Tom Lehrer - The Irish Ballad [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

Now I'd like to turn to the folk song, which has become in recent years the particularly fashionable form of idiocy among the self-styled intellectual. we find that people who deplore the level
Rrent popular songs -- although I admit they do seem to be recording almost anything these days. have you heard sesue hayakawa's record of remember pearl harbor? these same people who deplore th
El of current popular songs and yet will sit around enthralled singing jimmy crack corn and I don't care or green grow the rushes, oh! -- whatever that means. at any rate, for this elite I have
An ancient irish ballad, which was written a few years ago, and which is replete with all the accoutrements of this art form. in particular, it has a sort of idiotic refrain, in this case ricket
Kety-tin you'll notice cropping up from time to time, running through, I might add, interminable verses. the large number of verses being a feature expressly designed to please the true devotees
He folk song who seem to find
Singing fifty verses of on top of old smokey is twice as enjoyable as singing twenty-five

This type of song also has what is known technically in music as a modal tune, which means -- for the benefit of any layman who may have wandered in this evening -- that I play a wrong note ever
And then
[piano]
This song though does differ strikingly from the genuine folk ballad in that in this song the words which are supposed to rhyme - actually do
[piano]
I, ah, I really should say that - I do not direct these remarks against the vast army of folk song lovers, but merely against that peculiar hard core who seem to equate authenticity with artisti
It and illiteracy with charm
[piano]
Oh, one more thing. one of the more important aspects of public folk singing is audience participation, and this happens to be a good song for group singing. so if any of you feel like joining I
H me on this song, I'd appreciate it if you would leave -- right now

About a maid I'll sing a song
Sing rickety-tickety-tin
About a maid I'll sing a song
Who didn't have her family long
Not only did she do them wrong
She did ev'ryone of them in, them in
She did ev'ryone of them in

One morning in a fit of pique
Sing rickety-tickety-tin
One morning in a fit of pique
She drowned her father in the creek
The water tasted bad for a week
And we had to make do with gin, with gin
We had to make do with gin

Her mother she could never stand
Sing rickety-tickety-tin
Her mother she cold never stand
And so a cyanide soup she planned
The mother died with a spoon in her hand
And her face in a hideous grin, a grin
Her face in a hideous grin

She set her sister's hair on fire
Sing rickety-tickety-tin
She set her sister's hair on fire
And as the smoke and flame rose high'are
Danced around the funeral pyre
Playin' a violin, -olin
Playin' a violin

She weighted her brother down with stones
Rickety-tickety-tin
She weighted her brother down with stones
And sent him off to davy jones
All they ever found were some bones
And occasional pieces of skin, of skin
Occasional pieces of skin

One day when she had nothing to do
Sing rickety-tickety-tin
One day when she had nothing to do
She cut her baby brother in two
And served him up as an irish stew
And invited the neighbors in, -bors in
Invited the neighbors in

And when at last the police came by
Sing rickety-tickety-tin
And when at last the police came by
Her little pranks she did not deny
To do so she would have had to lie
And lying, she knew, was a sin, a sin
Lying, she knew, was a sin

My tragic tale, I won't prolong
Rickety-tickety-tin
My tragic tale I won't prolong
And if you do not enjoy the song
You've yourselves to blame if it's too long
You should never have let me begin, begin
You should never have let me begin