SI-songbook4-art - 5/29/96 A Collection of Scottish and Irish songs, compiled by Ioseph of Locksley. This songbook is divided into four parts for ease of downloading. You are reading part 4 of 4. NOTE: Also see the files: p-songs-msg, song-sources-msg, songs-msg, songs2-msg, harps-msg, guitar-art, drums-msg, bardic-msg, Bardic-Guide-art. ************************************************************************ NOTICE - This file is a collection of various messages having a common theme that I have collected from my reading of the various computer networks. Some messages date back to 1989, some may be as recent as yesterday. This file is part of a collection of files called Stefan's Florilegium. These files are available on the Internet at: http://www.florilegium.org I have done a limited amount of editing. Messages having to do with seperate topics were sometimes split into different files and sometimes extraneous information was removed. For instance, the message IDs were removed to save space and remove clutter. The comments made in these messages are not necessarily my viewpoints. I make no claims as to the accuracy of the information given by the individual authors. Please respect the time and efforts of those who have written these messages. The copyright status of these messages is unclear at this time. If information is published from these messages, please give credit to the orignator(s). Thank you, Mark S. Harris AKA: Lord Stefan li Rous mark.s.harris@motorola.com stefan@florilegium.org ************************************************************************ From: beudach@aol.com (Lord Graeme O'Baoighill) Newsgroups: rec.org.sca Subject: Graeme's Aforementioned Songbook Date: 27 Mar 1995 16:10:41 GMT Organization: Duchy Tarragon A COLLECTION OF SCOTTISH AND IRISH SONGS compiled and transcribed by Joe Bethancourt ========================================================================= TEMPERANCE -Bob Cockerall (tune: Temperance Reel) Just the other day I was invited to a funeral But to my disappointment, the fella didn't die He said he's very sorry then for havin' dissappointed us And seein' as he apoligized, we let the thing go by To ease our disappointment, he took us out and treated us He bought a quart of porter for a company of ten And when we asked th' fellow whose money he was squanderin' The fellow took his wallet out; we didn't ask again! We got a concertina out all for to make some merriment And none of us could play it tho we tried our best and worst We made an awful noise on it, and if it's any benefit, We played the thing so carefully that all the bellows burst We got a boiled potato for to mend the concertina with When someone struck Maloney with the carcass of a cat He bundled back his whiskers, and he read out the riot act And said he'd put two lumps upon the bugger who done that! The owner of the beershop, when he saw us all a-riotin' He ordered us to leave at once, but this we flat refused So he whistled up some loafers who was standin' round the corner And for ten or fifteen minutes we was bodily abused We gathered up our dignity, and down the road we started, A bunch of hungry urchins, well, they pelted us with mud We told 'em they could chuck it, and they said they was a doin' that And then they all run off and left us there a-standin' where we stood! Well, just around the corner we ran into some Salvationers Who rifled all our pockets, and inquired if we was saved And poor old John McGinty got escorted to the station-house For the song that he was singin', and the way that he behaved. Well, for to free McGinty we all stripped off our undershirts And to the local Pawnshop we marched the bloomin' lot We told them that we only wanted ten-and-six on them There's enough on them already, was the answer that we got! We got ten-and-six on them all for to free McGinty with Bad luck to the beershop we passed along the way! Of course we couldn't pass it without havin' some refreshment And we squandered every penny of the fine we had to pay.... The liquor bein' in us, well, the sense it went all out of us And for a bit of riotin' we quickly did repair We battered one another as we re-arranged the tables Keepin' track of lighter objects that was flyin' thru the air! McPherson hit McCannlesh and McCannlesh hit another man And another man, another man, and any man was right And poor old crippled MacNamara, sittin' doin' nothin' Got a kick that broke his jaw for not indulgin' in the fight We fought around like Turks until the police came and parted us And carted us away with broken noses and black eyes I got thirty days in prison, but to me it was a lesson That I'll go no more to funerals...until the fella dies! * TWA CORBIES (Child #26) (Tune: from Brittany: "Al Alarc'h") recorded by Joe Bethancourt "Celtic Circle Dance" As I gang waukin' all alane I heard twa corbies makin' a mane the t'ane untae t'ither spake whaur sall we gang and dine today? On yonder hill by yon