SI Songbook (1996)

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www.florilegium.org/files/PERFORMANCE-ARTS/SI-songbook2-art.txt
www.florilegium.org/files/PERFORMANCE-ARTS/SI-songbook3-art.txt
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A Collection of Scottish and Irish songs, compiled by Ioseph of Locksley.
This songbook is divided into four parts for ease of downloading. You
are reading part 1 of 4.

NOTE: Also see the files: p-songs-msg, song-sources-msg, songs-msg, songs2-msg,
harps-msg, guitar-art, drums-msg, bardic-msg, Bardic-Guide-art.

************************************************************************
NOTICE -

This file is a collection of various messages having a common theme that
I have collected from my reading of the various computer networks. Some
messages date back to 1989, some may be as recent as yesterday.

This file is part of a collection of files called Stefan's Florilegium.
These files are available on the Internet at: http://www.florilegium.org

I have done a limited amount of editing. Messages having to do with
seperate topics were sometimes split into different files and sometimes
extraneous information was removed. For instance, the message IDs were
removed to save space and remove clutter.

The comments made in these messages are not necessarily my viewpoints. I
make no claims as to the accuracy of the information given by the
individual authors.

Please respect the time and efforts of those who have written these
messages. The copyright status of these messages is unclear at this
time. If information is published from these messages, please give
credit to the orignator(s).

Thank you,
Mark S. Harris AKA: Lord Stefan li Rous
mark.s.harris@motorola.com stefan@florilegium.org
************************************************************************

From: beudach@aol.com (Lord Graeme O'Baoighill)
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Subject: Graeme's Aforementioned Songbook
Date: 27 Mar 1995 16:10:41 GMT
Organization: Duchy Tarragon

A COLLECTION OF SCOTTISH AND IRISH SONGS

compiled and transcribed by Joe Bethancourt
=========================================================================

<part 1 of 4>

AS I ROVED OUT

As I roved out on a May morning,
On a May morning bright early
I saw me love upon a hill
And Lord but she was early

Chorus: And she sang ap-a-diddle, ap-a-diddle, ap-a-diddle-ee
Hidle-ap-a-dee, and she hidle-ap-a-dee and she landed.

Where are ye going my bonnie wee girl,
Where are ye going my honey
I'm going to the house on the top of the hill
I live there with my mommie.

And will ye come to my mother's house
When the moon is shinin' clearly?
I'll open the door and let y'in
And divil a one will hear us.

I went to the house on the top of the hill
When the moon was shining clearly
Will you arise and let me in
For your mommie not to hear ya.

She took me horse by the bridle and bit
And led him to the stable
Sayin' "there's plenty of oats for a soldier's horse
To eat if he is able.

She took me by the lily-white hand
And led me to the table
Sayin' "There's plenty of wine for a soldier boy
Now, laddie, are y'able?"

Then I got up and made the bed
And made it nice and easy
Then I got up and laid her down
Sayin' "Lassie, are y'able!"

She caught her by the hair of the head
And down the stairs she brought her
And with the butt of a hazel twig
She was a well beat daughter

Will ye marry me now my soldier lad
Will ye marry me now my honey
Marry me now my soldier lad
For I have not a home here

And when will you return again
And when will we get married?
When broken shells make Christmas bells
We might well get married

Oh, I can't marry you, my bonnie wee girl
I can't marry you my honey
For I've a wife and child at home
And I would not desert them.

*

THE ALCOHOLIC'S ANTHEM
-Christchurch NZ University Revue
tune: "Men Of Harlech"

What's the use of drinking tea
indulging in sobriety?
(and) tee-total perversity?
It's healthier to booze!
What's the use of milk and water?
these are drinks that never oughter
be allowed in any quarter
Come on, lose your Blues!
Mix yourself a Shandy!
Drown yourself in brandy!
A Sherry sweet, a Whiskey neat,
or any kind of likker that is handy!
There's no blinking sense in drinking
any thing that doesn't make you stinking
There's no happiness like sinking
blotto to the floor!

Put an end to all frustration
drinking may be your salvation
end it all in dissapation
rotten to the core!
Abberations metabolic
Ceilings that are hyperbolic
these are for the Alcoholic
lying on the floor!
Vodka for the arty
Gin, to make you hearty!
Lemonade was only made
for drinking if your mother's at the party!
So stay clear of home-made beer
and anything that isn't labeled "clear"
There is nothing else to fear!
Bottoms up, my boys!

*

ALL AROUND MY HAT
-Traditional

CHORUS: All around my hat, I will wear the green willow
And all around my hat, for a twelve-month and a day!
And if any one will ask me the reason why I'm wearin' it
It's all for my true love who is far, far away!

Fare thee well, cold Winter, and fare thee well cold Frost
It's nothing I have gained but my own true love I've lost
I'll sing and I'll be merry, when occasion I do see
She's a false, deludin' young girl, let her go! Farewell be!

My love she was fair, and my love she was kind, too
And many were the happy hours between my love and me
I never could refuse her, whatever she'd a mind to
She's a false, deludin' young girl, let her go! Farewell be!

The other night I brought her a fine diamond ring
But she tried to deprive me of a far better thing
I never could refuse her, whatever she'd a mind to
She's a false, deludin' young girl, let her go! Farewell be!

Will my love be true, and will my love be faithful?
Will she find another young man, to court her when I'm gone?
The men will all come court her, so pretty and so graceful
She's a false, deludin' young girl, let her go! Farewell be!

It's a quarter pound of Reason, and a half a pound of Sense
A small sprig of Time, and as much of Prudence,
You mix them all together, and you will plainly see
She's a false, deludin' young girl, let her go! Farewell be!

(Note: This version is a composite of lyrics sung by Steeleye Span
and those found in "Folksongs And Ballads of Ireland" Vol. 2,
from Ossian Publications.

*

ANNA THEA
-Anonymous (PD)
tune: Lydia Wood
recorded by Judy Collins

Lazlo Thea stole a stallion
Stole him from the Misty Mountain
And they chased him, and they caught him
And in iron chains they bound him.

Word was brought to Anna Thea
That her brother was in prison
"Give me gold and six white horses
I will buy my brother's freedom."

"Judge, Oh Judge please spare my brother
I will give you gold and silver!"
"I don't want your gold and silver;
All I want are your sweet favours!"

"Anna Thea, Oh my sister!
Are you mad with grief and sorrow?
He will rob you of your Flower,
And he'll hang me from the gallows!"

Anna Thea did not heed him;
Straightway to the Judge went running.
In his golden bed, at midnight,
There she heard the gallows groaning!

Cursed be that Judge so cruel!
Thirteen years shall he lie bleeding!
Thirteen doctors shall not heal him!
Thirteen shelves of drugs won't save him!

Anna Thea, Anna Thea!
Don't go out into the forest!
There, among the green pines standing,
You will find your brother....hanging.

*

THE ANCIENT AND OLD IRISH CONDOM
-Anonymous
(Tune: "Rosin the Beau")
(Recorded: "Celtic Pride: In Strange Form")

I was up to me arse in the muck, Sir,
with a peat contract down in the bog
When me shovel it struck something hard, Sir,
that I thought was a rock or a log

T'was a box of the finest old oak, Sir,
T'was a foot long, and four inches wide
and not giving a damn for the Fairies
I just took a quick look inside

Now I opened the lid of this box, Sir,
and I swear that my story is true
T'was an ancient and old Irish condom
A relic of Brian Boru

T'was an ancient and old Irish condom
T'was a foot long, and made of elk hide,
With a little gold tag on it's end, Sir,
with his name, rank, and stud fee inscribed

Now, I cast me mind back thru the ages
To the days of that horny old Celt
With his wife lyin' by on the bed, Sir,
As he stood by the fire in his pelt

And I thought that I heard Brian whisper
As he stood in the fire's rosy light
"Well, you've had yer own way long enough, dear...
'Tis the hairy side outside, tonight."

*

AIR FALALALO

There's lilt in the song I sing, there's laughter and love
There's tang of the sea, and blue from Heaven above!
Of reason there's none; and why should there be, for why?
As long as there's fire in the blood, and light in the eye!

CHORUS: Air falalalo horo, air falalalay (3X)
Falee, falo, horo, air falalalay!

The heather's ablaze wi' bloom, the myrtle is sweet
There's song in the air; the road's a song at our feet!
So step it along as light as the bird on the wing!
And, stepping along, let's join our voices and sing:

And whether the blood be Highland, Lowland or no,
And whether the hue be black or white as the snow;
Of kith and of kin, we are One, be it right, be it wrong,
If only our hearts beat true to the lilt of the song!

*

AIKENDRUM
(Tune: "My Name it is Sam Hall," "Ye Jacobites By Name," "My Name is
William Kidd," "What Wondrous Love is This?" &c.)

Ken ye how a Whig can fight, Aikendrum, Aikendrum
Ken ye how a Whig can fight, Aikendrum
He can fight the hero bright, with his heels and armour tight
And the wind of heavenly night, Aikendrum, Aikendrum
Is not Rowley in the right, Aikendrum!

Did ye hear of Sunderland, Aikendrum (etc as above)
That man of high command, who has sworn to clear the land
He has vanished from our strand (etc as above)
Or the eel has ta'en the sand, Aikendrum.

Donald's running round and round (etc)
But the Chief cannot be found, and the Dutchmen they are drowned
And King Jaime he is crowned (etc)
But the dogs will get a stound, Aikendrum

We have heard of Whigs galore (etc)
But we've sought the country o'er, with cannon and claymore,
And still they are before (etc)
We may seek forevermore, Aikendrum!

Ken ye how to gain a Whig (etc)
Look Jolly, blythe and big, take his ain blest side and prig,
And the poor, worm-eaten Whig (etc)
For opposition's sake you will win!

-from "Jacobite Relics" James Hogg, 1874

*

THE BANKS OF THE ROSES

Chorus: On the banks of the roses my love and I sat down
And I took out a fiddle for to play my love a tune
In the middle of the tune, oh, she sighed and she said
Young Johnny, lovely Johnny, would you leave me?

When I was just a young lad, I heard my father say
I'd sooner see you dead and buried in the clay
Rather than be married to any runaway
On the lovely sweet banks of the roses.

Oh, then I am a runaway and soon I'll let you know
That I can drink a bottle and drink with anyone
And if her father doesn't like me, he can keep his daughter home
Then Johnny will go roving with another.

If ever I get married 'twill be in the month of May
When the leaves they are green and the meadows they are gay
And me and my true love will sit and sport and play
By the lovely sweet banks of the roses.

*

THE BANTAM COCK

He was a fine upstanding bantam-cock
So brisk, and stiff, and spry...
With a springy step, and a jaunty plume,
And a purposeful look in his eye
In his little black laughing eye!

So I took him to the coop and introduced him to
My seventeen wide-eyed hens
And he tupped and he tupped as a hero tupps,
And he bowed to them all, and then,
He up and took 'em all again!

Then upon the peace of my ducks and geese
He boldly did intrude
And with glazed eyes and opened mouths
They bore him with fortitude...
And a little bit of gratitude!

He jumped my giggling guinea-fowl!
He thrust his attentions upon
Twenty hysterical turkeys,
And a visiting migrant swan!
And the bantam thundered on!

He groped my fan-tail pigeon doves,
My lily-white Columbine,
And as I was lookin' at me budgerigar,
He jumped my parrot from behind!
And it was sittin' on me shoulder at the time!

But all of a sudden, with a gasp and a gulp,
He clapped his wings to his head!
He lay flat on his back with his feet in the air;
My bantam-cock was dead!
And the vultures circled overhead!

What a noble beast! What a champion cock!
What a way to live and die!
As I dug him a grave to protect his bones,
From those hungry buzzards in the sky,
The bantam opened up his eyes!

He gave me a wink, and a terrible grin,
The way that rapists do....
He said, "Do you see them silly daft buggers up there?
They'll be down in a minnit 'er two!
They'll be down in a minnit 'er two!"

*

BONNETS OF BONNIE DUNDEE
-Sir Walter Scott

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claverhouse spoke
Ere the King's crown go down, there are Crowns to be broke
So each Cavalier that loves honour and me
Let him follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!

(Chorus): Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can
Come saddle my horses and call out my men
Unhook the west port and let us gae free
For it's up wi' the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street
The bells they ring backward, the drums they are beat
But the Provost (douce man!) said "Just e'en let it be!"
"For the town is well rid of that devil, Dundee!"

There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth
Be there lords in the South, there are chiefs in the North!
There are brave Duinnewassals three thousand times three
Will cry "Hey for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!"

Then awa' tae the hills, tae the lea, tae the rock,
Ere I own a usurper, I'll crouch with the fox!
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee:
Ye hae no seen the last o' my bonnets....and me!

*

THE BARNYARDS O'DELGATY

As I gang doon by Turra Market, Turra Market for t'fee
I fell in wi' a farmer chiel, by th' Barnyards O'Delgaty

Chorus: Luntin addie, turin addie, luntin addie turin-ee
Luntin lowrin' lowrin' lowrin', the barnyards o'Delgaty!

He promised me the aye best horse that iver I set my een upon
But when I gat t'his barnyard, there's naethin' there but skin and bone

The auld black horse sat on her rump, th' auld grey mare sat on her wime
And fer all I'd whup an' crack, they wouldna rise at yokin' time

When I gang doon tae Kirk on Sunday, many's th' bonny lass I see
Sittin' by her father's side, winkin' o'er th' pews at me!

Oh I can drink and no be drunk, and I can fecht an' no be slaun,
And I can lie wi' another man's lass and still be welcome tae my own!

Noo me cannle is brunt oot, me snotter's fairly on the wane,
Fare-ye-weel ye Barnyards: Ye'll niver catch me here again!

*

BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL

Hie upon Highlands, and laigh upon Tay,
Bonnie George Campbell rode out on a day
Saddled and bridled and gallant rode he,
Hame cam his guid horse, but niver cam he!

Saddled and booted and bridled rode he
A plume tae his helmet, a sword at his knee,
But toom cam his saddle, all bluidy tae see,
Hame cam his guid horse, but niver cam he!

Doon cam his auld mithir, greetin' fu' sair,
Oot cam his bonnie wife, rievin' her hair,
"My meadows lie green, and my corn is unshorn,
My barn is tae big, and my babe is unborn!"

(repeat verse 1)

*

BORED OF THE DANCE
-The Kipper Family
recorded on "The Kipper Family-Fresh Yesterday"

(Written by George Kipper, who is Mr. Kipper's uncle, as
far as we know......)

As I walked down to the village hall
I met Charlie leanin' on the wall
"Why are you standin' out here, Char-lee?"
"Cause I am bored of the dance!" said he!

CHORUS: Dance! Dance! What -ever- do they see?
In prancin' round all the time, said he
I'll leave them all to do it without me
For I am bored of the dance, said he!

I come to the dance with my girl, he said
I told her that I'd rather go to bed,
Oh yes I'm sure you would, said she,
But first you'll come and dance with me!

She said, You'll come and dance right now!
But I weren't list'nin' when the caller told us how
They "cast left," but "right" I went
They danced on, but I ended in the "Gents'!"

I drank with the Morris-men, James and John,
They drank with me as the dance went on and on,
We drank and we drank till it all went black.
It's hard to dance when you're lyin' on your back!

Oh, how she danced on the night they were wed
She danced, he drank, and then they went to bed
I'm afraid there's no more story to be told
She was too hot, and he was out cold!

*

THE BEGGAR MAN

I am a little beggar-man, a beggin' I have been
I been three-score or more in this little Isle of green,
And I'm known from the Liffey, down to Segume,
And I'm known by the name of old Johnny Dhu!
Of all the things a-goin', sure the beggin' is the best
When an old man is tired he can sit down and rest
Beggin' for his dinner, he has nothin' else to do
Than to lie around his parlor on his old rig-a-doo!

I slept in a barn down at Currabawn
A wet night came on and I slept till the dawn
With holes in the roof, and the rain a-comin' thru
And the rats and the cats, they was playin' peek-a-boo!
When who should awaken, but the woman of the house,
With her white spotty apron and her calico blouse
She became frightened, and I said "Boo!
Arrah! Don't be afraid, ma'am, it's only Johnny Dhu!"

I met a little flaxey-haired girl one day,
"Good mornin' little flaxey-haired girl," I did say;
"Well, good mornin' little beggar-man, and how do y'do?
Wi' your rags and your tags and your old rig-a-doo?"
I'll buy a pair of buckles, and a collar and a tie,
And a nice young lady I will fetch, by and by,
Buy a pair of stockings and I'll color them blue
And an old fashioned lady I will make of you!

Over the road with me pack on me back
Over the fields wi' me great heavy sack!
With holes in me shoes, and the toes a-peekin' thru
Singin' skin-a-ma-rink-a-doodle-dum for old Johnny Dhu!
I must be goin' t'bed, for it's gettin' late at night
And the fires all banked, and out goes the light
Now you've heard the story of me old rig-a-doo,
It's goodbye and God be with ya, says old Johnny Dhu!

(Note: the melody is known also as "The Little Red-Haired Boy")

*

COME OUT YE BLACK AND TANS!

I was born on a Dublin street where the Royal drums do beat
And the loving English feet they tramped all over us
And each and every night when me father'd come home tight
He'd invite the neighbors outside with this chorus.

Chorus: Oh, come out you black and tans
Come out and fight me like a man
Show your wife how you won medals down in Flanders
Tell them how the IRA made you run like hell away
From the green and lovely lanes in Killashandra.

Come let me hear you tell how you slammed the great Pernell
When you fought them well and truely persecuted
Where are the smears and jeers that you bravely let us hear
When our heros of sixteen were executed.

Come tell us how you slew those brave arabs two by two
Like the zulu's they had spears and bows and arrows
How you bravely slew each one with your sixteen pounder gun
And you frightened them poor natives to their marrow.

The day is coming fast and the time is here at last
When each yoeman will be cast aside before us
And if there be a need sure my kids will sing God speed
With a verse of two of Steven Beehan's chorus.

*

CHILDREN OF DARKNESS
-Richard Farina
(c) copyright 1967 M. Witmark & Sons

Now is the time for your loving, dear, and time for your company.
Now that the light of reason fails, and fires burn on the sea;
Now in this age of confusion I have need of your company.

For I am a wild and lonely child, and the son of an angry man;
And now, with the high wars raging, I would offer you my hand!
For we are the children of darkness and the prey of a grim command.

It's once I was free to go roamin' in the wind of a springtime mind.
And once the clouds I sailed upon were sweet as lilac wine.
Then why have the breezes of summer, dear, been laced with a grim design?

And where was the will of my father when he raised his sword on high?
And where was my mother's wailing when our flags were justified?
And where will we take our pleasure when our bodies have been denied?

Now is the time for your loving, dear, and time for your company.
Now that the light of reason fails, and fires burn on the sea;
Now in this age of confusion I have need of your company.

*

CELTIC CIRCLE DANCE
copyright 1984 W. J. Bethancourt III
recorded: CELTIC CIRCLE DANCE
WTP-0002
tune: "Same Old Man/Leatherwing Bat"

Hi said the Norn, sittin in the sand
once I talked to a great Grey Man
spun three times and said with a sigh
hadn't been for the Runes had his other eye!

Chorus: hi diddle i diddle i day
hi diddle i diddle i diddle ay
hi di diddle i diddle i day
fol the dink a dum diddle do di day

Hi said the Lady, dressed in green
prettiest thing I've ever seen
she went down underneath the hill
and came back out of her own free will

Brian Boru, on Irish ground
walked three times the Island round
Norsemen came lookin for a fight
just another Irish Saturday night!

Hi said Lugh on the banquest night
a poet and a player and a good wheelwright
a harper and a warrior and none the least:
a Druid and he got in to the Feast!

Harold Haardrada's face was red!
Came to Britain and he wound up dead
Stamford Bridge is where he's found
got six feet of English ground

the Legion with it's Eagles bright
marched into the Pictish night
met them there upon the sand
gave em up to the Wicker Man!

eight-legged steed and hound of Hel
the one-eyed Man, he loves ya well
fire burn and fire spark
are you then feared of the dark?

The Circle forms, the Circle flows
the Circle goes where no man knows
Hail to the Lady, one in three:
Present is Past and Past is Me!

Rhiannon's Birds are still in flight
all thru the Day all thru the Night
Hail to the Lady, one in Three
Present is Past and Past is Thee!

Hi said the Lady dressed in white
sang the Day and sang the Night
sang the Land and sang the Sea
sang the Song, and then sang Me!

(extra verses) Salt and oil and mirror bright
fire and fleet and candlelight
by fin and feather, leaf and tree,
fill the cup and blessed be!

From the misty crystal sea
came the Lady to the lea
Sword and Roses in Her Hand
spread their seeds thruout the Land

Came the Stag from oaken wood
saw the Lady where she stood
by the fire burning bright
came to know his heart's delight!

(end of extra verses)

By Sword and Harp, and Irish Hound
Blessed Be: the Day I've found
Hail to the Lady, one in Three
Present is Past and Past is WE

By Oak and Ash and Holy Thorn
Blessed be the Day you're born!
Fire burn and fire bright
walk in safety thru the night

*

CAMBRIAN DREAM
-Gwydion PenDerwyn
copyright probably to Nemeton

In the mountains of Cambria, by Rhymney's bright stream
I have oft slept in heather, and dreamed a bright Dream
No mortal could wake me, nor see what I've seen
No landscape could ever compare.

'Twas the Land of my Fathers, unfettered, and free
Ere the time that the Saxon swept over the Sea
When mistletoe grew 'neath the shining Oak Tree
No landscape could ever compare!

(Chorus): Dreaming of Prydein, asleep on a hill
When I awaken, will you be there still?
Oh, Island of Poets, my dreams you can fill
But never the long waking hours.

Mighty Poets and Warriors traversed every road
Leaving stories and legends wherever they strode
Their pasts are recalled in the humblest abode
In tales of the sunnier days.

(Chorus)

Now my story is ended, my song is all gone
I have slept thru the evening, and into the dawn
Yet still, I remember your Face, Albion,
And your older, and much wiser ways!

(Chorus)
*

BOLD MARAUDER
-Richard Farina
(c) copyright 1967 Music Publishers Holding Corp.

It's hi, ho, hey, I am the bold marauder!
It's hi, ho, hey, I am the white destroyer!

For I will buy you silver and gold and I will bring you treasure
And I will bring a widowing flag and I will be your lover
And I will show you grotto and cave and sacrificial altar
And I will show you blood on the stone and I will be your mentor
And night will be our darling and fear will be our name

It's hi, ho, hey, I am the bold marauder!
It's hi, ho, hey, I am the white destroyer!

For I will take you out by the hand and lead you to the hunter
And I will show you thunder and steel and I will be your teacher
And we will dress in helmet and sword, and dip our tongues in slaughter

And we will sing a warrior's song and lift the praise of murder
And Christ will be our darling and fear will be our name

It's hi, ho, hey, I am the bold marauder!
It's hi, ho, hey, I am the white destroyer!

For I will sour the winds on high and I will soil the rivers
And I will burn the grain in the fields and I will be your mother
And I will go to ravage and kill and I will go to plunder
And I will take a Fury to wife and I will be your father
And Death will be our darling and fear will be our name

It's hi, ho, hey, I am the bold marauder!
It's hi, ho, hey, I am the white destroyer!

*

BLACK VELVET BAND

In a neat little town they call Belfast
Apprentice to trade I was bound
And many an hours sweet happiness
Have I spent in that neat little town

A sad misfortune came over me
Which caused me to stray from the land
Far away from me friends and relations
Betrayed by the black velvet band.

Chorus: Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair hung over her shoulders
Tied up with a black velvet band.

I took a stroll down Broadway
Meaning not long for to stay
When who should I meet but this pretty fair maid
Come a traipsing along the highway

She was both rare and handsome
Her neck it was just like a swan
And her hair hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band.

I took a stroll with this pretty fair maid
And a gentleman passing us by
Well, I knew she meant the doing of him
By the look in her roguish black eye

A gold watch she took from his pocket
And placed it right into me hand
And the very first thing that I said was
Bad Cess to the black velvet band.

Before the judge and the jury
Next morning I had to appear
The judge he said to me young man
Your case it is proven clear

We'll give you seven years penal servitude
To be spent very far from the land
Far away from your friends and relations
Betrayed by the black velvet band.

So come all you jolly young fellows
A warning take by me
When you are out on the town me lad
Beware of the pretty colleen

She'll feed you with strong drink me lad
Till you are unable to stand
And the very first thing that you'll know is
You've landed in Van Dieman's land.

*

THE BALL OF BALLYKNURE
(The "clean" version)
-Traditional Scots

CHORUS: Wha' do ya, lassie? and wha' do y'noo?
I'm the man what did y'last, lass, I canna do y'noo!

Oh the Ball, the Ball of Ballyknure (Kirriemuir)
Where your wife, and my wife, were doin' it on the floor!

There was doin's in the hallway, doin's on the stairs,
It was the biggest doin' there had been for years and years!

There was doin's on the sofa, there was doin's in the chair,
And when they found the trampoline, there was doin's in the air!

Several lusty wenches gathered round the door
And tripped the men as they came thru, but beat 'em to the floor!

John the Blacksmith he was there, he wouldna play the game
He did a lassie seven times, but wouldna see her hame!

Oh, the village postman he was there, but he had the Pox
He couldna' do the ladies so he did the letter-box!

The village economist, he was there, his slide rule in his hand,
Figuring out exactly when supply would meet demand.

Guid old Jock McNorris took his partner by the arm,
And grinned, and said "Another "do" won't do us any harm!"

The village pervert he was there, scratchin' at his crotch
But no one minded him at all, he was only there to watch!

The village Masochist, he was there, beggin' for some blows
The Sadist merely looked at him, and softly answered "No!"

