Kilted For Her Pleasure

by Marc Gunn

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released August 15, 2010

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Marc Gunn Birmingham, Alabama

Marc Gunn is a rhythm and folk musician inspired by Celtic culture, science fiction, fantasy, and cats. He breathes new life into the autoharp, which continues to surprise musical veterans and fans a like for it’s unique sound and spirited energy. It’s like a satirical jam session between The Clancy Brothers and Weird Al Yankovic. It’s Celtic music, the traditional and the twisted. ... more

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Track Name: Kilted For Her Pleasure
I am young Scotsman from Am-er-i-ca
The kilt is my pleasure it’s true
You can call it a skirt, but your lady will flirt
If she has a chance she’ll leave you.

I’m kilted [kilted], kilted [kilted]
With the mystery of what’s under there
I’m kilted [kilted], kilted [kilted]
Kilt inspectors will beg, to know my third leg
Is free as the fresh morning air

I have no red hair, but my skin is quite fair
But it does nothing to show off my pride
But my Scottish family tree, I wear on me
And it makes the ladies giggle and sigh

I feel like a man both noble and strong
When I dance my kilt swishes in time.
But I must confess, it’s for the ladies I dress
And undress too. Is that a crime?

So don your kilt my good Scottish friends
And let your flag blow and unwind
If they ask what’s beneath, your kilted sheath
Tell them it’s lipstick they’ll find.
Track Name: A Drop of Vulcan Blood
A drop of Vulcan blood wouldn’t do us any harm
And we’ll all hang on behind

We’ll roll the old Enterprise along.
We’ll roll the old Enterprise along.
We’ll roll the old Enterprise along.
And we’ll all hang on behind.

A plate of Gagh…

Neelix in the kitchen…

An order from Kirk…

A holodeck msytery…

An Orion slave girl…

A transwarp drive…

Delta Quandrant…

Seven of Nine…

A round on Quark…

Some Romulan ale…

If the Borg are in the way, we’ll roll right over them.
Track Name: The Maid Went to the Mill
The maid went to the mill last night
Hey-hey, so wanton!
The maid went to the mill last night
Hey, so wanton she!
She swore below the stars so bright
That she should have her corn ground,
She should have her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

Then out came the miller’s man
Hey-hey, so wanton!
Out came the miller’s man
Hey, so wanton he!
He swore he’d do the best he can
For to get her corn ground
For to get her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

He bade her rest upon a sack
Hey-hey, so wanton!
He bade her rest upon a sack
Hey, so wanton he!
Her maidenhead went with a crack
Right well she got her corn ground
Right well she got her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

It’s easy up and easy down
Hey-hey, so wanton!
It’s easy up and easy down
Hey, so wanton he!
She scarce could tell her corn was ground
Right well she got her corn ground
Right well she got her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

When nine months were passed and gone
Hey-hey, so wanton!
When nine months were passed and gone
Hey so wanton she!
This fair young maid brought forth a son
Because she’d got her corn ground
Because she’d got her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

Her mother bade her cast it out
Hey-hey, so wanton!
Her mother bade her cast it out
Hey, so wanton she!
It was the miller’s dusty clout
For getting all her corn ground
Getting all her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

Her father bade her keep it in
Hey-hey, so wanton!
Her father bade her keep it in
Hey, so wanton he!
The miller’s man was of a wealthy clan
And oh he got her corn ground
Oh he got her corn ground
The miller grounds so free!

This young man must have a nurse
Hey-hey, so wanton!
This young man must have a nurse
Hey so wanton he!
So the miller’s man drew out his purse
Because he got her corn ground
Because he got her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!
Track Name: Close Your Eyes (Demon Lullaby)
Close your eyes and sleep
There are demons in your dreams

Go to sleep my darling
there’s a demon underneath your bed

The Demons in your bed
are going to eat you up

Stay in your bed
There are landmines on the floor.
The demons in your bed
are going to eat you up

Sugar and spice and everything nice
Why do you think we say that?
So the demons in your bed
will want to eat you up

You used to have a sister
She wouldn’t go to sleep
The demons in her bed
Ate her up

Do not call for your mother;
Who is it you think who let the demons in
to eat you up?

Snakes and Snails and Puppydog tails;
Who can account for the tastes of demons?

