Hello chaps, chapesses and laddie bucks! Most of you know I'm less of the writer type an' more o' the jolly old song-writer type, if that flippin' well makes any blinkin' sense, wot! Well, here's a few of my songs, most of 'em Long Patrol ballads, plus a few tuneless scripts to boot, as they come to my bally old brain. This is a place for me to keep all of my songs so anyway if you're passing through, enjoy!

March of the Fifty-Third Foot

(A old border hare Patroller's reminiscences composed into a ballad)


O the jolly ald Fifty-Third Foot,
Have thaer grand ald place in history;
An' now patrollin', always forward,
They live again in mah memory.

The wither was cold an' bittah,
On that ill-fated Wintah's day;
When a-shoutin' Bluid, Death an' Vinegar,
We marched intae the bloomin' fray!
All round aboot, the night were fresh,
As our guid lads wit' vermin vied;
Eulalia cries upon our breath,
As both foebeast an' comrade died.

There we were whilst the seascum horde,
Our ranks wit' arrows were thinnin';
Wit' lances we hares upon that sward,
Made our charge, for losin' or winnin'!
Slayin' fox an' ferret right an' left,
We pushed onward untae the slaughter;
A-roarin' upon the wind, 'S death!
We made our mad break for the wataer!

Ah lost half an ear in that sad charge
Shure an' mah ears are mah best trait;
Said the Searat ta' me, "Hahaharr!"
Then some Searat-wife, lost her vile mate!
Aye we made it back home safe again,
Those sea-vermin we, no longer dread;
They'll never more sail upon the Main,
Coz we left those filth scum rightly dead!

O the jolly old Fifty-Third Patrol,
Those bally guid hares by whom we fought ;
They charged, they battled, they slew, they fell,
Aye, there's nevahr been a bolder lot!

Big Breg Breltin

Old Corporal Crumpet could fight a good fight
Fought better than twelve it's been said;
But no hare's so bold in the Long Patrolll!
As Big Breg when 's time to be fed!

Goodness gracious me!
He's a sight to see!
He'll scoff all the cake
The Mess cooks can bake
When 'tis time f' tea!

Runner Bonny's got a voice like honey
Rings softly o'er the sands so fine
But she can't compare to Breg Breltin haaare!
When that brave chap sets down to dine!

Goodness gracious me!
He's a sight to see!
He'll down a great pail
Of October Ale
When 'tis time f' tea!

I knew a hare who marched hither an' there
Marched day an' all night just for fun
But though hard he tried, that hare nearly dieeed!
When he challenged Big Breg to lunch!

Goodness gracious me!
He's a sight to see!
Of Shrimp Hotroot Soup
He'll sup for a troop
When 'tis time for tea!

There's many a hare that's had his fair share
Of singin', marchin' an' fightin'
But few the bold beast can sit down to feeeast!
When Big Breg starts a-scoffin'!

Goodness gracious me!
He's a sight to see!
The best o' the best
Breg trumps all the rest,
When he comes for tea!

Rubbish Stew

(I suspect an otter ballad but I can't be sure ;) )

Rubbish Stew! O Rubbish Stew! That's the stuff, fer me an' you!
Eat it cold or eat it hooot! That's the brew what hits the spot!

First take a pawful o' rocks, an' a pinch of dust (to taste),
Throw in whiskers offa fox! Aye let nothin' go to waste.

Pass one rotten cabbage here, two cuttlefish an' a slug,
Don't sneak out yet, cully dear! First cummon an' try a mug!

Rubbish Stew! O Rubbish Stew! Sing wi' me, I'll sing wi' you;
I'll take it boiled, burned or baaaked! 'Tis good f'ye, an' no mistake!

The Sharp End of a Lance

Wicked weasel, stoat or marten
Vile rat, polecat, and sly fox, too
We'll send those ver-min all a-packin'
A lance can handle any vermin crew.

We'll take 'em big, we'll take 'em small
We'll take 'em just, any way they come
We'd rather like it, if they would all
Find somewhere else, to call their home.

Those vermin hordes, don't stand a chance
Against our lads, so brave and bold
They'll get the sharp end of a lance
With compliments of the Long Patrol!

Dirge of the Mad Medic

(A song written in honour of Mad Maddrey Dickens, Head Medickal Offisah of the Long Patrol)

What d'ye do when you've skint your paw,
Or y' face is turnin' bright blue?
What if y' tail is itchy 'n' raw,
And you've smashed y' good ear too?

Hide y'self, here he comes!
The Medic! The Medic!

Fates keep me footpaws safe an' sound,
I'll not have any rest or stay
As long as the Medic's around,
He'll be choppin' paws off all day!

Hide y'self, here he comes!
The Medic! The Medic!

The recruits an' greenpaws all fear
The beast that's ghostly grey an' white
He who'll savagely sew one's ear
Or rend paws an' bend tails for spite!

Ballad of Queen Varinna

(Written for SalemtheCruel, a grand beast and no mistake :D)


All vermin sing her songs o'er the hills and the vales;
Of her might in battle's been penned many a tale.
She could fight like ten beasts, no twenty some said;
By all their accounts she left, all her enemies dead!

Though the goodbeasts fought they'd find all effort in vain
If they fought the great sable, they'd find themselves slain!
They could find themselves keelhauled, or burnt at the stake;
Aye the Lady's a grand one, and make no mistake.

Varinna the Sable, Master of All Sobek!
Of all vermin on land, and all vermin on deck,
The fright of the foebeast, and the scourge of the weak!
Nobeast can escape the blood and ruin she wreeeeeaks!


(A song sung by rebelling slaves)

This Land held fast by tyranny
For a hundred seasons gone by,
All families in slavery
In bondage, were all a-cryin';

Beaten, lashed, starved, tortured we,
Whilst kinfolk were all a-dyin':
Resolved to make our homeland free,
Aye freedom, or die in the tryin'!