auld fail dyke I wot there lies a nu slain knight and nae man ken that he lies there save hawk and hound and Lady fair His hound is tae th' huntin' gaen his hawk tae fetch th' wyld fowl haem his Lady's ta'en anither mate so we may mak' noo our dinner sweet Thou sall sit on his bonny hause-bein and I'll pluck oot his bonny blue e'en His luvly strands of gowden haar sall theek our nest when it grows bare There's mony a man for him mak's mane but nane sall ken whaur he has gaen o'wer his whyte bones when they are bare the wynd sall blaw forever mair. * TAIL TODDLE -Traditional Scots recorded by the Mitchell Trio Our guidwife held o'er to Fife For tae buy a coal-riddle Lang or she cam back agin Tammie gart my tail toddle! (Chorus): Tail toddle, tail toddle Tammie gars my tail toddle But an' ben we diddle-doddle Tammie gars my tail toddle! Wen I'm deid I'm out o'date Wen I'm seik I'm fu' o'trouble Wen I'm weel I stap about An' Tammie gars my tail toddle! Jenny Jack she gae'd a plack Helen Wallace gae'd a bottle Quo' the bride "It's o'er little For tae mend a broken dottle!" * TAKE HER IN YOUR ARMS -Andy Stewart (?) Recorded by Andy M. Stewart "Dublin Lady" Green Linnet CSIF 1083 Have you seen him on the corner, and his lip would reach the pavement? He's been hidin' from his razor, is he not an awful sight? In love he was the purest, now he's frightenin' our tourists, If he'd gone and asked his father, oh, I'm sure he'd set him right! CHORUS: Take her in your arms, and tell her that you love her! Take her in your arms, and hold that woman tight! Take her in your arms, and tell her that you love her! If you're going to love a woman then be sure and do it right! Well, he met her at a disco, in a dive in San Francisco, And it might have all been different had he seen her in daylight .. She was painted, she was scented, but she drove your man demented If he'd gone and asked his father, oh, I'm sure he'd set him right! Here's a pub with fun and laughter, the landlord's buyin' betty, There's a session in the corner, and the crack is grand tonight! But your man, who lost his woman, he's still at home lamentin' If he'd gone and asked his father, oh, I'm sure he'd set him right! Now, depression's not a million laughs, but suicide's too dangerous! Don't go leapin' out of buildings in the middle of the night! It's not the fall, but landin', that'll alter social standin'; So go first and ask your father and I'm sure he'll set y'right! And here's a health to all true lovers, their sisters and their brothers, And their uncles and their grannies, for this thing is black-and-white: If you're keen to start romancin', with it's leapin' and its' dancin', Then go first and ask your father, and I'm sure he'll set y'right! * WILLIE MACINTOSH (The Burning of Auchendown) (Child 183) recorded by the Silly Sisters As I cam by Fidduch-side, on a May morning, I spied Willie Macintosh, and hour before the dawning: Turn again, turn again, turn again I bid ye! If ye burn Auchendown, Huntley he will heid ye! Hunt me or heid me, that sall never fear me! I sall burn Auchendown before the life leaves me! As I cam in by Auchendown, on a May morning, Auchendown was in a blaze, an hour before the dawning! Crawing, crawing, for a' your crowse crawing... Ye brunt your crop and tint your wings an hour before the dawning! * THE WILD ROVER CHORUS: And it's no! Nae! Never! No, nae, never, no more! Will I play the wild rover, no never, no more! I've been a wild rover for many a year And I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer But now I'm returning with gold in great store And I never will play the wild rover no more I went into an alehouse I used to frequent And I told the landlady my money was spent I asked her for whskey, she answered me "Nay! Such a custom of yours I can get any day!" Then out of my pocket, I took sovereigns bright, And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight She said, "I have whiskey, and wines of the best, And the words that I spoke, sure were only in jest!" I'll go back to my parents, confess what I've done, And ask them to pardon their prodigal son. And if they forgive me, as oftimes before, Then I never will play the wild rover no more! * WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHERLIE? -Traditional CHORUS: Come thru the heather, aroond and gather Yer all a-welcomin' earlie Aroond ( th' ben (?) ), we are your kin, For wha'll be King but Cherlie? Come thru the heather, aroond and gather Yer all a-welcomin' earlie, To crown your rightfu' lawfu' King, For wha'll be King but Cherlie? In news frae Moy that cam' last nicht That soon gar mony fairly For ships o' war hae just cam in And landed Royal Cherlie! And even clans wi' sword in hand From John O' Groats tae Earlie Hae, tae a man, declared tae stand and follow Royal Cherlie! The Lowlands all, baith great and sma' Wi' mony a Lowland Laird They declared for Scotland's King and Law and spiel yer blud for Cherlie! And