King Bore And The Sandman

One summers night in Bucharest
I beat my hair and I tore my breast
King Bore and the Sandman,
Hand in hand, man
Sat down at my table and became my guest

I knew by the look in his boring eyes
I knew by his witless ould grey head so wise
When he took out an oil-can
And oiled his jaws, man
I knew I was in for no great surprise

And lo and behold his mouth opened wide
And his rusty ould tongue which had long lain inside
Issued forth with a torrent
Of words so abhorrent
I had never a chance of stemming the tide

My eyes were glazed and my neck was sore
From nodding my head for three hours or more
When King Bore with a roar tore
My heart to the core-ore
He saw my eyes travel cross the room to the door

“I’m not boring you, I hope,” said he
And in instantly launched into a solliloquay
Of his youthful frollicks,
Such a load of old bollocks
As I ever have heard you can take it from me

But to my amazement relief and surprise
The Sandman yawned and up he did rise
And from out of his handbag
Produced a sandbag
And a handful he threw in my red-rimmed eyes

The very last words I heard the old king say
“When I was in Ameri-cay”
My departing mind left him far behind and
King Bore and the Sandman they both drifted away

By Andy Irvine

“King Bore And The Sandman” is Irvine’s energetic lament about his times in Bucharest.

“A song dedicated to all those who have at one time or another found themselves trapped by a man who wouldn’t stop talking long enough to let them get out of his company.” – Andy Irvine, Sleeve Notes


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