Fiddle Tunes Seemingly dozens of traditional fiddle tunes have bawdy verses attached to them. Indeed, it appears that fiddlers know only these bawdy stanzas to the tunes and probably use them as mnemonics to bring the melodies to mind. The tradition of scatological or ribald material attaching to instrumental tunes is old. According to David Johnson, writing in his Scottish Fiddle Music in the 18th Century, "...many of the older tunes had bawdy titles or were associated with obscene lyrics...." Only with the turn of the 19th Century, "when people rapidly became less outspoken about sex," did the practice falter. Fiddle players "could not play old tunes like The Highland lassie's lovely thing, Jockie's fu' [drunk] and Jennies fain [eager], Whip her below the covering, The bride has a bonny thing, Wanton towdie [female genitals], Had [hold] the lass till I win at her or I'll hae her awa [have it off with her] in spite of her minnie [mother] in company without causing grievous embarrassment." If such fiddle tunes died out in Scotland because of what Bertrand Bronson has called the "unfortunate nonce associations," not so in the United States. At least two of the tunes that Johnson states fell into decline in the Old Country seem to have persevered in the new: "The Lea Rig," also known less ambiguously as "O Lassie, Art Thou Sleeping Yet?" and the familiar "Green Grow the Rushes, Oh." Samuel Bayard collected six versions of the first and no less than thirteen of the second from Pennsylvania fiddlers. (Dance to the Fiddle, March to the Fife, pp. 158-162 and 530-532.) GilderoyUp jumped Sally with her feet upon the drum, The hair round her monkey was as red as any plum. The down around her ass was as black as any coal, And the dung balls jungled 'round her old asshole. Fiddler William Bigford recorded some forty-five songs, most of them bawdy, for fellow musician and collector Paul M. Gifford prior to 1982. In forwarding the material, Gifford wrote these biographical notes about Bigford, who was born in 1898 in Farwell, Michigan. (Farwell, like the other towns mentioned, is in central Michigan.) His father worked in the lumber camps in the vicinity. In his teens, the family moved to Marion, Michigan. Bill married Crystal, daughter of a lumbermill operator, and had eleven children. He worked as a farmer and laborer, moving to Portland, Michigan, in the '40s, though he returned to live near Marion in the '60s. He returned to Portland, where he lived the remainder of his life. [Bigford died in 1986.-- Ed.] He played a fiddle and bow he had made (he had several, using local materials). His father also was a fiddler, who played in what Bill considered an older style, playing more hornpipes and tunes like "Money Musk" and "Beaux of Oak Hill." Bill played square dance tunes, but also a lot of foxtrots and tunes he learned off the radio or juke box. He had a sizeable repertoire of songs, most, but not all, of them somewhat dirty. He liked to sing these and tell jokes after he'd had a few drinks.... Of his songs, some he probably learned from his father, who, Bill said, was a good singer. Others he may have learned as a child or young man.... I first met Bill in 1972 and played music with him regularly from about 1975 to 1982 or so. Using a cassette recorder, I taped these at parties, in the car while traveling, or in other impromptu situations. I would transcribe them later, and, if there were questions (Bill had no teeth and liked to chew a cigar stub, so sometimes his enunciation wasn't the clearest), I would ask him later what the word was. Lassie, Art Thou Sleeping Yet? Around the house, she scattered her water, And in the house, she pissed in the platter, And around the house, she scattered her water, The old lady shit in the haymow. The old man up with an old rusty sword, To fight, and the old lady up with handful of turd, And they fit for two hours without sayin' a word, The old lady shit in the haymow. Collected from fiddler Walt Taylor, of Bridgeport, Michigan, in the "late '70's," by Paul M. Gifford of Flint, Michigan. See "The Old Lady Shittin' in the Haymow," below. Miss McLeod's Reel Oh, I don't like niggers, I'll be damned if I do. I don't like niggers, I'll be damned if I do. I don't like niggers, I'll be damned if I do. Their heads are curly and their bags is too. From William Bigford. (See "Gilderoy" above.) [The Old Woman Shittin' in the Haymow] A-rippety shit and away she went, Her ass stuck out like a Canada cent, And every jump she took she spent. The old lady she shit in the haymow. From William Bigford, who merely recited it. The title and tune identification was furnished by dulcimer player Chet Parker of Rockford, Michigan, who called the melody "Jefferson and Liberty" or "The Old Woman Shittin' in the Haymow." He added that soldiers in the Civil War sang the song, according to collector Paul Gifford. Pigtown Fling [ A ] The night was dark and the river was muddy. I got so drunk I couldn't keep steady. I give a little whoop and I give a little yell. The horse run away, throwed the buggy all to hell. From William Bigford. (See "Gilderoy" above.) [ B ] Dog shit a rye straw longer than a riddle-o. Dog shit a rye straw, longer than a fiddle bow. Dog shit a catfish, bigger than a minner-o. Dog shit a catfish big enough for dinner-o. Are "Rye Straw" and "Pigtown Fling" the same tune? Rosin the Bow [Beau] [ A ] I fucked an old lady, God damn her. God damn her old soul, she was dead. The maggots rolled out of her asshole, The hair was all off of her head. From William Bigford. (See "Gilderoy" above.) [ B ] Did you ever see Sally make water? She pisses a beautiful stream. It measures an inch and a quarter And you can't see her belly for steam. Collected by Paul Gifford from Fenton Watkins, who was born in 1885 in South Haven, Michigan, and died in 1980 in Birmingham, Michigan. Watkins, wrote Gifford, "played the fiddle and dulcimer and had worked with horses most of his life." Where the River Shannon Flows There's a pretty spot on Nellie, Just an inch below her belly, Where the hair is nice and curly, That is where I like to roam. And the moment that I meet her, I will stick right in my peter, For there's not a cunt that's sweeter Than on my little Irish rose. Collected from fiddler Walt Taylor, of Bridgeport, Michigan, in the "late '70's," by Paul M. Gifford of Flint, Michigan.