The Charge of the Lightweight Brigade: An ode to Raisin Weekend

Half a pint, half a pint,
Half a pint onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six flatmates.
‘Forward, the Lightweight Brigade!
Charge for the shots’ he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six flatmates.

‘Forward, the Lightweight Brigade!’
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the freshers knew
Some one had chunder’d:
Their’s not to make reply,
Their’s not to reason why,
Their’s but to drink and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six flatmates.

Tequila to right of them,
Soco to left of them,
Vodka in front of them
Volley’d and chunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and yell,
Boldly they drank and fell,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six flatmates.

Flash’d all their glasses bare,
Flash’d as they turned in air
Sabring the freshers there,
Charging a local while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the drunken-haze
Stumbling thro’ streets for days;
White and Black Russian
Reel’d from forgotten lays
Shatter’d and chunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six flatmates.

Tequila to right of them,
Soco to left of them,
Vodka behind them
Volley’d and chunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and yell,
While brother and sister fell,
They that had drunk so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six flatmates.

When can their hangovers fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Lightweight Brigade,
Noble six flatmates!

Written by Rory Mackenzie, standpoint writer