As the peasant said in that famous Monty Python skit, “I’m not dead yet!” However, as another deep-thinking pundit (OK, I said it, but I am not the only one) said, “2016 can suck it.”
I am indeed alive, but I have had a tumultuous (i.e., sucky) year with major losses already. I’ve done some minor bits of knitting and sewing. Life has gone on (for some of us, not so much for some others, such as my mom, one of my aunts, and one of my cousins), and I’ve taken great solace in my dear friends and close family.
One thing has continued: my sister wenches and I are still performing as Just Desserts, with me writing the occasional new song. In fact, we’re debuting one next Wednesday night, April 20th, when we perform our monthly Wenchy Wenchday show at Market Street Pub & Cabaret. I’d had the chorus in my head for months and months… and the first verse for just months. Finally, earlier this year I gave myself the brain space to write the rest of the song. And here are the lyrics, cross-posted from my other rarely updated blog, It’s not gonna write itself.
Where’s the Rum?
When I was a wee lass
Me father said to me,
“Me darlin’ girl, this pub be yours
When all grown up you be.”
He taught me about business
And how to guard me bum,
And told me not to trust the men
Demanding shots of rum.
Where’s the rum? Where’s the rum?
Dear lord, please tell me, where’s the rum?
I thought me heart was breakin’,
But it’s just me head that’s achin’,
So someone tell me, where’s the rum?
Ach, please just pour some bloody rum.
He warned me about salty men
Who sailed upon the sea.
They’d come with tales of derring-do,
Just hoping to woo me.
They’d smile and try to kiss me
And tell me I’m the one,
When all the while their deepest wish:
To drink up all me rum.
The devil rum can turn your head
While dancin’ on your tongue.
Its promises of happiness
Are lies from songs long sung.
For if it could deliver
A life of endless fun,
Then why are all the sailin’ lads
In need of yet more rum?
Of all the things me father said
To help me grow up strong,
His wisdom on this subject here
Has never been proved wrong.
For a man home from the islands
Who’s felt the southern sun
Will never cease to crave the taste
Of good Jamaican rum.
© 2016 Toni Finley All Rights Reserved