Four and twenty virgins went down to Inverness
And when the Ball was over, there were four and twenty less!

The Queen of England she was there, backed against the wall
"Put yer money on the table, boys, I'm going ta do you all!"

And when the Ball was over, everyone confessed
The music it was wonderful, but the "doin's" were the best!

*

THE BOLD O'DONOHUGHE

Here I am from Paddy's land, a land of high renown
I broke the hearts of all the girls from miles of Keady town
And when they hear that I'm awa' they raise a hullaballoo
When they hear about the handsome lad they call O'Donoghue.

Chorus: For I'm the boy to please her and I'm the boy to tease her
And I'm the boy to squeeze her and I'll tell you what I'll do
I'll court her like an Irishman
With me brogue and blarney too is me plan
With me rollikin, swollikin, gollikin, wollikin, bold O'Donoghue.

I wish me love was a red red rose grown on yon garden wall
And me to be a dew drop and upon her brow I'd fall
Perhaps now she might think of me as a rather heavy dew
Nor more she'd love the handsome lad they call O'Donoghue.

They say that Queen Victoria has a daughter fine and grand
Perhaps she'd take it into her head to marry an Irishman
And if I could only get the chance to have a word or two
Perhaps she'd take a notion to the bold O'Donoghue.

*

THE BRAES O' KILLIECRANKIE
27 July, 1689

Where hae ye been sae braw, lad?
Where hae ye been sae brankie-o?
Where hae ye been sae braw lad?
Cam' ye by Killiecrankie-o?

Chorus: An ye had been where I had been
Ye wad na been sae cantie-o
An ye had seen what I had seen
On the braes of Killiecrankie-o!

I fought at land, I fought at sea,
At home I fought my Auntie-o;
But I met the devil, and Dundee,
On the braes of Killiecrankie-o!

The bold Pictur fell in a furr,
And Clavers got a clankie-o,
Or had I fed an Atholl gled,
On the braes of Killiecrankie-o!

Oh fie, MacKay, what gart ye lie
I' the bush ayont the brankie-o
Ye'd better kiss King Willie's loof,
Than come tae Killiecrankie-o!

It's nae shame, it's nae shame,
It's nae shame t'shank ye-o
There's sour slaes on Atholl braes,
And the De'il at Killiecrankie-o!

*

BRENNAN ON THE MOOR

'Tis of a brave young highwayman a story I will tell
His name was Willie Brennan and in Ireland he did dwell
T'was up on Killworth mountain he commenced his wild career
And many a wealthy nobleman before him shook with fear

CHORUS: And it's Brennan on the moor; Brennan on the moor,
Bold, brave and undaunted stood young Brennan on the moor!

One day upon the highway, as Willie he went down,
He spied the Mayor of Cashell, a mile outside the town
The Mayor he knew his features, and he said, "Young man!" said he
Your name is Willie Brennan, you must come along with me!

Now Brennan's wife had gone to town, provisions for to buy
When she saw her Willie taken, she began to weep and cry
Said: "Hand to me that ten-penny!" As soon as Willie spoke
She handed him a blunderbuss from underneath her cloak!

Now Brennan got his blunderbuss, the truth I will unfold
He made the Mayor to tremble, and he robbed him of his gold!
100 pounds were offered for his apprehension there,
But he, with horse and saddle to the mountains did repair

Now Brennan is an outlaw upon the mountain high
With cavalry and infantry to take him they did try
But he laughed at them and scorned at them, until it was said
By a false-hearted woman he was cruelly betrayed

They hanged Brennan at the crossroads, in chains he swung and dried
But still they say that in the night, some do see him ride
They see him with his blunderbuss, all in the midnite chill
Along, along the King's Highway rides Willie Brennan still!

*

A BUCKET OF THE MOUNTAIN DEW

Let grasses grow and waters flow in a free and easy way
But give me enough of the rare old stuff
That's made near Galway Bay
And policemen all from Donegal, Sligo and Leitrim too
We'll give them the slip and we'll take a sip
Of the real old mountain dew.

There's a neat little still at the foot of the hill
Where the smoke curls up to the sky
By a whiff of the smell you can plainly tell
That there's poteen boys close by.
For it fills the air with a perfume rare
And betwixt both me and you
As home we roll, we can drink a bowl
Or a bucketful of mountain dew.

Now learned men as use the pen
Have writ' the praises high
Of the rare poteen from Ireland green
Distilled from wheat and rye
Away with your pills, it'll cure all ills
Be ye pagan, Christian, or Jew
So take off your coat and grease your throat
With a bucket of the mountain dew.

*

BROAD BLACK BRIMMER

There's a uniform that's hanging
In what's known as Father's room;
A uniform so simple in it's style.
It has no braid of gold or silk, no hat with feathered plumes,
Yet Mother has preserved it all the while.
One day she made me try it on, a wish of mine for years,
"In memory of your father, Sean." she said.
And when I put the Sam Browne on she was smiling with the tears
As she placed the broad black brimmer on my head.

CHORUS: It's just a broad black brimmer,
With its ribbons frayed and torn
By the careless whisk of many a mountain breeze.
An old trench coat that's battle stained and worn,
And breeches almost threadbare at the knees.
A Sam Browne belt, with a buckle big and strong,
A holster that's been empty many a day...but not for long!
And when men claim Ireland's freedom,
The one they'll choose to lead 'em
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA.

It was the uniform been worn by my Father years ago
When he reached me mother's homestead on the run.
It was the uniform me Father wore in that little church below
When oul' Father Mac he blessed the pair as one.
And after Truce and Treaty and the parting of the ways
He wore it when he marched out with the rest.
And when they bore his body down the rugged heather braes
They placed the broad black brimmer on his breast.

*

CARRICKFERGUS

I wish I was in Carrickfergus
only for nights in Ballygran
I would swim over the deepest ocean
only for nights in Ballygran.
But the sea is wide and I cannot swim over
and neither have I the wings to fly
I wish I had a handsome boatman
to ferry me over my love and I.

Now in Kilkenny, it is reported
on marble stones there as black as ink
With gold and silver I would support her
but I'll sing no more now till I get a drink
I'm drunk today, and I'm seldom sober
a handsome rover from town to town
Ah, but I'm sick now my days are numbered
come all you young men and lay me down.

*

CAM YE O'ER FRAE FRANCE?
(circa 1715/1745)

Cam ye o'er frae France? Cam y'doon by Lunnon?
Saw ye Geordie Whelps and his bonny woman?
Were ye at the place, ca'd the Kittle Hoosie
Saw ye Geordie's Grace ridin' on a Goosie?

Geordie he's a man, there's little doubt about it
He's done all he can; wha' can do without it?
Down there cam a blad, linkin' like my lordie;
He wad drive a trade at the loom of Geordie.....

Though the claith were bad, blithely may we niffer
Gin we git a wab, it makes little differ.
We hae tint our plaid, bonnet, belt and swordie,
Ha's and mailin's braid: but we hae a Geordie!

Jocky's gone tae France, and Montgomery's lady;
There they'll learn tae dance: Madam are ye ready?
They'll be back belyve, belted, brisk and lordly;
Brawly may they thrive tae dance a jig w'Geordie....

Hey for Sandy Don! Hey for Cockalorum!
Hey for Bobbing John, and his Highland quorum!
Mony a sword and lance swings at Highland hurdie
How they'll skip and dance ower the bum of Geordie....!

*

THE CHILL EASTERN WINDS
-Andy Stewart

Prepare you sweet flowers, for winter advances
And drink well the sunlight that touches your form
Draw strength from the Earth, and repay her with beauty
For the dark days are comin', oh, and they'll do y'harm

CHORUS: When the chill eastern winds replace summer breezes
And the long summer days are remembered no more
Then you'll know how it feels when a woman's love changes
When at last she has told you she loves you no more

I saw her today when she walked with her new love
In all the fine places that we'd walked before
They kissed by the rocks where she told me she loved me
And soon she'll be using those same words once more

There's none that could blame me for wanting her beauty
But it lies like a snowflake in the hands of a child
When the warmth of my love tried to reach out and hold her
It's then she was gone, to prove she's still wild

*

COCKLES AND MUSSELS
(Molly Malone)

In Dublin's fair city where the girls are so pretty
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone
As she wheels her wheel barrow
through the streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive alive-o.

Chorus: Alive alive-o, alive alive-o
Crying cockles and mussels alive alive-o.

She was a fishmonger but sure 'twas no wonder
For so were her Father and Mother before
And they both wheeled their barrow
through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive alive-o.

She died of a fever and no one could save her
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone
But her ghost wheels her barrow
through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive alive-o.

*

CONTINENTAL CEILIDH
-Christy Moore

Over in McCann's there's a grand type of dance band a'playin'
And they're spinning out the continental ceilidh
They're comin' in their cars from the bars Over in Leister and Killane
Just to hear the famous Gunter Reynolds playing
Out the star of Munster with Hans O'Donahue
Neatly rappin' out a tango on the spoons
Such commotion will act like a lotion on the struttin'
At the continental ceilidh tonight.

Wolfgang's playin' on the comb someone shouts at him: "go home!"
Klaus is playin' a slow air on the bodran
Quinn from Corofin his fiddle tucked beneath his chin
S-s-h-h He's goin' to play the "Bogs of Oranmore" now
An old fashioned lady begins to sing a song
Ah, lads, a bit of order over there
Clarinbridge for the chowder keep your powder dry
At the continental ceilidh tonight.

Ciaran closes his eye's pretends he's in disguise
When he sees an old flame comin over
He's singing for the Swedes in their tweeds
Doin' all he can to please
The night's at such a delicate stage
Later on he'll give an audience to one of them or two
He'll sing the Dyin' Swan to touch their feelin's
Tonight's his night and tomorrow night will be just the same.

Ada let me out to the bar where the boys are goin' far
And they're spinnin' out the continental ceili
Never mind the liquor the music's in my soul
So long as I can hear the band a'playin'
The pipes and the flutes and the fiddles are in tune
Whoo, I'd love to meet a European girl
Ada now me head is goin' light and the band is playin' tight
At the continental ceilidh tonight.

All the publicans are there it's like a hirin' fair
Tryin' to figure out how much McCann is makin'
To keep their pubs outta stubs, they're lashin' out big subs
In a burst of fierce anticipation
Moguls from Mukhill are starin' at the till
Tryin' to get a low down on the line up
They'll be buyin' free porter for members of the band
At the continental ceilidh tonight.

*

COURTIN' IN THE KITCHEN

Come single belle and beau, unto me pay attention
Don't ever fall in love, tis the devil's own invention
For once I fell in love with a maiden so bewitchin'
Miss Henrietta Bell down in Captain Kelly's Kitchen.

Chorus: With me too-rah-loo-rah-lay, me too-rah-loo-rah-laddie
With me too-rah-loo-rah-lay, me too-rah-loo-rah-laddie

At the age of seventeen I was 'prenticed to a grocer
Not far from Stephen's Green where Miss Henri used to go sir
Her manners were so fine, she set me heart a twitchin'
When she invited me to a hooley in the kitchen.

Sunday being the day we were to have the flare up
I dressed meself quite gay and I frizzed an oiled me hair up
The captain had no wife and he'd gone off a fishin'
So we kicked up the highlife below the stairs in the kitchen.

With me arms around her waist, she slyly hinted marriage
When to the door in haste came Captain Kelly's carriage
Her looks told me full well and they were not bewitchin'
That she wished I'd get to hell, or somewhere from the kitchen.

She flew up off my knees, full five feet up or higher
And over head and heels threw me slap into the fire!
My new Repealer's coat, that I bought from Mr. Stichen
With a thirty-shilling note, went to blazes in the kitchen.

I grieved to see my duds, all besmeared with smoke and ashes
When a tub of dirty suds right in my face she dashes
As I lay on the floor still the water she kept pitchin'
'Till the footman broke the door, and marched down into the
kitchen.

When the Captain came downstairs though he seen me situation
Despite all me prayers I was marched off to the station
For me they'd take no bail though to get home I was itchin'
And I had to tell the tale how I came in to the kitchen.

I said she did invite me, but she gave a flat denial
For assault she did indite me and I was sent for trial
She swore I'd robbed her house in spite of all her screechin'
And I got six months hard for me courtin' in the kitchen.

*

DUNDEE CAT

In an attic room in Dundee town
This poor old woman spread the tale around
She lived fifty years in her old top flat
With no other company than her old tom cat
Well, I hope so, say so, fifty years in an old top flat...

Chorus: Poor old woman, la-la-la-la-la-la-la....eh,eh.

Now one night they sat by the fire quite glum
When who do you think come down her lum (chimney)
I'm your fairy Godmother, have no fear
To grant three wishes they sent me here
Well, I hope so, say so, I'm your fairy Godmother have no fear...

The old woman looked down at her empty purse
I could always use some cash of course
The fairy waved her wand around
And lying on the floor was a thousand pounds
Well, I hope so, say so, the fairy waved her wand around...

Now a lovely face and a figure divine
For just one night I wish were mine
The fairy says I'll have a go
She made her look like Bridgette Bardot
Well, I hope so, say so, the fairy says I'll have a go...

This lovely girl by the fire she sat
She turned her attention to the old tom cat
He's my only love and here's my plan
Tonight change the cat into a handsome man
Well, I hope so, say so, he's my only love and here's my plan...

This handsome man at last drew near
And her whispered softly in her ear
The night is young but you'll regret
the day you sent me to the vet...!!!

*

DONALD MAC GILLAVRY
(circa 1715/1745)

Donald's gane up the hill hard and hungry,
Donald's come doon th' hill, wild and angry!
Donald will clear the gouk's nest cleverly;
Here's to the King and Donald MacGillavry!
Come like a weighbauk, Donald MacGillavry!
Come like a weighbauk, Donald MacGillavry!
Balance them fair, and balance them cleverly!
Off wi' the counterfeit, Donald MacGillavry!

Donald's run o'er the hill but wi' his tether, man,
As he were wud, or stang'd wi'an ether, man,
When he comes back, there's some will look merrily!
Here's t'King James and Donald MacGillavry!
Come like a weaver, Donald MacGillavry!
Come like a weaver, Donald MacGillavry!
Pack on your back, and elwand sae cleverly;
Gi' them full measure. my Donald MacGillavry!

Donald has foughten wi' rief and wi' rougery;
Donald has dinner'd wi' banes and beggary,
Better it were for Whigs and Whiggery:
Meetin' the Devil, than Donald MacGillavry!
Come like a tailor, Donald MacGillavry!
Come like a tailor, Donald MacGillavry!
Push about, in and out, thimble them cleverly!
Here's tae King James and Donald MacGillavry!

Donald's the callan that brooks nae tangleness;
Whigging and prigging, and a' newfangledness;
They maun be gane; he winna be baukit, man;
He maun hae Justice, or, faith, he'll take it, man!
Come like a cobbler, Donald MacGillavry!
Come like a cobbler, Donald MacGillavry!
Beat them, and bore them, and lingel them cleverly!
Up wi' King James, and Donald MacGillavry!

Donald was mumpit wi' mirds and mockery,
Donald was blinded wi' blads o'property;
Arles ran high, but makin's were naethin', man!
Lord, how Donald is flyin' and frettin', man!
Come like the devil, Donald MacGillavry!
Come like the devil, Donald MacGillavry!
Skelp them and scaud them that proved sae unbritherly!
Up wi' King James and Donald MacGillavry!

*

DANNY BOY

Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling,
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling,
It's you, it's you must go, and I must bide!
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
Oh, come ye back, in sunshine or in shadow
Oh, Danny boy, oh, Danny boy, I love you so!

And if you come when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.
And I shall hear, tho soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warmer, sweeter be
If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me
I'll sleep in peace, until you come to me!

*

I'M A DARLIN'
-Anonymous
(Tune: "Dublin City")

As I walked out of Chester city
At the late hour of the night
Who should I see but a fair young maiden
Washing her clothes by the clear moonlight

CHORUS: Madam, I'm a darlin', a die-ro-dither-o
Madam, I'm a darlin', a die-ro-day

First she washed and then she squeezed them
And then she hung them out to dry
And then she folded up her arms saying
O what a fair young girl am I

O, going to the well to fetch some water
Fetching it back to make some cheese
She fell under and I fell over
And all the game was above her knee

Madam I will tie your garter,
I will tie it above your knee
And if you like I'll tie it up farther
'Cause madam I'm a die-row-day

Have you ever heard of cups and saucers
Rattling round an old tin can
have you ever heard of a fair young girl
Married to an ugly grey old man

Madam you may have the gold and silver
Madam you may have the tracts of land
You may have ships all on the ocean
But what you need now is a canny young man

*

DINNY THE PIPER
-Traditional (?)
Recorded by Andy M. Stewart "Dublin Lady" Green Linnet CSIF 1083

In the year '98, when our troubles were great
It was treason to be a Milesian.
And the black-whiskers said we would never forget
And our history shows they were Hessians.
And in these troubled times, it was a great crime
And martyrdom never was riper
Near the town of Glenshee, not an acre from Meath,
Lived one Denny Burns, the Piper!

Neither weddin' nor wake would be worth a shake
If Denny was first not invited.
For at squeezin' the bag, or emptyin' the keg,
He astonished as well as delighted!
But in these times Denny could not earn a penny,
Martial Law had him stung like a viper!
And it kept him within till the bones of his skin
Grinned thru the rags of the piper!

Now one day it did dawn, as Denny crept home,
Back from a fair at Lethangin,
When what should he see, from the branch of a tree,
But the corpse of a Hessian, there hangin'!
Says Denny, "These rogues have got boots, I've no brogues!"
He took hold of the boots wi' a griper,
And the boots were so tight, and he pulled with such might,
Legs and all come away with the piper!

Ah, then Denny did run for fear of bein' hung
Til he came to Tim Haley's cabin.
Says Tim from within, "I can't let ye in!
Ye'll be shot if you're caught out there rappin'!"
So he went to the shed where the cow was in bed,
He began with a whisper to wipe her,
And they lay down together, in seven foot of heather,
And the cow took to huggin' the piper!

Well the day it wore on, and Denny did yawn,
And he stripped off the boots from the Hessian!
And the legs, for the law, he just left in the straw,
And he slipped home with his new possessions!
Now breakfast bein' done, Tim sent his young son
To get Denny up like a lamplighter,
And the legs there he saw; he flew up like a jackdaw!
And said "Daddy, the cow's et the piper!"

Ah, bad luck to that beast, she's no musical taste!
To eat such a jolly old chanter!
Ah, faugh! We'll evict! Take a lump of a stick!
Drive her off, down the road and we'll canter!
Well the neighbors were called, Mrs. Kennedy bawled,
She began for to humbug and jiper,
And in sorrow they met, and their whistles they wet,
And like devils, lamented the piper!

And the cow she was drove a mile or two off,
And they came to a fair at Killaley.
And there she was sold for four guineas of gold
To the clerk of the parish, John Daley.
And they went to the tent where the pennies were spent,
Tim bein' a jolly old swiper,
And who should be there, playin' a rake-sickal tear,
Just your bold Denny Burns, the piper!

Ah, then Tim give a jolt like a half-drunken colt,
And he stares at the piper like a gammick!
I thought, by the Powers, for the last sev'ral hours,
You were playin' in the old cow's stomach!
Well when Denny observed that the Hessian's been served
Began just to humbug and jiper,
Oh, in grandeur they met, and their whistles they wet,
And like devils they danced round the piper!

*

FOUR GREEN FIELDS
-Tommy Makem

What did I have said the fine old woman
What did I have this proud old woman did say
I had four green fields, each one was a jewel
But strangers came they tried to take them from me
I had fine strong sons they fought to save my jewels
They fought and they died, and that was my grief said she.

Long time ago, said the fine old woman
Long time ago this proud old woman did say
There was war and death, plundering and killing
My people starved by mountain, valley, and sea
And their wailing cried, they reached the very heavens
And my four green fields ran red with their blood said she.

What have I now? said the fine old woman
What have I now? This proud old woman did say
I have four green fields one of them's in bondage
In strangers hands that tried to take it from me
But my sons they have sons, as brave as were their fathers
And my four green fields will bloom once again said she.

*

THE FOGGY DEW

As down the glen one Easter morn
to a city fair rode I
There armed lines of marching men
in squadrons passed me by
No pipes did hum, no battle drum
did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey swell
rang out in the Foggy Dew.

Right proudly high in Dublin town
they flung out the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky
than at Suvla or Sud El Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath
strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's huns with their great big guns
sailed in through the Foggy Dew.

Oh, the night fell black and the rifles crack
made "Perfidious Albion" reel
'Mid the leaden rail, seven tongues of flame
did shine o'er the lines of steel
By each shining blade, a prayer was said
that to Ireland her sons be true
And when morning broke still the war flag shook
out its fold in the Foggy Dew.

'Twas England bade our Wild Geese go
that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves
or the fringe of the Great North Sea
Oh had they died by Pearse's side,
or had fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we'd keep where the Fenians sleep,
'neath the shroud of the Foggy Dew.

But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell
rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that watertide
in the springtime of the year
While the world did gaze, with deep amaze,
at those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that Freedom's light
might shine through the Foggy Dew.

Ah, back through the glen I rode again,
and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men
whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go
and I'd kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled, O glorious dead,
when you fell in the Foggy Dew.

*

FIDDLER'S GREEN

As I went a walking one evening so rare
To view the still waters and taste the salt air
I heard an old fisherman singing this song
Sayin', "Take me away boys, my time is not long.

CHORUS: Wrap me up in me oil skins and blankets
No more on the docks I'll be seen
Just tell me old shipmates, I'm takin' a trip mates
And I'll see you someday on fiddler's green."

Now fiddler's green is a place I've heard tell
Where fishermen go if they don't go to hell
Where the weather is fair and the dolphins do play
And the cold coast of Greenland is far far away.

Where the weather is fair and there's never a gale
Where the fish jump on board with a swish of their tail
You lie at your leisure there's no work to do
While the skipper's below makin' tea for the crew.

I don't need a harp nor a halo not me
Just give me a breeze and a good rollin' sea
I'll play me old squeeze box as we sail along
And the wind in the riggin' will sing me this song.

*

THE FIELDS OF ATHENRY

By a lonely prison wall I heard a young girl callin'
Michael they have taken you away
For you stole Trevelyn's corn
So the young might see the morn
Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay.

Chorus: Low lie the fields of Athenry,
Where once we watched the small free bird fly
Our love was on the wing, we had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry.

By a lonely prison wall I heard a young man calling
Nothing matters, Mary, when you're free
Against the famine and the Crown
I rebelled they cut me down
Now you must raise our child with dignity.

By a lonely harbour wall she watched the last star falling
As that prison ship sailed out against the sky
For she'll live in hope and pray
For her love in Botany Bay
It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry.

*

FINNIGAN'S WAKE

Tim Finnigan lived on Walker Street
A gentle Irishman, mighty odd
He'd a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet
And to rise in the world he carried a hod
You see he'd sort of a tipplin' way
With a love for the liquor poor Tim was born
To help him on with his work each day
He'd a drop of the creatur every morn.

Chorus: Whack for the da' now dance to your partner
Round the floor your trotter's shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you
Lot's o' fun at Finnigan's wake.

One morning Tim was rather full
His head felt heavy which made him shake
He fell from the ladder and he broke his skull
So they carried him home his corpse to wake
They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet
They laid him out upon the bed
With a gallon of whiskey at his feet
And a bottle of porter at his head.

His friends assembled at the wake
And Mrs. Finnigan called for lunch
First they brought in tea and cake,
Then pipe tobacco and whiskey punch
Biddie O'Brien began to cry,
"Such a nice clean corpse did you ever see
Aye Tim, mavourneen, why did ya die?"
"Ah, hold your gob!" says Paddie McGee.

Then Biddie O'Connor took up the job
"Oh, Biddie," says she, "You're wrong I'm sure."
Biddie gave her a belt in the gob
And she left her sprawlin' on the floor
Then the war did soon engage
Twas woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh-law was all the rage
And the row and eruption soon began.

Then Micky Maloney raised his head
When a noggin of whiskey flew at him
It missed him fallin' on the bed
The liquor scattered over Tim
Tom revives see how he rises
Timothy risin' from the bed
Sayin' "Whirl your whiskey round like blazes!
Thanum an Diall! Did you think I'm dead?"

*

FOLLOW ME UP TO CARLOW
-Patrick J. McCall ca. 1890
Melody dates from pre-1500's

Lift Mac Cahir Og your face, brooding o'er the old disgrace
That black FitzWilliam stormed your place, and drove you to the Fern
Grey said victory was sure, soon the firebrand he'd secure
Until he met at Glenmalure: Feach Mac Hugh O'Byrne!

CHORUS: Curse and swear, Lord Kildare! Feach will do what Feagh will
dare
Now FitzWilliam, have a care! Fallen is your star, low!
Up with halberd, out with sword! On we go, for by the Lord,
Feach Mac Hugh has given his word: "Follow me up to Carlow!"

See the swords of Glen Imayle, flashing o'er the English Pale!
See all the children of the Gael beneath O'Byrne's banners!
Rooster of the fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock? Fly up and teach him manners!

From Tassagart to Clonmore flows a stream of Saxon gore
Och, great is Rory Og O'More at sending loons to Hades!
White is sick and Lane is fled, now for black FitzWilliam's head!
We'll send it over, dripping red, to Liza and her ladies!

*

GALWAY BAY

If you ever go across the sea to Ireland
Then maybe at the closing of your day
You will sit and watch the moon rise over Claddagh
And see the sun go down on Galway Bay

Just to hear again the ripple of the trout stream
The women in the meadows making hay
And to sit beside a turf fire in the cabin
And watch the barefoot gosoons at their play.