This Land held fast in tyranny
For a hundred seasons gone by,
Will once more be for all beasts free!
Aye, "Freedom!"s our sallying cry!


(Being a song oft sung by pretty maids...such as yours truly, wot ;) )

Cold days ended, one can tell
Birds are singing, in the dell
Sweetly ring old Tower bells
Summer's here and all is well!

Old Plum Mole

(Being more or less a simple tuneless rhyme for Dibbuns and such to learn their letters and such)

Old Plum Mole is a merry soul
Missus Trinny is his Goodwife
He's got four sons, all little ones
And they six live a simple life!

When You're a Dibbun

(Being more or less a simple song sung by Dibbuns to not learn their letters and such)

Oh 'sgrand to be a Dibbun,
I tell ya, wi'out no lie:
Rules don't apply to Dibbuns,
So get ya mits in that pie!
Run aroun' d' Abbey yards!
Aye, do any-t'ink y'please!
Eat froots from inna Orchard!
Ho aye mate, y' life's a breeze...
When you're just a Dibbun!

The Life of a Vole

(Sung by a grand ould vole)


The simple life of voles is grand
Aye grand an' nothin' bolder
I'll spend me days upon the land
Until I can't grow no older!

I'll make fine brews an' corjuls!
I'll sip ev'ry one, aye to tist!
I'll craft grand cheeses oho!
I'll jig 'til me ould paws go stiff!

Then I'll sleep some day 'neath the alder!
On the lea side of a pretty ould hill!
Gone t'woods where nabist grows older!
And of delights there take me fill!

Otters' Drinking Song

(Sung by otters and the like in public-houses)

O 'tis the night, the perfect night,
To spend in song, an' not in respite;

All good ale's for the drinking,
Not for in dark cellars keeping;
Come me lads, good lads let's sing,
'Til early morning bells do ring!

An' since sleepin' isna worth the wait;
Pass me that noggin o' scrumpie mate!

Barj Sneezle

(Being a humourous song played by minstrels in which the chorus progressively expands as the song proceeds)

This song I sing is about a weasel ,
A big fat weasel, Ole Barj Sneezle;
He's nasty crool, is Mister Sneezle!

Ole Barj Sneezle, big an' fat!
So nasty crool, that fat ole weasel!

Got hisself a wife, that fat ole weasel,
A wifey weasel, has Ole Barj Sneezle;
She's mean an' evil, is Goody Sneezle!

Ole Barj Sneezle, big an' fat!
"Goodwife" Sneezle, worra laugh!
So mean an' evil, that bad wife weasel!
So nasty crool, that fat ole weasel!

Sure he's gorra son, that Sneezle weasel
A liddle weasel, has Ole Barj Sneezle;
He's small an' bad, that Younger Sneezle!

Ole Barj Sneezle, big an' fat!
"Goodwife" Sneezle, worra laugh!
Younger Sneezle, nasty bad!
So small an' bad, that liddle weasel!
So mean an' evil, that bad wife weasel!
So nasty crool, that fat ole weasel!

The Song of a Travelling Mole

Oi ben to places all o'er ee land,
Aye ev'ryplace, both small an' grand;
Swimmed moi share in rivvurs woide,
Runned moi share on seasoide sands,
Watched moi share o' ocean toides,
Seen moi share o' furrests and......
Sleeped moi share in comffy loam.
But moi fav'rite place to roam..... roight back to moi likkle home.

Heave! Haul!

(sung by slave crews)
Ho stir yore stumps ye yewseless lumps
Don' wail or whine; haul in those lines!
Heave! Haul! An' bend yore backs,
To the rhythm o' the master's lash!
So cower an' fear, no shoulders here
To lean yore face an' cry on...hey!
Heave! Haul! An' bend yore backs,
To the rhythm o' the driver's lash!
Oh Mother dear save us from here,
The mate's so mean an' hateful...hey!
Heave! Haul! An' bend yore backs,
To the rhythm o' the captain's lash!
Will we laugh, or will we cry?
Will we live, or will we die?
Look the master in the eye,
He's the beast who will decide!

Meggory Dingleby Fiddleringgold

I sing in this song of a squirrel of old
Oh Meggery Dingleby Fiddleringgold
She was strong, she was fierce, she was fast, she was bold
That Meggery Dingleby Fiddleringgold!
Of Meggery Fiddleringgold it was told
She could sing, aye, wi' a voice of pure gold
She could dance, she could jig as she leapt through the wold
That Meggery Dingleby Fiddleringgold!
Aye what a robber that ever was knowed
There weren't a beast that she da-en't owed
She could steal like a shadow aye, an' like morning mists cold
That Meggery Dingleby Fiddleringgold!

The Dead Ear

(Songs about really awful boats look like they're becoming a tradition in Redwall, so I thought I'd just as well make one, too!)
There once was a ship aye a ship named Dead Ear,
That sailed over seas and through rivers of tears
Every creature on shipdeck did cry and did fear....
The misfit ship that ev'r'beast called the Dead Ear.
They didn't know nought about rigging or ropes
Just made it all up as they went, and they hoped
That all would work out in the end, tho' they feared
Just one gale'd be the end of their jolly Dead Ear.
O tear out the fores'l and snaggle the cog!
Belay the topway and toss me a grog!
For'ard me cockles an' thread 'er to port
Turn 'er around and again just for sport!
Pull up the gaffing and sing a good song
Oh no me buckos you're doing it wrong!
Boggle the mainstay and jerk on the plank
Turn on the wheel, and oh, she just sank!
Scaffle the gangway and shed a few tears
For the misfit ship named the Dead Ear!

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