The Proper Folk Tradition

Well, being a new kid on the block with oodles still to learn
My tutor took me to one side before I did my turn
The secret, he opined, without a morsel of contrition
Is boring people rigid in the proper folk tradition

Outrageously ambitious, I had much to realign
As someone who had bottled the authentic Dylan whine
I quickly found I had a knack to crush the opposition
Boring people rigid in the proper folk tradition

So that was when I stuck my index finger in my ear
And cloned the drone of some unlikely old-time balladeer
Nothing could dissuade me from fixating on the mission
Boring people rigid in the proper folk tradition

It was, I'd always emphasise before I'd start to croon
Imperative that my guitar was slightly out of tune
Because it's democratic, no one ever seeks permission
Boring people rigid in the proper folk tradition

Every night I'd tell the tale of poor old "Little Nell"
And after that, a rather flat "John Barleycorn" as well
No one ever said that I was lacking in ambition
Boring people rigid in the proper folk tradition

The wailing of the bagpipes, as I'd nightly demonstrate
Was good for making all the front-row's sinuses vibrate
Truthfully, it had become a battle of attrition
Boring people rigid in the proper folk tradition

Occasionally, I would employ a greater firepower
My banjo solos last around a quarter of an hour!
I've often noticed punters praying for the intermission
Boring people rigid in the proper folk tradition

"He truly is," reviewers raved, "one to the manor born
Singing songs of salty seamen reaching round the Horn
Hanging from the topsail yard, and by his own admission
Boring people rigid in the proper folk tradition"

It really is rewarding when you know that, underneath
The audience are grimly hanging on through gritted teeth
I don't have to remind you that I passed at my audition
Boring people rigid in the proper folk tradition