here's a health tae Cherlie's cause Be it completed early! His very name would warm the hairt: Tae Arms! For Royal Cherlie! * THE WELLY BOOT SONG -Billie Connelly (Tune: "Work Of The Weavers") CHORUS: If it wasnae for your wellies where would ye be You'd be in the hospital or infirmary You would have a dose of the flu or even pluresy If y' didna' have your feet in your wellies Wellies they are wonderful, wellies they are swell Cause they keep out the water and they keep in the smell And when you're sitting in a room you can always tell When some bugger takes off his wellies. And when you're out walking in the country with a bird And you're strolling over fields just like a farmers herd then somebody shouts, "Keep off the grass," and you think "How absurd!" And "squish" you find out why farmers all wear wellies There's fishermen and firemen, there's farmers and all Men out diggin' ditches and working in the snow, This country would grind to a halt and no' a thing would grow If it wasna' for the workers in their wellies. Now the folks up in Parliament (Congress) they haven't made a hit They're ruining this country more than just a bit If they keep on the way they're going, we'll all be in the s***! So you'd better get your feet in your wellies! * WESTERING HOME Chorus: Westering home with a song in the air Light in me eyes and it's goodbye to care Laughter and love and the welcoming there Pride of my heart and my own love Tell me a tale of the Orient gay Tell me of riches that come from Cathay Ah, but it's grand to be wakin' at day And to find oneself closer to Islay Where are the folks like the folks in the West Cantie and couthy and kindly the best There I would hie me and there I would rest At home with my own folks in Islay. * WHISKY IN THE JAR As I was going over the far famed Kerry Mountains I met with Captain Farrell and his money he was counting I first produced my pistol and then produced my rapier Saying "Stand and deliver! For I am the bold deceiver!" Chorus: Mursha-ring-a-ma-doo-a-ma-dah Whack for the daddio, whack for the daddio There's whiskey in the jar. He counted out his money and it made a pretty penny I put it in my pocket and I took it home to Jenny She sighed and she swore that she never would deceive me but the Devil take the women for you never can believe them. I went into my chamber all for to take a slumber I dreamt of gold and jewels and for sure it was no wonder But Jenny took my charges and she filled them up with water And sent for Captain Farrell to be ready for the slaughter. 'Twas early in the morning before I rose to travel Up come a band of foot men and likewise Captain Farrell I first produced my pistol for she stole away my rapier But I couldn't shoot the water so a prisoner I was taken. If anyone can aid me it's my brother in the army If I could learn his station in Cork or in Killarney And if he'd come and join me we'd go rovin' in Kilkenny I'll engage he'd treat me fairer than my darlin' sportin' Jenny. * WILL YE NO COME BACK AGAIN Bonnie Charlie's now awa' Safely o'er the friendly main. Many a heart will break in twa Should he no come back again. Chorus: Will ye no come back again? Will ye no come back again? Better loved ye cannae be, Will ye no come back again? Many's the gallant soldier fought Many's a gallant chief did call Death itself was dearly bought All for Scotland's king and lord. Sweet the laverock's note and long Lilting wildly up the glen. But aye to me he sings ane song: Will ye no come back again? * WHISKY YOU'RE THE DEVIL Chorus: Whisky you're the devil you're leading me astray Over hills and mountains into Americay You're sweeter, stronger, decenter, You're spunkier than tea, Oh whisky you're me darlin' drunk or sober! Oh, now brave boys we're on for marching Up to Portugal and Spain Drums are beating, banners flying The devil all home will come tonight Love, fare thee well With me tiddle-ee-iddle-doodle-a-ma-da me tiddle-ee-iddle-doodle-a-ma-da, Me rightful too-ra-laddie-oh There's whisky in the jar. Said the mother do not wrong me do not take me daughter from me For if you do I will torment you And after death me ghost will haunt you Love fare thee well Oh the French are fighting boldly Men are dying hot and coldly Give every man his flask of powder His firelock upon his shoulder Love fare thee well * WHISTLING GYPSY A gypsy rover came over the hill, Down through the valley so shady He whistled and he sang till the green woods rang And he won the heart of the lady. Chorus: Ah-dee-doo Ah-dee-doo-dah-day Ah-dee-doo Ah-dee-day-dee He whistled and he sang till the green woods rang And he won the heart of the lady. She left her father's castle gate She left her own fond lover She left her servants and her estate He came at last to a mansion fine To follow the gypsy rover. Down by the river Culadee And there was music and there was wine Her father sent up his fastest steed, With the gypsy and his lady. Roamed the valleys all