The Death Of Bill The Basher Poem by Francis Duggan

He was some man Bill the Basher standing near seven foot tall
And with a build to match his great height near him big men looked quite small
And with his great thirst for liquor he gave himself a bad name
As a drunkard and a brawler an unwanted sort of fame.

When sober the mighty basher was a quite and gentle man
An inoffensive fellow timid as a little lamb
But intoxicating liquor played havoc with his mind
And when drunk he was a wild man and trouble making kind.

As a strong man and a brawler he was number one in town
He once beat four men together one by one he knocked them down
He was never once defeated or even once knocked off his feet
In a hundred bar room battles Basher Bill was never beat.

When he'd had his fill of liquor he was one man to avoid
He was down right anti social turbulent as ocean tide
Just a crooked side glance his way and a row was bound to start
And teeth did fly and blood did flow in rows when Bill took part.

He spent more than two years of his life fenced in by prison walls
For his bar room misbehaviour and for the parts he played in brawls
But jail did not cure the Basher as soon as he would be set free
He would be back in the pub house on a booze and brawling spree.

But he who looks for trouble let him be strong as a bear
Will one day meet up with his match by foul means if not fair
And mighty Bill the Basher despite his muscular power
Was cut down in his thirtieth year at the tavern ' Castle Tower'.

The Basher had been drinking and he was in mood for fight
And the barmaid she felt nervous knowing 'twould be a bloody night
The young barmaid knew the Basher well and that trouble was in store
And that glass would break and blood would flow and men would hit the floor.

A drunken young man toilet bound trod on the Basher's toe
And an angry basher flattened him with one hard right hand blow
But the sinned against had two friends with him unkempt looking young men
And this would be one bar brawl that the Basher couldn't win.

One of these men a long haired chap from his pocket pulled a knife
And he was one who did not place a high value on life
A sharp edged knife with six inch blade and this man meant to kill
And things did not look rosy then for bar room brawler Bill.

'Yeah' he was cruel and vicious type who valued life as cheap
And he crept up behind the Basher's back and plunged his knife in deep
And like a true coward he did not hang around when he had the damage done
He left his knife in Basher's back and from the pub did run.

He was some man Bill the Basher strongest man for miles around
But a run in with the bad boys sent him to the makers ground
A little chap with long black hair scarce standing five foot four
Left him to die with knife in back upon a bar room floor