For the breezes blowing over the seas from Ireland
Are perfumed by the heather as it blows
And the women in the uplands diggin' praties
Speak a language that the strangers do not know

For the strangers came and tried to teach us their way
They scorn'd us just for being what we are
But they might as well go chasing after moonbeams
Or light a penny candle from a star.

And if there is going to be a life hereafter
And somehow I am sure there's going to be
I well ask my God to let me make my heaven
In that dear land across the Irish sea.

*

THE GOLDEN APPLES OF THE SUN
-Wm. Butler Yeats

I went out to the hazel - wood
Because a fire was in my head
Cut and peeled a hazel - wand
Tied a berry to a thread
And when white moths were on the wing
And moth - white stars were flickering out
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout..........

I had but laid it on the bank
And gone to blow the fire a-flame
Something rustled in the air
Something called me by my name!
It had become a glimmering Girl
With apple - blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name, and ran
And vanished in the brightening air........

Though I am old, with wandering
Thru hilly lands, and hollow lands;
I'll find out where she has gone
To seek her lips, to take her hands-
And walk thru long green dappled grass;
To pluck 'til Time, and times are done:
The Silver Apples of the Moon;
The Golden Apples of the Sun...............

*

GOLDEN, GOLDEN
-Andy Stewart

G Bm C G
Slowly, slowly, walk the path,
G Em Am7 D7
And you might never stumble or fall
G Bm C G
Slowly, slowly walk the path,
G Am7 D7 G
And you might never fall in love at all

CHORUS: Golden, golden is her hair
Like the mornin' sun over the fields of corn.
Golden, golden, flows her love,
So sweet, and clean, and warm!

Lonely, lonely is the heart
That never another can call it's own
Lonely, lonely lies the part
That has to live all alone.

Wildly, wildly beats the heart
With a rush of love like a mountain stream
Wildly, wildly, play your part
As free as a wild bird's dream!

*

<end part 1 of 4>
<the end>
Edited by Mark S. Harris SI-songbook1-art

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<BODY><PRE>SI-songbook2-art - 9/17/00

A Collection of Scottish and Irish songs, compiled by Ioseph of Locksley.
This songbook is divided into four parts for ease of downloading. You
are reading part 2 of 4.

NOTE: Also see the files: p-songs-msg, song-sources-msg, songs-msg, songs2-msg,
harps-msg, guitar-art, drums-msg, bardic-msg, Bardic-Guide-art.

************************************************************************
NOTICE -

This file is a collection of various messages having a common theme that
I have collected from my reading of the various computer networks. Some
messages date back to 1989, some may be as recent as yesterday.

This file is part of a collection of files called Stefan's Florilegium.
These files are available on the Internet at: http://www.florilegium.org

I have done a limited amount of editing. Messages having to do with
seperate topics were sometimes split into different files and sometimes
extraneous information was removed. For instance, the message IDs were
removed to save space and remove clutter.

The comments made in these messages are not necessarily my viewpoints. I
make no claims as to the accuracy of the information given by the
individual authors.

Please respect the time and efforts of those who have written these
messages. The copyright status of these messages is unclear at this
time. If information is published from these messages, please give
credit to the orignator(s).

Thank you,
Mark S. Harris AKA: Lord Stefan li Rous
mark.s.harris@motorola.com stefan@florilegium.org
************************************************************************

From: beudach@aol.com (Lord Graeme O'Baoighill)
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Subject: Graeme's Aforementioned Songbook
Date: 27 Mar 1995 16:10:41 GMT
Organization: Duchy Tarragon

A COLLECTION OF SCOTTISH AND IRISH SONGS

compiled and transcribed by Joe Bethancourt
=========================================================================

<part 2 of 4>

GLENWHORPLE (THE "G" SONG)
-Traditional

There's a braw fine clan o' lads as ilka man should ken
They are de'ils at the fichtin, they hae clured a sicht o' men
They hae suppit muckle whiskey when to ceildh theu gang ben
The heilan men of braw Glenwhorple.

CHORUS: HEUGHT! Glenwhorple, Heilan' men,
Great strong whuskey-suckin' Heilan' men
They were hard-workin', hairy legged, Heilan' men,
Slainte mhor, Glenwhorple.

They were founded by McAdam who of all the men was first
He resided in Glen Eden and he pipit fit tae burst
Wi' a fig-leaf for a sporran and a perfect Heilan' thirst
Till he stole away the apple from Glenwhorple

When the waters o' the deluge drookit all the whole world o'er
The chieftain of the clan y'know his name was Sean McNoah
So a muckle boat he biggit and he sneckit up the door
And he sailed away from drooned Glenwhorple

McNoah sent a piper out to see if there was land
He came back wi' an empty whuskey bottle in each hand
But they couldna comprehend him, he was fu', ye understand
For he found a public house aboon the water

There was a jock named Joshua, a Sapper he by trade
He went awa' to Jericho aboon a muckle raid
And the walls they went a-tumblin', and with loot the lads were paid
For the sappin' and the minin' in Glenwhorple.

When wise King Solomon was ruler o'er the glen
He had a hundred pipers and a thousand fichtin' men
And ten thousand wives and concubines, for as I'm sure ye ken
He kept a pow'rful household in Glenwhorple

O there was a birkie bangster was the ruler o'er the clan
Well his name it was t'Wallace and he was a fichtin' man
And he went about the border and the Southron turned and ran
From the dingin' of the claymore in Glenwhorple

Many o' the clansmen went and left their heilan' home
They loaded up on ships, aboot the world t'roam
They were lookin' for a special place to call their very own
That's how (insert name) became Glenwhorple

O what a sight this morning wi' the clan all on parade
Wi' the claymore and the pipers and the braw Glenwhorple plaid
And the pipey almost sober, and the chieftain no' afraid
O' seein' tartan spiders in Glenwhorple

REPEAT CHORUS TWICE TO END

*

THE GREEN FIELDS OF FRANCE
(WILLIE MC BRIDE)
Eric Bogle

Well, how do you do, young Willie McBride?
Do you mind if I sit here down by your grave side
And rest for a while 'neath the warm summer sun
I've been working all day and I'm nearly done
I see by your grave stone you were only nineteen
When you joined the great fallen in nineteen sixteen
I hope you died well and I hope you died clean
Or, young Willie McBride, was is slow and obscene?

Chorus: Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the dead march as they lowered you down
And did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest?

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined
Although you died back in nineteen sixteen
In that faithful heart are you forever nineteen
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Enclosed and forever behind the glass frame
In an old photograph, torn and battered and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame.

The sun now it shines on the green fields of France
There's a warm summer breeze it makes the red poppies dance
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds
There's no gas, no barbed wire, there's no guns firing now
But here in this graveyard it's still no mans land
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
To mans blind indifference to his fellow man
To a whole generation that were butchered and damned.

Now young Willie McBride I can't help but wonder why
Do all those who lie here know why they died
And did they believe when they answered the cause
Did they really believe that this war would end wars
Well, the sorrows, the suffering, the glory, the pain
The killing and dying was all done in vain
For young Willie McBride it all happened again
And again, and again, and again, and again.

*

THE GALWAY RACES

As I rode down to Galway town to seek for recreation
On the seventeenth of August me mind being elevated
There were multitudes assembled with their tickets at the station
Me eyes began to dazzle and I'm goin' to see the races.

Chorus: With your whack-fa-the-da-for-the-diddle-ee-iddle-day.

There were passengers from Limerick and passengers from Nenagh
And passengers from Dublin and sportsmen from Tipperary
There were passengers from Kerry, and all quarters of our nation
And our member, Mr. Hearst, for to join the Galway Blazers.

There were multitudes from Aran, and members from New Quay Shore
Boys from Connemara and the Claire unmarried maidens
There were people from Cork city, who were loyal, true and faithful;
Who brought home the Fenian prisoners from diverse foreign nations.

It's there you'll see confectioners with sugarsticks and dainties
The lozenges and oranges, the lemonade and raisins!
The gingerbread and spices to accomodate the ladies
And a big crubeen for thruppence to be pickin' while you're able.

It's there you'll see the gamblers, the thimbles and the garters
And the spotting Wheel of Fortune with the four and twenty quarters
There was others without scruple pelting wattles at poor Maggy
And her father well-contented and he lookin' at his daughter.

It's there you'll see the pipers and the fiddlers competing
The nimble footed dancers a-tripping over the daisies
There were others crying cigars and lights and bills for all the
races
With the colors of the jockeys and the prize and horses' ages.

It's there you'll see the jockeys and they're mounted out so stately
The pink, the blue, the orange, and green, the emblem of our nation
When the bell was rung for starting, all the horses seemed impatient
I thought they never stood on ground their speed was so amazing.

There was half a million people there from all denominations
The Catholic, the Protestant, the Jew, and Presbyterian
There was yet no animosity, no matter what persuasion
But "failte" and hospitality inducin' fresh acquaintance.

*

HARD TIMES OF OLD ENGLAND
-Traditional

Come all brother tradesmen who travel along,
I pray, come and tell me where the trade is all gone
Long time have I travelled, and I cannot find none

CHORUS: And it's oh, the hard times of old England
In old England very hard times!

Provisions you buy at the shop, it is true
But if you've no money, there's none there for you
So what is a poor man, and his family to do?

You will go to the shop where you'll ask for a job
They'll answer you there with a shake and a nod
Well, that is enough to make a man turn and rob!

You will see the poor tradesmen a-walking the streets
From morning to night their employment to seek
And scarce do they have any shoes on their feet

Our soldiers and sailors have just come from war
And fighting for Queen and for Country this year
Come home to be starved, should have stayed where they were

And now to conclude and to finish my song
Let us hope that these hard times, they will not last long
I hope soon to have occasion to alter my song

And sing: Oh, the good times of old England
In old England, jolly good times!

*

WITH HER HEAD TUCKED UNDERNEATH HER ARM
-Author Unknown
-recorded by the Kingston Trio

(Intro): In the Tower of London, large as life,
The ghost of Anne Boleyn walks, they declare!
Poor Anne Boleyn was once King Henry's wife,
Until he made the Headsman bob her hair!
Ah yes, he did her long, long years ago!
And she comes back a night to tell him so!

(CHORUS): With her head tucked underneath her arm
She walks the Bloody Tower!
With her head tucked underneath her arm
At the midnight hour!

Through the dusty corridors for miles and miles she goes
She often catches cold, poor thing, it's cold there when it blows
And it's awfully awfully awkward for the Queen to blow her nose
With her head tucked underneath her arm!

CHORUS

She's looking for King Henry and she'll give him what-for!
Gadzooks! She's awfully mad at him for having spilled her gore!
And just in case the Headsman wants to give her an encore...
She's got her head tucked underneath her arm!

CHORUS

Once she met King Henry, he was in the Canteen Bar,
He said "Are you Jane Seymor, Anne Bolyn or Katherine Parr?"
"How in Heaven's name am I to know just who you are?
With your head tucked underneath your arm !!!!!"

The Sentries think that it's a football that she carries in
And when they've had a few they shout: "Is Army going to win?"
They think that it's Red Grange instead of poor old Anne Boleyn
With her head tucked underneath her arm!

(Reprise Intro):

Sometimes Good King Henry gives a spread
For all his pals and gals, a ghastly crew!
The Headsman carves the joint, and cuts the bread,
Then in comes Anne Boleyn to queer the do!
She holds her head up with a wild war-whoop!
And Henry cries: "Don't drop it in the soup!"

CHORUS

*

THE HIGHWAYMAN

Lyrics: Alfred Noyes
Melody: Phil Ochs

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding-
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn yard
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and
barred;
He whistled a tune to the window and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter
Plaiting a red love-knot into her long black hair.

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight, watch for me by moonlight,
I will come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching, marching, marching-
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn door.

They tied her up to attention, with many a sickening jest,
And they bound a musket beside her, with the barrel to her breast.
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man
say,
"Look for me by moonlight, watch for me by moonlight,
I will come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

"Look for me by moonlight." The hoof-beats ringing clear.
"Watch for me by moonlight." Were they deaf they did not hear?
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight, her musket shattered the
moonlight
Shattered her breast in the moonlight, and warned him - with her death.

He turned, he spurred him westward; he did not know who stood
Bowed with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood.
Not 'til the dawn he heard it; his face grew gray to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter, the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love by moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier brandished high!
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet
coat,
When they shot him down on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his
throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding, riding, riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn door......

*

THE HOLY GROUND

Fare thee well my lovely Dinah, a thousand times adieu
For we're going away from the holy ground and the girls we all love true
We will sail the salt seas over and we'll return for sure,
To see again the girls we love, and the holy ground once more

CHORUS: (shout:) FINE GIRL YOU ARE!
You're the girl I do adore!
And still I live in hopes to see
The holy ground once more
shout:) FINE GIRL YOU ARE!

And now the storm is raging and we are far from shore
The poor old ship is tossing about and the rigging is all torn
And the secret of my mind my love, you're the girl I do adore
And still I live in hopes to see the holy ground once more

And now the storm is over and we are safe and well
We'll go into a public house and sit and drink our fill
We will drink strong ale and porter, and we'll make the rafters roar
And when our money is all spent we will go to sea once more

*

HO-RO, MY NUT BROWN MAIDEN

CHORUS: Ho ro, my nut brown maiden!
Hee ree, my nut brown maiden!
Ho ro, ro. maiden!
For she's the maid for me!

Her eye so mildly beamin' And since from thee I parted
Her look so frank and free A long and weary while
In wakin' and in dreamin' I wander, heavy hearted,
Is ever more with me! With longin' for thy smile

Oh, Mary, mild eyed Mary The face with kindness glowin'
By land or on the sea, The face that hides no guile
Though time and tide may vary, The light grace of thy goin'
My heart beats true to thee! The witchcraft of thy smile!

With thy fair face before me Mine eyes that never vary
How sweetly flew the hour From pointin' tae the glen
When all thy beauty o'er me Where blooms my Highland Mary
Came streamin' in its' power! Like wild rose 'neath the ben

And when with blossoms laden
Bright summer comes again,
I'll fetch my nut brown maiden
Down from the bonny glen!

*

I'LL TELL ME MA
(STREET SONG MEDLEY)

I'll tell me ma when I go home
The boys won't leave the girls alone
They pulled my hair and they stole my comb
Well that's all right till I go home
She is handsome, she is pretty,
She is the belle of Belfast City
She is counting..one, two, three!
Please won't you tell me, who is she.

Albert Mooney says he loves her
All the boys are fighting for her
They knock at the door and they ring at the bell
Sayin', "Oh my true love, are you well?"
Out she comes as white as snow
Rings on her fingers, bells on her toes
Old Johnny Murray says she'll die
If she doesn't get the fellow with the rovin' eye.

Let the wind and the rain and the hail blow high
And the snow come tumblin' from the sky
She's as nice as apple pie,
She'll get her own lad by and by
When she gets a lad of her own,
She won't tell her ma when she comes home
Let them all come as they will
For it's Albert Mooney she loves still.

(Wall Flower)

Wall flower, wall flower, growing up so high
He's got the measles, he'll never ever die
We'll go to Annie Kelly's house, she has no relations
She will tick and tack and turn (her back)
And kiss the congregations.

(When I was Young)

When I was young I had no sense
I bought a fiddle for eighteen pence
The only tune that I could play
Was over the hills and very far away.

Chorus: So early in the morning, early in the morning
So early in the morning before the break of day.

*

I'M A ROVER

Chorus: I'm a rover, seldom sober,
I'm a rover of high degree
For when I'm drinking I'm always thinking
How to gain my love's company.

Though the night be dark as dungeon
Not a star to be seen above
I will be guided without a stumble
Into the arms of my own true love

He stepped up to her bedroom window,
Kneeling gently upon a stone
He rapped at her bedroom window
"Darling dear, do you lie alone?

It's only me, your own true lover,
Open the door and let me in
For I have come on a long journey
And I'm near drenched to the skin!"

She opened the door with the greatest pleasure
She opened the door and she let him in
They both shook hands and embraced each other
Until the morning they lay as one.

The cocks were crawing the birds were whistling
The streams they ran free about the brae.
Remember lass, I'm a ploughboy laddie
And the farmer I must obey.

Now, my love, I must go and leave thee
And though the hills they are high above
But I will climb them with greater pleasure
Since I've been in the arms of my love.

*

IRISH SOLDIER BOY

At a cottage door one winters' night
As the snow lay on the ground
Stood a youthful Irish soldier boy
To the mountains he was bound
His mother stood beside him saying
You'll win my boy don't fear
With loving arms around his waist
She tied his bandolier.

Good bye, God bless you mother dear
I hope your heart won't pain
But pray to God that you should see
Your soldier boy again
And when I'm out in the firing line
It will be a source of joy
For you to know that you're remembering still
Your Irish Soldier boy.

And when the fighting it was o'er
And the flag of truce was raised
The leaders ordered fire to cease
All Ireland stood amazed
His comrades came to the cottage door
With a note from her pride and joy
With an aching heart she cried God be good
To her Irish soldier boy.

Good-bye, God bless you mother dear
I'm dying a death so grand
From wounds received in action
Trying to free my native land
I hope we'll meet in heaven above
In that land beyond the sky
Where you'll always be in company with
Your Irish soldier boy.

*

IRISH SOLDIER LADDIE

'Twas a morning in July, I was walking to Tipperary
When I heard a battle cry from the mountains over head
As I looked up in the sky I saw an Irish soldier laddie
He looked at me right fearlessly and said:

Chorus: Will ye stand in the band like a true Irish man,
And go and fight the forces of the crown?
Will ye march with O'Neill to an Irish battle field?
For tonight we go to free old Wexford town!

Said I to that soldier boy,"Won't you take me to your captain
T'would be my pride and joy for to march with you today.
My young brother fell in Cork and my son at Innes Carthay!"
Unto the noble captain I did say:

As we marched back from the field in the shadow of the evening
With our banners flying low to the memory of our dead
We returned unto our homes but without my soldier laddie
Yet I never will forget those words he said:

*

THE IRISH ROVER

In the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the coal quay of Cork
And we were sailin' away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand city hall in New York
We'd and elegant craft, it was rigged fore and aft
And oh, how the trade winds drove her
She had twenty three masts, and she stood several blasts
And they called her the Irish Rover.

Chorus: Fare thee well, my pretty little girl, I must sail away
Fare thee well, my pretty little girl, I must sail away.

There was Barney McGee from the Banks of the Leigh
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Johnny McGirk who was scared stiff of work
And a chap from West Meade named Malone
There was slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
And your man, Mick McCann, from the Banks of the Bann
Was the skipper on the Irish Rover.

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of bone
We had three million bales of old nanny goat tails
We had four million barrels of stone
We had five million hogs and six million dogs
And seven million barrels of porter
We had eight million sides of old blind horses hides
In the hold of the Irish Rover.

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And the ship lost her way in the fog
And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two
'Twas meself and the captain's old dog
Then the ship struck a rock! Oh, Lord, what a shock!
And nearly tumbled over
Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned
I'm the last of the Irish Rover.

*

JOHNNIE COPE
(Circa 1745)

Cope sent a challenge from Dunbar,
sayin' Charlie meet me an' y'daur,
An' I'll learn ye th' art of War,
if y'meet me in the mornin'!

(Chorus): Hi, Johnnie Cope, are y'waukin' yet?
And are your drums a beatin' yet?
If ye were waukin', I wad wait,
When y'come wi' yer carls in the mornin'!

When Charlie looked the letter on,
he drew his sword the scabbard from,
Come, follow me my merry men,
and we'll meet Johnnie Cope in the morning!

Now, Johnnie, be guid as yer word,
come let us try baith fire and sword,
And dinna flee like a frichted bird,
that's chased from it's nest in the morning!

When Johnnie Cope he heard of this,
He thoucht it wadna be amiss
Tae hold a horse in readiness,
Tae flee awa' in the mornin'!

Fie, now Johnnie, get up and run!
The Highland bagpipes mak' a din!
It's better tae sleep in a hale skin,
For it will be a bluidy mornin'!

When Johnnie Cope tae Dunbar cam,
They speired at him "Whaur are your men?"
"The de'il confound me gin I ken,
For I left them a' in the mornin'!"

Now, Johnnie, troth ye werena blate,
To cam wi' news of your ain defeat,
And leave your men in sic a strait,
Sae early in the mornin'!

"In Faith," quo Johnnie, "I got sae flegs
Wi' their claymores and philibegs!
Gin I face them again, de'il break my legs!
Sae I wish ye all good mornin'!"

*

JENNY LASS (JOHNNY LAD)

I bought a wife in Edinburgh for a bawbee
And then I got a farthing back to buy tobacco wi'!

CHORUS: And wi' you, and wi' you, and wi' you my Jenny lass
I'll dance the buckles off my shoes wi' you my Jenny
lass!

Samson was a mighty man, and he fought wi' a cuddie's jaw
He fought a million battles wearin' crimson flannel drawers!

There was a man in Nineveh, and he was wondrous wise
He jumped into a hawthorn bush and scratched out both his eyes!
And when he saw his eyes were out, with all his might and main,
He jumped into the hawthorn bush, and scratched them in again!

Napoleon was an emperor, he ruled o'er land and sea,
He ruled o'er France and Germany, but he never ruled over me!

One Sunday I went walkin' and there I saw the Queen
Playin' at the football wi' the lads on Glascow Green!
The captain of the other side was scorin' in great style
The Queen she called a policeman, and had him thrown in jail!

Jenny is a bonny lass, she is a lass of mine
And I've never had a better lass, and I've had fifty-nine!

*

JUG OF PUNCH

'Twas very early in the month of June
As I was sitting with my glass and spoon
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was the jug of punch.

Chorus: Too-rah-loo-rah-loo, Too-rah-loo-rah-lay
Too-rah-loo-rah-loo, Too-rah-loo-rah-lay
A small bird sat on an ivy bush
And the song he sang was the jug of punch.

If I were sick and very bad
And was not able to go or stand
I would not think it at all amiss
To pledge my shoes for a jug of punch.

What more diversion can a man desire
Than to sit him down by a snug coal fire
Upon his knee a pretty wench
And upon the table a jug of punch.

And when I'm dead and in my grave
No costly tomb stone will I have
I'll dig a grave both wide and deep
With a jug of punch at my head and feet.

*

JOHNNY MC ELDOO

There was Johnny McEldoo, and McGee, and me
And a coupla two or three, went on a spree one day.
We had a bob or two, which we knew how to blew
And the beer and whiskey flew and we all felt gay!
We visited McMann's, MacIllman's, Humpty Dan's,
We then went into Swann's our stomachs for to pack,
We ordered out a feed which indeed we did need
And we finished it with speed, but we still felt slack!

Johnny McEldoo turned red, white and blue,
And a plate of Irish stew he soon put out of sight
He shouted out "Encore!" with a roar for some more
Said he'd never felt before such a keen appetite
He ordered eggs and ham, bread and jam, what a cram!
But him we couldn't ram tho we tried our level best
For everything we brought, cold or hot, mattered not
It went down him like a shot, but he still stood the test!

He swallowed tripe and lard by the yard, we got scared
We thought it would go hard when the waiter brought the bill
We told him to give o'er, but he swore he could lower
Twice as much again and more before he had his fill
He nearly supped a trough full of broth, says McGrath:
"He'll devour the tablecloth if you don't hold him in!"
When the waiter brought the charge McEldoo felt so large
He began to scowl and barge and his blood went on fire!

He began to curse and swear, tear his hair in despair,
And to finish the affair called the shopman a liar!
The shopman he drew out and no doubt he did clout
McEldoo he kicked about like an old football!
He tattered all his clothes, broke his nose, I suppose
He'd have killed him with a few blows in no time at all!

McEldoo began to howl and to growl by my sowl
He threw an empty bowl at the shopkeeper's head
It struck poor Micky Finn, peeled the skin off his chin
And the ructions did begin, and we all fought and bled!
The peelers did arrive, man alive! Four or five,
At us they made a drive for us all to march away
We paid for all the mate that we ate, stood a trate,
And went home to reminate on the spree that day!

*

KELLY OF KILLANE

What's the news, what's the news, oh my bold Chevalier
With you long barrelled gun of the sea?
Say what wind from the south blows his messenger here
With a hymn of the dawn for the free
Goodly news, goodly news, do I bring youth of forth
Goodly news shall you hear, Bargy man
For the boys march at morn from the south to the north
Led by Kelly the boy from Killane.

Tell me who is that giant with gold curling hair
He who rides at the head of your band?
Seven feet is his height, with some inches to spare
And he looks like a king in command
Ah my lads that's the pride of the bold chevaliers
'Mong our greatest of heroes, a man!
Fling your beavers aloft and give three ringing cheers
For John Kelly, the boy from Killane.

Enniscorthy's in flames, and old Wexford is won
And the Barrow tomorrow we cross
On ahill o'er the town we have planted a gun
That will batter the gateway of Ross
All the Forth men and Bargy men march o'er the heath
With brave Harvey to lead on the van
But the foremost of all in the grim Gap of Death
Will be Kelly, the boy from Killane.

But the gold sun of freedom grew darkened at Ross
And it set by the Slaneys red waves
And poor Wexford stript naked hung high on a cross
And her heart pierce by traitors and slaves
Glory O! Glory O! to her brave sons who died
For the cause of long down-trodden man!
Glory O! to Mount Leinster's own darling and pride
Dauntless Kelly, the boy from Killane.

*

KILKELLY IRELAND
-Peter and Steve Jones
(c) copyright 1984, 1988 Peter & Steve Jones

Kilkelly, Ireland eighteen and sixty, my dear and loving son John:
Your good friend the schoolmaster Pat MacNamara
So good as to write these words down
Your brothers have all gone to find work in England
The house is so empty and sad
The crop of potatoes is sorely infected
A third to a half of them bad
And your sister Bridget and Patrick O'Donnell
Are going to get married in June
And your mother says not to work on the railroad
And be sure to come on home soon.

