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  • The Ted Cochrane Song
    Mat_j
    9 Apr 2005

    When they found Ted Cochrane,
    Face down in the pond,
    Oh they say all the barmen wept.

    So they kissed goodnight,
    To a man who could fight,
    As into the night his soul crept.

    They put pennies on his eyes
    At the wake,
    But it made all his good friends fret.

    So they replaced them with pounds,
    Put a knife in his hand,
    (Cause he needed all the help he could get).

    Oh drink a round,
    For a man so profound,
    'Cause you never will see him again.

    There's a seat at the bar
    That's stayed empty s'far,
    But by god his legend remains.

    Because everyone remembers a drinker,
    Be him saint or sinner or tinker.

    With his hand on the glass,
    or a young ladies arse,
    The bar rooms philosophical thinker.

    Ol' Ted would always regail yer,
    With stories of Spain and Australia.

    'Bout the time he went rounds,
    With a pack of wild hounds,
    And his ventures that ended in failure.

    Some said of him,
    He was like a priest,
    Always dressed in black.

    And from his pulpit he sang,
    With a drink in hand,
    So they all chipped in for a plaque.

    And now it stands curatorial,
    In the place of his form corporeal,
    A sign set in stone,
    For a man on his own,
    By the bar as a fitting memorial.

    (Taken from Aisling)