Abdul Abulbul Amir

Abdul Abulbul Amir adalah syair yang ditulis oleh Percy French pada tahun 1877 dan kemudian dijadikan lagu. Lagu ini mengisahkan tentang 2 pahlawan pemberani - seorang Rusia bernama Ivan Skavinsky Skavar dan seorang mamluk bernama Abdul Abulbul Amir, yang karena rasa harga diri mereka yang kelewat tinggi akhirnya berkelahi dan saling membunuh. Lagu ini dibuat pada saat Perang Rusia-Turki berkecamuk.

Frank Crumit, yang terkenal dengan cara pembawaannya atas Abdul Abulbul Amir, menulis 3 sekuel: The Return of Abdul Abulbul Amir, The Grandson Of Abdul Abulbul Amir, dan Minnie Skavinsky Skavar.

Pada tahun 1941, kisah Abdul Abulbul Amir diangkat ke layar kartun berjudul Abdul the Bulbul-Ameer, yang diproduksi oleh Fred Quimby, disutradarai oleh Hugh Harman dan menampilkan Groucho Marx, Lou Costello, dan Harry Ritz. Pada tahun 1980, Whitbread mengadaptasi lagu ini menggunakan liriknya sendiri untuk iklan di televisi.

Lagu

Lirik yang dinyanyikan Frank Crumit

The sons of the Prophet are brave men and bold And quite unaccustomed to fear. But the bravest by far in the ranks of the Shah Was Abdul Abulbul Amir. Now the heroes were plenty and well known to fame In the troops that were led by the Tsar. And the bravest of these was a man by the name Of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. One day this bold Russian had shouldered his gun, And donned his most truculent sneer. Downtown he did go, where he trod on the toe Of Abdul Abulbul Amir. "Young man," quoth Abdul,"Has life grown so dull, That you wish to end your career? Vile infidel, know, you have trod on the toe Of Abdul Abulbul Amir." Said Ivan, "My friend, your remarks, in the end, Will avail you but little, I fear." "For you ne'er will survive to repeat them alive. Mr. Abdul Abulbul Amir." "So take your last look at sunshine and brook. And send your regrets to the Tsar. For by this I imply, you are going to die Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar." Then this bold Mameluke drew his trusty skibouk. With a cry of, "Allah-Akbar!" And with murderous intent, he ferociously went For Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. They fought all that night, 'neath the pale yellow moon. The din, it was heard from afar. And huge multitudes came, so great was the fame, Of Abdul and Ivan Skavar. As Abdul's long knife was extracting the life — in fact he was shouting "Huzzah!" He felt himself struck by that wily Kalmuck, Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. The Sultan drove by in his red-crested fly, Expecting the victor to cheer. But he only drew nigh, to hear the last sigh, Of Abdul Abulbul Amir. Tsar Petrovich too, in his spectacles blue, Rode up in his new crested car. He arrived just in time to exchange a last line, With Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. There's a tomb rises up, where the blue Danube flows, Engraved there in characters clear: "Ah, stranger when passing, oh pray for the soul Of Abdul Abulbul Amir." A Muscovite maiden her lone vigil keeps 'Neath the light of the pale polar star And the name that she murmurs so oft as she weeps, Is Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

The Return of Abdul Abulbul Amir

Lyrik yang dinyanyikan Frank Crumit

By the sea of Sargossa I wandered one night The moon it was shining quite clear For no reason at all I heard someone call For Abdul Abulbul Amir Now Abdul Abulbul I knew to be dead The story had spread near and far How he lost his life while plunging his knife Into Ivan Skavinsky Skavar While I pondered the moonbeams descended quite low Casting shadows suffusely, and then I discovered that I was standing close by The tombs of those two famous men Then in the tombs shadows there rose from a grave The form of a Russian Hussar And my skin nearly peeled, as he stood there revealed It was Ivan Skavinsky Skavar 'Twas he who was calling, I hardly dared breathe My heart 'most stopped beating from fear When out of a grave, in need of a shave Arose Abdul Abulbul Amir "Well, wouldst speak with me Ivan?", quoth Abdul quite low "I wouldst", replied Ivan quite clear "That quarrel we had, 'twas all to the bad Friend Abdul Abulbul Amir" "I've lain here for ages with that on my mind And that's why I called you tonight" "Well, I'm in the same state", quoth Abdul the great "Twas foolish for we two to fight" "Oh friend, thou art blameless", cried Ivan in haste "The fault lies in my hands alone" But Abdul said "Nay, 'twas never that way The fault was no one's but mine own" "Well, dost think I'm a coward?", quoth Ivan Skavar "Step forth and I'll slice off thine ear" "Oh, son of a cat, you'll never do that" Quoth Abdul Abulbul Amir So once more they battled and fought as before The multitudes came from afar And lauded with cheers these bold buccaneers This Turk, and this Russian Hussar The ghost of the Czar on a fiery black steed Came rushing to witness the fray While the Sultan sat there in his royal gold chair It was just like a scene from a play 'Twas just at that moment each sword found its mark And I heard a blood-curdling scream I opened my eyes and to my surprise I found it was only a dream

The Grandson of Abdul Abulbul Amir

Lyrik yang dinyanyikan Frank Crumit

On the links by the Bosporus near ancient Stamboul O'er the fairways with nothing to fear Went the greatest of pros with the driver-like nose Mr. Abdul Abulbul Amir. One day to the clubhouse there came a strange man From a land that was distant and far And his visiting card bore the name of this bard: Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. Said the Count to Abdul, "Our grandfathers fought" At that moment his face wore a sneer. "Well, I don't know the cause but my granddad c'd whip yours!" Said Abdul Abulbul Amir. "Oh you think you're a golfer, Mr. Abdul Amir? You think you're a promising star? Well, if you play at this sport like your grandfather fought Lord help you!" said Ivan Skavar. "Oh you're no Bobby Jones or no Frankie Ouimet Why, you hold your midiron like a spear. You're a count without doubt but just count yourself out In golfing," said Abdul Amir. They were matched now, you know, for an eighteen-holed go The prize was a gold samovar As they strode to the tee, they were wondrous to see Mr. Abdul and Ivan Skavar. They were evenly matched, you could tell by their shots They made the first ten holes in par He lived up to his name in this breathtaking game Did Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. And on the fifteenth hole Ivan a bunker he struck He was stroking his way to the clear. "How many strokes did you take; were you killing a snake?" Yelled Abdul Abulbul Amir. Ivan tried a wee chip, then he felt something slip "My braces have parted, I fear!" To the sand-trap he flew while they roared at the view Even Abdul Abulbul Amir. And so much did he laugh that he doubled in half In undoubling himself, the poor seer Alas and alack, he strained his poor back Did Abdul Abulbul Amir. Oh the boys never ended that classical match For neither could finish their score So they just called the game—we can't tell you the name But the referee called it a draw. Oh the bunkers that lie in the fairways of life Cause many a heartache and tear And this old family feud shall oft be renewed By the grandsons of Abdul Amir.