Kilkelly, Ireland eighteen and seventy, my dear and loving son John:
Hello to your Mrs. and to your four children
May they grow up healthy and strong
Michael has got in a wee bit of trouble
I suppose that he never will learn
Because of the dampness there's no turf to speak of
And now there's nothing to burn
Bridget is happy you named the child for her,
You know she's got six of her own
You say you've found work but you don't say what kind
And when will you be coming home?

Kilkelly, Ireland eighteen and eighty dear Michael and John my sons:
I'm sorry to give you the very sad news
That your dear old mother passed on
We buried her down at the church at Kilkelly
Your brothers and Bridget were there
You don't have to worry she died very quickly
Remember her in your prayers
And it's so good to hear that Michael's returning
With money he's sure to buy land
But the crop has been poor and people are selling
At any price that they can.

Kilkelly, Ireland eighteen and ninety my dear and loving son John:
I suppose that I must be close on to eighty
It's thirty years since you've been gone
Because of all the money you sent me
I'm still living out on my own
Michael has built himself a fine house
And Bridget's daughters are grown.
And thank you for sending your family picture
They're lovely young women and men
You say you might even come for a visit
What joy to see you again

Kilkelly, Ireland eighteen and ninety-two my dear brother John:
I'm sorry that I didn't write sooner
To tell you Father passed on
He was living with Bridget she said he was cheerful
And healthy right up to the end
You should have seen him playing with the grandchildren
Of Pat MacNamara, your friend
We buried him along side of Mother
Down at the Kilkelly church yard
He was a strong man, a feisty old man
Considering his life was so hard
And it's funny the way he kept talking about you
He called for you at the end.
Why don't you think about coming to visit
We'd love to see you again..........

*

THE LUM HAT WANTIN' THE CROON

The burn was big wi' spate
And there cam tumblein' doon,
Topsalterie, the half of a gate
An auld fish-hake, and a great muckle skate,
And a lum hat wantin' th' croon

The auld wife stood on th' bank,
As they gied swirlin' roon,
She took a guid look, and syne says she,
"There's food and there's firin' gaen tae th' sea,
And a lum hat wantin' th' croon!"

So she gruppit th' branch of a saugh,
And she kickit off ane of her shoon,
An' she stuck oot her fit, but it caught in the gate,
An' awa' she went wi' th' great muckle skate,
An' a lum hat wantin' th' croon!

She floated fu' many a mile,
Past cottage and village and toon,
She'd an awfu' time astride of the gate,
Though it seemed t'gree fine wi' th' great muckle skate,
And the lum hat wantin' th' croon!

A fisher was waukin' th' deck,
By the licht of his pipe and th' moon,
When he sees an auld body astride of a gate,
Come bobbin' along in the waves wi' a skate,
And a lum hat wantin' th' croon!

"There's a man overboard!" cries he,
"Ye hear?" quo she, "I'll droon!
A man overboard? It's a wife on a gate!
It's auld Mistress Mackintosh here wi' a skate,
And a lum hat wantin' th' croon!

Was she nippit tae death at th' Pole?
Has India bakit her broon?
I canna tell that, but whatever her fate,
I'll wager ye'll find t'was shared by a gate,
And a lum hat wantin' th' croon!

There's a moral attached tae my song:
On greed ye should aye gie a froon!
When ye think of the wife that was lost for a gate,
An auld fish hake and a great muckle skate,
And a lum hat wantin' th' croon!

*

LEAVING OF LIVERPOOL

Fare well to you my own true love
I am going far away
I am bound for California
And I know that I'll return some day.

Chorus: So fare thee well my own true love
For when I return united we will be
It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me
But my darling when I think of thee.

I have shipped on a Yankee sailing ship
Davy Crockett is her name
And Burgess was the captain of her
And they say she is a floating hell.

Oh the sun is on the harbor love
And I wish I could remain
For I know it well be a long, long time
Before I see you again.

*

LOCH LOMOND
-Traditional

By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond
Where me and my true love won't ever meet again
On the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond

CHORUS: Oh, you take the high road, and I'll take the low road
And I'll be in Scotland before you
And me and my true love won't ever meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond

'Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen
On the steep, steep side of Ben Lomond
Where in purple hue, the hieland hills we view
And the moon comin' out in the gloamin'.

The wee birdies sing, and the wild flowers spring
While in sunshine the waters are sleepin'
But the broken heart it kens nae second spring again
Tho' the woeful may cease from their greetin'

*

LANNIGAN'S BALL
-Michael McCann (early 1800's)

In the town of Athy one Jeremy Lanigan
Battered away till he hadn't a pound
His Father he died and made him a man again
Left him a farm and ten acres of ground
He gave a grand party to friends and relations
Who did not forget him when come to the will
If you'll but listen I'll make your eyes glisten
At rows and ructions at Lanigan's Ball.

Chorus: Six long months I spent in Dublin,
Six long months doin' nothin' at all
Six long months I spent in Dublin
Learning to dance for Lanigan's Ball
I stepped out..I stepped in again,
I stepped out...I stepped in again
I stepped out..I stepped in again,
Learning to dance for Lanigan's Ball.

Myself to be sure got free invitations
For all the nice girls and boys I might ask
And just in a minute both friends and relations
Were dancing as merry as bees round a cask
There was lashing of punch and wine for the ladies
Potatoes and cakes there was bacon and tea
There were the Nolans, Dolans, O'Gradys
Courtin' the girls and dancing away.

They were doing all kinds of nonsensical polkas
All round the room in a whirligig
But Julia and I soon banished their nonsense
And tipped them a twist of a real Irish jig
Oh how that girl got mad on me
Danced till you'd think that the ceiling would fall
I spent three weeks at Brook's Academy
Learning to dance for Lanigan's Ball.

The boys were as merry, the girls all hearty
Dancing away in couples and groups
Till an accident happened young Terence McCarthy
He put his right leg through Miss Finerty's hoops
The creature she fainted and cried "Meelia murther"
Called for her brothers and gathered them all
Carmody swore that he'd go no further
Till he'd have satisfaction at Lanigan's Ball.

In the midst of the row Miss Kerrigan fainted
Her cheeks at the same time as red as a rose
Some of the boys decreed she was painted
She took a small drop too much I suppose
Her sweetheart Ned Morgan so powerful and able
When he saw his fair colleen stretched by the wall
He tore the left leg from under the table
And smashed all the dishes at Lanigan's Ball.

Boys, oh boys, 'tis then there was ructions
Myself got a kick from big Phelim McHugh
But soon I replied to his kind introduction
And kicked up a terrible hullabaloo
Ould Casey the piper was near being strangled
They squeezed up his pipes, bellows, chanters, and all
The girls in their ribbons, they all got entangled
And that put an end to Lanigan's Ball.

*

LASSIE WI' THE YELLOW COATIE

(Chorus) Lassie wi' the yellow coatie
Would y'wed a muirland Jockie?
Lassie wi' th' yellow coatie
Would y'busk and gang wi' me?

I have milk and meal in plenty Wi' my lassie and my doggie
I have kale and cakes fu' dainty O'er th' lea and thru the boggie
I've a but-an-ben fu' genty Nane on earth was e'er sae vogie
But I lack a lass like thee! Or as blythe as we will be!

Although my mailen be but sma' Haste ye, lassie, tae my bosom
And little gold I have t'shaw While the roses are in blossom!
I hae a heart without a flaw Time is precious; dinna lose them
An' I will gie it all t'thee! Flowers will fade, and sae shall ye

(Final Chorus) Lassie wi' the yellow coatie
Ah! Take pity on your Jockie!
Lassie wi' the yellow coatie
I'm in haste, and sae should ye!

*

LOVER'S HEART
-Andy Stewart
Phil Cunningham
recorded by Silly Wizard
"A Glint of Silver"
copyright 1986 Bracken Music Services

Am G Am7 C Dm Dm7 F F-G
She was in the flowery garden when first she caught my eye
Am G Am7 C Dm7 G
And I just a marching soldier; she smiled as I passed by
Dm Em Am C C Am Dm E
The flowers she held were fresh and fair, her lips were full and red
Am G C Am Dm7 G7 C
And as I passed that shady bower, these words to me she said

C G C Am
Last night we spoke of love
C Am Dm E
Now we're forced to part
Am G C Am
You leave to the sound of a marching drum
Dm7 G7 C
And the beat of a lover's heart

She was by the shore in the evening when next I saw my dear
Running barefoot by the water side, she called as I drew near
The sunlight glanced at the water's edge making fire of her auburn hair
My young heart danced at her parting words that hung in the evening air

(chorus)

She was on the Strand next morning when orders came to sail
And as we slipped our ropes away I watched her from the rail
She threw me a rose, which fell between us, and floated on the Bay
And as our ship pulled from the shore, I heard her call and say

(chorus)

Now the soldier's life won't suit me, sweet music is my trade
For I'd rather melt the hardest heart than pierce it with a blade
Let the time be short till I return to my home in the mountains high
And the loving girl who stole my heart with these words as I passed by

(chorus)

*

LOCK THE DOOR, LARRISTON!
-James Hogg (1797)

Lock the door, Larriston, Lion of Linnesdale!
Lock the door, Larriston, Lowther comes on!
The Armstrongs are flyin', the widows are cryin'
Castleton is burning, and Oliver is gone!
Lock the door, Larriston, high in the weather gleam,
See how the Saxon plumes bob in the sky!
Yeoman and carbinier, billman and halbardier!
Fierce is the foray, and far is the cry!

Bewcastle brandishes high his bold scimitar,
Ridley is riding his fleet-footed grey!
Hedley and Howard there, Wandale and Windermere,
Lock the door, Larriston, hold them at bay!
Why dost thou smile, oh bold Elliot of Larriston?
Why does the joy-candle gleam in thine eye?
Thou bold border-ranger, beware of thy danger!
Thy foes are relentless, determined and nigh!

Elliot raised up his steel bonnet, and lookit out
His hand grasped the sword with a nervous embrace.
Oh welcome brave foemen, on earth there are no men
More gallant to meet in the fray or the chase!
Little know you of the hearts I have hidden here
Little know you of our moss-troopers' might!
Linhope and Sorbie true, Tundhope and Milburn too!
Gentle in manner, but lions in fight!

I have Mangerton, Oglvie, Raeburn and Netherbie,
Old Sim of Whitram, and all his array!
Come all Northumberland, Teasdale and Cumberland!
Here at the Breeker tower shall end the affray!
Scowled the broad sun over the links of green Liddesdale
Red as the beacon-light tipped he the wold
Many a bold martial eye mirror'd that morning sky!
Never more looked on his orbit of gold!

Shrill was the bugle's note, dreadful the warrior's shout,
Lances and halberds in splinters were torn
Helmet and halberd then braved the claymore in vain
Buckler and armet in shivers were torn!
See how they wane, the proud files of the Windermere
Howard, ah, woe to the hopes of the day!
Hear the wild welkin rend, while the Scots shouts ascend:
Elliot of Larriston! Elliot for aye!

*

LORD NELSON
-Tommy Makem
copyright 1967, 1969 Tiparm Music

Lord Nelson stood in pompous state, upon his pillar high
And down along O'Connell Street he cast a wicked eye
He thought how this barbaric race had fought the British Crown
Yet they were content to let him stay right there in Dublin town!

CHORUS: So remember Brave Lord Nelson, boys,
He has never known defeat
And for his reward they stuck him up
In the middle of O'Connell Street!

For many years, Lord Nelson stood, and no one seemed to care
He would squint at Dan O'Connell who was standin' right down there
He thought: 'The Irish love me or they wouldn't let me stay,
All except that band of blighters that they call the IRA!'

And then in nineteen sixty-six, on March the seventh day,
A bloody great explos-i-on made Lord Nelson rock and sway!
He crashed, and Dan O'Connell cried, in woeful misery:
'Now twice as many pidg-i-ons will come and s--- on me!'

CHORUS (final): So remember brave Lord Nelson, boys,
He has never known defeat!
And for his reward they blew him up
In the middle of O'Connell Street!

*

LASSIE LIE NEAR ME
-Traditional

Lang have we parted been, lassie my dearie
Now we are met again, lassie lie near me

Near me, near me, lassie my dearie
Lang hast thou lain alane, lassie lie near me

All that I have endured, lassie my dearie
In your arms it is cured, lassie lie near me

Near me, near me, lassie my dearie
Lang hast thou lain alane, lassie lie near me

If in the spring we meet, lassie my dearie
All joy will be near me, lassie lie near me

Near me, near me, lassie my dearie
Lang hast thou lain alane, lassie lie near me

*

THE LYKEWAKE DIRGE
-Traditional

This ae nicht, this ae nicht,
Every nicht and a'
Fire and fleet and candleleet
And Christ receive thy soul

Alt. last line:
(And **** take thine all!)

When thou from here away have passed
To Whinny Muir thou com'st at last

If ever thou gavest hosen or shoon
Sit thee down and put them on

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gavest nane
The winds will pick thee to the bare bane

From Whinny Muir when thou art passed
To Purgatory fire thou com'st at last

If ever thou gavest meat or drink
The fire will never make thee shrink

If meat or drink thou ne'er gavest nane
The fire will burn thee to the bare bane

From Purgatory fire when thou art passed
To Brigg 'O'Dread thou com'st at last

If ever thou gavest silver or gold
By God's right hand be taken in fold

If gold or silver thou ne'er gavest nane
Thou shalt fall till the stars be gane

*

LORD OF THE DANCE
-Gwyddion PenDderwyn, Amy Falkowitz, Ann Case, Len Rosenberg
recorded by Joe Bethancourt
"Celtic Circle Dance"

She danced on the water, and the wind was Her horn
The Lady laughed, and everything was born
And when She lit the sun and its' light gave Him birth
The Lord of the Dance first appeared on the Earth

(Chorus): Dance, dance, where ever you may be
I am the Lord of the Dance, you see!
I live in you, and you live in Me
And I lead you all in the Dance, said He!

I danced in the morning when the World was begun
I danced in the Moon and the Stars and the Sun
I was called from the Darkness by the Song of the Earth
I joined in the Song, and She gave Me the Birth!

I dance in the Circle when the flames leap up high
I dance in the Fire, and I never, ever, die
I dance in the waves of the bright summer sea
For I am the Lord of the wave's mystery

I sleep in the kernel, and I dance in the rain
I dance in the wind, and thru the waving grain
And when you cut me down, I care nothing for the pain;
In the Spring I'm the Lord of the Dance once again!

I dance at the Sabbat when you dance out the Spell
I dance and sing that everyone be well
And when the dancing's over do not think that I am gone
To live is to Dance! So I dance on, and on!

I see the Maidens laughing as they dance in the Sun
And I count the fruits of the Harvest, one by one
I know the Storm is coming, but the Grain is all stored
So I sing of the Dance of the Lady, and Her Lord:

The Horn of the Lady cast its' sound 'cross the Plain
The birds took the notes, and gave them back again
Till the sound of Her music was a Song in the sky
And to that Song there is only one reply:

The moon in her phases, and the tides of the sea
The movement of the Earth, and the Seasons that will be
Are the rhythm for the dancing, and a promise thru the years
That the Dance goes on thru all our joy, and tears

We dance ever slower as the leaves fall and spin
And the sound of the Horn is the wailing of the wind
The Earth is wrapped in stillness, and we move in a trance,
But we hold on fast to our faith in the Dance!

The sun is in the southland and the days grow chill
And the sound of the horn is fading on the hill
'Tis the horn of the Hunter, as he rides across the plain
And the Lady sleeps 'til the Spring comes again

The Sun is in the Southland and the days lengthen fast
And soon we will sing for the Winter that is past
Now we light the candles and rejoice as they burn
And we dance the Dance of the Sun's return!

They danced in the darkness and they danced in the night
They danced on the Earth, and everything was light
They danced out the Darkness and they danced in the Dawn
And the Day of that Dancing is still going on!

I gaze on the Heavens and I gaze on the Earth
And I feel the pain of dying, and re-birth
And I lift my head in gladness, and in praise
For the Dance of the Lord, and His Lady gay

I dance in the stars as they whirl throughout space
And I dance in the pulse of the veins in your face
No dance is too great, no dance is too small,
You can look anywhere, for I dance in them all!

*

SHE MOVED THRU THE FAIRE
-Padraic Colum
recorded by Theodore Bikel

My young love said to me: My mother won't mind
And my father won't slight you for your lack of kind
She put her arms 'round me; these words she did say:
It will not be long, love, 'til our wedding day!

Then she stepped away from me, and she moved thru the Faire
And so fondly I watched her move here and move there
At last she turned homeward, with one star awake
As the Swan in the evening moves over the lake.

Last night she came to me, my dead love came in
And so soft did she move that her feet made no din
She put her arms 'round me; these words she did say:
It will not be long, love, 'til our wedding day!

*

MacNAMARA'S BAND

Oh, me name is MacNamara I'm the leader of the band
Although we're few in numbers we're the finest in the land
We play at wakes and weddings and at every fancy ball
And when we play at funerals we play the March From Saul

Chorus: Oh, the drums go bang and the cymbals clang
And the horns they blaze away
McCarthy pumps the old bassoon while I the pipes do play
And Hennessey Tennessee tootles the flute
And the music is something grand
A credit to old Ireland is MacNamara's band.

Right now we are rehearsin' for a very swell affair
The annual celebration - all the gentry will be there
When General Grant to Ireland came, he took me by the hand
Says he,"I never saw the likes of MacNamara's band."

(If You're Irish Come Into The Parlour)

If you're Irish, come into the parlour
There's a welcome there for you
If you're name is Timothy or Pat
As long as you come from Ireland
There's a welcome on the mat
If you come from the Mountains of Mourne
Or Killarney's lakes so blue
We'll sing you a song and we'll make a fuss
Whoever you are you're one of us
If you're Irish this is the place for you.

Oh, I wear a bunch of shamrocks and a uniform of green
And I am the funniest lookin' Swede that you have ever seen
There's O'Briens and Ryans and Sheehans and Meehans, they come from Ireland,
But by yimminy, I'm the only Swede in MacNamara's band.

*

NOBODY'S MOGGY-LAND

(Tune: "No-man's Land," by Eric Bogle)
(Words: Unknown, but doubtless depraved individual)

[Note: The words were written by Bob Kanefsky. You can find the official words -
- and a pointer to the new parody CD it's been recorded on, called Roundworm --
on his web site
http://www.songworm.com/db/songworm-parody/NobodysMoggyLands.html
- Stefan - 9/14/00.]

Well, how are you doing, old Moggy the Cat?
I just noticed you lying where I almost sat.
Do you mind if I push you a bit to the side?
I've been walking all day on the road where you died.

You've been squashed like a butterfly pressed between glass:
Were you hit by a truck that was moving too fast?
Did he slam on the brakes as he saw you go past?
Or, Moggy the Cat, did he step on the gas?

CHORUS: Did he honk the horn loudly?
Did you stand your ground proudly?
Did a shadow fall o'er you as the truck mowed you down?
Did you die with a yowl and a big fuss?
Did the birds come and pick at your carcass?

The ground squirrels and mice all seem happy today,
The butterflies frolic and hummingbirds play.
A mockingbird sits there composing a dirge
'Till he finally yields to his scavenger urge.

The robins and sparrows all join in the feast
In their joyous relief that the terror has ceased.
And the birds dance around you, not sad in the least,
Like the Munchkins danced over the Witch of the East.

(CHORUS)

Old Moggy the Cat, I sure wish I knew why
You road-kills look so damned surprised when you die.
Did you think that some animal spirit survives?
Did you really believe that a cat has nine lives?

Well, if that is true, this is life Numbah Ten:
Getting ever more flat, spinning 'round now and then,
As the cars run you over again and again
And again and again and again and again!

(CHORUS)

*

THE MOOSE SONG
-Thomas Payton, et. al.
(tune: "Betsy From Pike")

When I was a young girl (man) I used to like boys (girls),
I fondled their tights (bodies) and played with their toys (curls),
But me boy (girl) friend ran off with a salesman named Bruce,
You'd never get treatment like that from a Moose!

CHORUS: So it's Moose, Moose, I like a Moose,
I've never had anything quite like a Moose,
I've had many lovers, my life has been loose,
But I've never had anything quite like a Moose!

Now when I'm in need of a very good lay,
I go to me stables and gets me some hay,
I opens me window and spreads it around,
'Cause Moose always comes when there's hay on the ground!

Now I've made it with all kinds of beasties with hair,
I'd make it with snakes if their fangs were not there,
I've made it with walrus, two ducks and a goose,
But I've never had anything quite like a Moose!

Now gorillas are fine for a Saturday night,
And lions and tigers, they puts up a fight,
But it just ain't the same when you slams your caboose
As the feeling you gets when you humps with a Moose!

I've tried many beasties on land or on sea
I've even tried hump-backs that humped back on me!
Sharks are quite good, tho they're hard to pull loose
But on dry land there is nothing quite like a moose!

Woodchucks are all right except that they bite
And foxes and rabbits won't last thru the night!
Cows would be fun, but they're hard to seduce
But you never need worry should you find a moose!

Step in my study, and trophies you'll find
A black striped tiger and scruffy maned lion
You'll know the elephant by his ivory tooth
And the one that's a-winking, you know is the moose!

The lion succumbed to a thirty-ought-six
Machine guns and tigers I've proved do not mix
The elephant fell by a bomb with a fuse
But I won't tell a soul how I did in the moose!

I've found many women attracted to me
A few of them have had me over for tea
Some say that they love me when they're feeling loose
But I'd trade the world's women for one lovely moose!

The good Lord made Adam, and then He made Eve
Said He: "If you sin now, I'll ask you to leave!"
They left not because of Eve's forbidden fruit
But 'cause Adam decided the moose there were cute!

The English are said to like boars who've had corn
The Celtics just dream of the young Unicorn
The Germans, it's said, just need leather and rope
But give me a moose and I'll no longer mope!

Now I've broken the laws in this god-awful state
They've put me in prison and locked up the gate
They say that tomorrow I'll swing from a noose
But my last night I'll spend with a good sexy moose!

Next morning the Governor's word reached my ears
"We've commuted your sentence to ninety-nine years!"
"You won't get parole; not a five minute's truce,
And your friend goes to Sing-Sing, he's so big-a-moose!"

(slowly) Now that I'm old and advanced in me years,
I'll look back on me life, and I'll shed me no tears,
As I sit in me chair with me glass of Mateuse,
And play hide the salami with Marvin (Millie) the Moose!

<end part 2 of 4>
<the end>
Edited by Mark S. Harris SI-songbook2-art

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<BODY><PRE>SI-songbook3-art - 5/24/96

A Collection of Scottish and Irish songs, compiled by Ioseph of Locksley.
This songbook is divided into four parts for ease of downloading. You
are reading part 3 of 4.

NOTE: Also see the files: p-songs-msg, song-sources-msg, songs-msg, songs2-msg,
harps-msg, guitar-art, drums-msg, bardic-msg, Bardic-Guide-art.

************************************************************************
NOTICE -

This file is a collection of various messages having a common theme that
I have collected from my reading of the various computer networks. Some
messages date back to 1989, some may be as recent as yesterday.

This file is part of a collection of files called Stefan's Florilegium.
These files are available on the Internet at: http://www.florilegium.org

I have done a limited amount of editing. Messages having to do with
seperate topics were sometimes split into different files and sometimes
extraneous information was removed. For instance, the message IDs were
removed to save space and remove clutter.

The comments made in these messages are not necessarily my viewpoints. I
make no claims as to the accuracy of the information given by the
individual authors.

Please respect the time and efforts of those who have written these
messages. The copyright status of these messages is unclear at this
time. If information is published from these messages, please give
credit to the orignator(s).

Thank you,
Mark S. Harris AKA: Lord Stefan li Rous
mark.s.harris@motorola.com stefan@florilegium.org
************************************************************************

From: beudach@aol.com (Lord Graeme O'Baoighill)
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Subject: Graeme's Aforementioned Songbook
Date: 27 Mar 1995 16:10:41 GMT
Organization: Duchy Tarragon

A COLLECTION OF SCOTTISH AND IRISH SONGS

compiled and transcribed by Joe Bethancourt
=========================================================================

<part 3 of 4>

MAGGIE
-Geo. W. Johnson
Music by J. A. Butterfield

I have wandered today to the hills Maggie
To watch the scene below
Oh, the creek and the creaking old mill, Maggie
Where we used to long long ago.

The green growth is gone from the hills, Maggie
Where once the daisy's sprung
Oh the creaking old mill is still, Maggie
Since you and I were young.

Oh they say that I'm feeble with age, Maggie
My steps are much slower than then
My face is a well written page, Maggie
And time all alone was the pen.

Chorus: They say we have outlived our time, Maggie
As dated as songs we have sung
But to me you're as fair as you were, Maggie
When you and I were young!

*

THE MERMAID

It was Friday morn when we set sail,
And we were not far from the land
When our Captain he spied a mermaid so fair
With a comb and a glass in her hand

(Chorus) And the ocean waves do roll
And the stormy winds do blow
And we poor sa-li-ors go skippin' at the top
While the landlubbers lie down below!

Then up spoke the captain of our gallant ship
And a fine old man was he!
"This sweet mermaid has worned us of our doom;
We shall sink to the bottom of the sea!"

Then up spoke the mate of our gallant ship,
And a fine spoken man was he!
Said "I have a wife in Brooklyn by the sea,
And tonight a widow she will be!"

Then up spoke the cabin-boy of our gallant ship,
And a brave young lad was he!
Said "I have a sweetheart in Salem by the sea,
And tonight she'll be weepin' there for me!"

Then up spoke the cook of our gallant ship,
And a crazy old butcher was he!
Said "I care much more for my pots and my pans
Than I do for the bottom of the sea!"

Then three times round spun our gallant ship,
And three times round spun she;
Three times round spun our gallant ship,
And she sank to the bottom of the sea!

