Many thanks to Oolong for posting the AUDIO EDITION!


"Oh! They call him Mark the Kramer,

From a strong and noble clan,

He's sworn to defend our cattle,

From the filthy Englishman!

With a face full of red whiskers,

And an axe in his strong hand,

To strike dead the filthy English,

The pride of his fathers’ land!"



"Oh! They call him Mark the Kramer,

Each Britons fiercest foe

He swore to defend our country,

In battles on the sea!

He keeps his oarsman rowing,

The decks all holystoned,

His worthy crew he praises,

And keelhauls those who groan!"



Oh! They call him Mark the Kramer,

The drinker of our grog,

He swore to defend our ration,

From bastards like that sod!

He keeps the tankards cleaner

Than bloody Catholics during Lent.

And this worthy brew he bogarts,

From Glasgow down to Kent!



"Oh! They call him Mark the Kramer,

From the highlands to the low,

He’s sworn to put an Englishman,

At least six feet below!

His voice it sounds like thunder,

His footsteps sound the same,

He swore to defend this nation,

From the cradle to the grave!"



Oh! They call him Mark the Kramer

He wants to see your brain

Once your skull is opened up

Your brain will feel no pain

They say that he defends the sheep

From being counted in the night

Once he clubs you into sleep

Neural rhythms are his delight



"Oh! They call him Mark the Kramer,

He's very, very tanned,

He uses SPF two-hundred,

And Banana Boat is his brand!

With his bronzed skin he fights,

To defend the beach-going Scots,

With that chest hair, boobs, and tights,

Like Hasselhoff on Baywatch!"


Then some space-folk arrived,

And they snatched him through time,

They took him far into the future.

Mark the Kramer did not fret,

Though he broke a wee sweat,

And soon all the aliens needed sutures.

They made him compete,

And it was quite a treat,

In the intergalactic arena.

Though the cheering was loud,

Turned his back to the crowd,

And, oh, then if only you'd seen it!!

With his axe in his hands,

He charged out from the stands,

To fight creatures from all different planets

And though fierce they may be,

None could stand against he,

Who had come from from a land hewn in granite.

So the contests raged on,

And he won every one,

Leaving foes lying bloody and gory.

He left most of them dead,

With a blow to the head,

'cept the dragon from Rigel Centauri

For the dragon he thought

Like a horse could be taught

So he wrestled and grappled and pinned it.

And when he let it up

It was tame as a pup

And he'd done what was needed to win it.

When he'd won all the fights,

They gave him a return flight,

But discovered he'd only got meaner.

In the fighting he'd learned,

Just how keenly he yearned

For the land where the forests are greener.

They returned him apace

To his own time and place,

To the fields where the Brits he'd been slayin'

But the English all fled

When they lifted their heads

To see Mark the Kramer paradin'!!

For he rode on the back

Of a beast of attack,

A dragon from Rigel Centauri.

And this alien beast,

On their skulls it did feast,

So what more can I tell of this story?



And was that Mark the Kramer
Blind-pissed on cheap Buckfast?
"Giesa dram o' whisky, pal
Or ah'll chib ye wit' mah glass!"
And was that Mark the Kramer
thrown out on his fat arse?
By the surly English barman
who'd had enough at last!
Aye, Poor auld Mark the Kramer
had a wee too much to drink
left off telling tall tales
and threw up in the sink.


The pipes skirl o'er the heather
where the land is wild and wide
And the steps of Mark the Kramer
imprint it, side to side.
His voice rings out a challenge
and the hillsides throw it back
"C'mon if you think you're hard enough
ya stinking sassenach!"

♫  ♫  ♫  ♫  ♫  ♫ 

Yeah, I heard of Mark the Kramer.
He filled his father with pride.
When the lasses caught his favor,
he'd always offer a ride.

But, I heard ol' Mark the Kramer,
visited the church till he died.
And while Father McKully denounced him.
the nuns were always satisfied.

My mother loved Mark the Kramer,
and everyman stood at his side.
But when I asked him a favor,
the bastard smiled and lied.

I cursed Mark the Kramer,
and spat on the grave where he lied.
So now his spirit haunts me,
and there is no place I can hide

Now if you see Mark the Kramer,
better keep walking your stride.
That bloody ghost is eager,
to watch your sanity slide.

♫  ♫  ♫  ♫  ♫  ♫ 

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.