#Drinking Songs

[crittertongue]

Crittertongue no.12: Goatsong

[jumpin-jackalopes]

I’m sorry but “if god made us all in his image then god’s a fucking nerd!” Is such a raw line that I didn’t know I needed in my life, just heard this song for the first time this morning and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that line all day

[sga-owns-my-soul]

so my most recent obsession is making stargate themed playlists and i've been debating making an Atlantis Drinking Songs playlist and i wanna get drunk to drinking songs so. im gonna make it

anyways if you have a favourite drinking song from your country or language that you think the people from atlantis would sing while getting drunk together please feel free to let me know!!

[paulftompkins]

From the 2023 Varietopia St. Patrick's Day Special! Monsignor Damien Fearnley welcomes a special guest to join him in singing a secret song. Featuring Lily Sullivan.

Our next St. Patrick's Day Special is St. Patrick's Day actual, March 17th at 7pm Pacific! Join us at Lodge Room or stream from home!

LODGE ROOM TICKETS

LIVESTREAM TICKETS

[lbibliophile-sw]

Raise your glass

Also on AO3 For @whumptober - day 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Won’t drink to the Navy, won’t drink to the GAR Won’t drink to the Senate and their far-off star Won’t drink to the Generals, however they are Oya! We’ll drink to the brothers lost marching far.

Won’t drink to the Seppies, won’t drink to the Sith Won’t drink to the ones who started this Won’t drink to the clankers however they miss Oya! We’ll drink to the brothers lost marching far.

Won’t drink to the trainers, won’t drink to the Prime Won’t drink to the long-necks and their production line Won’t drink to Kamino though it’s home for a time Oya! We’ll drink to the brothers lost marching far.

Won’t drink to peace, won’t drink to war Won’t drink to the Republic that we were made for Won’t drink to a freedom we never saw Oya! We’ll drink to the brothers lost marching far.

So raise your glasses, raise them high Raise your glass and drink it dry Then raise your voice and together cry “Oya!” We’ll drink to the brothers lost marching far We remember the brothers lost marching far.

We drink to you - vode, oya!

[manwalksintobar]

Message shoved into an empty bottle of rosé and tossed into the Hudson on a sad summer night // Nicole Callihan

I drank have drunk have drowned these sorrows these stars the smallest a jillion times the size of me a hundred times the sea

o! I am small and dumb and broken and so very very alive stranger: I hope the same for you

[myimaginaryradio]

Boat Drinks - Jimmy Buffett - 1979

[countesspetofi]

Well, it's melon season again. Let us raise our voices in song.

Young John the Gard'ner, having lately got A very rich and fertile Garden Plot, Bragging to Joan, quoth he: "So rich a Ground For Melons cannot in the World be found." "That's a damn'd lie," quoth Joan, "for I can tell A place that does your Garden far excel." "Where's that?" says John; "In mine Arse," quoth Joan, for there Is store of Dung and Water all the Year."

[camphorfreya]

Pub Sesh on Mixcloud

Fun drinking songs for gatherings with friends. I originally compiled this mix for a St Paddy's event but it's good for any night at the pub. As always I'll take you through a wide variety of genres including britpop, phonk, organic house, breakbeats and celtic influenced dance music.

[daffodilferox]

Breaking news: Juice of the Vine has been stuck in my head so long that I’ve written a second verse for the sake of variety.

Come partake the gods’ delight

We’ll make our merry last through the night

By soaring song, and stories told

We’ll tip a glass to the tales of the bold

[yama-does-art]

a Dunmer Drinking Song

Song 1: 99 sujamma on the wall, 99 bottles to spare Take one down and pass it around, 98 sujamma on the wall (98 verses later...) 1 sujamma on the wall, 1 bottle to spare Take one down and pass it around, no more sujamma on the wall No more sujamma on the wall, no more bottles to spare Song 2: Take a case, full of some Matze, 99 bottles of Matze on the wall

[chronivore]

1997

[manwalksintobar]

A Friend’s Divorce  // Gregory Fraser

It was good manners, I suppose, that made him wait until the meal had ended (napkins set aside, steak bones in the shallow graves of our empty plates) to tell us

it was final, that the settlement, like a lightning bolt, had split the house straight down the center, half for her, half for him: he'd put it on the market in the spring.

We sat awhile not knowing what to say, breaking the stale bread of silence together. Then my girlfriend called his wife a lying bitch, and I mumbled something about trust

that sounded like I knew. He raised his glass, nodded that we were right, but mostly out of kindness for us, I think, a couple who needed to be right just then

about what keeps two people from falling apart. It's midnight now, and I can't stop gazing out the window by my desk. Slats of light are falling

through a gaping hole in the late-October sky, falling on my friend's front porch like stacks of shirts and bed sheets from Kopek's Linen Service--

on the two white birches on his well-groomed lawn, gleaming like the stockings of the prostitute he brought home one evening for the entire block to see

while his wife was away "on business" in Detroit. The woman spent the night, but they never went upstairs, just talked until the pink bruise of dawn appeared,

two old soldiers swapping stories, comparing wounds. She told him pain could sometimes be a gift, but that wasn't why most people found it better to give

than to receive something along those lines, though it's been months since I learned the details, and it could be I'm just filling in her words

because I want some larger part in my friend's repair, because I envy what she, a stranger, could offer him: the soothing distance I could not. Envy, yes--

so I'm no saint. Neither's he. Still, watching moonlight glaze the brown garbage bags, stuffed with yard work, against the curb,

all I can see are monks in cassocks, huddled to pay devotion in the dark, backlit by grace. I don't know, maybe that's how I say my prayers these days,

the imagination picking up where the Catholic left off years ago. Anyway, he was good enough to wash the dishes afterwards, even scrubbed the blackened grill.

It took him twenty minutes with a Brillo pad, while my girlfriend and I polished off the cabernet, staring the candles down. Their flames swayed like two lovers

I'd once seen at the end of a wedding reception, one on either side of the empty dance floor while the band wound down. It was clear they'd had a spat, a little too much to drink.

That's why they were slow-dancing with themselves, each too angry at the other to move toward the center, each too proud to make the first move to leave.

[myimaginaryradio]

Whiskey In The Jar - Luke Kelly and The Dubliners - 1968

Got this request from @dolphincliffs and since I played the Metallica cover yesterday and it's very similar to the Thin Lizzy version, I decided to go more traditional. Might not be what you had in mind but I love irish folk music and I hope you do too.