*

MANYURA, MANYAH!
-Matt McGinn
copyright 1964 Matt McGinn

CHORUS: Wi' manyura manyah, wi' manyura manyah!
Wi' manyura, manyura, manyura manyah!

Noo I've heard men complain of the jobs they are dain,
When they're hawking the coal, or diggin' the drain.
But whatever they are, there is none that compar'
Wi' manyura, manyura, manyura manyah!

Th' streets of the toon were all kivvered aroon
Wi' stuff that was colourful, gowden and broon,
It was put there, of course, by a big Clydesdale horse!
And they called it manyura, manyura manyah!

I followed its' track wi' a shovel and sack,
And as often as no wi' a pain in me back.
It was all for the rent, and the beautiful scent
Of manyura, manyura, manyura manyah!

But I'm feelin' fu' sore for my job's taken o'er
And everything noo is mechanical power;
And there's naething for me but the sweet memory
Of manyura, manyura, manyura manyah!

*

MARIE'S WEDDING
(THE LEWIS BRIDAL SONG)

Chorus: Step we gaily on we go
Heel for heel and toe for toe
Arm in arm and row on row
All for Marie's wedding.

Over hillways up and down
Myrtle green and bracken brown
Past the sheiling thro' the town
All for sake of Marie.

Plenty herring, plenty meal
Plenty peat to fill her creel
Plenty bonnie bairns as well
That's the toast of Marie.

Cheeks are bright as rowans are
Brighter far than any star
Fairest of them all by far
Is my darlin' Marie.

*

MACINTYRE
-Traditional (?)

Some friends of mine in a public bar were playin' dominoes one night
When into the bar a fireman came, his face a chalky white
"What's up?" says Brown, "Have you seen a ghost?
Have you seen me Aunt Mariah?"
"Well, your Aunt Mariah be buggered," says he,
"Th' bleedin' pub's on fire!"

"Well, good!" says Brown, "What a bit of luck! Everybody follow me!"
"It's down to the basement, if the fire's not there, We'll have a grand

old spree!"
Well, we all went down after good old Brown,
The booze you would not miss
And we'd not been down there ten minutes or more
Before we looked quite like this:

CHORUS: And there was Brown all upside down
Lappin' all the whiskey off the floor
"Booze! Booze!" the firemen cried
As they came knockin' at the door (knock knock)
Now don't let 'em in till it's all drunk up
Somebody shouted "MACINTYRE!" (shout)
And we all got blue blind paralytic drunk
When the old Dun Cow caught fire!

Smith walked up to the port-wine tub, gave it just a few hard knocks
Started takin' off his pantaloons, likewise his shoes and socks.
"Well no!" says Brown, "That ain't allowed!"
"Can't do that in here!"
"Don't go washin' your trousers in the port-wine tub
When we've got some Guiness beer!"

Then there came a fiery crash! Half the bloody roof came in!
We were drowned in the fireman's hose till we were almost sober.
So we got some tacks and some old wet socks,
And we tacked ourselves inside
And we sat there gettin' bleary-eyed drunk
While the old Dun Cown got fried!

*

MARY MACK

There's a nice wee lass and her name is Mary Mack
Make no mistake she's the Miss I'm goin' to tak
There's a lot of other chaps that would get upon her track
But I'm thinking that they'd have to get up early.

Chorus: Mary Mack's Father's making Mary Mack marry me
My Father's making me marry Mary Mack
And I'm going tae marry Mary tae get Mary tae take care o' me
We'll all be makin' merry when I marry Mary Mack.

This wee lass she has a lot o' brass
She has alot o' gas, her Father thinks I'm class
And I'd be a silly ass tae let the matter pass
Her Father thinks she suits me fairly.

Noo, Mary and her mother gang an awfu' lot together
In fact ye never see the one or the one without the other
And the fellows often wonder if its Mary or her Mother
Or the both of them together that I'm courtin'.

Noo, the weddin' day's on Wednesday and everything's arranged
Her name will soon be changed tae mine, unless her mind be
changed
And wi' makin' the arrangements, faith, I'm just about deranged

For marriage is an awfu' undertakin'.

It's sure tae be a grand affair and grander than a fair
A coach-and-pair for every Peer, and every pair that's there
We'll dine upon the finest fare, I'm sure t'get my share
If I don't we'll all be very much mistaken!

MUIRSHEEN DURKIN
"Cailini deasa Mhuigheo"

In the days I went a courtin' I was never tired resortin'
To the ale house or the play house or many a house besides
I told me brother Seamus I'd go off and be right famous
And before I'd return again I'd roam the world wide.

Chorus: So, good bye Muirsheen Durkin I'm sick and tired of workin'
No more I'll dig the praties, no longer I'll be fooled
As sure as my name is Carney I'll go off to Californee
Where instead of diggin' praties I'll be diggin' lumps of gold.

I've courted girls in Blarney, in Kanturk and Killarney
In Passage and in Queenstown, that is the Cobh of Cork
So goodbye to all this pleasure for I'm going to take me leisure
And the next time you will hear from me will be a letter from New
York.

Good bye to all the boys at home, I'm sailing far across the foam
To try and make me fortune in far Americay
There's gold and money plenty for the poor and for the gentry
And when I come back again I never more will stray.

*

THE MEN BEHIND THE WIRE
-Traditional

CHORUS: Armored cars and tanks and guns came to take away our sons!
But every man must stand behind the men behind the wire!

In the little streets of Belfast, in the dark of early morn,
British soldiers came a-running, wrecking little homes with scorn.
Hear the sobs of crying children, dragging fathers from their beds;
Watch the scenes as helpless mothers watch the blood fall from their
heads.

Not for them a judge or jury, nor for them a crime at all,
Being Irish means they're guilty, so they're guilty one and all.
Around the world the truth will echo: Cromwell's men are here again!
England's name again is sullied in the eyes of honest men.

Proudly march behind our banner; proudly march behind our men!
We will have them free to help us build a nation once again!
Come the people, step together, proudly, firmly on your way;
Never fear and never falter, till the boys come home to stay!

*

THE MOONSHINER

Chorus: I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler, I'm a long ways from home
And if you don't like me, well leave me alone
I'll eat when I'm hungry and I'll drink when I'm dry
And if moonshine don't kill me, I'll live till I die.

I've been a moonshiner for many a year,
I've spent all my money on whiskey and beer
I'll go to some hollow and I'll set up my still
And I'll make you a gallon for a ten shilling bill.

I'll go to some hollow in this country
Ten gallons of wash, I can go on a spree
No woman to follow, the world is all mine
And I love none so well as I love the moonshine.

Oh, moonshine, dear moonshine, oh how I love thee
You killed me old father but dare you kill me
Oh, bless all moonshiners and bless all moonshine
Oh, its breath smells as sweet as the dew on the vine.

*

THE MERRY PLOUGHBOY
(GREEN ON THE GREEN BOY)
-Dominic Behan

I am a green on the green boy, and I'm here to sing to you
And in case you didn't know it, I'm Irish thru and thru

No matter where I chance to roam, over land or sea or sky
Beneath the orange, white and green, for Ireland, boys, I'll die!

Chorus: We're off to Dublin in the green, in the green
Where the helmets glisten in the sun
Where the bayonets flash and the rifles crash
To the echo of a Thompson gun.

I am a merry ploughboy and I ploughed the fields all day
Till a sudden thought came to my head that I should roam away

For I'm tired of civilian life since the day that I was born
So I'm off to join the IRA and I'm off tomorrow morn.

Alternate chorus: And we're off to Dublin with the green on the green
And the bayonets glitterin' in the sun
And the Tans they fly like light'nin' from
The rattle of me Thompson gun!

I'll leave aside my pick and spade, I'll leave aside my plough
I'll leave aside my old grey mare, no more I'll need them now

And I'll leave aside my Mary, she's the one that I adore
I wonder if she'll think of me when she hears the rifles roar.

I'll take my Sharps revolver and my bandolero so,
And with my comrades by my side, we'll fight a foreign foe!

I had a girl I left behind, and her name was Mary, dear,
And I hope that she proves true to me whenever I'm not near.

And when the war is over and dear old Ireland's free
I'll take her to the church to wed and a rebel's wife she'll be.

*

THE MOUNTAINS OF MOURNE
-Percy French

Oh, Mary, this London's a wonderful sight
With people here working by day and by night
They don't sow potatoes, nor barley nor wheat
But there' gangs of them digging for gold in the streets
At least when I asked them that's what I was told
So I just took a hand at this diggin' for gold
But for all that I found there I might as well be
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.

I believe that when writin' a wish you expressed
As to how the fine ladies in London were dressed
Well, if you believe me, when asked to a ball
Faith, they don't wear a top to their dresses at all.
Oh, I've seen them myself and you could not in truth
Say if they were bound for a ball or a bath
Don't be startin' them fashions now, Mary Macree,
Where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.

You remember young Peter O'Loughlin, of course
Well, now he is here at the head of the force
I met him today, I was crossing the Strand
And he stopped the whole street with a wave of his hand
And there we stood talkin' of days that are gone
While the whole population of London looked on
But for all these great powers he's wishful like me
To be back where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.

There's beautiful girls here, oh, never you mind
With beautiful shapes nature never designed
And lovely complexions all roses and cream
But O'Loughlin remarked with regard to the same
That if at those roses you venture to sip
The colors might all come away on your lip
So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waitin' for me
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.

*

A NATION ONCE AGAIN
-Thomas Davis

When boyhood's fire was in my blood,
I read of ancient freemen
For Greece and Rome, who bravely stood,
Three hundred men and three men;
And then I prayed I might yet see
Our fetters rent in twain,
And Ireland, long a Province, be
A Nation once again!

CHORUS: A Nation once again!
A Nation once again!
And Ireland, long a Province, be
A Nation once again!

And from that time thru wildest woe,
That hope has shone a far light
Nor could love's brightest Summer glow
Outshine that solemn starlight!
It seemed to watch above my head
In forum, field and fane,
I's angel voice sang round my head:
"A Nation once again!"

It whispered too, that Freedom's Ark
And service high and holy
Would be profaned by feelings dark
And passions vain and lowly,
For Freedom comes from God's Right Hand
And needs a Godly train
And righteous men must make our land
A Nation once again!

So as I grew from boy to man
I bent me to that bidding
My spirit of each selfish plan
And cruel passion ridding
For thus I hoped some day to aid
(Oh, can such hope be vain?)
When my dear country shall be made
A Nation once again!

*

THE NIGHTINGALE
-Traditional

As I went a walking one morning in May
I met a young couple who fondly did stray
And one was a young maid so sweet and so fair
And the other was a soldier and a brave grenadier.

And they kissed so sweet and comforting as they clung to each
other
They went arm in arm along the road like sister and brother
They went arm in arm along the road till they came to a stream
And they both sat down together love to hear the nightingale sing.

Well out of his knapsack he took a fine fiddle
He played her such merry tunes that you ever did hear
He played her such merry tunes that the valley did ring
And softly cried the fair maid as the nightingale sings.

Now I'm off to India for seven long years
Drinking wine and strong whiskey instead of strong beer
And if ever I return again it will be in the spring
And we'll both sit down together love to hear the nightingale
sing.

So then said the fair maid will you marry me
Oh no, said the soldier however can that be
For I've my own wife at home in my own country
And she is the finest maid that you ever did see.

*

THE OLD ORANGE FLUTE
(Tune: Betsy From Pike)

In the County Tyrone, near the town of Dungannon
Where's many the ruction meself had a hand in
Bob Williamson lived, a weaver by trade,
And all of us thought him a stout Orange blade.
On the Twelfth of July, as it yearly did come,
Bob played with his flute to the sound of a drum
You may talk of your harp, your piano or lute
But there's none could compare to the old Orange flute!

But Bob. the deceiver, he took us all in,
And he married a Papist named Briget McGinn
Turned Papish himself, and forsook the Old Cause,
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws.
Now the boysof the place made some comment upon it
And Bob had to fly to the Province of Connaught
He took his wife and his fixin's to boot
And, along with the latter, the old Orange flute!

At the chapel on Sunday to atone for past deeds,
Said Paters and Aves, and counted his beads,
Till after some time at the Priest's own desire,
He went with the old flute to play in the Choir....
He went with the old flute to play in the Mass,
But the instrument shivered and sighed, Oh Alas!
And try though he would, though it made a great noise,
The flute would play only "The Protestant Boys.."

Bob jumped and he started, and got in a flutter,
And threw the old flute in the blessed Holy Water,
He thought that this charm would bring some other sound:
When he played it again, it played "Croppies Lie Down..."
Now, for all he would whistle and finger and blow,
To play Papish music he found it no go,
"Kick The Pope," and "Boyne Water" it freely would sound,
But one Papish squeak in it couldn't be found.

At the Council of Priests that was held the next day,
They decided to banish the old flute away.
They couldn't knock heresy out of its' head,
So they bought Bob a new one to play in its' stead.
Now, the old flute was doomed, and it's fate was pathetic:
T'was fastened and burned at the stake, as heretic!
And as the flames roared around it, they heard a strange noise:
T'was the old flute a-whistlin' "The Protestant Boys!"

*

O'DONNELL ABU
(The Clan Connell War Song)
M.J.McAnn cir. 1843

Proudly the note of the trumpet is sounding
Loudly the war-cries arise on the gale
Fleetly the steed by Lough Swilly is bounding
To join the thick squadrons on Saimier's green vale!
On every mountaineer! Strangers to flight or fear!
Rush to the standard of dauntless Red Hugh!
Bonnaught and gallowglass, throng from each mountain
pass!
Onward for Erin! O'Donnell abu!

Princely O'Neill to our aid is advancing
With many a chieftain and warrior clan!
A thousand proud steeds in his vanguard are prancing
'Neath the Borderers brave from the banks of the Ban!
Many a heart shall quail under it's coat-of-mail,
Deeply the merciless foeman shall rue
When on his ear shall ring, borne on the breeze's wing
Tyr Connell's dread war cry: O'Donnell abu!

Wildly o'er Desmond the war-wolf is howling
Fearless the eagle sweeps over the plain;
The fox in the streets of the city is prowling
And all who would conquer them are banished, or slain!
On with O'Donnell then! Fight the good fight again!
Sons of Tyr Connell are valiant and true!
Make the proud Saxon feel Erin's avenging steel!
Strike! For your Country! O'Donnell abu!

*

ONLY OUR RIVERS RUN FREE
-Michael MacConnell

When apples still grow in November
When blossoms still bloom from each tree
When leaves are still green in December
It's then that our land will be free
I've wandered her hills and her valleys
And still through her valleys I see
A land that has never known freedom
And only her rivers run free.

I drink to the death of her manhood
Those men who'd rather have died
Than to live in the cold chains of bondage
To bring back their rights were denied
Oh, where are you know when we need you
What burns where the flames used to be
Are you gone like the snows of last winter
And will only our rivers run free.

How sweet is life but we're crying
How mellow the wine but we're dry
How fragrant the rose but it's dying
How gentle the wind but it sighs
What good is in youth when it's aging
What joy is in eyes that can't see
When there's sorrow in sunshine and flowers
And still only our rivers run free.

THE PIPER O'DUNDEE

The piper cam' t'our toon, t'our toon, t'our toon,
The piper cam' t'our toon, and he played merrily!
He played a spring, the laird t'please
A spring brand new from o'er the seas
And then he gave his bags a squeeze,
And played another key!

CHORUS: And wasn'a he a roguie, a roguie, a roguie?
Wasn'a he a roguie, the piper o'Dundee?

He played the "Welcome o'er the Main"
And "Y'se be fou', but I be fain"
And "Auld Stuart's back again!"
With muckle mirth and glee!
He played "The Kirk," he played "The Queir"
"The Mullin Dhu" and "Chevalier"
And "Lang awa' but welcome here!"
Sae sweet and merrily!

It's some got swords, and some got nane,
And some were dancin' mad the lane,
And many a vow of war was ta'en
That night in Amulrie!
There was Tullabardine an' Burleigh,
Stuart, Keith and Ogilvie
And brave Carnegie, wha' but he?
The Piper O'Dundee!

*

THE PARTING GLASS

Oh, all the money that 'ere I spent
I spent it in good company
And all the harm that 'ere I did
alas it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
to memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass,
good night and joy be with you all!

If I had money enough to spend
and leisure time to sit a while
There is a fair maid in this town
that sorely has my heart beguiled
Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips
I own she has my heart enthralled
So fill to me the parting glass
good night and joy be with you all!

Oh, all the comrades that 'ere I had
they are sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that 'ere I had
may wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
that I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and softly call
goodnight! And joy be with you all!

THE PATRIOT GAME
-Dominic Behan
(c) copyright 1964, 1965 Cifford Music Ltd.

Come all ye young rebels and list while I sing
For the love of one's country is a terrible thing
It banishes fear like the speed of a flame
And it makes us all part of the patriot game.

My name is O'Hanlon and I've just turned sixteen
My home is in Monaghan, it's where I was weaned
I've learned all my life cruel England's to blame
So now I am part of the patriot game.

It's nearly two years since I wandered away
With the local battalion of the bold IRA
For I read of those heroes and wanted the same
To play my own part in the patriot game.

I heard how O'Connolly was shot in a chair
His wounds from the battle all bleeding and bare
His fine body twisted, all battered and lame
They soon made him part of the patriot game.

I joined a battalion from dear Bally Bay
And gave up my boyhood so happy and gay
For now as a soldier I'd drill and I'd train
To play my full part in the patriot game

This Ireland of ours has for long been half-free
Six counties are under John Bull's tyranny
And most of our leaders are greatly to blame
For shirkin' their part in the patriot game

I don't mind a bit if I shoot down police
They're lackeys for war, never guardians of peace
But yet at deserters I'll never let aim
For shirkin' their part in the patriot game

But now as I lie here my body all holes
I think of those traitors who bargained and sold
I wish that my rifle had but given the same
To those quislings who sold out the patriot game.

*

PEGGY GORDON

Oh, Peggy Gordon, you are my darling
Come sit you down upon my knee
And tell me the very reason
Why I am slighted so by thee.

I'm so in love that I can't deny it
My heart lies smothered in my breast
But it's not for you to let the world know it
A troubled mind can know no rest.

I put my head to a glass of brandy,
It was fancy I do declare
For when I'm drinkin', I'm always thinkin'
And wishing Peggy Gordon was here.

I wish I was in some lonesome valley
Where womankind cannot be found
Where the little birds sing upon the branches
And every moment a different sound.

*

PLOOBOY LADDIES

Doon yonder den lives a plooboy lad
An' someday soon he'll be all my ain.

Chorus: And sing laddie-aye, and sing laddie-o
Plooboy laddies are a' the go.

Doon yonder den I could hae gotten a miller
But a' his stoor it woulda garr'd me ill.

Doon yonder den I could hae gotten a merchant
But a' his gear it wasnae worth a groat.

I see him comin' down frae yonder town
Wi' a' his ribbons rolling round and round.

*

THE QUEEN OF ARGYLL
-Andy Stewart

Gentlemen, it is my duty to inform you of one beauty
Though I'd ask of you a favor, no to seek her for a while
I own she is a creature of character and feature
No words can paint the picture of the Queen of all Argyll!

CHORUS: And if you could have seen her there!
Boys, if you had just been there!
The swan was in her movement and the morning in her smile
All the roses in the garden they bow and ask her pardon
For not one could match the beauty of the Queen of all Argyll!

On the evening that I mentioned, I passed with light intention
thru a part of our dear country known for beauty and for style
Bein' a place of noble thinkers, of scholars and great drinkers
But above them all for splendor shone the Queen of all Argyll!

So, m'lads I needs must leave you, my intention's no to grieve
you
Nor indeed would I decieve you, no, I'll see you in a while
I must find some way to gain her, to court her and to tame her
I fear my heart's in danger from the Queen of all Argyll!

*

THE RATTLIN' BOG

Chorus: Horo, the rattlin' bog, there's a bog down in the valley-o
Horo, the rattlin' bog, there's a bog down in the valley-o

And in this hole there was a tree, a rare tree, a rattlin' tree
A tree in the hole and a hole in the bog
and the bog down in the valley-o.

And on this tree there was a limb, a rare limb, a rattlin' limb
A limb on the tree and a tree in the hole
and a hole in the bog
and the bog down in the valley-o.

And on this limb there was a branch, a rare branch, a rattlin' branch
A branch on the limb ... etc.

And on this branch there was a twig, a rare twig, a rattlin' twig
Twig on the branch ... etc.

And on this branch there was a nest, a rare nest, a rattlin' nest
A nest on the branch ... etc.

And in this nest there was an egg, a rare egg, a rattlin' egg
Egg in the nest ... etc.

And on this egg there was a bird, a rare bird, a rattlin' bird
A bird on the egg ... etc.

And on this bird there was a wing, a rare wing, a rattlin' wing
A wing on the bird ... etc.

And on this wing there was a feather, a rare feather, a rattlin'
feather
Feather on the wing ... etc.

And on this feather there was a bug, a rare bug, a rattlin' bug
A bug on the feather ... etc.

And on this bug there was a hair, a rare hair, a rattlin' hair
Hair on the bug ... etc.

And on this hair there was a moose, a rare moose, a rattlin' moose
Moose on the hair ... etc.

Note: This could go on forever and three days after, but "agus fagaimid
siud mar ata se!" (we'll leave it as it is!)

*

THE ROCKY ROAD TO DUBLIN
-Traditional 19th Cent.
(note: tune is a slip-jig in 9/8 time!)

In the merry month of June, from me home I started
Left the girls of Tuam nearly broken hearted
Saluted father dear, kissed me darlin' mother
Drank a pint of beer me grief and tears to smother
Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born,
Cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghost and goblin
A brand new pair of brogues, rattlin o'er the bogs
And frightenin' all the dogs on the rock road to Dublin

CHORUS: One, two, three, four, five
Hunt the hare and turn her
Down the rocky road, another way to Dublin
whack fol-laddie-ah!

In Mullingar that night I rested limbs so weary
Started by daylight next mornin' blithe and early
Took a drop of the pure to keep me heart from sinkin'
That's the Paddy's cure whenever he's on for drinkin'
See the ladies smile, laughin' all the while,
At me curious style, would set your heart a bubblin'
Asked me was I hired, wages I required,
Till I was nearly tired on the rocky road to Dublin

In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity
To be soon deprived a view of that fine city
So then I took a stroll all amoung the quality
My bundle it was stole all in a neat locality
Something crossed me mind, when I looked behind
No bundle could I find upon me stick a-wobblin'
Enquirein' for the rogue, they said me Connacht brogue
Wasn't much in vogue on the rock road to Dublin

From there I got away, me spirits never failing
Landed on the quay just as the ship was sailing
The captain at me roared, said that no room had he
When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy:
Down amoung the pigs, played some funny rigs,
Danced some hearty jigs the water round me bubblin'
When off Holyhead, wished meself was dead,
Or better far instead on the rock road to Dublin

Well, the boys of Liverpool, when we safely landed,
Called meself a fool, I could no longer stand it,
Blood began to boil, temper I was losin'
Poor old Erin's Isle they began abusin'
"Hurrah, me Soul!" says I, my shillelagh I let fly
Some Galway boys were nigh and saw I was a hobbelin'
With a loud "Hurray" joined in the affray
We quickly cleared the way on the rocky road to Dublin !

*

RODDY McCORLEY
-Ethna Carberry

Oh, see the fleet-foot hosts of men who speed with faces wan
From farmstead and from thresher's cot along the banks of Ban
They come with vengeance in their eyes too late, too late are they
For young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

Up the narrow streets he stepped smiling proud and young
About the hemp rope around his neck his golden ringlets clung
Oh, there is never a tear in his blue eyes both sad and bright are
they
As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

When he last stepped up that street his shining pike in hand
Behind him marched in grim array a stalwart earnest band
For Antrim town, for Antrim town, he led them to the fray
As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

There is never a one of all your dead, more bravely fell in fray
Than he who marches to his fate on the Bridge of Tomb today
True to the last! True to the last! He treads the upward way
As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

*

RAMBLIN' ROVER
-Andy Stewart
copyright (date unk.) Strathmore Music & Film Services

CHORUS: O there's sober men in plenty, and drunkards barely twenty
There are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl
But gie me a ramblin' rover, and from Orkney down to Dover
We will roam the country over and together will face the world!

O there's many that feign enjoyment for merciless employment
Their ambition was this deployment since the minute they left the
school
They save and scrape and ponder while the rest go out and squander
See the world, and rove and wander, and they're happier as a rule

I've roamed thru all the nations, ta'en delight in all creation
And I've tried a wee sensation where the company did prove kind
And when parting was no pleasure, I've drunk another measure
To the good friends that we treasure for they always are in our minds

For the lassies young and sprightly, them I courted nightly
Where stayin' wasn't likely, for I ramble up and down;
'Cause life it would be hearty, I'd dance at every party,
Meet ramblin' Dan McCarthy and we'll all go on the town!

If you're bent with arth-er-itis, your bowels have got colitis
You have gallopin' bollockitis and you're thinkin' it's time you died
You've been a man of action tho you're lyin' there in traction
You may gain some satisfaction sayin' "Jaysus, at least I tried!"

*
THE RISING OF THE MOON

"O then, tell me Sean O'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so"
"Hush, me Bouchall, hush and listen," and his cheeks were all aglow
I bear orders from the captain get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together at the risin' of the moon.

Chorus: At the rising of the moon, oh the rising of the moon
For the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon.

"O then, tell me Sean O'Farrell, where the gath'rin' is to be"
In the old spot by the river, right well known to you and me
One more word for signal token, whistle up the marchin' tune
With your pike upon your shoulder, by the rising of the moon."

Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through that night
Many a manly heart was throbbing for the blessed warning light
Murmurs passed along the valleys, like the banshee's lonely croon
And a thousand blades were flashing at the rising of the moon.

There beside the singing river, that dark mass of men were seen
Far above the shining weapons hung their own beloved green
Death to every foe and traitor, forward, strike the marching tune
And hurrah, my boys, for freedom, tis the rising of the moon.

Well, they fought for poor old Ireland, and full bitter was their fate
Oh what glorious pride and sorrow fills the name of ninety eight
Yes, thank God, e'en still are beating hearts in manhood's burning noon

Who would follow in their footsteps at the rising of the moon.

*

SEVEN NIGHTS DRUNK
-Traditional

When I came home on Monday night, as drunk as drunk could be
I saw a horse outside the door, where my old horse should be
So I called my wife, (audience shouts: HEY WIFE!)
And I said to her, would you kindly tell to me
Who owns that horse outside my door, where my old horse should be?
Oh, you're drunk, you drunk, you silly old fool,
Can't you plainly see?
That's a lovely sow that my mother sent to me
Well it's many a day I've travelled, a hundred miles or
more
But a saddle on a sow I've never seen before!

When I came home on Tuesday night......etc.
Saw a coat behind the door......etc.
....Who owns that coat.....
...that's a lovely blanket...
...But buttons on a blanket....etc.

When I came home on Wednesday night.....etc.
I saw a pipe upon the chair, where my old pipe should be..etc.
....Who owns that pipe.....
...That's a lovely tin-whistle that my mother sent to me!
...But tobacco in a tin-whistle I've never seen before!

When I came home on Thursday night......etc.
I saw two boots beneath the bed.......etc.
....Who owns those boots.......etc.
...They're two geranium-pots...etc.
...But laces in geranium-pots....etc.

When I came home on Friday night......etc.
Saw a head upon the bed......etc.
....Who owns that head.........etc.
...That's a baby boy...etc.
...but whiskers on a baby boy...etc.

When I came home on Saturday night....etc.
Saw a rise beneath the sheets.....etc.
....Who owns that rise......
...It's nothing but a shillelagh...etc.
...But knackers on a shillelagh....etc.

(Alternate lyric: "Hammer" "A hammer with a head like that..")

When I came home on Sunday night...etc.
I saw a man walk out the door, a little after three! (shout: A.M.!)
....Who was that man......after three (shout: A.M.!)
...That's an English tax-man....etc.
...But an Englishman that could last till three....etc.

*

SOMEBODY'S MOGGY
-Eric Bogle

Somebody's moggy by the side of the road
Somebody's kitty who forgot his Highway Code!
Someone's favorite feline, who ran clean out of luck,
When he ran into the street and tried to argue with a truck!

Yesterday he'd birded and played in his kitty Paradise,
Decapitating tweety-birds and masticating mice!
Now he's just six pounds of raw mince-meat
That don't smell very nice.....
He's nobody's moggy now!

So if you love your kitty, be sure to keep him in,
Don't let him argue with a truck; the truck is bound to win!
If you let him play in the roadway I'm afraid that will be that
There will be one last despairing "meow!"
And a sort of sqelchy splat!
And your kitty will be slightly dead, and very, very flat!
He's nobody's moggy
Just red and squashed and soggy......!
He's nobody's moggy now!

*

SIC A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, fareweel our ancient glory;
Fareweel to e'en our Scottish name sae famed in sang and story...
Now Sark runs tae th' Solway sands, and Tweed runs t'th'ocean..
Tae mark whaur England's Province stands:
Sic a parcel of rogues in a nation!

What force or guile could not subdue through many warlike ages
Is wrought now by a coward few for hireling traitor's wages.
The English steel we could disdain, secure in valor's station..
But English gold has been our bane:
Sic a parcel of rogues in a nation!

Oh, would or had I seen the day that treason thus could sell us!
My auld grey head had lain in clay w'Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But, pith and power, till my last hour, I'll make this declaration:
We were bought and sold for English gold!
Sic a parcel of rogues in a nation!

*

THE SLEEPING SCOTSMAN
-Anonymous
(last 2 verses by Rich Bailey)

A Scotsman clad in kilt left a bar one evening fair
And one could tell by how he walked he'd drunk more than his share
He stumbled on until he could no longer keep his feet
Then staggered off into the grass to sleep, beside the street

CHORUS: A ring-di-diddle-e-di do, a-ring-di-diddle-i-day
He staggered off into the grass to sleep beside the street.

(following choruses as above, repeating last line of verse)

A pair of young and lovely girls just happened to come by
And one said to the other, with a twinkle in her eye:
"You see yon sleeping Scotsman, so strong and handsome built..
I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the kilt?"

They crept upon the sleeping Scotsman, quiet as could be,
And lifted up his kilt above the waist, so they could see..
And there, behold, for them to view, beneath his Scottish skirt
T'was nothing but what God has graced him with upon his birth!

They marveled for a moment, then one said: "We'd best be gone.
But let's leave a present for our friend before we move along!"
So as a gift, they left a blue silk ribbon, tied into a bow,
Around the Bonnie Star the Scottish kilt did lift and show!

The Scotsman woke to Nature's Call, and stumbled towards a tree
Behind the bush, he lifts his kilt, and gawks at what he sees!
Then, in a startled voice he says to what's before his eyes:
"I ken na' whaur y'been, m'lad, but I see y'won First Prize!"

Our Scottish friend, still dressed in kilt, continued up the street
He hadn't gone ten yards or more, when a lass he chanced to meet.
She said: "I've heard what's underneath there, tell me, is it so?"
He said: "Just slip your hand up, lass, if y'really want to know!"

So she slipped her hand right up his kilt, and much to her surprise,
The Scotsman smiled, and a very strange look came into his eyes,
She said: "Why, sir, that's gruesome!" And then she heard him roar:
"If you stick yer hand up once again, you'll find it grew some
more!"

*

SILVER WHISTLE
(Circa 1745?)
-recorded by The Silly Sisters

Ah, who will play the Silver Whistle?
When my King's son to sea is going?
As Scotland prepares; prepares his coming!
Upon a dark ship on the ocean......

The ship it has three masts of silver
With ropes so light, of French silk woven!
So bonnie then, are six golden pulleys
To bring my King's son ashore, and landing.....

When my King's son he comes back home
No bruising stones will put before him!
Loaves of bread, bread will be baking
For Charles, with eyes so blue, enticing.......

Ah, welcome to you, Fame and Honour!
Pipes with tunes of joy attend you!
I will be dancing! I will be singing!
And I will play the Silver Whistle.............

And I will play the Silver Whistle!

*

SOME SAY THE DEVIL'S DEAD

Some say the devil's dead
Some say he's hardly,
Some say the devil's dead,
And buried in Killarney.

More say he rose again,
More say he rose again,
More say he rose again,
And joined the British Army.....

*

THE WEE MAGIC STANE
-John MacEvoy
(Tune: "Villikins and His Dinah" aka: "Sweet Betsy From Pike", aka "The Old
Orange Flute" etc.)

Oh, the Dean of Westminister was a powerful man,
He held all the strings of the State in his hand,
But wi' a' this great business it flustered him nane,
Till some rogues ran away with his wee magic stane!

CHORUS: Sing too-ra-lie-oo-ra-lie-oo-ra-lie-ay!

Noo the stane had great powers that could do sic a thing
And withoot it, it seemed, we'd be wantin' a King,
So he called in the polis, and gave this decree:
"Go and hunt oot the stane and return it to me!"

So the polis went beetlin' up tae the North
They huntit the Clyde and they huntit the Forth,
But the wild folk up yonder just kidded them a'
For they did not believe it was magic at a'!

Noo the Provost o' Glascow, Sir Victor by name,
Was awfy pit oot when he heard of the stane,
So he offert the statues that staun' in the Square
That the high church's masons might mak' a few mair!

When the Dean of Westminister with this was acquaint,
He sent for Sir Victor and made him a Saint!
"Now it's no use your sending your statues down heah,"
Said the Dean, "But you've given me a jolly good ideah!"

So he quarried a stane of the very same stuff
An' he dressed it all up 'till it looked like enough
Then he sent for the Press and announced that The Stane
Had been found and returned to Westminister again.

When the reivers found out what Westminister had done
They went aboot diggin' up stanes by the ton!
And fur each wan they finished they entered the claim
that THIS was the true and original stane!

Noo the cream o' the joke still remains tae be tell't
Fur the bloke that was turnin' them off on the belt
At th' peak o' production was so sorely pressed
That the real one got bunged in along wi' th' rest!

So if y'ever come up on a stane wi' a ring
Just sit yersel' doon and appoint yersel' King!
Fur there's nane would be able t' challenge yer claim,
That ye'd croont yersel King on the Destiny Stane!

*
Note: This song commemorates the theft of the Stone of Scone
by Scots Nationalists in 1951.....

*

THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS
-The Kipper Family

Well, as I come home on Monday night
I'd had nothin' at all t'drink
I saw a horse behind the door....
Well, that made me stop and think!
A coat, some boots, a pipe I spied,
And then upstairs I ran.
And there in bed, beside my wife,
Was a great big hairy man!
Oh you come bargin' in, she cried,
You've put him off his thrust,
For me and the village smith, she cried,
Are practicin' our Lust!

CHORUS: As I come home each night
Me troubles all begin
For there's the Missus practicin'
The Seven Deadly Sins!

Well, as I came home on Tuesday night
As sober as a Judge
I saw no tea upon my plate
Where my old tea should lodge
So I called my wife and I said to her
Well, here's a rum old do!
I got no tea upon my plate
Is it somethin' to do with you?
Well, sin of sin of sins, she said
There's nothin' for your tea
For I have been a-practicin'
The Sin of Gluttony!

Well, as I come home on Wednesday night
As dry as any old bone
I saw the cat upon the stairs
Where that should not have gone
So I called my wife and I said to her
Well, what's all this here, then?
Why is the cat all on the stairs
Where that should never have been?
I'm upstairs practicin' Pride, she said
In my best Sunday hat
Pride comes before a fall, says I,
Then I fell over the cat!

Well, as I come home on Thursday night
Me tongue all hangin' out
I saw no books upon the shelf;
They was all strewed about.
So I called my wife and I says to her
Don't tell me, let me guess:
You've found another Deadly Sin
That's called Untidyness!
She said I'm a-tryin' to find out
What Covetousness means
I wish we owned that Diction'ry
We saw round at the Dean's!

Well, as I come home on Friday night
A-gaspin' for a wet
I saw no spouse upon the chair
Where my ol' spouse do set
So I called my wife and I says to her
Well, what's a-goin' on?
I left my spouse upon this chair
Wherever has she gone?
Look up! Look up! You silly old fool!
I'm hangin' from the light
For I am practicin' Sloth, she said,
And I'll be here half the night!

*

SCOTLAND THE BRAVE

Hark when the night is fallin', hear, hear the pipes a-callin'
Loudly and proudly callin' down thru the glen
There where the hills are sleepin', now feel the blood a-leapin'
High as the spirits of the old highland men!
Towering in gallant fame, Scotland the mountain hame!
High may your proud standards gloriously wave!
Land of the high endeavour, land of the shining river,
Land of my heart, forever! Scotland the brave!

High in the misty highlands, out by the purple islands,
Brave are the hearts that beat beneath Scottish skies!
Wild are the winds to meet you, staunch are the friends that greet
you
Kind as the light that shines from fair maiden's eyes!
Towering in gallant fame, Scotland, my mountain hame!
High may your proud standards gloriously wave!
Land of the high endeavour, land of the shining river,
Land of my heart, forever! Scotland the brave!

Far-off in sunlit places, sad are the Scottish faces,
Yearnin' t'feel the kiss of sweet Scottish rain!
Where tropic skies are beamin', love sets the heart a-dreamin',
Longin' and dreamin' for the homeland again!
Towering in gallant fame, Scotland, my mountain hame!
High may your proud standards gloriously wave!
Land of the high endeavour, land of the shinin' river,
Land of my heart, forever! Scotland the brave!

Hot as a burning ember, flaming in bleak December
Burning within the hearts of clansmen afar!
Calling to home and fire, calling the sweet desire,
Shining a light that beckons from every star!
Towering in gallant fame, Scotland, my mountain hame!
High may your proud standards gloriously wave!
Land of the high endeavour, land of the shinin' river,
Land of my heart, forever! Scotland the brave!

*

THE SHOALS OF HERRING
-Ewan MacColl

With our nets and boats we were farin'
On the wide and wasteful ocean
It's out there on the deep that we harvest our herd
As we hunt the bonnie shoals of herring.

It was on a fair and pleasant day
Out of Yarmouth harbour I was farin'
As a cabin boy on a sailin' lugger
For to hunt the bonnie shoals of herring.

Now we left our homes in the month of June
And for Grannoch Shiels we soon were farin'
With a hundred cran of the silver darlin'
That we'd taken from the shoals of herring.

Now the work was hard and the hours were long
And the treatment sure it took some bearin'
And I used to sleep standing on my feet
And I'd dream about the shoals of herring.

Now you're up on deck you're a fisherman
And you're learning all about sea farin'
That's your education: scraps of navigation
As you hunt the bonnie shoals of herring.

In the biting wind and the driving rain
Sure you earn the gear that you're wearing
Sailed ten thousand miles, caught ten thousand fishes
As we hunt the bonnie shoals of herring.

SKYE BOAT SONG

Chorus: Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing
"Onward!" the sailors cry.
Carry the lad that's born to be King
Over the sea to Skye.

Loud the wind howls, loud the waves roar
Thunder claps rend the air
Baffled our foes, stand on the shore
Follow they will not dare.

Many's the lad fought on that day
Well the claymore did wield
When the night came silently lay
Dead on Culloden field.

Though the waves leap, soft will he sleep
Ocean's a royal bed
Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep
Watch by his weary head.

Burned are our homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men;
Yet ere the Sword cool in the Sheath
Charlie will come again!

SOUND THE PIBROCH
-Mrs. Norman MacLeod Sr.
-Last verse by Joe Bethancourt

Sound the pibroch loud and high
From John O'Groats to the Isle of Skye!
Let all the Clans their slogan cry
And rise tae follow Charlie!

(Chorus) Tha tighin fodham, fodham, fodham (3X)
To rise and follow Charlie!

And see a small devoted band
By dark Loch Shiel have ta'en their stand
And proudly vow w'heart and hand
To fight for Royal Charlie!

Frae every hill and every glen
are gatherin' fast the loyal men
They grasp their dirks and shout again:
"Hurrah! for Royal Charlie!"

On dark Culloden's field of gore
Hark! They shout: "Claymore! Claymore!"
They bravely fight; what can they more?
They die for Royal Charlie!

How on the barren heath they lie
Their funeral dirge the eagles cry,
And mountain breezes o'er them sigh
What fought and died for Charlie.

No more we'll see such deeds again
Deserted is each Highland glen
And lonely cairns are o'er the men
Who fought and died for Charlie!

The White Rose blossoms forth again
Deep in sheltered Highland glens
And soon we'll hear the cry we ken:
Tae rise! And fight for Charlie!

(note: "tha tighin fodham" is pronounced HA CHEEN FOAM
and means "it comes upon me" or "I have the wish."

*

SPANCIL HILL

Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
My mind bein' bent on ramblin' to Ireland I did fly
I stepped aboard a vision, and followed with my will
Till next I came to anchor at the Cross near Spancil Hill

Delighted by the novelty, enchanted with the scene
Where in my early boyhood, where often I had been
I thought I heard a murmur, and I think I hear it still
It's the little stream of water that flows down by Spancil Hill

It being the 23rd of June, the day before the Fair
When Ireland's sons and daughters in crowds assembled there
The young, the old, the brave and bold, they came for sport and kill
There were jovial conversations at the Cross of Spancil Hill

I went to see my neighbors, to hear what they might say
The old ones were all dead and gone, the young ones turning grey
I met with tailor Quigley, he's as bold as ever still
Sure, he used to make my britches when I lived in Spancil Hill

I paid a flying visit to my first, and only, love
She's white as any lily, and gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me, sayin' "Johnny I love you still!"
She's Nell, the farmer's daughter, and the pride of Spancil Hill

I dreamt I stopped and kissed her as in the days of yore
She said "Johnny, you're only joking, as many times before."
The cock crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill
And I woke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill.

*

SULLIVAN'S JOHN
-Paddy Dunn

Sullivan's John to the road you've gone,
far away from your native home
You've gone with the tinker's daughter
far along the road to roam
Sullivan's John sure you won't stick it long
when your belly will soon get slack
When you're roaming the road with a mighty load
and a toodle box on your back.

I met Katy Coffey with her neat baby
behind on her back strapped on
She'd an old ash plant all in her hand
for to drive her donkey on
Enquiring at every farmer's house
that along the road she passed
Where would she find an old pot to mend
and where would she swap an ass.

There's a hairy ass fair in the County Claire
in a place they call Spancil Hill
Where my brother James got a rap on the head
and poor Paddy they tried to kill.
They loaded him up in an ass and cart
while Kate and Mary stood by
Bad luck to the day that I went away
to join with the tinkers band.

*

THE STAR OF THE COUNTY DOWN

Near Banbridge town in the County Down
One morning last July
Down a boreen green came a sweet colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by.
She looked so sweet from her two bare feet
To the sheen of her nut brown hair
Such a coaxing elf, sure I shook myself
For to see I was really there.

CHORUS: From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
And from Galway to Dublin town,
No maid I've seen like the brown colleen
That I met in the County Down!

She'd a soft brown eye and a look so sly
And a smile like the rose in June
And you hung on each note from her lily-white throat
As she lilted an Irish tune
At the pattern dance you were held in a trance
As she tripped thru a reel or a jig,
And when her eyes she'd roll, she'd coax, on my soul,
A spud from a hungry pig!

I've travelled a bit, but never was hit
Since my roving career began,
But, fair and square, I surrendered there
To the charms of young Rosie McAnn!
With a heart to let, and no tenant yet,
Did I meet in shawl or gown,
But in she went, and I asked no rent
From the Star of the County Down!

As she onward sped sure I scratched my head
And I looked with a feeling rare
And I says, says I, to a passer by,
"Who's the maid with the nut brown hair?"
He smiled at me and he said, said he,
"That's the gem of Ireland's crown.
Young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Ban,
She's the star of the County Down."

At the harvest fair she'll be surely there,
So I'll dress in my Sunday clothes
With my shoes shone bright and my hat cocked right
For a smile from my nut brown Rose
No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke,
Till my plough is a rust coloured brown
Till a smiling bride by my own fireside
Sits the star of the County Down.

*

<end part 3 of 4>
<the end>
Edited by Mark S. Harris SI-songbook3-art

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<BODY><PRE>SI-songbook4-art - 5/29/96

A Collection of Scottish and Irish songs, compiled by Ioseph of Locksley.
This songbook is divided into four parts for ease of downloading. You
are reading part 4 of 4.

NOTE: Also see the files: p-songs-msg, song-sources-msg, songs-msg, songs2-msg,
harps-msg, guitar-art, drums-msg, bardic-msg, Bardic-Guide-art.

************************************************************************
NOTICE -

This file is a collection of various messages having a common theme that
I have collected from my reading of the various computer networks. Some
messages date back to 1989, some may be as recent as yesterday.

This file is part of a collection of files called Stefan's Florilegium.
These files are available on the Internet at: http://www.florilegium.org

I have done a limited amount of editing. Messages having to do with
seperate topics were sometimes split into different files and sometimes
extraneous information was removed. For instance, the message IDs were
removed to save space and remove clutter.

The comments made in these messages are not necessarily my viewpoints. I
make no claims as to the accuracy of the information given by the
individual authors.

Please respect the time and efforts of those who have written these
messages. The copyright status of these messages is unclear at this
time. If information is published from these messages, please give
credit to the orignator(s).

Thank you,
Mark S. Harris AKA: Lord Stefan li Rous
mark.s.harris@motorola.com stefan@florilegium.org
************************************************************************

From: beudach@aol.com (Lord Graeme O'Baoighill)
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Subject: Graeme's Aforementioned Songbook
Date: 27 Mar 1995 16:10:41 GMT
Organization: Duchy Tarragon

A COLLECTION OF SCOTTISH AND IRISH SONGS

compiled and transcribed by Joe Bethancourt
=========================================================================

<part 4 of 4>

TEMPERANCE
-Bob Cockerall
(tune: Temperance Reel)

Just the other day I was invited to a funeral
But to my disappointment, the fella didn't die
He said he's very sorry then for havin' dissappointed us
And seein' as he apoligized, we let the thing go by
To ease our disappointment, he took us out and treated us
He bought a quart of porter for a company of ten
And when we asked th' fellow whose money he was squanderin'
The fellow took his wallet out; we didn't ask again!

We got a concertina out all for to make some merriment
And none of us could play it tho we tried our best and worst
We made an awful noise on it, and if it's any benefit,
We played the thing so carefully that all the bellows burst
We got a boiled potato for to mend the concertina with
When someone struck Maloney with the carcass of a cat
He bundled back his whiskers, and he read out the riot act
And said he'd put two lumps upon the bugger who done that!

The owner of the beershop, when he saw us all a-riotin'
He ordered us to leave at once, but this we flat refused
So he whistled up some loafers who was standin' round the corner
And for ten or fifteen minutes we was bodily abused
We gathered up our dignity, and down the road we started,
A bunch of hungry urchins, well, they pelted us with mud
We told 'em they could chuck it, and they said they was a doin' that
And then they all run off and left us there a-standin' where we
stood!

Well, just around the corner we ran into some Salvationers
Who rifled all our pockets, and inquired if we was saved
And poor old John McGinty got escorted to the station-house
For the song that he was singin', and the way that he behaved.
Well, for to free McGinty we all stripped off our undershirts
And to the local Pawnshop we marched the bloomin' lot
We told them that we only wanted ten-and-six on them
There's enough on them already, was the answer that we got!

We got ten-and-six on them all for to free McGinty with
Bad luck to the beershop we passed along the way!
Of course we couldn't pass it without havin' some refreshment
And we squandered every penny of the fine we had to pay....
The liquor bein' in us, well, the sense it went all out of us
And for a bit of riotin' we quickly did repair
We battered one another as we re-arranged the tables
Keepin' track of lighter objects that was flyin' thru the air!

McPherson hit McCannlesh and McCannlesh hit another man
And another man, another man, and any man was right
And poor old crippled MacNamara, sittin' doin' nothin'
Got a kick that broke his jaw for not indulgin' in the fight
We fought around like Turks until the police came and parted us
And carted us away with broken noses and black eyes
I got thirty days in prison, but to me it was a lesson
That I'll go no more to funerals...until the fella dies!

*

TWA CORBIES
(Child #26)
(Tune: from Brittany: "Al Alarc'h")
recorded by Joe Bethancourt
"Celtic Circle Dance"

As I gang waukin' all alane
I heard twa corbies makin' a mane
the t'ane untae t'ither spake
whaur sall we gang and dine today?

On yonder hill by yon auld fail dyke
I wot there lies a nu slain knight
and nae man ken that he lies there
save hawk and hound and Lady fair

His hound is tae th' huntin' gaen
his hawk tae fetch th' wyld fowl haem
his Lady's ta'en anither mate
so we may mak' noo our dinner sweet

Thou sall sit on his bonny hause-bein
and I'll pluck oot his bonny blue e'en
His luvly strands of gowden haar
sall theek our nest when it grows bare

There's mony a man for him mak's mane
but nane sall ken whaur he has gaen
o'wer his whyte bones when they are bare
the wynd sall blaw forever mair.

*

TAIL TODDLE
-Traditional Scots
recorded by the Mitchell Trio

Our guidwife held o'er to Fife
For tae buy a coal-riddle
Lang or she cam back agin
Tammie gart my tail toddle!

(Chorus): Tail toddle, tail toddle
Tammie gars my tail toddle
But an' ben we diddle-doddle
Tammie gars my tail toddle!

Wen I'm deid I'm out o'date
Wen I'm seik I'm fu' o'trouble
Wen I'm weel I stap about
An' Tammie gars my tail toddle!

Jenny Jack she gae'd a plack
Helen Wallace gae'd a bottle
Quo' the bride "It's o'er little
For tae mend a broken dottle!"

*

TAKE HER IN YOUR ARMS
-Andy Stewart (?)
Recorded by Andy M. Stewart "Dublin Lady"
Green Linnet CSIF 1083

Have you seen him on the corner, and his lip would reach the pavement?
He's been hidin' from his razor, is he not an awful sight?
In love he was the purest, now he's frightenin' our tourists,
If he'd gone and asked his father, oh, I'm sure he'd set him right!

CHORUS: Take her in your arms, and tell her that you love her!
Take her in your arms, and hold that woman tight!
Take her in your arms, and tell her that you love her!
If you're going to love a woman then be sure and do it right!

Well, he met her at a disco, in a dive in San Francisco,
And it might have all been different had he seen her in daylight ..
She was painted, she was scented, but she drove your man demented
If he'd gone and asked his father, oh, I'm sure he'd set him right!

Here's a pub with fun and laughter, the landlord's buyin' betty,
There's a session in the corner, and the crack is grand tonight!
But your man, who lost his woman, he's still at home lamentin'
If he'd gone and asked his father, oh, I'm sure he'd set him right!

Now, depression's not a million laughs, but suicide's too dangerous!
Don't go leapin' out of buildings in the middle of the night!
It's not the fall, but landin', that'll alter social standin';
So go first and ask your father and I'm sure he'll set y'right!

And here's a health to all true lovers, their sisters and their brothers,
And their uncles and their grannies, for this thing is black-and-white:
If you're keen to start romancin', with it's leapin' and its' dancin',
Then go first and ask your father, and I'm sure he'll set y'right!

