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Stefan's Florilegium

SI-songbook4-art



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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.

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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>


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