The Ball of Balinour

Four-and-twenty virgins came down from Inverness
And when the ball was over there were four-and-twenty less

Chorus (repeat after each verse):
Singing, "Balls to your partner,
Arse against the wall.
If you can't get fucked on a Saturday night,
You can't get fucked at all.

'Twas the ball of Balinour, mon, and everyone was there
A-playin' wi' the lassies an' twinin' curly hair.

John McGowan, the father, was very surprised to see
Four and twenty maidenheads a hanging from the tree.

There was fuckin' in the meadows, there was fuckin' in the ricks,
Ye could nae hear the bagpipes for the swishing o' the pricks.

The bride was in the parlour explainin' to the groom
The vagina, not the rectum, is the entrance to the womb.

Mr. MacFudge the parson, he went among the weemen,
He took puir Nellie on his knee, and filled her full o' semen.

Puir wee Nellie she found out, to her great consternation,
That she by some strange means or ither, was increasing his congregation.

The parson's daughter, she was there, a sittin' way down front
A wreath of roses in her hair and a carrot up her cunt.

The parson's wife, she was there, her arse against the wall,
Shoutin' to the laddie boys, "I'll take ye one an' all."

The minister's scivvy, she was there, she was all dressed in blue,
They tied her to the barn door, an' bulled her like a coo.

It's the first lady forward, and the second lady back
And the third lady's finger in the fourth lady's crack.

It's a' the ladies back, wi' yer arses tae the wall
If ye can't get fucked at Balinour, ye'll never get fucked at all!

The village priest, he was there, and on the floor he sat
Amusing himself by abusing himself and catching it on his hat.

The undertaker, he went there dressed in a lime black shroud
Swinging on the chandelier and pissing on the crowd.

The mayor's daughter, she was there, and kept the crowd in fits
By jumpin' off the mantle piece and landin' on her tits.

There was screwing on the banister, screwing on the stairs
Ye couldna' see the carpet for the mess o' curly hairs.

The village idiot, he was there, he was a perfect fool.
He sat beneath the oak tree and whittled off his tool.

The village postman, he was there, the puir mon had the pox
He could nae fuck the lassies, so he fucked the letter box.

The chimney sweep, he was there, we had to put him oot,
For ev'ry time he farted, he filled the room wi' soot.

The groom by now was excited an' racin' through the halls
He was pullin' on his pecker an' showin off his balls.

The doctor's wife, oh, she was there, she wasna very weel,
For she had to make her water, in the midst of ev'ry reel.

The butcher's wife, oh, she was there, she also wasna weel,
For she had to go and piddle, after ev'ry little feel.

There was fuckin' in the courtyard, fuckin' in the halls,
You couldna hear the music, for the janglin' of the balls.

Jock MacGregor he was there, all in a new Ford truck,
They asked him if he'd have a dram, but he said he'd rather fuck.

The Session Clerk, oh, he was there, it was a fuckin' shame,
He rode a lassie a' the nicht, and wouldna see her hame.

The minister's daughter she was there, all draped up to the front,
Wi' roses round her cute wee arse, but thistles up her cunt.

Four an' twenty dairymaids, lyin' out all bare,
You couldna see the daisies, for the cunts an' curly hair.

The Church Precentor he was there, he came in trews of tartan,
They didna like the colour, for they said 'twas done by fartin'.

The farmer's son, oh, he was there, an' he was in the byre,
Introducin' masturbation, with an Indian rubber tire.

The village bobby he was here, he'd put on fancy socks,
He fucked a lassie forty times, an' found she had the pox.

The teacher from the school was there, she didna bring her stick,
She wasna much to look at, but she sure could take the prick.

The village grocer he was there, he had a muckle stand,
He couldna get a woman, so he worked it off by hand.

The village cripple he was there, he wasna up to much,
He couldna get a hard on, so he shagged 'em wi' his crutch.

The King was in the counting house, a-countin' out his wealth,
The Queen was in the parlour, a-diddlin' with herself.

The Queen was in the parlour, a-eating bread and honey,
The King was in the chambermaid, an' she was in the money.

The King's magician, he was there, playing his favourite trick,
He pulled his foreskin over his head, and vanished up his prick.

Then he did another, it really was a farce,
He stuck his head between his legs, and vanished up his arse.

The village smithy he was there, his balls were made of brass,
And ev'ry time he tried to fuck, he slid off on his arse.

The smithy's wife, oh she was there, she thought it was a farce,
To lie down on her stomach, and to take it up her arse.

The rugby prop, he was there, he made the people stare,
For when he took his troosers down, he looked just like a bear.

Farmer Johnson, he was there, an' he just cursed an' spat
For forty acres of his oats were fucked completely flat.

An' when the ball was over, the ladies all confessed,
They'd all enjoyed the dancin', but the fuckin' was the best.