Baby don’t you cry
or the demons won’t wait until you’re asleep
before they eat you up

My father sang this song to me
But he slipped and fell on a landmine
And the Demons underneath my bed
Ate him up

That is not a blanket.
Goodnight
Track Name: Beer, Beer, Beer
A long time ago, way back in history,
when all there was to drink was nothin but cups of tea.
Along came a man by the name of Charlie Mops,
and he invented a wonderful drink and he made it out of hops.

He must have been an admiral a sultan or a king,
and to his praises we shall always sing.
Look what he has done for us he's filled us up with cheer!
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer beer beer
tiddly beer beer beer.

The Curtis bar, the James' Pub, the Hole in the Wall as well
one thing you can be sure of, its Charlie's beer they sell
so all ye lads a lasses at eleven O'clock ye stop
for five short seconds, remember Charlie Mops 1 2 3 4 5

A barrel of malt, a bushel of hops, you stir it around with a stick,
the kind of lubrication to make your engine tick.
40 pints of wallop a day will keep away the quacks.
Its only eight pence hapenny and one and six in tax, 1 2 3 4 5

He must have been an admiral a sultan or a king,
and to his praises we shall always sing.
Look what he has done for us he's filled us up with cheer!
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer beer beer
tiddly beer beer beer.

The Lord bless Charlie Mops!
Track Name: To the Begging He Will Go
Of all the cats in New Orleans, Tiziano begs the best
If he’s not begging for canned food, he’s begging to play fetch

To the begging he will go, will go
To the begging he will go

He jumps into my lap, And rubs his head into my chin
If I don’t start to pet him, He meows til I give in

He sits beside the broken strings, That I left upon the floor
If I don’t rattle them around, he meows at me some more

When I stop playing chase the string, He wiggles for me his tail
Then brings to me his ball to play, If I don’t respond he wails

SOLO

He climbs upon my legs, Where I setup my laptop
He circles once, he circles twice, Then on the keyboard he flops

I wake up in the morning, And he’s sitting on my bed
No wait! That’s Torre standing there, Asking me to rub his head

When I come home Torre falls down, His tummy to the sky
He rolls around and mreows a bit, Until I catch his eye

Of all the cats in New Orleans, TnT they beg the best
When one stops, the other starts, Taking turns to take a rest
Track Name: The History of No Pants Day
On April 16, 1746, the rightful heir to throne of England, The Bonnie Prince Charles Edward Stewart’s army was defeated at Culloden Moor by the Duke of Cumberland. This single battle wiped out the traditional clan system that had been a part of the Highland culture for centuries. It also marked the beginning of one of the most dreadful periods of ethnic cleansing in Scotland that became known as The Highland Clearances.

The Duke of Cumberland gave no quarter to the Highlanders at Culloden. Every last one was executed. Then Cumberland began sweeping the country and executing Highlanders. Those who were not executed fled to Ireland and America. The bagpipes and wearing the tartan were banned as part of ‘Proscription Act’ (also known as the ‘Black Act’) of 1746.

The Proscription Act was repealed in 1782 thanks in part to books in the people like Sir Walter Scott who romanticized the Highland tradition. Many of the Lowlanders began tracing their Highland ancestry.

Then on May 6, 1805, a small group of Scots in Glasow rose up against the English oppression and declared May 6th as No Troosers Day. They cast off their pants, donned their kilts, and rewrote an old Scottish drinking song to celebrate this day.

Like many such rebellions, it was quickly defeated. All remnants of this tragic No Troosers Day Clearance were obliterated from history. Only a single broadsheet, located in the home of Angus MacDonald of Glasgow, remains that testifies to the horrible atrocities endured and the fact that Scotland was in actuality the originator of the No Pants Day celebration.
Track Name: A Man Who Wears a Kilt Every Day
Oh my name is Jock Stuart, I´m a trooser-less man
And my roving young fellows move freely

–chorus–
So be easy and free in nae boxers or briefs
I´m a man who wears a kilt every day.

I´m Highlander made and a piper to trade
And the tartan is me flag that I wear.

I go out with my gun and my dog for to hunt
Try to make me wear troosers, and you’ll pay.

I´ve got acres of land, I´ve got ships to command
So burn your pants on No Troosers Day

So come fill up my glass with whiskey or rum
Then send o’er your lass and you’ll see.

–last chorus–
It’s better easy and free in nae boxers or briefs
I´m a man who wears a kilt every day.
Track Name: St. Patrick Never Drank
The 14th day of February’s for Saint Valentine
September 29th is when Saint Michael’s faithful dine
On April 23rd we hail Saint George without restraint
And come November 1st we cheer for EV’RY bloody saint

But none of those can claim the very BEST day of the year
‘Cause on March 17th we praise the patron saint of BEER!

