My Youngest Son

Malachi von Riga sings a ripping version of Eric Bogle’s My Youngest Son Came Home Today. Last time I saw him, I swore I’d write this modified version, and today I did. Note that if you’re familiar with Eric Bogle’s version you can sing this as written, and if you prefer Billy Bragg’s rendition then you can swap the first two lines of the third verse as he does.

(Incidentally, I’d like to apologise to any of my gay friends who may find this deeply cliched and tedious. That was the point, after all. Just be glad I didn’t mention Greigy’s favourite line about being “as camp as a row of boy scouts”.)

[29 April 2005]

My youngest son told me he’s gay
His friends marched all on Saturday
The speakers play old ABBA greats
As, on the float, my son gyrates
In skintight shorts of gold lamé
My youngest son told me he’s gay

My youngest son is a friendly man
He will always help out when he can
At the sailor’s mission every week
And then, to keep his fine physique
He loves the old YMCA
With all those muscles on display.

To hear the secret her son keeps
His Irish mother wails and weeps
Grand-children’s mirth, untimely stilled
Her dreams of booties — unfulfilled
But as for me, I’m quite OK
I can’t stand nappies anyway.

My youngest son told me he’s gay
His friends marched all on Saturday
The speakers play old ABBA greats
As, on the float, my son gyrates
In skintight shorts of gold lamé
My youngest son told me he’s gay
So who’ll tell his fiancee?