*

WILLIE MACINTOSH
(The Burning of Auchendown)
(Child 183)
recorded by the Silly Sisters

As I cam by Fidduch-side, on a May morning,
I spied Willie Macintosh, and hour before the dawning:
Turn again, turn again, turn again I bid ye!
If ye burn Auchendown, Huntley he will heid ye!

Hunt me or heid me, that sall never fear me!
I sall burn Auchendown before the life leaves me!

As I cam in by Auchendown, on a May morning,
Auchendown was in a blaze, an hour before the dawning!
Crawing, crawing, for a' your crowse crawing...
Ye brunt your crop and tint your wings
an hour before the dawning!

*

THE WILD ROVER

CHORUS: And it's no! Nae! Never! No, nae, never, no more!
Will I play the wild rover, no never, no more!

I've been a wild rover for many a year
And I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer
But now I'm returning with gold in great store
And I never will play the wild rover no more

I went into an alehouse I used to frequent
And I told the landlady my money was spent
I asked her for whskey, she answered me "Nay!
Such a custom of yours I can get any day!"

Then out of my pocket, I took sovereigns bright,
And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight
She said, "I have whiskey, and wines of the best,
And the words that I spoke, sure were only in jest!"

I'll go back to my parents, confess what I've done,
And ask them to pardon their prodigal son.
And if they forgive me, as oftimes before,
Then I never will play the wild rover no more!

*

WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHERLIE?
-Traditional

CHORUS: Come thru the heather, aroond and gather
Yer all a-welcomin' earlie
Aroond ( th' ben (?) ), we are your kin,
For wha'll be King but Cherlie?
Come thru the heather, aroond and gather
Yer all a-welcomin' earlie,
To crown your rightfu' lawfu' King,
For wha'll be King but Cherlie?

In news frae Moy that cam' last nicht
That soon gar mony fairly
For ships o' war hae just cam in
And landed Royal Cherlie!

And even clans wi' sword in hand
From John O' Groats tae Earlie
Hae, tae a man, declared tae stand
and follow Royal Cherlie!

The Lowlands all, baith great and sma'
Wi' mony a Lowland Laird
They declared for Scotland's King and Law
and spiel yer blud for Cherlie!

And here's a health tae Cherlie's cause
Be it completed early!
His very name would warm the hairt:
Tae Arms! For Royal Cherlie!

*

THE WELLY BOOT SONG
-Billie Connelly
(Tune: "Work Of The Weavers")

CHORUS: If it wasnae for your wellies where would ye be
You'd be in the hospital or infirmary
You would have a dose of the flu or even pluresy
If y' didna' have your feet in your wellies

Wellies they are wonderful, wellies they are swell
Cause they keep out the water and they keep in the smell
And when you're sitting in a room you can always tell
When some bugger takes off his wellies.

And when you're out walking in the country with a bird
And you're strolling over fields just like a farmers herd
then somebody shouts, "Keep off the grass," and you think "How absurd!"
And "squish" you find out why farmers all wear wellies

There's fishermen and firemen, there's farmers and all
Men out diggin' ditches and working in the snow,
This country would grind to a halt and no' a thing would grow
If it wasna' for the workers in their wellies.

Now the folks up in Parliament (Congress) they haven't made a hit
They're ruining this country more than just a bit
If they keep on the way they're going, we'll all be in the s***!
So you'd better get your feet in your wellies!

*

WESTERING HOME

Chorus: Westering home with a song in the air
Light in me eyes and it's goodbye to care
Laughter and love and the welcoming there
Pride of my heart and my own love

Tell me a tale of the Orient gay
Tell me of riches that come from Cathay
Ah, but it's grand to be wakin' at day
And to find oneself closer to Islay

Where are the folks like the folks in the West
Cantie and couthy and kindly the best
There I would hie me and there I would rest
At home with my own folks in Islay.

*

WHISKY IN THE JAR

As I was going over the far famed Kerry Mountains
I met with Captain Farrell and his money he was counting
I first produced my pistol and then produced my rapier
Saying "Stand and deliver! For I am the bold deceiver!"

Chorus: Mursha-ring-a-ma-doo-a-ma-dah
Whack for the daddio, whack for the daddio
There's whiskey in the jar.

He counted out his money and it made a pretty penny
I put it in my pocket and I took it home to Jenny
She sighed and she swore that she never would deceive me but the
Devil take the women for you never can believe them.

I went into my chamber all for to take a slumber
I dreamt of gold and jewels and for sure it was no wonder
But Jenny took my charges and she filled them up with water
And sent for Captain Farrell to be ready for the slaughter.

'Twas early in the morning before I rose to travel
Up come a band of foot men and likewise Captain Farrell
I first produced my pistol for she stole away my rapier
But I couldn't shoot the water so a prisoner I was taken.

If anyone can aid me it's my brother in the army
If I could learn his station in Cork or in Killarney
And if he'd come and join me we'd go rovin' in Kilkenny
I'll engage he'd treat me fairer than my darlin' sportin' Jenny.

*

WILL YE NO COME BACK AGAIN

Bonnie Charlie's now awa'
Safely o'er the friendly main.
Many a heart will break in twa
Should he no come back again.

Chorus: Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better loved ye cannae be,
Will ye no come back again?

Many's the gallant soldier fought
Many's a gallant chief did call
Death itself was dearly bought
All for Scotland's king and lord.

Sweet the laverock's note and long
Lilting wildly up the glen.
But aye to me he sings ane song:
Will ye no come back again?

*

WHISKY YOU'RE THE DEVIL

Chorus: Whisky you're the devil you're leading me astray
Over hills and mountains into Americay
You're sweeter, stronger, decenter,
You're spunkier than tea,
Oh whisky you're me darlin' drunk or sober!

Oh, now brave boys we're on for marching
Up to Portugal and Spain
Drums are beating, banners flying
The devil all home will come tonight
Love, fare thee well

With me tiddle-ee-iddle-doodle-a-ma-da
me tiddle-ee-iddle-doodle-a-ma-da,
Me rightful too-ra-laddie-oh
There's whisky in the jar.

Said the mother do not wrong me
do not take me daughter from me
For if you do I will torment you
And after death me ghost will haunt you
Love fare thee well

Oh the French are fighting boldly
Men are dying hot and coldly
Give every man his flask of powder
His firelock upon his shoulder
Love fare thee well

*

WHISTLING GYPSY

A gypsy rover came over the hill,
Down through the valley so shady
He whistled and he sang till the green woods rang
And he won the heart of the lady.

Chorus: Ah-dee-doo Ah-dee-doo-dah-day
Ah-dee-doo Ah-dee-day-dee
He whistled and he sang till the green woods rang
And he won the heart of the lady.

She left her father's castle gate
She left her own fond lover
She left her servants and her estate He came at last to a mansion fine
To follow the gypsy rover. Down by the river Culadee
And there was music and there was wine
Her father sent up his fastest steed, With the gypsy and his lady.
Roamed the valleys all over
Sought his daughter at great speed He is no gypsy, my father, she said,
And the whistling gypsy rover. But lord of these lands all over
And I will stay till my dying day
With the whistling gypsy rover.

*

THE WILD COLONIAL BOY

There was a wild colonial boy, Jack Dugan was his name
He was born and raised in Ireland, in a place called Castlemaine
He was his father's only son, his mother's pride and joy
And dearly did his parents love the wild colonial boy.

At the early age of sixteen years, he left his native home
And to Australia's sunny shores he was inclined to roam
He robbed the rich and he helped the poor, he stabbed James MacEvoy,
A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy.

For two long years this daring youth ran on his wild career
With a heart that knew no danger, and their justice he did not fear
He robbed the lordly squatters, their flocks he would destroy
A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy.

He bade the judge "Good morning!" and he told him to beware
For he never robbed an honest judge who acted "on the square"
"Yet you would rob a mother of her son and only joy,
And breed a race of outlaws like the wild colonial boy!"

One morning on the prairie while Jack Dugan rode along
While listening to the mocking bird singing a cheerful song
Out jumped three troopers fierce and grim Kelly, Davis, and Fitzroy,
They all set out to capture him, the wild colonial boy.

Surrender now, Jack Dugan, for you see there's three to one
Surrender in the Queen's name, sir, you are a plundering son
Jack drew two pistols from his side and glared upon Fitzroy
I'll fight but not surrender cried the wild colonial boy.

He fired a shot at Kelly, which brought him to the ground
And turning round to Davis he received his fatal wound
But a bullet pierced his brave young heart from the pistol of Fitzroy
And that was how they captured him the wild colonial boy.

*

THE WILD ROVER

I've been a wild rover for many's a year
And I spent all my money on whiskey and beer
But now I'm returning with gold in great store
And I never will play the wild rover no more.

Chorus: And it's no, nay, never
No, nay, never no more
Will I play the wild rover
No, never, no more.

I went to an ale-house I used to frequent
And I told the landlady my money was spent
I asked her for credit, she answered me, "Nay,
Such custom as yours I can have any day."

And out of my pocket I took sovereigns bright
And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight
She said, "I have whiskey and wines of the best,
And the words that I spoke, sure, were only in jest."

I'll go home to my parents, confess what I've done
And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son
And if they caress me as oft times before
Then I never will play the wild rover no more.

*

ROTHSAY-O
-Traditional
(Parody of a popular song of ca. 1800)

One Hogmany at Glesca' Fair,
There was me, my'sel' and' sev'ral mair
And we all went off tae hae a tear,
And spend the night in Rothsay-o
We wandered thru the Broomielaw
Thru frost and rain and hail and snaw
And at forty minutes after twa
We'd got the length of Rothsay-o

CHORUS: Diddum a doo a dum a day,
Diddum a doo a dy dum do
Diddum a doo a dum a day,
The night we went tae Rothsay-o

A sod'jer lad named Ru'glen Will,
Wha' regiment's lyin' at Barn Hill
Went off wi' a tanner to get a gill
In a public hoose in Rothsay-o
Says he: "I think I'd like to sing."
Says I "y'll no do sic a thing!"
"So clear the room and I'll make a ring
And I'll fecht y'all in Rothsay-o!"

In search of lodgin's we did slide
To find a place where we could bide
There was eighty-twa of us inside
In a single room in Rothsay-o!
We all lay doon t'take our ease,
When somebody happend for to sneeze
And he wakened half a million fleas
In a lodgin' hoose in Rothsay-o!

There were several different kinds of bugs,
Some had feet like dyer's clogs
And they sat on the bed and they cockit their lugs
And cried: "Hurrah! for Rothsay-o!"
Says I: "I think it's time to slope!"
For the polis wouldn'a let us stop,
So we went and joined the Band O'Hope
And said farewell tae Rothsay-o!

*

THE WORK OF THE WEAVERS
-Traditional

We're all met t'gither here t'sit an' t'crack
Wi' our glasses in our hands and our wark upon our back
An' there's nae trade amang 'em that can eithermend or mak'
If it wasna' for the wark of the weavers!

CHORUS: If it wasna' for the weavers, what would y'do?
Y'wouldna' hae your cloth that's made of wool
Y'wouldna' hae your cloak of the black or the blue
If it wasna' for the wark of the weavers!

The hireman chiels they mock us and they crack aye aboot's
They say that we are thin-faced an' bleached like cloots
But yet, for a' their mockery they canna dae wi'oots
Na! They canna want the wark of the weavers!

There's oor wrichts and oor slaters and glaziers and a'
Oor doctors and oor ministers, and them what live by law
And oor friends in Sooth Ameriky, tho them we never saw
But we ken they wear the work of the weavers!

There's oor sailor and oor sodgers, we ken they're a'bauld
But if they hadna' claes, faith, they couldna fecht for cauld
The high and low, the rich and puir, a'body yound and auld -
They winna want the work of the weavers!

There's folk that independent of other trademen's wark
The women need nae barber, and the dykers need nae clark,
But none of 'em can dae wi'oot a coat or a sark
Na! They canna want the wark of the weavers!

The weavin' is a trade that niver can fail
As lang as we need clothes for t'keep anither hale
Sae let us all be merry wi' a beaker of guid ale
And we'll drink tae the health of the weavers!

*

THE GREAT SILKIE
-Traditional

An earthly norris sits and sings
And aye she sings ba lilly wean
Little ken I my bairn's father
Far less the land where he sleeps in

Then up stepped he to her bedside
And a grumly guest I'm sure is he
Saying here I am your bairn's father
Although I be not comely

I am a man upon the land
I am a silkie in the sea
And when I'm far and far from land
My home is in the Skule Skerry

It wasna' well quoth the maiden fair
It wasna' well indeed quoth she
That the Great Silkie of Skule Skerry
Should have come and brought a bairn to me

Then he has taken a purse of gold
And he has put it on her knee
Saying give to me my fine young son
And take thee thy nursing fee

It shall come to pass on a summer's day
When the sun shines hot on every stone
That I shall take my fine young son
And teach him for to swim the foam

And you shall marry a gunner proud
A right fine gunner I'm sure you'll be
And the very first shot that day he'll shoot
He'll kill both my young son and me

Alas, alas the maiden cried
This weary fate's been laid for thee
And then she said and then she cried
I'll bury me in the Skule Skerry

*

THE SICK NOTE
-Pat Cooksey (c) copyright Celtic Music
(Tune: "In The Garden Where The Praties Grow")

Dear Sir, I write this note to you to tell you of my plight
For at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight
My body is all black and blue, my face a deathly grey
And I write this note to say why Paddy's not at work today

Whilst working on the 14th floor some bricks I had to clear
To throw them down from such a height was not a good idea
The Foreman wasn't very pleased, the bloody awkward sod
And he said I'd have to cart them down the ladders in me hod

Now clearing all these bricks by hand, it was so very slow
So I hoisted up a barrel and secured the rope below
But in my haste to do the job I was too blind to see
that a barrel full of building bricks was heavier than me!

And so when I untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead
And, clinging tightly to the rope, I started up instead
I shot up like a rocket til to my dismay I found
That halfway up I met the bloody barrel coming down!

The barrel broke my shoulder, as toward the ground it sped
And when I reached the top, I banged the pulley with my head
I hung on tightly, numb with shock, from this almighty blow
And the barrel spilled out half the bricks, 14 floors below.

Now when these bricks had fallen from the barrel to the floor
I then outweighed the barrel, and so started down once more
Still clinging tightly to the rope, my body racked with pain
When, halfway down, I met the bloody barrel once again!

The force of this collision, halfway up the office block
caused multiple abrasions and a nasty state of shock
Still clinging tightly to the rope, I fell towards the ground
And landed on the broken bricks the barrel scattered round!

I lay there, groaning, on the ground; I thought I'd passed the worst
But the barrel hit the pulley wheel, and then the bottom burst...
A shower of bricks rained down on me; I hadn't got a hope...
As I lay there bleeding on the ground, I let go the bloody rope!

The barrel it was free to fall, and down it came once more
And landed right across me, as I lay upon the floor
It broke three ribs and my left arm, and I can only say:
That I hope you understand why Paddy's not at work today!

*

MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL
-Traditional

(Jaime MacPherson was hung on the 16th of November, 1700.)

Fareweel, ye dungeons dark and strang
Fareweel, fareweel to thee
MacPherson's time will no be lang
On yonder gallows-tree

CHORUS: Sae rantinly, sae wantonly
Sae dantinly gaed he!
He played a tune and he danced it roon
Below the gallows-tree!

It was by a woman's treacherous hand
That I was condemned t'dee
She stood upon a window ledge
And a blanket threw over me!

Oh what is Death, but parting breath,
On many a bloody plain
I've seen his face, and in this place,
I scorn him yet again!

The Laird o'Grant, that Highland sant
That first laid hands on me
He played the cause of Peter Broom
To let MacPherson dee

Now some cam here tae see me hanged,
And some tae buy my fiddle
But before I see her in any ither's hand
I'll break her thru the middle

So he took his fiddle in both his hands
And he broke it o'er a stane
Sayin' nae man's hand shall play on thee
When I am deid and gane!

I have lived a life of storm and strife,
I die by treachery.
It burns my heart that I must depart
And no avenged be!

Tak off these bands frae round my hands
And gie tae me my sword
For there's no a man in all Scotland
But I'd brave him at a word!

Reprieve was comin' o'er the Brigg of Banff
T'set MacPherson free
But they put the clock a quarter before
And they hanged him tae the tree!

*

THE ROSES OF PRINCE CHARLIE
-Ronnie Browne (Corries Music Pub.)

CHORUS: Come now, gather now, here where the flowers grow!
White is the blossom as the snow on the ben
Hear now freedom's call! We'll make a solemn vow,
Now by the Roses of Prince Cherlie!

Fight again at Bannockburn, your battle-axe tae wield!
Fight wi' your grandsires on Flooden's bloody field!
Fight at Culloden, the Bonnie Prince tae shield!
Fight by the Roses of Prince Cherlie!

Spirits of the banished in far and distant lands
Carved out a New World with sweat and blood and hands
Return now in glory, and on the silver sand,
Fight by the Roses of Prince Cherlie!

Tak' your strength frae the green fields that blanket fields of coal
Ships frae the Clyde have a nation in their hold!
The water-of-life some men need tae mak' them bold!
Black gold, and fishes frae the sea, man!

CHORUS 2X

*

COME O'ER THE STREAM CHARLIE
-Traditional

CHORUS: Come o'er the stream, Cherlie
Dear Cherlie, brave Cherlie,
Come o'er the stream, Cherlie,
And dine wi' McLain!
And though you be weary,
We'll mak' your head cheery,
And welcome tae Cherlie
And his loyal train!

We'll bring doon the red deer
We'll bring doon the black steer
The lang thru the bracken
And the doe frae the ben
The salt sea we'll harry
And bring tae ye, Cherlie
The cream from the bothy
And the cock frae the pen

And you will drink freely
The juice of Glen Sheelie
That streamed in the starlight
When Kings dinnae ken
And deep be your mead
Of the wine that is red
Tae drink t'your Sire
And his friend, The McLain!

If we do invite y'
What more can delight y'
It's ready, a troop of
Our bold Heiland men!
They'll range on the heather
Wi' bayonet and feather
Strong arms and broad claymores,
Three hundred and ten!

*

DUMBARTON'S DRUMS
-Traditional

CHORUS: Dumbarton's drums they sound sae bonnie
When they remind me of my Jeannie
Such fond delight can steal upon me
When Jeannie kneels and sings tae me

Across the hills, the burn and heather
Dumbarton tolls the hour of pleasure
A song of love that has no measure
When Jeannie kneels and sings tae me

Tis she alone who can delight me
As gracefully she doth invite me
And when her tender arms enfold me
The blackest night can turn and flee

CHORUS 2X, replacing last line with:

(when Jeannie kneels and kisses me)

*

FLOWER OF SCOTLAND
-Roy Williamson (CML)

Oh flower of Scotland
When will we see your like again?
That fought and died for
your wee bit hill and glen?

CHORUS: And still against him
Proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward
Tae think again!

The hills are bare now
And autumn leaves lie thick and still
For a land that is lost now
Which those so dearly held

Those days are past now
And in the past they must remain
But we can still rise now
And be the nation again!

The hills are bare now
And autumn leaves lie thick and still
For a land that is lost now
Which those so dearly held

Oh flower of Scotland
When will we see your like again?
That fought and died for
your wee bit hill and glen?

*

THE SUNDAY DRIVER
-Bill Hill (CML)
(Tune: Traditional)

Well I've been a Sunday driver noo for many a happy year
And I've never had my Morris Minor oot of second gear
I can drive at fifty miles an hour on motorway or track
With me wife up front beside me and her mother in the back

CHORUS: There was me and my daddy and my daddy's mammy
And her sister's Granny and four of her chums
And Auntie Jean!

In a crowd of fifty trippers you can always pick me oot
By my "Don't blame me, I voted Tory" sticker on the boot
Wi' my bunch of heather stickin' in me radiator grille
And me stick-on transfer bullet holes and licence for to kill!

(And Auntie Peg!)

I've a hundred plastic pennants for to tell you where I've been
And my steering wheel is clad in simulated leopard-skin
Up front from the drivin' mirror hangs a plastic skeleton
And in the back a dog wi' eyes that flicker off and on!

(And Auntie May!)

I always drive as though my foot was restin' on the brake
And I weave aboot the road just so's ye cannae overtake
I can get y'sae frustrated that ye'll finish up in tears
And the sound of blarin' motor horns is music to my ears!

(And Auntie Liz!)

Now if ye wonder how these weekly trips I can afford
It's because I'm on a stipend from the Scottish Tourist Board
You're supposed tae enjoy the scenery, the finest of it's kind
And that is why I have a convoy followin' behind!

(And Auntie Rose!)

There's just no way of escaping me, no matter how ye seek
For the simple fact that I'm a Traffic Warden thru the week
I'm boostin' my efficiency, and here's my master plan:
I'm savin' up my pennies for to buy a Caravan!

(And Auntie Gert-trude!)

*

MOLLY MALONE
-Joe Bethancourt

In Dublin's fair city, where the girls have no titties
T'was there that I first met sweet Molly Malone
You could have her for a penny, and be one of many,
But for sixpence she would act alive, alive-o!

Alive, alive-o! Alive alive-o!
But for sixpence she would act alive, alive-o!

She was a street walker, and sure t'was no wonder
For so were her mother and grandmother too,
With a mattress on the barrow, thru streets broad and narrow,
And for sixpence they would act alive, alive-o!

Alive, alive-o! Alive alive-o!
And for sixpence they would act alive, alive-o!

She died of a fever, and no one could save her;
It was caught from a folkie from Ontario,
Now her ghost wheels the barrow thru streets broad and narrow
But a ghost can't be had that's alive, alive-o!

Alive, alive-o! Alive alive-o!
But a ghost can't be had that's alive, alive-o!

*

PEGGY-O
-Traditional

There once was a troop of Irish Dragoons
Cam' marching doon thru Fyvie-o
And the Captain fell in love wi' a lady like a dove
And her name it was called Pretty Peggy-o!

There's many a bonnie lass in the howe of Auchterless
There's many a bonnie lassie in the Geerie-o
There's many a bonnie Jean in the streets of Aberdeen,
But the flower of them all lives in Fyvie-o!

Come trippin' doon the stairs, pretty Peggy, my dear
Come trippin' doon the stairs, pretty Peggy-o
Come trippin' doon the stairs, combin' back your yellow hair
Bid a lang fareweel tae your Mammy-o!

What will your mother think, pretty Peggy-o?
What will your mother think, pretty Peggy-o?
What will your mother think, when she hears the guineas clink
And the sodjers gang marchin' on bye-o?

The Colonel he cried "Mount! Mount, boys, mount!"
Our Captain he cried "Tarry-o!"
"Oh tarry a little while for I see this lady smile,
Let me see if this bonny lass will marry-o!"

T'was earlie in the mornin' that we marched awa'
And oh, but our Captain he was sorry-o
The drums they did beat o'er the bonnie braes o'Gight
And the pipes played the "Lowlands of Fyvie-o!"

T'was lang ere we left the toon of Auchterless
We had our young Captain tae carry-o
And lang ere we had seen the streets of Aberdeen
We had our young Captain tae bury-o!

Oh green grows the birks upon bonnie Ythanside
And low lie the lowlands of Fyvie-o
Our Captain's name was Ned, and he died for a maid
He died for the chambermaid of Fyvie-o!

If ever I return, Pretty Peggy-o
If ever I return, Pretty Peggy-o
If ever I return, then your city I will burn
Destroyin' all the ladies in the aree-o!

*

THE BANKS OF SICILY
-Hamish Henderson (c) copyright by author
(Tune: "Farewell to the Creeks")

The pipie is dozie, the pipie is fey
He wullnae come round for his vino the day
The sky o'er Messina is unco and grey
An' a' the bricht chalmers are eerie

CHORUS: Then fare-ye-weel ye banks of Sicily
Fare-ye-weel ye valley and shaw
There's nae Jock will mourn the kyles of ye
Puir bliddy swaddies are wearie

Then fare-ye-weel ye banks of Sicily
Fare-ye-weel ye valley and shaw
There's nae name can smoor the wiles of ye
Puir bliddy swaddies are wearie!

The drummie is polished, the drummie is braw
He cannae be seen for his webbin' ava
He's beezed himsel' up for a photy and a'
Tae leave wi' his Lola, his dearie!

CHORUS: Then fare-ye-weel ye dives of Sicily
Fare-ye-weel ye shielin' and ha'
We'll all mind shebeens and bothies
Where Jock made a date wi' his dearie

Then fare-ye-weel ye dives of Sicily
Fare-ye-weel ye shielin' and ha'
We'll all mind shebeens and bothies
Whaur kind signorinas were cheerie

Then tune the pipes and drub the tenor drum
Leave your kit this side of the wa'
Then tune the pipes and drub the tenor drum
A' the bricht chalmers are eerie!

*

THE PORTREE KID
-Bill Hill (Chapell Publishing) (Tune: "Ghost Riders in the Sky")

A man came ridin' oot the west one wild and stormy day
He was quiet, lean and hungry; his eyes were smoky grey
He was lean across the hurdies, but his shoulders they were big
The terror of the Hieland glens; that was the Portree Kid!

CHORUS: Hiederum ho! Hiederum hey! The Tcheuchter that cam' frae Skye!

His sidekick was an alderman, and oh, but he was mean!
He was called the Midnight Plowboy, and he come frae Aberdeen
He had twenty-seven notches on his crommach, so they say,
And he killed a million Indians wae up by Storna way!

Portree booted in the door, he sauntered tae the bar
He poured a shot o'Crabbies, he shouted "Slainte Mhor!"
While Midnight was being chatted up by a bar-room girl called Pam
Who said "Well, howdy stranger! Would you buy us a babycham?"

Now over in the corner sat three men frae Auchtertule
They were playing games for money, in a "Snakes and Ladders" school
The fourth man was a southerner, who'd come up from McMarry
He'd been a river gambler on the Balahoolish Ferry!

