SI-songbook3-art

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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.

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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 at motorola.com stefan at florilegium.org

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From: beudach at 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

=========================================================================

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

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

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

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

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,

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.