west country

I Am a Cider Drinker...

If you’ve visited us in Black Mountain, you might have heard this one before. “I Am a Cider Drinker” is a song by the Wurzels, set to the tune of “Una Paloma Blanca.”

This song was released in 1977, and like many Wurzels tunes, it embodies the Scrumpy & Western stereotypes of the English West Country, comically describing farming, cider-drinking, the cider-fueled merrymaking.

Despite the tragic loss of Adge Cutler, the founder of the Wurzels in 1974, the band has never really stopped making music and touring. Here’s a more recent rendition:


It’s hard to say which video is sillier.

We like this version from Alestorm, too


Here are they lyrics to “I Am a Cider Drinker.” We especially appreciate the user of the streotypical West Country grammar…

Lyrics

When the moon shines on the cow shed
And we're rolling in the hay
All the cows are up there grazin'
And the milk is on its way

[Hook] I am a Cider Drinker
I drinks it all of the day
I am a Cider Drinker
It soothes all me troubles away
Ooh arrh, ooh arrh ay, Ooh arrh, ooh arrh ay
(Proper Job! Wanna try some, young 'un? C'mon, young 'un! Get a couple o' pints down 'ee then.)

It's so cosy in the kitchen
With the smell of rabbit stew
When the breeze blows 'cross the farm yard
You can smell the cow shed too
(Cor! Oi never smelt nothin' like it in all me loife)

When those combine wheels stops turnin'
And the hard days work is done
Theres a pub around the corner
It's the place we 'ave our fun
(Arrh! We'll 'ave some fun an' all!)

(C'mon, young 'un! Get a couple o' pints down 'ee then.)

Now dear old Mabel when she's able
We takes a stroll down Lovers Lane
And we sinks a pint o' Scrumpy
Then we'll play old natures game
(Ah, ha, ha! Ooh, arrh!!)

But we end up in the duckpond
When the pub decides to close
With me breeches full o' tadpoles
And the newts between me toes
(Cor! Mate!)

[Hook]
(C'mon there, young 'un! Get up there an dance.)

I am a Cider Drinker
I drinks it all of the day
I am a Cider Drinker
It soothes all me troubles away
Ooh arrh, ooh arrh ay, Ooh arrh, ooh arrh ay
Ooh arrh, ooh arrh ay, Ooh arrh, ooh arrh ay
Ooh arrh, ooh arrh ay, Ooh arrh, ooh arrh ay
Ooh arrh, ooh arrh ay, Ooh arrh, ooh arrh ay

(Let cider be the spice o' loife! Arr!)

So the next time you’re sipping on a pint of cider, let this song get stuck in your head. You could do worse. Ooar!