over Sought his daughter at great speed He is no gypsy, my father, she said, And the whistling gypsy rover. But lord of these lands all over And I will stay till my dying day With the whistling gypsy rover. * THE WILD COLONIAL BOY There was a wild colonial boy, Jack Dugan was his name He was born and raised in Ireland, in a place called Castlemaine He was his father's only son, his mother's pride and joy And dearly did his parents love the wild colonial boy. At the early age of sixteen years, he left his native home And to Australia's sunny shores he was inclined to roam He robbed the rich and he helped the poor, he stabbed James MacEvoy, A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy. For two long years this daring youth ran on his wild career With a heart that knew no danger, and their justice he did not fear He robbed the lordly squatters, their flocks he would destroy A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy. He bade the judge "Good morning!" and he told him to beware For he never robbed an honest judge who acted "on the square" "Yet you would rob a mother of her son and only joy, And breed a race of outlaws like the wild colonial boy!" One morning on the prairie while Jack Dugan rode along While listening to the mocking bird singing a cheerful song Out jumped three troopers fierce and grim Kelly, Davis, and Fitzroy, They all set out to capture him, the wild colonial boy. Surrender now, Jack Dugan, for you see there's three to one Surrender in the Queen's name, sir, you are a plundering son Jack drew two pistols from his side and glared upon Fitzroy I'll fight but not surrender cried the wild colonial boy. He fired a shot at Kelly, which brought him to the ground And turning round to Davis he received his fatal wound But a bullet pierced his brave young heart from the pistol of Fitzroy And that was how they captured him the wild colonial boy. * THE WILD ROVER I've been a wild rover for many's a year And I spent all my money on whiskey and beer But now I'm returning with gold in great store And I never will play the wild rover no more. Chorus: And it's no, nay, never No, nay, never no more Will I play the wild rover No, never, no more. I went to an ale-house I used to frequent And I told the landlady my money was spent I asked her for credit, she answered me, "Nay, Such custom as yours I can have any day." And out of my pocket I took sovereigns bright And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight She said, "I have whiskey and wines of the best, And the words that I spoke, sure, were only in jest." I'll go home to my parents, confess what I've done And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son And if they caress me as oft times before Then I never will play the wild rover no more. * ROTHSAY-O -Traditional (Parody of a popular song of ca. 1800) One Hogmany at Glesca' Fair, There was me, my'sel' and' sev'ral mair And we all went off tae hae a tear, And spend the night in Rothsay-o We wandered thru the Broomielaw Thru frost and rain and hail and snaw And at forty minutes after twa We'd got the length of Rothsay-o CHORUS: Diddum a doo a dum a day, Diddum a doo a dy dum do Diddum a doo a dum a day, The night we went tae Rothsay-o A sod'jer lad named Ru'glen Will, Wha' regiment's lyin' at Barn Hill Went off wi' a tanner to get a gill In a public hoose in Rothsay-o Says he: "I think I'd like to sing." Says I "y'll no do sic a thing!" "So clear the room and I'll make a ring And I'll fecht y'all in Rothsay-o!" In search of lodgin's we did slide To find a place where we could bide There was eighty-twa of us inside In a single room in Rothsay-o! We all lay doon t'take our ease, When somebody happend for to sneeze And he wakened half a million fleas In a lodgin' hoose in Rothsay-o! There were several different kinds of bugs, Some had feet like dyer's clogs And they sat on the bed and they cockit their lugs And cried: "Hurrah! for Rothsay-o!" Says I: "I think it's time to slope!" For the polis wouldn'a let us stop, So we went and joined the Band O'Hope And said farewell tae Rothsay-o! * THE WORK OF THE WEAVERS -Traditional We're all met t'gither here t'sit an' t'crack Wi' our glasses in our hands and our wark upon our back An' there's nae trade amang 'em that can eithermend or mak' If it wasna' for the wark of the weavers! CHORUS: If it wasna' for the weavers, what would y'do? Y'wouldna' hae your cloth that's made of wool Y'wouldna' hae your cloak of the black or the blue If it wasna' for the wark of the weavers! The hireman chiels they mock us and they crack aye aboot's They say that we are thin-faced an' bleached like cloots But yet, for a' their mockery they canna dae wi'oots Na! They canna want the wark of the weavers! There's oor wrichts and oor slaters and glaziers and a' Oor doctors and oor ministers, and them what live by law And oor friends in Sooth Ameriky, tho them we never saw But we ken they wear the work of the weavers! There's