[Cheers: “Hail St Patrick!” “Slainte!” etc.]

But wait! Don’t cheer for greenish beer or Irish cream liqueur
Be-cause the man you toast was one devout tee-to-tal-ER!

Saint Patrick never drank! (Hey!)
Saint Patrick never drank! (Hey!)
‘Twas only clear, unleaded stuff he poured into his tank!
He’d take the cash YOU spend for drafts and stash it in the bank! (Hooray!)
Heroic, true, but STOIC too!
Saint Patrick never drank!

He strode with ancient war-ri-ors from coast to plain to highland
His staff he’d shake till ev’ry snake was banished from the island
He taught his fans the shamrock stands for Father, Son, and Spirit
But don’t break out the Guinness Stout – the man would not go near it!

Saint Patrick didn’t drink! (Hey!)
Saint Patrick didn’t drink! (Hey!)
He never tossed a bracer back or teetered on the brink!
So pour another tall one, lad, then pour it down the sink! (Hooray!)
With piety, SOBRIETY!
Saint Patrick didn’t drink!

Saint Patrick never drank (Hey!)
Saint Patrick never drank (Hey!)
So let’s be frank: When asked his fav’rite beer, he drew a blank!
By gosh, if he could see you sloshed, he’d give your tush a spank! (Hooray!)
The guy was swell – but DRY AS HELL!
Saint Patrick never drank!

No, SAINT – PAT – RICK – NEV – ER – DRANK!
Track Name: Call of the Bodice
Through thunder and storms,
They brave the weather,
Barely breathing
And ensnared by leather.

A trap is laid
Of leather and lace
All male eyes are drawn to...
The Call of the Bodice!

There's no hope for man
Whether sober or pissed
When he sees her eyes
His choice is his bliss

The supple roundness
Of breasts for to taste
He is a prisoner to...
The Call of the Bodice!

And no man can help
But shake away a tear
When he sees her shelf
Hold and drink a beer.

This is the barrier
That he longs to undress
The dreams of men who hear...
The Call of the Bodice!

Now men ye take heed
When she glances your way
Her eyes (above the mouth)
Will save you from pain

Divine their color
Then you're free to regress
When your eyes finally yield to...
The Call of the Bodice!
Track Name: The Mower
As I went out one morning on the fourteenth of July
I met a maid and I asked her age and she gave me this reply:
“I have a little meadow, I’ve kept for you in store
And it’s only due, I should tell you true, it never was mowed before”

She said: “Me handsome young man, if a mower that you be
I give you good employment, so come along with me”
Well it was me good employment to wander up and down
With me tearing scythe all to contrive to mow her meadow down.

Now me courage being undaunted, I stepped out on the ground
And with me tearing scythe I then did strive to mow her meadow down
I mowed from nine till dinnertime, it was far beyond my skill
I was obliged to yield and to quit the field and the grass was growing still.

Now the mower she kissed and did pretest, this fair maid bein’ so young
Her little eyes they glittered like to the rising sun
She said: “I’ll strive to sharpen your scythe, so set it in me hand
And then perhaps you will return again to mow me meadow land.”
Track Name: The Widow and the Devil
igh atop a lonely moor, a Widow lived alone.
An Inn she kept, and as she slept,
her pillow heard her moan:
“Oh, many’s the lonely traveller
has spent the night with me,
but there’s no a man in all creation
gives content to me!

“Well, some can manage once or twice,
and some make three or four;
but it seems to me a rarity
is the man who can do more.
I’d do anything to find him,
in Heaven or in Hell.”
And as she spoke these words,
sure, she heard her front door bell.

And the wind blew cold and lonely
across that Widow’s moor,
and she never, ever turned away
a traveller from the door.

So boldly ran the Widow,
and the door did open wide,
and as she did, a tall and handsome
stranger stepped inside.
Well, she gave him bread and brandy,
and when that he was fed,
he said, “My dear, now have no fear;
it’s time to come to bed.

“For I’ve heard your plea
right down below,
and I’ve come to see you right.
But you must come to Hell with me
if I can last the night.”
She said, “You randy Devil!
To this bargain I’ll agree,
for Hell on Earth, or Hell in Hell,
it’s all the same to me!”

