(Taking the piss from a Traditional English Folksong, by :)

Summer is icumen in,
Wetly droun cuccu;
Pisseth rayn and winde agayn
All thinges bloweth thru:
Sing cuccu!
Sing thy bloodie larynx oute
For al the goode it du.
Thunder rumbleth, goodwife grumbleth.
Catch now alle the flu.

Cuccu, cuccu, summer seemeth nu
A steamyng pyle of pu.

I wish. Here upon the Anvil of God, Summer is a thing of never-ending, hammering heat.

So I suppose here that would read:

Summer is icumen in,
Crispey bayk cuccu;
Sunlyht torch and burn agayn
Clothes be swetted thru:

Or summat like that.

9 Replies to “Solstice”

  1. Oh, I loved that. It was baking when I walked out of work at 730 this morning. Or maybe poaching what with the humidity and all. Thank you for the giggle.

  2. Now, you know that the song just isn’t the same unless you are singing it while martyring some bullying virgin Christian British police officer in a burning oversized wicker man.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.