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 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

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

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, 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, 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

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

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 at 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 at 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 at 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 *