Nord Drinking Songs

A Collection by the Breton Bard Deandre

Hail, thirsty traveler! I have been to many a establishment devoted to the wonderful art of drinking, some so exquisite that a word, or a nod, or turning around three times while picking one’s ear is required to even enter the waiting room; others so rough around the edges that the windows rarely last a week and the fireplace is lit by pieces of furniture gone before. But rarely have I encountered anything as distinguished as that of a Nord mead hall. Nowhere else on Tamriel can one be regaled with the fine art that is the Nord drinking song. If you find yourself fortunate to patronize one of these fine establishments, regale yourself with these specimens of the singing craft:

We drink a drink
To three-legged Stan.
Who walked like
Only a man can.

He’d brandish his sword
For all to see.
Whipping it out,
Causing most to flee.

Over the waves he flew
In a ship of stone.
With nary a place
To call his home.

He sailed far and wide,
A lady in every dock.
Always was he happy,
Going around the block.

One day his luck ran out.
He docked in a new port,
Forgetting to check his list
As he looked for new sport.

The master caught him
As he was lowering his sails.
And broke his sword,
Before he could turn tail.

So raise a glass
To Three-Legged Stan.
He would be here today,
If only he watched his ass.


Ale and wenches
Wenches and ale.
All we need
Drinking on the benches.

When the ale is free
And the wenches doubly so,
Hold on to your ears,
For the songs surely flow.

We raise our glasses
High into the air,
Trying to ignore
The splinters in our asses.

The Blind Moose is keen
On keeping us happy.
For the old widow loves us,
The bastards of his dreams.


A red bearded flask
For a red headed lass.
As fiery as the day is long,
Keeps a man warm the night strong.

Steely eyes stop a heart,
Shapely legs give it a start.
Quick to temper,
Quicker to care.
Don’t try to hamper,
Or her fist you’ll bear.

So raise a glass
To that fiery maiden.
Mind your cadence,
Lest she kicks your ass.


Ten thousand flasks
Raised in cheer.
Ten thousand fists
Holding good beer.

The time has come
To drain that glass.
One good swallow
Through the mouth it’ll pass.

Don’t spill a drop!
Chug it down.
Don’t clean your beard,
Flick it around.

Drain our mugs,
Sing our cheer,
For we await
The next keg of beer

Text by Jac