
We take up stupid hobbies that we hope make us look cool
Oh why the hell would any sane man ever fight a duel
To screw some lovely lassie 'til the morning.

Now who will listen to our lies when we tell where we've been
And who will help our virtues some and moreso help our sin
And who, even in song, won't let us get the last word in
Our own sweet bonnie lassies O the morning.

- Members of the SMSS - 2006

Address to the Laddies 
Delivered by Linda McJannet - 2005

Listen, my sisters, and you shall hear 
Of the virtues and foibles of our laddies dear.  
Husbands, companions, fathers and sons,
Co-workers, brothers-- they are the ones
We hang with, we talk to, we love and adore,
We debate with, we argue, we sometimes implore
To consider impartially the distinctions between us—
Why men are from Mars, and women from Venus.

Not all are, of course, there are always exceptions:
The Amazon, war-like; the mensch, all affections.
But we acknowledge, as a general rule,
The sexes diverge.    From cradle to school,
From family to office, to sports and diversions,
We are shaped into molds on which each casts aspersions.

Item: When stalled at complex intersections,
Why are they reluctant to ask for directions?
Granted, men have geo-spatial flair,
But isn’t the object just to get there?

Item: The Mall—if you go with your guy,
Remember this adage: Women shop, and men buy!
And don’t ever ask, “Does this make me look fat?”
They’re too smart to answer a question like that!
And besides, who can blame them? Such a distinction
Explains why the dinosaurs suffered extinction.

Item: Whenever you ask for advice,
Prepare to accept it, and don’t think it’s nice
To return to the subject next day. Ipse dixit:
Though we just want sympathy, they want to fix it!
So, whether you’re gay, bisexual, or straight,
Or haven’t a clue coming out of the gate,

I submit that these verses, though slightly pontifical,
Capture a truth more than stereotypical.
The foregoing is so, from Australia to France.
But, that being said, Vive la difference!
We lassies acknowledge, as species and genus,
We often rely on men’s strengths to redeem us.

When the simmering cauldron of life has us beat,
Sometimes, they manage to turn down the heat.
Or, by cóntrast, when life’s cold to the bone,
Stalwart, they show us that we’re not alone.
They take out the garbage (OK, that’s traditional),
But sometimes we need “male logic” occipital.
Emotion, we grant, only gets you so far
When you try to sail west to East Madagascar!

And, further, these days, many lads break the mold;
They clean, shop, and cook; they launder and fold,
Not only for them, but for us and the kids,
Which many a Grandad and Dad never did.
To which we all chorus, “Huzzah! and Hooray!”
The dawn of a gentler, androgynous day!

God knows, we’ve our faults (although minor and trivial)
Which can put a strain on relations convivial.
We salute their good nature, their patience, their loyalty,
And—just for tonight—we’ll treat them like royalty!
So, raise a wee dram of Balvenie or Paddy’s
To the loves of our lives, our soul-mates,  the  LADDIES!

                                                         Linda McJannet, 2005

Address to the Lassies
Delivered by Michael O'Shea - 2005

(to the tune of “Clancy Lowered the Boom”):

Refrain:             O the Lassies, O the Lassies,
Just when it might Be going right, The Lassies lower the boom, boom, boom, boom . . . 

I was mighty thirsty after work,
            I stopped into the bar.
I was there for twenty minutes,
            Then I headed for my car.
“Not so fast,” the Barman says,
            “There’s a call from your lovely bride.
            And she’s made it clear
            She knows that you’re here
You can stop, but you cannot hide!”

Refrain

                        We filled the tank with petrol
                        And we headed for a bite.
                        “Just one stop,” she says to me,|
                                    “I need a pair of tights.”
                        “Of course, my dear, but it’s dinner time
                                    So please do make it fast.”
                                    The game was beginning
                                    I heard 14 innings.
                        And the car ran out of gas!

Refrain

                        I watch the Red Sox play the Yanks,
                                    It’s always quite a sight.
                        The Crimson Hose of Boston
                                    ‘Gainst the Pin Stripe Salary Might!
                        Damon’s up, the score is tied,
                                    It’s the last of the ninth inning—
                                    There’s a shot to the stands,
                                    The remote’s in her hands,
                        And I’m looking at synchronized swimming!

Refrain

                        Now I’m a fan of theatre,
                                    As everybody knows.
                        And I can wash my hands and face
                                    And dress in fancy clothes.
                        But next week we are ticketed
                                    For Thursday, Friday, and Sat.—
                                    And the very next day,
                                    It’s the Boston Ballet,
                        Now really, “What’s up with that?”
Refrain

                        The matriarch of the neighborhood
                                    Was Mary Moriarty.
                        It came that we attended
                                    Her 100^th Birthday Party.
                        She said, “Women need men twice a week,”
                                    Her reasoning was so clear:
                                    It’s not for the cash,
                                    No, it’s once for the trash,
                                    And once for “Well, you know, dear!”

Refrain

                        I haven’t talked of Moms-in-law
                                    Of headaches and the freeze,
                        Of “Honey-do-lists,” hair appointments,
                                    Showers, brunch, or teas,
                        Sometimes, it is all too much,
                                    I really need a breather.
                                    Still, if I may,
                                    It’s honest to say,
                        I can’t live without her either!

Refrain

 - MO'S 2005