There are only so many things you can talk about with a baby. Once you’ve exhausted the topics of diapers and milk and “just hold on a minute so mama can eat, get dressed, brush her hair, use the toilet, etc,” there’s just not that much to talk about. We do a lot of bouncing though, which is a rhythmic activity and naturally progresses to singing, Ragnarson seems to like singing, sometimes he coos along, but mostly he doesn’t cry. The only problem is that my repertoire is skewed towards the whiskey and outlaws branch of folk music.
Here are some things that I am teaching my son when he is at his most impressionable:
It’s okay to get drunk, as long as you spend your own money.
If you’re lucky you’ll grow up to be a moonshiner, an outlaw or a hobo.
Church is where you go to meet women.
It’s okay to steal as long as you help the poor.
If your woman is slowing you down, shoot her.
If your wife is a nag, pitch her in the river.
Tu-rum tu-rum fiddley diddley diddy dum.
Landlords are the worst.
If it’s cold and snowy, find yourself a nice warm box car.
Loving a pretty woman almost always ends badly.
Ten shillings will get you a gallon of moonshine.
Never surrender.
Two pistols are always better than one.
You can fit ten million hogs, six million dogs and seven million barrels of porter in the hold of a ship.
There are A LOT of things you can do with a drunken sailor, (although if you slow the tempo and sing more softly, there are a lot of things that you can do with a sleepy baby.)
It’s better to go to the gallows than admit that you’re sleeping with your best friend’s woman.
Love burns, like a ring of fire.
If you don’t have enough money to cover your tab, then you better have friends to fight for you.
Whiskey will get you through times with no women, better than women will get you through times with no whiskey.
Never assume that the corpse at the wake is dead.
There are no policemen in heaven.
If you want to make friends, all you need is a well rosined bow.
If your mama tells you not to play with guns, don’t go off to Reno and shoot a man just to watch him die.
War isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but the farmers’ daughters are okay.
If it wasn’t for the weavers we’d all be neekid.
When you die, a tombstone isn’t as good as a couple of jugs of whiskey.
Behind every outlaw there is a loving mother.
So, anyone know any good lull-a-byes, before I turn Ragnarson into a woman hating alcoholic, living on the wrong side of the law and sleeping in box cars?
Here are some things that I am teaching my son when he is at his most impressionable:
It’s okay to get drunk, as long as you spend your own money.
If you’re lucky you’ll grow up to be a moonshiner, an outlaw or a hobo.
Church is where you go to meet women.
It’s okay to steal as long as you help the poor.
If your woman is slowing you down, shoot her.
If your wife is a nag, pitch her in the river.
Tu-rum tu-rum fiddley diddley diddy dum.
Landlords are the worst.
If it’s cold and snowy, find yourself a nice warm box car.
Loving a pretty woman almost always ends badly.
Ten shillings will get you a gallon of moonshine.
Never surrender.
Two pistols are always better than one.
You can fit ten million hogs, six million dogs and seven million barrels of porter in the hold of a ship.
There are A LOT of things you can do with a drunken sailor, (although if you slow the tempo and sing more softly, there are a lot of things that you can do with a sleepy baby.)
It’s better to go to the gallows than admit that you’re sleeping with your best friend’s woman.
Love burns, like a ring of fire.
If you don’t have enough money to cover your tab, then you better have friends to fight for you.
Whiskey will get you through times with no women, better than women will get you through times with no whiskey.
Never assume that the corpse at the wake is dead.
There are no policemen in heaven.
If you want to make friends, all you need is a well rosined bow.
If your mama tells you not to play with guns, don’t go off to Reno and shoot a man just to watch him die.
War isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but the farmers’ daughters are okay.
If it wasn’t for the weavers we’d all be neekid.
When you die, a tombstone isn’t as good as a couple of jugs of whiskey.
Behind every outlaw there is a loving mother.
So, anyone know any good lull-a-byes, before I turn Ragnarson into a woman hating alcoholic, living on the wrong side of the law and sleeping in box cars?
Ragnar...hey it's post number 100...huzzah.
5 comments:
Hmmm.. I think you've got it pretty well covered there. My son loved the Pogues & the Levellers when he was a baby, so I'm sure Munchkin & Ragnarson will be traveling in the same boxcar later in life thanks to our non PG taste in music.
Aren't those the songs you were raised with? See? You turned out just fine.
Well, in my family, we have a lullaby that's been a standard for at least 3 generations. My grandfather started it with his own kids, my dad sang it to me and I sang it to my own kids. It goes:
"the world is full of bastards
the world is full of bastards
the world is full of bastards
me, oh me, oh my."
repeat until child goes to bed. There's a tune, but I can't figure out how to explain it, so you can just make one up.
Viking-boy, looking at these pictures just asked- "Is that Petoh's helmet?" compatriots till the end, once they've begun..... come visit if you have the chance, maybe even soon, it does become more difficult to travel once you need to think about babies food and crawling. We love you.
Too funny! I used to listen to music like "Lords of Acid" pre-baby (you wouldn't know it from my prim and proper blog). But after I had my oldest daughter (the first baby), I somehow felt that the lyrics might send her subliminal messages or otherwise damage her psyche! I quit listening and now only listen to such things on the VERY RARE occasions when I am alone. I don't know too many lullabies, even after three kids. Sorry.
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