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My dad's from a coastal town in County Waterford, Ireland, and come Christmastime, he always whips out one album: The Bells of Dublin (1991), a compilation of carols by traditional Irish band the Chieftains. It's got all the hits—"O the Holly She Bears a Berry" (oh, you don't know that one? Weird), "The Rebel Jesus" (so much sexier than James Dean), and "St. Stephen's Day Murders," which features Elvis Costello. See, you didn't think the Chieftains were hotshots, did ya? They're total hotshots.

But there's one particular song on The Bells of Dublin that's permanently seared into my memory. Behold, "The Wren in the Furze":

I understand that might've been a lot to take in, and I apologize. But let's swan dive into those juicy lyrics:

The wren, oh the wren; he's the king of all birds,
On St. Stephen's Day he got caught in the furze,
So it's up with the kettle and it's down with the pan,
Won't you give us a penny for to bury the wren?

CHORUS:
Hup-bup-biddley-dah, diddle-daddle diddle-dah,
Doo-dah diddley-dah di-diddley diddle-um!
Hup-bum, diddle-ah, diddley-daddle doodle-dah
Diddley-dah do biddle-bah, ba-dum daddle diddle-um!

Well it's Christmastime; that's why we're here,
Please be good enough to give us an ear,
For we'll sing and we'll dance if you give us a chance,
And we won't be comin' back for another whole year!

–CHORUS–

We'll play Kerry polkas; they're real hot stuff,
We'll play "The Mason's Apron" and the Pinch of Snuff,
Jon Maronley's jig and the Donegal reel,
Music made to put a spring in your heel!

–CHORUS–

If there's a drink in the house, would it make itself known,
Before I sing a song called "The Banks of the Lowne,"
And I'll drink with you with occasion in it,
For me poor dry throat and I'll sing like a linnet!

–CHORUS–

Oh please give us something for the little birds wake,
A big lump of pudding or some Christmas cake,
A fist full o' goose and a hot cup o' tay (tea),
And then we'll all be goin' on our way!

–CHORUS–

The wren, oh the wren; he's the king of all birds,
On St. Stephen's Day he got caught in the furze,
So it's up with the kettle and it's down with the pan,
Won't you give us a penny for to bury the wren?

–CHORUS–

Let me explain: Though the Irish officially celebrate December 26 as St. Stephen's Day (he's Christianity's "protomartyr," which is the name of a great band!), it's also called Wren Day. Some think St. Stephen was betrayed by the twiddly deedle-dee cry of a wren, apparently giving Irish Catholics free reign to seek vengeance on the species for centuries. But others trace Wren Day's origins back to Celtic folklore, according to which the wren represents the past year, so naturally you'd need to kill it to get on with your damn life.

Either way, every December 26th groups of Irish youths (called "wrenboys," but I like to hope girls were invited to participate) used to hunt and murder an innocent wren, attach its limp frame to the top of a pole, decorate said pole with ribbons, and go around town begging for money for the poor bird's funeral. There are varying accounts of what these young hooligans would do with the money, but let's just say it probably didn't fund any bird funerals.

These days the bloody tradition has died out, though some parts of Ireland still host murder-free Wren Day parades. And to that I say,

Hup-bup-biddley-dah, diddle-daddle diddle-dah,
Doo-dah diddley-dah di-diddley diddle-um!
Hup-bum, diddle-ah, diddley-daddle doodle-dah
Diddley-dah do biddle-bah, ba-dum daddle diddle-um!