Portree walked to the table and he shouted "Shake me in!"
He shuggled on the egg-cup; he gave the dice a spin,
He threw seven sixes in a row, and the game was nearly done
But then he landed on a snake, and finished on square one!

The game was nearly over, and Portree was daein' fine
He had landed on a ladder; he was up tae forty-nine
He only had but one to go, and the other man was beat
But the gambler couped the board, and he shouted "You're a cheat!"

Men dived behind the rubber plants t'try and save their skins
The accordionist stopped playing; his sidekick dropped the spoons!
He said "I think it's funny you've been up that ladder twice,
And do y'always dunt the table when I go t'throw my dice?"

The gambler drew his skean dhu as fast as lightening speed
Portree grabbed a screw-top; he cracked him o'er the heid
Then he gave him laldie wi' a salmon off the wall
And he finished off the buisness wi' his lucky grouse-foot's claw!

Portree he walked up tae the bar, he says "I'll hae a half!
And ya like the way I stuck it on that wee McMarry yaf?"
But the southerner crept up behind, his features wracked wi' pain
And he gobbed him wi' an ashtray made oot of a curlin' stane!

The fight went ragin' on all night til openin' time next day
Wi' a break for "soup and stovies" off a Coronation tray
It was gettin' kind of obvious that neither man would win
When came the shout that stopped it all: "There's a bus-trip comin'
in!"

They sing this song in Gallowshiels, and up by Peterheid
Way down o'er the Border, across the Rio Tweed
About what became of Portree, Midnight and the gamblin' man:
They opened up a gift shop, sellin' fresh-air-in-a-can!

*

FLIGHT OF EARLS

I can hear the bells of Dublin in this lonely waitin' room
And the paperboys are singin' in the rain
Not too long before they take us to the airport and the noise
To get on board a transatlantic plane
We've got nothin' left to stay for,
We've got no more left to say
And there isn't any work for us to do
So farewell ye boys and girls;
Another bloody Flight of Earls
Our best asset is our best export, too....

It's not for the fear of Cromwell that makes us leave this time
We're not going to join McAlpine's Fusileers
We've got brains, and we've got visions; we've got education, too!
But we just can't throw away these precious years
So we walk the streets of London,
And the streets of Baltimore
And we meet at night in several Boston bars
We're the leaders of the future
But we're far away from home
And we dream of you beneath those Irish stars

As we look on Ellis Island, and the Lady in the bay
And Manhattan turns to face another Sunday
We just wonder what you're doin' for to bring us all back home
As we look forward to another Monday
Because there's nothin' more that scares us;
We don't mind an honest job
And we know things will get better once again
So a thousand times adieu,
We've got Bono and U2!
And all we're missin' is the Guiness, and the rain

So switch off your new computers, cause the writin's on the wall
We're leavin' as our fathers did before
Take a look at Dublin airport, or the boat that leaves North Wall
There'll be no Youth Unemployment any more....
Because we're over here in Queensland,
And in parts of New South Wales
And we're on the seas and airways and the trains
And if we see better days,
Those big airplanes go both ways
And we'll all be comin' home to you again!

*

FAREWELL TO THE RHONDDA

CHORUS: Farewell ye colliery workers, the muffler and the cap
Farewell ye Rhondda valley girls, we never will come back
The mines they are a-closin', the valleys they're all doomed
There's no work in the Rhondda boys, we'll be in London soon

My father was a miner, and his father was before him,
He always had been proud to work the coal
Since they fell 'neath Provin's axe,
All the lads have had the sack
So away to work in England we must go!

No more the chapel singin', that long ago has left us
And the public house no more the miner's songs
For the boot wheels they are stoppin',
And the populations' droppin'
And I can't afford to stay here very long

Trehearve and Teralvye, Talleyfinley and Tenobbit
Trastreondda and Semfentra, all adeiu
For I can no longer wait
While Parliament debates
So a fond farewell I bid to all of you!

CHORUS 2X

*

DUBLIN IN THE RARE OLD TIMES

Raised on songs and stories; heroes of renown
All the passing tales of glory that once was Dublin town
The hallowed halls and houses; the haunting children's rhymes
That once was part of Dublin in the rare old times

CHORUS: Ring a ring a rosie, as the light declines
I remember Dublin city in the rare old times

Oh me name it is Sean Dempsey, as Dublin as can be
Born hard and late in Pimlicoe, in a house that ceased to be
By trade, I was a cooper. Lost out t'redundancy
Like my house that fell to "progress," my trade a memory

And I courted Peggy Diegnan. as pretty as you please
A rose and a child of Mary from the rebel Liberty
I lost her to a student lad, with skin as black as coal
When he took her off to Birmingham, she took away my soul

CHORUS

Ah, the years have made me bitter; the drink has dimmed my brain
And Dublin she keeps changin', nothin' stays the same
The Metropol and Pillar are gone, they're all since long pulled down
And that grey unyielding concrete makes a city of my town

Fare ye well, sweet Anna Liffey, I can no longer stay
And watch the new glass cages rise up along the Quay
My mind's filled full of memories, too old to hear new chimes
But I'm still a part of Dublin in the rare old times

CHORUS 2X

*

DONALD WHERE'S YOUR TROUSERS?
-Traditional

Well, I just come down frae the Isle of Skye,
I'm no very big and I'm awfu' shy,
And the lassies shout as I go by,
"Donald, where's your trousers."

CHORUS: Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in m'kilt I go.
All the lassies cry, "Hello,
Donald, where's your trousers?"

I went into a fancy ball
And it was slippery in the hall
And I was a-feared that I might fall
'Cause I had nae on me trousers!

Now I went down tae London town
T'have a little fun on the Underground
The ladies turned their heads around
Sayin' "Donald, where ARE your trousers?!"

The lassies love me, every one
But they must catch me, if they can!
Y'canna take the breeks off a Hieland man!
Sayin' "Donald, where's your trousers?"

*

MY OLD MAN'S A DUSTMAN
-Traditional

Now here's a little story, to tell it is a must
About an unsung hero, who moves away your dust...
....and garbage!
Some people make a fortune, others make a mint
But my old man don't earn that much, in fact he's flippin' skint!

CHORUS: My old man's a dustman,
He wears a dustman's hat
He wears "gor blimey" trousers,
And he lives in a Council flat!

Now folks give tips at Christmas, and some of them forget
So when he picks their bins up, he spills some on the step
Now one old man got nasty, and to the Council wrote
Next time my old man went round there, he punched him up the throat!

One day, in such a hurry, he missed a lady's bin
He hadn't gone but a few yards, when she chased after him
She cried out to him loudly, in a voice right from the heart
"You missed me; am I too late?" "No, hop up on the cart!"

Now my old man's a dustman, he's got a heart of gold
Now he got married recently, tho he's 86 years old!
We said "Here! Hang on, Dad! You're getting past your prime!"
He said "Well, when you reach my age, it's just to pass the time!"

He found a tiger's head one day, nailed to a piece of wood
The tiger looked quite miserable, but I suppose he should
Just then, from out a window, a voice was heard to wail:
"'Ere! Where's me tiger's head?" "Four foot from his tail!"

He looks a proper nabob in his great big hobnail boots
He has such a job to pull 'em up that he call's 'em "daisy roots!"
Next time you see a dustman, a-lookin' all pale and sad
Don't kick him in the dustbin, it might be my old dad!

*

CALEDONIA
-Dougie Maclean
(c) copyright 1989 Limetree Arts and Music

I don't know if you can see
The changes that have come over me
In these last few days I've been afraid
That I might drift away
I've been telling old stories, singing old songs
That make me think about where I come from
And that's the reason why I seem
So far away today...

CHORUS: Ah, but let me tell you that I love you
And I think about you all the time
Caledonia, you're callin' me and now I'm goin' home
But if I should become a stranger
You know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had

I have moved and kept on moving,
Proved the points that I needed proving
Lost the friends that I needed losing
Found others on the way
I have kissed the ladies and left them crying
Stolen dreams, yes there's no denying
I have traveled hard with conscience flying
Somewhere with the wind...

Now I'm sitting here, before the fire,
The empty room, the forest choir
The flames that couldn't get any higher
They're withered, now, they're gone
But I'm steady thinkin' my way is clear
And I know what I will do tomorrow
When the hands have shaken and the kisses flowed
Then I will disappear....

*

PATRICK FAGAN
-Traditional

CHORUS: Hello, Patrick Fagan, you can hear the girls all cry
Hello, Patrick Fagan, you're the apple of me eye!
You're a decent boy from Ireland, there's no one can deny
You're a rare of a tear of a devil-may-care
Of a decent Irish boy!

I'm workin' here in Glascow, I got a decent job
I'm carryin' bricks and mortar, and the pay is fifteen bob!
I rise up in the mornin', I get up with the lark
And when I'm walkin' down the street you can hear the girls remark:

Well the day that I left Ireland, t'was many months ago
I left my home in Ulster where the pigs and praties grow
Since I left old Ireland, it's always been my plan
To let you people see that I'm a decent Irishman!

Now if there's one among you, who'd like to marry me
I'll take you to my little home across the Irish Sea
I'll dress you up in satin and I'll do the best I can
To let the people see that I'm a decent Irishman!

*

THE TOWN THAT I LOVED SO WELL
-Phil Coulter
(c) copyright 1973 Professional Music Consultants Ltd

In my memory I will always see
The town that I loved so well
Where our school played ball by the gas-yard wall
And we laughed thru the smoke and the smell
Going home in the rain, running up the dark lane
Past the jail and down by the fountain
Those were happy days, in so many, many ways
In the town that I loved so well

In the early morn the shirt factory horn
Called women from Creggan, the Moor and the Bog
While the men on the dole played a mother's role
Fed the children, and then walked the dog
And when times got tough, there was just about enough
And they saw it thru without complainin'
For deep inside was a burning pride
In the town that I loved so well

There was music there, in the Derry air
Like a language that we all could understand
I remember the day that I earned my first pay
When I played in a small pick-up band
There I spent my youth, and to tell you the truth
I was sad to leave it all behind me
For I'd learned about life, and I'd found a wife
In the town that I loved so well

But when I've returned, how my eyes have burned
To see how a town could be brought to it's knees
By the armoured cars, and the bombed-out bars
And the gas that hangs on every breeze
Now the Army's installed by the gas-yard wall
And the damned barbed wire gets higher and higher
With their tanks and guns, oh my God what have they done
To the town that I loved so well

Now the music's gone, but they carry on
For their spirit's been bruised, never broken
They will not forget, but their hearts are set
On tomorrow, and peace once again
For what's done is done, and what's won is won
And what's lost, is lost and gone forever
I can only pray for a bright, brand new day
In the town that I loved so well

*

LOCH TAY BOAT SONG

When I've done my work of day, and I row my boat away
Doon the waters of Loch Tay as the evening light is fading
And I look upon Ben Lawers where the after glory glows
And I think on two bright eyes and the melting mouth below

She's my beauteous nighean ruadh, she's my joy and sorrow too
And although she is untrue, well I cannot live without her
For my heart's a boat in tow and I'd give the world to know
Why she means to let me go as I sing horee horo

Nighean ruadh, your lovely hair has more glamour I declare
Than all the tresses rare 'tween Killin and Aberfeldy
Be they lint white, brown or gold, be they blacker than the sloe
They are worth no more to me than the melting flake of snow

Her eyes are like the gleam o' the sunlight on the stream
And the songs the fairies sing seem like songs she sings at milking
But my heart is full of woe, for last night she bade me go
And the tears begin to flow, as I sing horee, horo

She's my beauteous nighean ruadh, she's my joy and sorrow too
And although she is untrue, well I cannot live without her
For my heart's a boat in tow and I'd give the world to know
Why she means to let me go as I sing horee horo

nb: "nighean ruadh" is "red-haired little girl"

*

COULTER'S CANDY
-Traditional

CHORUS: Ally bally, ally bally bee
Sittin' on your mammy's knee
Waitin' for a wee penny
Tae buy some Coulter's Candy

Mammy gimme ma thrifty doon
Here's auld Coulter comin' roon
Wi' a basket on his croon
Sellin' the Coulter's candy

Little Annie's greetin' tae
Sae whit can puir wee Mammy dae
But gie them a penny atween them twae
Tae buy more Coulter's candy

Ally bally, ally bally bee
When ye grow up you'll go tae sea
Makin' pennies for your daddy and me
Tae buy mair Coulter's candy

Times are gettin' hard the noo
Yer daddys singin' on the brew
Yer Mammys' still got a penny or two
Tae buy some Coulter's candy

Poor wee Jennie's lookin' awfu' thin
A rickle of banes kivvered o'er wi' skin
Noo she's gettin' a wee double chin
From sookin' on Coulter's candy

Come my boy, my wee, wee man
Run doon that road as fast as y'can
Pay your money tae the sweetie man
For a big bag of Coulter's candy

*

WILL YE GO, LASSIE, GO?
-Traditional

Oh the summer time is comin'
And the leaves are sweetly bloomin'
And the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the bloomin' heather
Will y' go, lassie, go?

CHORUS: And we'll all go together
To pull wild mountain thyme
All around the bloomin' heather
Will y'go, lassie, go?

I will build my love a bower
By yon pure crystal fountain
And on it I will place
All the flowers of the mountain
Will y'go, lassie, go?

I will build my love a tower
By yon pure flowing river
And the thing her heart desires
Is a thing I'll someday give her
Will y'go, lassie, go?

I will range thru the wild
And the deep glen sae drearie
And return wi' the spoils
To the bower of my dearie
Will y'go, lassie, go?

If my true love she were gone
Then I'd surely find another
Where the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the bloomin' heather
Will y'go, lassie, go?

*

THE BONNIE SHIP THE DIAMOND
-Traditional

The Diamond is a ship me lads, for the Davis Straits she's bound
And the quay it is all garnished with bonnie lassies round
Captain Thompson gives the order to sail the ocean wide
Where the sun it never sets me lads nor darkness dims the sky

CHORUS: And it's cheer up me lads let your hearts never fail
For the bonnie ship the Diamond goes a-fishing for the whale!

Along the quay at Peterhead the lassies stand around
Wi' their shawls all pulled about them and the salt tears runnin' down
Oh don't you weep, my bonnie lass, though you be left behind
For the rose will grow on Greenland's ice before we change our mind

Here's a health to the Resolution, likewise the Eliza Swan
Here's a health to the Battler of Montrose and the Diamond ship of fame
We wear the trousers of the white and the jackets of the blue
When we return to Peterhead, we'll hae sweethearts enoo

It will be bright both day and night when the Greenland lads come hame
Wi' a ship that's fu' of oil me lads and money to our name
We'll make the cradles for to rock and the blankets for to tear
And every lass in Peterhead sing hushabye my dear!

*

MINGULAY BOAT SONG
-Traditional
(Tune: "Lochaber")

Heel y'ho boys, let her go, boys
Bring her head round now all together
Heel y'ho boys, let her go boys
Sailing homeward to Mingulay!

What care we tho' white the sea is
What care we for wind and weather?
Let her go boys, every inch is
Wearing homeward to Mingulay!

Wives are waiting on the bank, boys,
Looking seaward from the heather
Pull her 'round boys, and we'll anchor
'Ere the sun sets at Mingulay!

Heel y'ho boys, let her go, boys
Bring her head round now all together
Heel y'ho boys, let her go boys
Sailing homeward to Mingulay!

Heel y'ho boys, let her go, boys
Bring her head round now all together
Heel y'ho boys, let her go boys
Sailing homeward to Mingulay!

*

MARY HAMILTON
-Traditional

Word's gane tae the kitchen
And word's gane tae the hall
That Mary Hamilton's great wi' child
By the highest Stewart of a'

Arise, arise, Mary Hamilton
Arise and come wi' me
There is a wedding in Glascow town
This night we'll go and see

She put nae on her robes of black
Nor yet her robes of brown
But she put on her gown of white
Tae ride into Glascow town

Oh, often hae I dressed my Queen
And put gold in her hair
But noo I've gotten my reward
The gallows tae be my share

Oh, often hae I dressed my Queen
And soft, soft made her bed
And now I've got for my reward
The gallows tree tae tread

I charge ye all ye mariners
As ye sail o'er the main
Let neither my faither nor mother ken
But that I'm comin' hame

For little did my mother think
When first she cradled me
The lands I was to tread in
Or the death I was tae dee

Oh, happy, happy is the maid
That's born of beauty free
It was my dimplin' rosy cheeks
That's been the doom of me

Cast off, cast off my gown, she cried
But let my petticoats be
And tie a napkin around my face
The gallows I would not see

Last night there were four Marys
Tonight there'll be but three:
There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton
And Mary Carmichael, and me

*

THE WEE COOPER O' FIFE
-Traditional

There was a wee cooper lived in Fife
Nickety nackety noo, noo. noo
And he has tae'n a gentle wife
Risselty-rosselty, hey, pomposity
Nickety nackety noo, noo, noo

She wouldna card and she wouldna spin
For shamin' o'her gentle kin

She wouldna bake and she wouldna brew
For spoilin' of her gentle hue

She called him a dirty Hieland whelp
If you want yer dinner go get it yourself

The cooper's awa tae his wool-pack
And lain a sheepskin across her back

I'll no thrash you for your gentle kin
But I will thrash my ain sheep-skin

He's laid the sheepskin across her back
And with a good stick he went whickety-whack

Oh I will card and I will spin
And think nae mair of my gentle kin!

She drew the table and spread the board
And "My dear husband" was every word

All you who have gotten a gentle wife
Just send ye for the cooper of Fife!

*

LORD GREGORY (Child #76)
(aka: The Lass of Loch Royal)

I am a King's daughter, I come from Cappa Quin
In search of Lord Gregory, pray God I find him

The wind beats on my yellow hair, the dew wets my skin
My babe is cold in my arms, Lord Gregory let me in!

Lord Gregory is not here, and likewise can't be seen
He's gone to bonnie Scotland to bring home his new Queen

Do you remember, Lord Gregory, as we sat at the wine
We exchanged rings, love, and the worst one was mine

Yours was of the beaten gold, and mine of black tin
Yours cost a shilling, love, and mine but a pin.

Do you remember, Lord Gregory, that night in my father's hall
When you stole away my heart, and that was worst of all

Go away from these windows, and likewise this hall
For deep in the sea you shall have your downfall!

A curse on you, mother, and my curse has been swore
For I dreamed my fairest Maid was calling at my door

Oh lie down, you foolish one, oh lie down and sleep
'Tis long ago her golden locks were drowned in the deep!

Go saddle me my best black horse, the brown and the bay
Go saddle me the best horse in my stable this day

I will range over valleys, over mountains I'll ride
'Til I find my fairest Maid, and stand by her side!

*

SEVEN OLD LADIES
-Anonymous
(Tune: "Oh Dear, What Can The Matter Be?")
compiled by Joe Bethancourt

CHORUS: Oh dear what can the matter be
7 old ladies got stuck in the lavat'ry
They were there from Sunday til Saturday
Nobody knew they were there.

They said they were going to have tea with the Vicar
So they went in together cause they thought it was quicker
But the lavat'ry door was a bit of a sticker
And nobody knew they were there.

Now the first was the wife of a Deacon from Dover
And though she was known as a bit of a rover
She liked it so much that she thought she'd stay over
And nobody knew she was there.

Now the next was the Bishop of Chichester's daughter
Who went in to pass some superfluous water
She pulled on the chain and the rising tide caught her
And nobody knew she was there.

Now the next old gal was Abigail Humphrey
Who settled inside just to make herself comfy
Then she found out that she could not get her bum free
And nobody knew she was there.

Now another old lady was Elizabeth Bender
Who was doing all right till a vagrant suspender
Somehow got caught in a feminine gender
And nobody knew she was there.

The next old lady was old Mrs. Draper
she went in to find there was no paper
The only thing there was a brick layers scraper
And nobody knew she was there.

The last old lady was old Mrs. Mason
She had to go quick so she went in the basin
And that was the water that I washed my face in
'Cause I didn't know she'd been there.

--- extra verses

The next old lady was Abigail Splatter,
She went there 'cause something was surely the matter.
When she got there, it was only her bladder,
And nobody knew she was there.

The next old lady was Amoeba Garpickle,
Her urge was sincere, her reaction was fickle.
She crawled under the door, she'd forgotten her nickle,
And nobody knew she was there.

The next old lady was Hildegarde Foyle.
She hadn't been living according to Hoyle;
Was relieved when the swelling was only a boil,
And nobody knew she was there.

The next old lady was Emily Grancy,
She went there 'cause something had tickled her fancy,
When she got there, it was ants in her pantsy,
And nobody knew she was there.

The next old lady was extremely fertile,
Her name was O'Connor, the boys called her Myrtle,
She went there to repair a hole in her girdle,
And nobody knew she was there.

The next old lady was named Brenda Fraser
She went in to fix a broken brassiere
She had drunk nothing but small beer
And nobody knew she was there.

The next old lady was Gwendolyn Daucus
She had been finding the party quite raucus
She went there avoiding a fellow named Paucus
And nobody knew she was there.

The next old lady was Susan Van Doozin
She could not get the man of her choosin'
She went there and found the art work amusin'
But nobody knew she was there.

The next old lady was Antoinette Boomer
She went there to see what was wrong with her bloomer
And when she found out, she wished she'd come sooner
And nobody knew she was there.

The janitor came in the early morning,
He opened the door without any warning.
The seven old ladies their seats were adorning,
And nobody knew they were there.

---- variant verses:

The next old lady was Elizabeth Porter.
She was the Deacon of Dorchester's daughter.
She went to relieve a slight pressure of water,
And nobody knew she was there.

The next old lady was Agatha Bender,
She went there to repair a broken suspender,
It snapped up and ruined her feminine gender,
(the button flipped into her feminine gender)
And nobody knew she was there.

Now the next old gal was Abigail Humphrey
Who settled inside and could not get her bum free
But then she found out she was really quite comfy
And nobody knew she was there.

*

ONE SUNDAY MORNIN'

One Sunday mornin while on me way to Mass
I met a bloody Orangeman, and I killed him for his pass
I killed him for his pass, me boys, and sent his soul to hell
And when he got back, he had a strange tale to tell!

CHORUS: Fol de rol de rolly ra, fol de rol de rolly ray
Fol de rolly rolly rolly, whiskey's in the jar!

When an Orangeman dies his toes turn cold
His bones begin to rattle, and the Devil takes his soul
The gates of hell fly open, and the Devil cries for joy:
"I've a nice spot prepared for you, my bold Orange boy!"

If I had a yard of an Orangeman's skin
Sure, I'd make it into drums for me bold Fenian men
And when the drum would rattle, and the pipes begin to play
Sure, we'd all march up t'Mass on St. Patrick's Day!

*

THE CRACK WAS NINETY IN THE ISLE OF MAN

Well, weren't we the rare old stock?
Spent the evening getting locked
Up in the Ace Of Hearts
where the high stools were engagin'
Over the Butt Bridge, down by the dock,
The boat she sailed at five o'clock
"Hurry boys now!" said Whack,
"Or before we're there, we'll all be back!"
Carry him if you can!
The crack was 90 in the Isle of Man!

Before we reached the Alexander base
The ding-dong we did surely raise
In the bar of the ship we had great sport
as the boat she sailed out of the port
Landed up in the Douglas head
Inquirin' for a vacant bed
The dinin' room we soon got shown
by a decent woman up the road
"Lads, at it if you can!"
The crack was 90 in the Isle of Man!

Next mornin' we went for a ramble round
Viewed the sights of Douglas town
Then we went for a nightly session
in a pub they call Dick Darbie's
We must have been drunk by half past three
To sober up we went swimmin' in the sea
Back to the digs for a spruce up
and while waitin' for the fry
We all drew up our plan
The crack was 90 in the Isle of Man!

That night we went to the Texas Bar
Came back down by horse and car
Met Big Jim and all went in
to drink some wine at Yate's
The Liverpool judies it was said
Were all to be found in the Douglas Head
McShane was there in his suit and shirt
them foreign girls he was tryin' to flirt
Sayin' "Here, girls, I'm your man!"
The crack was 90 in the Isle of Man!

Whacker fancied his good looks
On an Isle of Man woman he was struck
But a Liverpool lad was by her side
and he was throwin' the jar into her
Whacker thought he'd take a chance
Asked the quare one out to dance
Around the floor they stepped it out
and to Whack it was no bother
Everything was goin' to plan
The crack was 90 in the Isle of Man!

The Isle of Man woman fancied Whack
Your man stood there till his mates came back
Whack! They all whacked into Whack
and Whack was whacked out on his back
The police force arrived as well
Banjoed a couple of them as well
Landed up in the Douglas jail
until the Dublin boat did sail
Deported every man!
The crack was 90 in the Isle of Man!

*

THE END

From: ioseph@primenet.com (Joe Bethancourt)
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Subject: Re: Graeme's Songbook (Part 10 of 9) LAST!
Date: 29 Mar 1995 07:51:26 GMT
Organization: Primenet

Lord Graeme O'Baoighill (beudach@aol.com) wrote:
: Well, folks, that's it! The whole file turned out to be only nine
: parts...

: Enjoy! If you missed any of the parts, lemme know and we'll get you
: set up with the songs you missed.

: If anyone would like me to post any of the songs seperately to
: Rialto, again lemme know. I'd be glad to.

: - Lord G. the B.

<grin!> And if anyone wants the entire collection, the FTP site is named
below.

--
ioseph@primenet.com PO Box 35190 Locksley Plot Systems
White Tree Productions Phoenix, AZ 85069 CyberMongol Ltd
"Do not ascribe your own motivations to others. At best,
it will break your heart, at worst, get you dead."
* song lyrics at ftp/nau/edu /sca/ioseph *

<end part 4 of 4>
<the end>
Edited by Mark S. Harris SI-songbook4-art

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