oor sailor and oor sodgers, we ken they're a'bauld But if they hadna' claes, faith, they couldna fecht for cauld The high and low, the rich and puir, a'body yound and auld - They winna want the work of the weavers! There's folk that independent of other trademen's wark The women need nae barber, and the dykers need nae clark, But none of 'em can dae wi'oot a coat or a sark Na! They canna want the wark of the weavers! The weavin' is a trade that niver can fail As lang as we need clothes for t'keep anither hale Sae let us all be merry wi' a beaker of guid ale And we'll drink tae the health of the weavers! * THE GREAT SILKIE -Traditional An earthly norris sits and sings And aye she sings ba lilly wean Little ken I my bairn's father Far less the land where he sleeps in Then up stepped he to her bedside And a grumly guest I'm sure is he Saying here I am your bairn's father Although I be not comely I am a man upon the land I am a silkie in the sea And when I'm far and far from land My home is in the Skule Skerry It wasna' well quoth the maiden fair It wasna' well indeed quoth she That the Great Silkie of Skule Skerry Should have come and brought a bairn to me Then he has taken a purse of gold And he has put it on her knee Saying give to me my fine young son And take thee thy nursing fee It shall come to pass on a summer's day When the sun shines hot on every stone That I shall take my fine young son And teach him for to swim the foam And you shall marry a gunner proud A right fine gunner I'm sure you'll be And the very first shot that day he'll shoot He'll kill both my young son and me Alas, alas the maiden cried This weary fate's been laid for thee And then she said and then she cried I'll bury me in the Skule Skerry * THE SICK NOTE -Pat Cooksey (c) copyright Celtic Music (Tune: "In The Garden Where The Praties Grow") Dear Sir, I write this note to you to tell you of my plight For at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight My body is all black and blue, my face a deathly grey And I write this note to say why Paddy's not at work today Whilst working on the 14th floor some bricks I had to clear To throw them down from such a height was not a good idea The Foreman wasn't very pleased, the bloody awkward sod And he said I'd have to cart them down the ladders in me hod Now clearing all these bricks by hand, it was so very slow So I hoisted up a barrel and secured the rope below But in my haste to do the job I was too blind to see that a barrel full of building bricks was heavier than me! And so when I untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead And, clinging tightly to the rope, I started up instead I shot up like a rocket til to my dismay I found That halfway up I met the bloody barrel coming down! The barrel broke my shoulder, as toward the ground it sped And when I reached the top, I banged the pulley with my head I hung on tightly, numb with shock, from this almighty blow And the barrel spilled out half the bricks, 14 floors below. Now when these bricks had fallen from the barrel to the floor I then outweighed the barrel, and so started down once more Still clinging tightly to the rope, my body racked with pain When, halfway down, I met the bloody barrel once again! The force of this collision, halfway up the office block caused multiple abrasions and a nasty state of shock Still clinging tightly to the rope, I fell towards the ground And landed on the broken bricks the barrel scattered round! I lay there, groaning, on the ground; I thought I'd passed the worst But the barrel hit the pulley wheel, and then the bottom burst... A shower of bricks rained down on me; I hadn't got a hope... As I lay there bleeding on the ground, I let go the bloody rope! The barrel it was free to fall, and down it came once more And landed right across me, as I lay upon the floor It broke three ribs and my left arm, and I can only say: That I hope you understand why Paddy's not at work today! * MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL -Traditional (Jaime MacPherson was hung on the 16th of November, 1700.) Fareweel, ye dungeons dark and strang Fareweel, fareweel to thee MacPherson's time will no be lang On yonder gallows-tree CHORUS: Sae rantinly, sae wantonly Sae dantinly gaed he! He played a tune and he danced it roon Below the gallows-tree! It was by a woman's treacherous hand That I was condemned t'dee She stood upon a window ledge And a blanket threw over me! Oh what is Death, but parting breath, On many a bloody plain I've seen his face, and in this place, I scorn him yet again! The Laird o'Grant, that Highland sant That first laid hands on me He played the cause of Peter Broom To let MacPherson dee Now some cam here tae see me hanged, And some tae buy my fiddle But before I see her in any ither's hand I'll break her thru the middle So he took his fiddle in both his hands And he broke it o'er a stane Sayin' nae man's hand shall play on thee When I am deid