Misc Traditional – Abdul The Bulbul Amir (Guitar)

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The sons of the prophet were brave men and bold

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And quite unaccustomed to fear,

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But the bravest by far in the ranks of the Shah

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Was Abdul, the Bulbul Amir.

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When they needed a man to encourage the van,

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Or to harass a foe from the rear,

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Storm fort or redoubt, they had only to shout

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For Abdul, the Bulbul Amir.

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This son of the desert in battle aroused,

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Could split twenty men on his spear.

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A terrible creature, sober or soused,

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Was Abdul, the Bulbul Amir.

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Now the heroes were plenty and well known to fame

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Who fought in the ranks of the Czar;

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But the bravest of these was a man by the name

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Of Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

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He could imitate Irving, play poker and pool,

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And strum on the Spanish guitar;

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In fact, quite the cream of the Muscovite team

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Was Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

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The ladies all loved him, his rivals were few;

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He could drink them all under the bar.

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As gallant or tank, there was no one to rank

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With Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

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One day this bold Russian had shouldered his gun,

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And donned his most truculent sneer;

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Downtown he did go, where he trod on the toe

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Of Abdul, the Bulbul Amir.

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"Young man," said Bulbul, "has your life grown so dull

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That you're anxious to end your career ?

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Vile infidel, know you have trod on the toe

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Of Abdul, the Bulbul Amir."

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"So take your last look at sunshine and brook,

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And send your regrets to the Czar,

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By which I imply, you are going to die,

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Mr. Ivan Skavinsky Skivar."

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Said Ivan, "My friend, your remarks in the end

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Will avail you but little, I fear;

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For you ne'er will survive to repeat them alive,

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Mr. Abdul, the Bulbul Amir."

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Then that bold Mameluke drew his trusty skibouk,

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With a cry of "Allah Akbar."

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And with murderous intent, he ferociously went

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For Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

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They parried and thrust, they sidestepped and cussed,

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Of blood they spilled a great part;

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The philologist blokes, who seldom crack jokes,

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Say that hash was first made on that spot.

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They fought all that night, 'neath the pale yellow moon

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The din, it was heard from afar,

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And huge multitudes came, so great was the fame,

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Of Abdul and Ivan Skivar.

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As Abdul's long knife was extracting the life,

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In fact he had shouted "Huzzah"

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He felt himself struck by that wily Calmuck

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Count Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

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The sultan drove by in his red-breasted fly,

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Expecting the victor to cheer,

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But he only drew nigh just to hear the last sigh

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Of Abdul, the Bulbul Amir.

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Czar Petrovich, too, in his spectacles blue,

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Rode up in his new crested car;

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He arrived just in time to exchange a last line

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With Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

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There's a tomb rises up where the Blue Danube rolls,

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And 'graved there in characters clear

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Are, "Stranger, when passing, oh pray for the soul

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Of Abdul, the Bulbul Amir."

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A Muscovite maiden her lone vigil keeps

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'Neath the light of the pale polar star,

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And the name that she murmurs so oft as she weeps,

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Is Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.