filk_of_belac (filk_of_belac) wrote,

The Bottle of Malort

Title: The Bottle of Malort
Mythos: SCA
May be sung to the tune of: The Jug of Punch
Owner of the original: Some drunk Irishman from a long time ago (traditional)
Written on: Fall 2006

Background: At Pennsic 40, our camp (Grey Gargoyles) had, for some reason, a bottle of Malort (a particularly foul type of liquor made even worse by the fact that it'd been sitting out in the sun for days by the time these events transpired). One of the ladies of the camp offered it to a gentleman passerby, who drank a sip and immediately spit it out in disgust. He turned out to be the King of An Tir.

One evening at the Pennsic War
As we were drinking, all tired and bored
We'd drank the vodka, the mead and port
'Twas then we broke out the bottle of Malort

Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
(The last two lines of each verse are repeated in the following chorus)

And across the road, as if by chance
There was a party in Iron Lance
They had a raffle, they had fine sport
They had good liquor, not a bottle of Malort


And Emmiken came across the street
And who'd you think she was like to meet
An Tir's king stood by the door
She bade him drink from the bottle of Malort


Well the king he choked, and the king he coughed
And to the privies he limped off
To cleanse his stomach of that vile sport
That's known as drinking a bottle of Malort


The King was fearsome in pain and wrath
and home he staggered, up Runestone path
And when next year, they the East support
We've naught to blame, but the bottle of Malort

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