Samuel Hall

[ B ]

This is worth printing in full only because raucous texts of "Sam Hall" are so infrequently reported.  It is from the Hubert Canfield Collection, gathered by Canfield in 1926, with the intention of publishing an unexpurgated anthology of bawdy songs, a project sadly abandoned.  No tune or source was indicated on the typescript in the Canfield collection.

Oh, my name is Samuel Hall, Samuel Hall, Samuel Hall.
My name is Samuel Hall, Samuel Hall, Samuel Hall.
My name is Samuel Hall, and I hate you one and all.
You're a bunch of muckers all,
Damn your eyes, blast your souls, bloody bums.

For I killed a man 'tis said, so 'tis said, so 'tis said.
For I killed a man 'tis said, so 'tis said, so 'tis said.
For I killed a man 'tis said, and I left him there for dead
With a bullet through his head,
Damn his eyes, blast his soul, bloody bum.

Oh, the Padre he did come, he did come, he did come.
Oh, the Padre he did come, he did come, he did come.
Oh, the Padre he did come, and he looked so doggone blum,
When he talked of Kingdom Come.
Damn his eyes, blast his soul, dirty bum.

The sheriff he came too, he came too, he came too.
The sheriff he came too, he came too, he came too.
The sheriff he came too, and he brought his boys in blue.
Oh, they were a dirty crew.
Damn their eyes, blast their soul, dirty bums.

So they put me here in quod, here in quod, here in quod.
So they put me here in quod, here in quod, here in quod.
So they put me here in quod, with a chain and iron rod
And I can't get out, by God,
Damn their eyes, blast their souls, dirty bums.

So it's up the rope I go, up I go, up I go.
So it's up the rope I go, up I go, up I go.
So it's up the rope I go and my friends all down below,
Saying, "Sam, I told you so."
Damn their eyes, blast their souls, dirty bums.

I saw Nelly in the crowd, in the crowd, in the crowd.
I saw Nelly in the crowd, in the crowd, in the crowd.
I saw Nelly in the crowd and she looked so doggone proud
That I hollered right out loud,
"Damn your eyes, blast your soul, dirty bum."

So let this be my knell, parting knell, parting knell.
So let this be my knell, parting knell, parting knell.
So let this be my knell and I'll see you all in Hell
And I hope you sizzle well,
Damn your eyes, blast your soul, dirty bum.

[ C ]

	Paul Woodford, then an air force fighter pilot stationed at a number of air bases ringing the Pacific Rim, was a prodigious collector of songs and ballads sung by military personel, as well as those sung by "hashers," that is, cross-country runners who pursued a "hare" in organized meets.  The hashers, like rugby players, generally ended the event with a beer bust.  (Indeed, a number of hashers are members of the British Commonwealth.)
Of interest is that Woodford has identified the melody for this version of "Sammy Small" as that of the Scots song of rebellion, "Ye Jacobites by Name."  That song is probably best known from a recording by Ewan MacColl, made in the 1960s.  In short, he has collected the song from a presumably sophisticated, and certainly a knowledgeable informant.

Oh, my name is Sammy Small, fuck 'em all,
Oh, my name is Sammy Small, fuck 'em all,
Oh, my name is Sammy Small, and I only have one ball,
But it's better than none at all, so fuck 'em all.

Oh, they say I shot a man, fuck 'em all, etc . . .
They say I shot him in the head, with a fucking piece of 				lead,
Now the silly fucker's dead, so fuck 'em all.

Oh, they say I'm going to swing, fuck 'em all, etc . . .
Oh, they say I'm going to swing, from a fucking piece of 				string,
What a silly fucking thing, so fuck 'em all.

Oh, the parson he will come, fuck 'em all, etc . . .
Oh, the parson he will come, with his tales of kingdom 					come,
He can shove 'em up his bum, so fuck 'em all.

Oh, the hangman wears a mask, fuck 'em all, etc . . .
Oh, the hangman wears a mask, for his silly fucking task,
What a silly fucking ass, so fuck 'em all.

Oh, the sheriff'll be there too, fuck 'em all, etc . . .
Oh, the sheriff'll be there too, with his silly fucking crew,
They've got fuck-all else to do, so fuck 'em all.

(WITH REVERENCE)
I saw Molly in the crowd, fuck 'em all, etc . . .
I saw Molly in the crowd, and I felt so goddamn proud, 
That I shouted right out loud, FUCK 'EM ALL!

Oh, the hangman pulled the rope, fuck 'em all, etc...
Oh, the hangman pulled the rope, though it was a fucking 				joke,
Now my goddamn neck is broke, so FUCK 'EM ALL!

ŽIP5¯This is number 195 in Paul Woodford's, "Hash Hymns II" (Honolulu, Hawaii, 1994), a copy of which he has forwarded on computer disc.

To the many tune analogues given in Muse II, add the following:
"Put in All," in Thomas D'Urfey, ed., Pills to Purge Melancholy, Vol. VI (London: 1720), p. 251, a bawdy song that begins:

A Young Man and a Maid, put in all, put in all,
Together lately play'd, put in all,
The Young Man was in Jest,
O the Maid she did protest:
She bid him do his best, put in all, put in all.

and concludes:

When they had ended sport, put in all, put in all,
She found him all too short, put in all;
For when he'd done his best,
The Maid she did protest,
'Twas nothing but a Jest, put in all, put in all.