The Tale Of The Mardi Gras Queen by Áine


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Anyone is welcome to perform these songs in public without royalties; however, if any of them are recorded or published for profit, the writers/composers expect the usual royalties.

The Challenge: The 'song subject' for the great Easter Bonnet(?) Special Challenge was this news story -- DATELINE: GRETNA, Louisiana -- The debate was serious. The vote unanimous. The Gretna City Council says it's now legal in Louisiana to throw women's underwear from Carnival floats. "So we're pro-panties -- it's on the record," joked one city councilman. However, it is still illegal to throw anything that is ". . . lewd or lascivious and includes, but is not limited to, condoms and inflatable paraphernalia." The panty-throwing issue was pushed by protesting parade organizers. "If panties are . . . vulgar, why are they exposed in every department store in the nation?" asked one of the captains of the Elks Krewe of Gretna. Another Mardi Gras group captain firmly agreed. "Panties have been a legitimate throw for Mardi Gras for years," he said.!

The Tale Of The Mardi Gras Queen by Áine
(Tune: Almost Every Circumstance)

Chorus:
Seven days are in the week
They're written on me underpants
There's four hundred fellas in the crowd
A lookin' up at me
Oh, but never let go of the float
When you're tossin' out your Sunday best
There's many a poor girl threw away
Her chance matrimonee

The first time I saw me love
Twas outside of the Pub O'Dowd
And the second time I saw him
Twas in front of La Jollie
He was jumpin' up and down with might
A tryin' to catch me purple pair
But I can tell you now me girls
The poor lad missed 'em twice!

Seven days are in the week
They're written on me underpants
There's four hundred fellas in the crowd
A lookin' up at me
Oh, but never let go of the float
When you're tossin' out your Sunday best
There's many a poor girl threw away
Her chance matrimonee

My love he took off at a pace
Twould bring pride to a racehorse
And he turned the corner at St. Paul
Just to catch up with me
Well, I'd never seen him run so fast
And frankly it was quite a sight
But I can tell you now me girls
The poor lad fell down thrice!

Seven days are in the week
They're written on me underpants
There's four hundred fellas in the crowd
A lookin' up at me
Oh, but never let go of the float
When you're tossin' out your Sunday best
There's many a poor girl threw away
Her chance matrimonee

Well, the last time I saw me love
He was pushin' through the drunken crowd
And I felt so sorry for him
I let go me posin' post
And the float it hit a pothole
And caused me feet to slip and slide
And I can tell you now me girls
Not a darn thing I could hide!