Polycarp

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A Bottle of the Best
Words and Music by Jack Foley

Oh, when your time o' work is done, and you've earned yourself some fun,
In the pub you start to sup your drink, and clinkin' every cup.
Aye, and the pint-pots you're perusing,
And you're boozin 'till you're snoozin'
You're losin' all your senses to the drink!
But when all these folks so prim are swiggin' swill up to the brim,
Wi' nips o' gin and numbered Pim's and sugar rubbed around the rim.
Let them drink it till they drop, for the sly besotted Scot,
He'll be breakin' out a bottle o' the best!

Aye, to hell wi' all the rest, give me a bottle o' the best.
The amber bead I'll down wi' speed, it's not bad taste or waste, just greed.
And a whiskey still I'll kill, I'll drink my fill and if you spill a gill,
You know I will, I'll lick it off the floor.
I'll not touch Teacher's, Grant's, or Haig.
Give me Bowmore or Laphroiag,
Glenfarclas in a glass, well you can throw the top away.
For it's no use to pretend that you'll need the top again,
When you've broken out a bottle of the best.

And the English like their ale, warm and flat straight out the pail.
They aye slitter wi' their bitter, that would slaughter Jack the Ripper.
And they sip their cider rough, they huff and puff and sniff and snuff.
And as if that's not enough they start to sing,
Of when Jones' Ale Was New, and John Barleycorn's Fine Brew,
Fathom the Bowl, the Barley Moe, Bring Us a Barrel, just a few.
But their songs are far surpassed by the tinkle in the glass,
When you've broken out a bottle of the best!

And the Irish wi' their Pride o' Erin think they can deride
Our golden water wi' their patter when they're out on the batter.
Sixteen hundred pints of stout, a drinkin' bout without a doubt.
And if they've not got the gout, they start to dance.
To Father O'Flynn, and Larry O'Gaff, Biddy the Bowwife for a laugh,
The Young May Moon, The Garryowen,
The Blackbird Drives them daft.
But their jigs have no appeal to the Scot who like to reel,
When you've broken out a bottle of the best!

Aye, a bottle of the best, that's what it is, no idle jest.
No Mickey Finn, no rotgut gin, no bathtub wine that tastes like Vim.
Have no fear it's not like beer, malt whiskey's strong and bright and clear.
And it's also bloody dear, but what the hell!
And it belts you in the belly, like a heavyweight Lochgelly.
A glow begins to grow, six in a row turns you to jelly.
Then you dream perchance to sleep, and you fall down in a heap,
For you've broken out a bottle of the best!


And now a wee bit of translation:
Nip - shot
Teacher's, Grant's, Haig - blended whiskeys
Bowmore, Laphroig, Glenfarclas - single malt Scotch whiskey
Slitter - make a mess
Bitter - English heavy beer
Jones Ale Was New, etc. - English drinking songs
Batter - a binge
Father O'Flynn, etc. - Irish dance tunes
Vim - bathroom cleanser
Lochgelly - a leather strap for corporal punishment in Scottish schools