The Ballad of Brave Abe Buford

Here is our Ballad of the Waxhaws: sing lustily, and with good cheer!
'The Ballad of Brave Abe Buford'
(adapted very slightly - only the names have been changed! - from
'The Ballad of Brave Sir Robin', by Neil Innes):

Bravely bold Abe Buford rode forth from Rugeley's Mill.
He was not afraid to die, O brave Abe Buford.
He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways,
Brave, brave, brave, brave Abe Buford!

He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a pulp,
Or to have his eyes gouged out and his elbows broken,
To have his kneecaps split and his body burned away
And his limbs all hacked and mangled, brave Abe Buford!

His head smashed in and his heart cut out
And his liver removed and his bowels unplugged
And his nostrils raped and his bottom burned off
And his penis --

(At this sensitive moment, feeling increasing uncomfortable, Buford
interrupts the ballad-singer:
"Right, that's enough, chaps! Matter of morale, you know!"
He then arrives at Waxhaws. He glances sniffily over the terms
presented to him by Tarleton's envoy:
"I refuse your terms and offer of quarter!
- I will defend myself to the last extremity!
- Or to the last of *someone else's* extremities!"
Then we see the battle...
Disgusted squawks from his own men and the Legion: "He's RUNNING AWAY!"
And the song strikes up again...)

Brave Abe Buford ran away,
Bravely ran away, away.
When danger reared its ugly head,
He bravely turned his tail and fled.

("I did NOT!")

Yes, brave Abe Buford turned about
And gallantly, he chickened out.

("NO I DIDN'T! It's ALL LIES!")

Bravely taking to his feet,
He beat a very brave retreat,
Bravest of the brave, brave Abe Buford.

He is packing it in and packing it up
And sneaking away and buggering up
And chickening out and pissing off home,
Yes, bravely he is throwing in the sponge.

("For f__'s sake, don't sing that at Headquarters! It's ALL LIES, I
tell you! LIES!!!")

---

A Ballad, New-minted to an Old Air, on the Battle of the Waxhaws

(Tune: 'Hey, Johnnie Cope')

Hey, Abram B, are ye wauking yet?
Or are your drums a-beating yet?
If ye were wauking I wad wait
To gang to the field o' the Waxhaws.

Abe spurned Ban's terms wi' scornfu' sneer:
"Tarleton, meet me an ye daur,
And I'll learn you the art o' war
Upon the field o' the Waxhaws."

When Tarleton looked his answer upon,
He drew his sword the scabbard from:
"Come follow me my merry men,
And we'll rout Abram B. at the Waxhaws!"

"Now, Abram, be as good's your word;
Come let us try both fire and sword;
And dinna rin like a frighted bird,
That's chased frae its nest at the Waxhaws!"

When Abram Buford heard of this,
He thought it wadna be amiss
To hae a horse in readiness
To flee awa' frae the Waxhaws.

Fy now, Buford, get up and rin;
The clash o' sabres mak a din;
It's best to sleep in a hale skin,
Far awa' frae the bluidy Waxhaws.

When Abram B. to Huger came,
He speered at him, "Where's a' your men?"
- "The deil confound me gin I ken,
For I left them at the Waxhaws."

- "Now, Buford, troth, ye are na blate
To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat,
And leave your men in sic a strait
Upon the field o' the Waxhaws."

"I' faith," quo' Buford, "I got a scare
Frae their bayonets and sabres bare!
To meet them again I dinna care,
So I'll no' gang back to the Waxhaws!"

wauking=waking
speered=asked
blate=shy