PART 1B “The Drinking & Women Wars”

[Intro — bodhran slams in, no build, straight to verse, crowd already loud] [CIARÁN — Drinking Verse] (Voice 1 — rolling warm irish brogue, storytelling mode) Now I once drank fourteen pints of the black Walked home through the rain and I never looked back Kissed me wife fed the cat wrote a poem for the ages Found it next morning — twelve incomprehensible pages (spoken, delighted) Póg mo thóin, it was a masterpiece (phonetic: POGUE muh HO-in) — Kiss my arse — seriously the finest work I’ve ever produced [ALASDAIR — Immediately topping it] (Voice 2 — highland burr, aggressively proud) Fourteen? Ya lightweight ya sorrowful eejit Angus drank twenty and still won a fistfight Then climbed up a mountain — the wrong fucking one — And when he came down he said “was that a run?” (spoken, dry as gravel) Chan eil thu math air òl (phonetic: chan yell oo mah er OHL) — You are not good at drinking — That’s a medical fucking observation son [CIARÁN — Response] Angus is a myth a fucking legend at best We’ve got Seamus who drank till he passed his own test Drank the pub dry on a Tuesday in Lent Ní raibh náire air — (phonetic: nee rev NAW-ruh er) — He had not a single shred of shame — Not one fucking cent [ALASDAIR — Response] Seamus sounds lovely we’ll drink to his name Ach ’s e Alba a thòisich an t-òl (phonetic: ach sheh AL-a-puh ah HO-shich un TOHL) — But it was Scotland that started the drinking — Since before Ireland came! [CIARÁN — Crowd shout] Óláimid ó shin anall! (phonetic: OH-law-mid oh HIN ah-NALL) — WE’VE BEEN DRINKING SINCE TIME ITSELF — BEFORE THE FUCKING ROMANS! [ALASDAIR — Crowd shout back] AYE WELL THE ROMANS WERE SOBER AND LOOK WHAT THAT GOT THEM! [BOTH — Chorus 2, louder and messier than Chorus 1] It’s Irish vs Scottish the oldest of wars Fought not with our fists but with pints at the bars Who drinks the most? Who’s the funniest cunt? Whose women are wilder? Let’s get to the front! Pour another round this debate isn’t done When two Celtic nations decide to have fun Nobody wins — but nobody’s leaving till we know WHO — DRINKS — THE — MOST — IN — THIS — FUCKING — SHOW! [Hard crowd break — 4 bars — then back in sharp] [CIARÁN — Women Verse] (Voice 1 — utterly delighted, warm and boastful) Now let’s talk about women the finest of topics Irish colleens with eyes like the fucking tropics Áilleacht na mban Éireann! (phonetic: AWL-ukht nuh mon AY-run) — The beauty of Irish women — Hair like the darkness of Wicklow at night And a laugh that’d make sober men weep with delight They’ll dance till the morning they’ll kiss in the rain And if you’re lucky enough — they’ll do it again [ALASDAIR — Women Verse] (Voice 2 — furious Celtic pride) Irish colleens aye bless their wee hearts But Scottish women are fucking works of art Nighean ruadh na h-Alba! (phonetic: NEE-un ROO-uh nuh HAL-a-puh) — The red-haired daughters of Scotland — Red hair like a bonfire fierce as the gale They’ll outdrink your arse and they’ll tell a good tale A Scottish lass once broke a man’s heart and his chair Then poured his own pint and said “life isn’t fair” [CIARÁN — Response] That sounds like a Wednesday in Cork fair enough But mná na hÉireann (phonetic: MNAW nuh HAY-run) — the women of Ireland — invented the meaning of tough Siobhán from Killarney once threw a full keg At a man who looked sideways — he still walks with a leg [ALASDAIR — Response] Morag from Inverness — beautiful creature — Once headbutted a bouncer who wouldn’t release her Boireannach làidir! (phonetic: BOR-an-uch LAH-jir) — A strong fierce woman — Fixed up her hair drank the place dry And winked at me on the way out — God knows why [CHAOS SECTION — both voices overlapping, crowd feeding frenzy] CIARÁN: Our women are WILDER— ALASDAIR: Our women are FIERCER— CIARÁN: Our women are FUNNIER— ALASDAIR: Our women are FILTHIER — IN THE BEST FUCKING WAY— CIARÁN: (laughing) Agreed. Completely fucking agreed. [BRIDGE — music drops to low pipe drone, spoken word, warm and genuine] CIARÁN: (spoken, mock philosophical) I’ll tell you the difference between an Irish woman and a Scottish woman. An Irish woman will look at you across a crowded pub… and make you feel like the only man in the room. Is í mo ghrá í. (phonetic: iss ee muh GHRAW ee) She is my love. ALASDAIR: (spoken, slow) Aye… and a Scottish woman will look at you across a crowded pub… and make you feel like you should probably sit the fuck down. ’S i mo ghràdh i. (phonetic: shee muh GHRAW ee) She is my love too. CIARÁN: …same words again ya Scottish cunt. ALASDAIR: (long pause) …Aye. Same fucking words. BOTH: (raising glasses slowly) TO THE WOMEN. [Crowd erupts — full band crashes back in — transition riff to Part 1C]