tartan dinosaurs

by mr diagonal

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a prehistoric costume drama in twelve-and-a-half episodes.
surely the new scotch national anthem?



Deep in prehistory, before the age of man
evil checkered monsters ruled the Scottish highlands:
they displayed the dashin' fashion of their clans,
gaily mashing neeps and smashin' rival fans

Tartan Dinosaurs, clashing doon the Clyde,
startin' minor wars, sporting suicides.
Pardon, why no scores? Hardly a surprise:
how d'you beat the home team when the goalie's 10-feet wide?

Steggy Saurus wore his hairdo on his back,
a wiggly-wobbly row of rumpsteaks on a haystack,
a practically tasteless, faceless lump of fat:
you could call him the original Big Mac.

Tartan Dinosaurs gobble up Great Glens,
farting minotaurs, brains the size of hens:
Moidart and Mòine Mhòr shoogle buts 'n' bends
the laws of gravity for their primeval ends.

Yon Tricerytops had 3 horns on his box,
for bashing office blocks and pumping out the piobaireachds,
honking out his head he bevied round the clock,
a bony bagpipe belting heavy celtic rock.

Tartan Dinosaurs, rocking out on Rhum,
a party tryin' to cause a landslide referendum.
Braveheart in rhino paws, never did his sums,
playing Scots Wahey and bash the nationalistic drum.

Dipply Docus was the fattest slag in Troon,
her ginormous knockers stretched half way across the toon:
a bahookie that could flatten Saturn stands her ground:
ye can knock us, but ye canna knock us doon!

Terry Dactyl wore his stack upon his crown,
attracting 'airline fractures, so he kept his head down.
So completely batty that he, clatty clown,
bonked the Irskine Bridge all but upside-down.

Tartan Dinosaurs, knockin' shops with humps:
Dumbarton china stores tremble as they come;
Smarting vagina sores, cocks completely numb,
crippled by a tripple-X size dose of adult fun.

Tranny Saurus: double trouble, double chin,
everyone in Cumbernauld called him the Big Yin;
when ye get this muckle, fuck'll make ye grin,
when yer knuckles cannae tickle yer sporrin…

Tartan Dinosaurs, party beasts that boak
tart on lino floors, then after a smoke,
the hardened diner snores, till at noon he woke
up tae drink a cup of wine and snort a line o' coke.

Bucky, fags and beer, haggis, chips and glue:
they didnae have a fear and didnae have a fat clue;
generously bellied, wellied out their tree,
they rocked so hard they fossilized their arteries…

Tartan dinosaurs, monsters that obey
spartan kind of laws, munching Milky Ways:
when out the blue, yon meteor!
Extinction is one-way…
it's true, but still a few survive in East Kilbride today…


released 04 January 2013
words and music: dan barbenel / mr diagonal
bagpipes: patrick goossens
recorded by vincent goovy
mixed by alex davidson and mr diagonal



all rights reserved


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mr Diagonal & the Black Light Orchestra Brussel, Belgium

"This is not a pipe" band.

Spawned from a macabre christmas pantomime in Brussels 2005, mr Diagonal and the Black Light Orchestra purvey an oddly festive kind of 'dark light music' once described as "Noel Coward on mushrooms"

An unlikely blend of of Scotch pop and Belgian cheese that recalls the best moment of Monty Python, Brecht and Weil and Divine Comedy.

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