Lambeg Drum Poem

THE AULD LAMBEG DRUM

The instrument now that I want to describe
Is the greatest that ever a man did contrive
Its size and its sound are second to none
I’m referring off course to the auld lambeg drum

There are many who think they know how it’s done
A secret passed down from father to son
But a good drum is different by a fraction of a tone
How to get them to do it not many have known

The things I’ve picked up cant be found with out sorrow
There part of the knowledge of my friend Denis Morrow
Drum maker and player of quite some repute
A gentleman a scholar, that none can dispute

The first is the body that’s known as the shell
A thin piece of oak with two mouth hoops as well
Over the flesh hoops a skin on each side
What better use for a white she goats’ hide

The brace hoops and rope are all that is left
To tension the drum and give of its best
With a pull here and there and a slip of a knot
Then add a wee drop just to see what you’ve got

Now comes the skill as you balance each side
A tap here and there to tension the hide
Lively and high yet not to bare
Listen to her whistle as she blows out the air

And now to the drummer each one with his beat
As he rolls her right up, its a sound oh so sweet
Don’t kill her with weight, keep her light and in time
Hold her up to the judges and all will be fine

So next time you hear a lambeg drum being played
Remember the things in this poem that I’ve said
Each drum has a story that it wants to tell
An Ulster-Scots tradition, alive, fit and well


This version by Mark Anderson

HMA