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Oh, what do you say when you're out the bay,
And your pots are cooking and fryin',
Well, you packed them away it's the end of the day,
And, no sir, you can't find them;
Oh, you looks in the cuddy and you asks your buddy,
And still there ain't no sign of 'em,
Which means, of course, that they're back on the wharf,
Then you starts with riddley-dyin'.
Cursed screeching merciful bawlin sufferin' mother of Moses,
Oh, the rancing riddley, dancing diddley, ogis, blogis, mogis;
Oh, the rotten roarin' reevin', and the bloated blazin' bleedin',
And the wife over there saying, "Mind yer mout' now!"
Spoken: No, you wouldn't know.
If that wasn't enough, when you goes for your grub,
'Cause you knows you had the grub bag,
You looks in the boat, gets after the scoat,
'Cause the young feller he mighta eat dat;
You stubs yer toe, that makes ya blow,
When you're searching in the water to find it,
As you looks around there's none to be found,
What's coming in to your mind is....
Oh, cursed screeching merciful bawlin sufferin' mother of Moses,
Oh, the rancing riddley, dancing diddley, ogis, blogis, mogis;
Oh, the rotten roarin' reevin', and the bloated blazin' bleedin',
And the wife over there saying, "Mind yer mout' now!"
Spoken: I don't know what I got that along fer.
There's something queer when you goes for a beer,
And they ain't where you left them,
You goes up to the brook to have a look,
Dreaming of a nice cold wet one;
Well the bottles are gone, something is wrong,
And you hops on the stump to get closer,
To the maker above you starts shouting stuff,
'Cause it can't gets worse or no sir.
Oh, cursed screeching merciful bawlin sufferin' mother of Moses,
Oh, the rancing riddley, dancing diddley, ogis, blogis, mogis;
Oh, the rotten roarin' reevin', and the bloated blazin' bleedin',
And the wife over there saying, "Mind yer mout' now!"
Spoken: That's it!
You made up yer mind, you're leaving her behind,
And the young feller's best off with her,
Storming down from the woods, you're leaving her for good,
Yes, no one's left here faster;
But something catches yer nose and over you goes,
And the wife asks where was you gone to?
She got the grub and the beer all cooked and prepared,
Right nice she says, "I loves ya!"
Oh, cursed screeching merciful bawlin sufferin' mother of Moses,
Oh, the rancing riddley, dancing diddley, ogis, blogis, mogis;
Oh, the rotten roarin' reevin', and the bloated blazin' bleedin',
And the wife over there soaking up me praise....
Spoken: Now that's what he got her along fer, see?
See more songs by Buddy Wasisname And The Other Fellers.
From the Dictionary Of Newfoundland English:
Cuddy - a cabin at the bow or stern of a small vessel or large boat
for accommodation and provisions.