Now, as they tumbled in the bed,
the Devil, he proved well…
and he thought before the night would end
that she’d be in his Hell.
Ah, but when they came to number nine,
the Widow cried out, “More!”
And when the twelfth time came around,
the Widow cried, “Encore!”

At twenty-five the Devil
felt compelled to take a rest,
but the Widow cried,
“Come raise your head,
and put me to the test!”
At sixty-nine, the Widow laughed.
“Again! Again!” she cried,
and the Devil said,
“Well, I can see just how your husband died!”

At ninety-nine, the Devil
he began to wail and weep.
He said, “I’ll give you anything,
if you’ll let me go to sleep!”
But before the morning light was up,
the Devil hobbled home,
and the Widow, still not satisfied,
once more was left alone.

She lay there on her pillow
and she thought on ninety-nine.
“It’s a pity that poor old Devil
couldn’t manage one more time!
I’ll call him up again tonight
to see what can be done –
with a little more application,
we could make it to the ton!”

But when she called to him that night,
no Devil did appear.
For the first time in Eternity,
the Devil, he shook with fear.
He said, “Of all the torments
I’ve witnessed here in Hell,
I never knew what pain was,
’til I rang your front door bell!”
Track Name: Kitty Cat
Now I have a little kitten and his name is kitty cat
Make no mistake, he’s the cat I’d like to whack
That naughty little kitty he’s been tearing up me sack
And I’m hearing that he’s throwing up a furball

Kitty cat’s downed me sack
Eaten all my snacks and
Kitty cat’s got the knack
for getting in me pack and
Kitty cat’s going back
He’s playing on me wine rack
And I’m thinking that he’s nipping at the corks now.

Now that little kitty is too young to be a drinker
He’s drinking my rose’ and his tongue’s a little pinker
Now he’s got me ale, that dirty rotten stinker
And he’s lapping all the liquor in the house now.

Kitty cat’s drinking sack, sneaking all the whiskey
Kitty cat’s falling back, looks a little tipsy
Kitty cat’s dancing round, licking off his whiskers
And I think the kitty better go to AA.

Now he’s stepped it up, and he’s into all my drugs,
He’s a thieving little kitty and he looks just like a thug,
Who’d a thought a pretty kitty could be pulling such a lug
And I don’t know if he’s using it or selling.

Kitty cat’s cooking crack
Looking like a junkie
Kitty cat’s shooting smack
Isn’t he a punkie
Kitty cat’s off his whack
Feeling not so spunky
And I’m thinking that he’ll have to go to rehab.
Track Name: The Sailboat Armada
O' supper time was over
As we left the Port Pub across the bay
When we saw a frightful sight
As the day turned to night
An invasion like none you've ever seen.

The sails fluttered with many colours.
The boat captains, horrifyingly clean.
Wearing Hawaiian print shirts,
Sandles, and dock shorts
T'was like a Yuppy Convention out at sea.

Thus sailed the Sailboat Armada
As the wind swept away the salt breeze.
On the seven seas I've roamed,
And no worse terror I've known
Than 300 Yacht Club Members out at sea.

Five ships led the race to dry dock
Like the America's Cup with canons.
When a bikini breasted lass
Stepped up to the mast
And was knocked on her ass by the shifting wind.

Somehow I survived the Sailboat Armada
Nevermore will I venture out to sea.
On Memorial Day I paint yachts
For yuppies to hit rocks
As a silent war against rich conformity.
Track Name: Monahan's Mudder's Milk
(Won’t you) Pour me a glass
Of Monahan’s Mudders Milk
We’ll wash the mud away.
If you poor me a glass
Of Monahan’s Mudders Milk
We’ll leave Higgins’ damn Moon some day.

I was 12 years old
When my daddy brought me here
With two brothers who loved to laugh,
But 10-20 in this muddy hole
We lost the laughing muscle mold
And my brothers lost their lives to mudders gas.

My daddy raised one fist
To tell the boss he’s pissed,
Another to the foreman on third shift,
But when he raised his shovel
To protest his low wage troubles
He was shot down and dumped in a muddy ditch.

Well mudden’s all I know
Until I’ve ‘nough to go
And take my own three boys far from here.
Maybe another place much worse
In this here cold Verse
Till then I drink my Monahan’s for cheer.

Pour me, pour me, mudder, mudder, mudder me,
Mudder, mudder me my milk.
Poor me, mudder me, mudder, mudder marry me
Mudder marry me my milk.