OK, I put on my drinking cap and came up with the Talking Bushmoot Blues
Talking Blues was a staple in the 60s/70s american folk scene. Bob Dylan, Woodie Guthrie, Phil Ochs, they were all at it. Tune-wise if you've heard one you've heard them all.
My favorite version for accompanyment is Loudos "Talking Big Apple '75" but Tom Paxtons "Talking Vietnam Pot Luck Blues" comes a close second and wadda y'know, can be listened to perfectly legitimately by clicking the wee audio player doo-da above the video on this page:
http://www.rabbireport.com/archives/2006/10/canadian-troops.htm
Talking Bushmoot Blues
Well, I was walking about one day in a wood,
an eye to the ground, looking for food.
When I entered a clearing only to see,
a whole bushmoot gazing back at me.
Like a rabbit in a headlight,
I froze on the spot.
There were all kinds of woodsmen gathered around,
hanging from the trees or sleeping on the ground.
Some of them there could barely be seen,
clad head to toe in olive green.
One of the guys had a big machete,
Sometimes it pays to be the quiet type.
They said they just liked to get out,
and told me what it was all about.
I said "I get it, it's like Ray Mears"
and all of their smiles turned to sneers.
Machete guy was sharpening a stake.
Burnt in the woods for blasphemy, what a way to go.
Some of them there sure liked their gear,
but don't need it all or so I hear.
A man in black with mirror shades,
had a whole rucksack stuffed full of blades.
When I asked what he needed them for he smiled at me in an oddly disconcerting manner and said,
"Well I need something to sharpen".
Chattin' to a lady about green elf caps,
when I happened to say I made wine from saps.
She said "I know who can help with that",
"Talk to the man in the wide brimmed hat".
She left me standing in the clearing staring around at the impressive assortment of headwear on display,
never did work out who she meant.
Feeding time at the old bushmoot,
is eat what you find or eat what you shoot.
Anything left gets chucked in a stew,
an ingredient list like a walk in a zoo.
Sure I know worms are dirty and squirmy and have little hairs that make you choke and only come out when it's wet and the skins are hard to digest....,
but they make good protein.
As night drew in they began to retire,
like moths to the flame of a big central fire.
Someone there passed around a flask,
what it was I was scared to ask.
There was Sloe wine, Sloe gin, Sloe brandy, Sloe vodka,
but no slow drinkers.
Well you can walk a mile in another mans shoes,
or pickle yourself on his home made booze.
But you'll never get an answer more forthright
as when you're sat round the fire on a bushmoot night.
<<jolly instrumental finish>>
<<<...or not. This sort of nonsense can go on and on and on and......
>>>