and gane! I have lived a life of storm and strife, I die by treachery. It burns my heart that I must depart And no avenged be! Tak off these bands frae round my hands And gie tae me my sword For there's no a man in all Scotland But I'd brave him at a word! Reprieve was comin' o'er the Brigg of Banff T'set MacPherson free But they put the clock a quarter before And they hanged him tae the tree! * THE ROSES OF PRINCE CHARLIE -Ronnie Browne (Corries Music Pub.) CHORUS: Come now, gather now, here where the flowers grow! White is the blossom as the snow on the ben Hear now freedom's call! We'll make a solemn vow, Now by the Roses of Prince Cherlie! Fight again at Bannockburn, your battle-axe tae wield! Fight wi' your grandsires on Flooden's bloody field! Fight at Culloden, the Bonnie Prince tae shield! Fight by the Roses of Prince Cherlie! Spirits of the banished in far and distant lands Carved out a New World with sweat and blood and hands Return now in glory, and on the silver sand, Fight by the Roses of Prince Cherlie! Tak' your strength frae the green fields that blanket fields of coal Ships frae the Clyde have a nation in their hold! The water-of-life some men need tae mak' them bold! Black gold, and fishes frae the sea, man! CHORUS 2X * COME O'ER THE STREAM CHARLIE -Traditional CHORUS: Come o'er the stream, Cherlie Dear Cherlie, brave Cherlie, Come o'er the stream, Cherlie, And dine wi' McLain! And though you be weary, We'll mak' your head cheery, And welcome tae Cherlie And his loyal train! We'll bring doon the red deer We'll bring doon the black steer The lang thru the bracken And the doe frae the ben The salt sea we'll harry And bring tae ye, Cherlie The cream from the bothy And the cock frae the pen And you will drink freely The juice of Glen Sheelie That streamed in the starlight When Kings dinnae ken And deep be your mead Of the wine that is red Tae drink t'your Sire And his friend, The McLain! If we do invite y' What more can delight y' It's ready, a troop of Our bold Heiland men! They'll range on the heather Wi' bayonet and feather Strong arms and broad claymores, Three hundred and ten! * DUMBARTON'S DRUMS -Traditional CHORUS: Dumbarton's drums they sound sae bonnie When they remind me of my Jeannie Such fond delight can steal upon me When Jeannie kneels and sings tae me Across the hills, the burn and heather Dumbarton tolls the hour of pleasure A song of love that has no measure When Jeannie kneels and sings tae me Tis she alone who can delight me As gracefully she doth invite me And when her tender arms enfold me The blackest night can turn and flee CHORUS 2X, replacing last line with: (when Jeannie kneels and kisses me) * FLOWER OF SCOTLAND -Roy Williamson (CML) Oh flower of Scotland When will we see your like again? That fought and died for your wee bit hill and glen? CHORUS: And still against him Proud Edward's army And sent him homeward Tae think again! The hills are bare now And autumn leaves lie thick and still For a land that is lost now Which those so dearly held Those days are past now And in the past they must remain But we can still rise now And be the nation again! The hills are bare now And autumn leaves lie thick and still For a land that is lost now Which those so dearly held Oh flower of Scotland When will we see your like again? That fought and died for your wee bit hill and glen? * THE SUNDAY DRIVER -Bill Hill (CML) (Tune: Traditional) Well I've been a Sunday driver noo for many a happy year And I've never had my Morris Minor oot of second gear I can drive at fifty miles an hour on motorway or track With me wife up front beside me and her mother in the back CHORUS: There was me and my daddy and my daddy's mammy And her sister's Granny and four of her chums And Auntie Jean! In a crowd of fifty trippers you can always pick me oot By my "Don't blame me, I voted Tory" sticker on the boot Wi' my bunch of heather stickin' in me radiator grille And me stick-on transfer bullet holes and licence for to kill! (And Auntie Peg!) I've a hundred plastic pennants for to tell you where I've been And my steering wheel is clad in simulated leopard-skin Up front from the drivin' mirror hangs a plastic skeleton And in the back a dog wi' eyes that flicker off and on! (And Auntie May!) I always drive as though my foot was restin' on the brake And I weave aboot the road just so's ye cannae overtake I can get y'sae frustrated that ye'll finish up in tears And the sound of blarin' motor horns is music to my ears! (And Auntie Liz!) Now if ye wonder how these weekly trips I can afford It's because I'm on a stipend from the Scottish Tourist Board You're supposed tae enjoy the scenery, the finest of it's kind And that is why I have a convoy followin' behind! (And Auntie Rose!) There's just no way of escaping me, no matter how ye seek For the simple fact that I'm a Traffic Warden thru the week I'm boostin' my efficiency, and here's my master plan: I'm savin' up my pennies for to buy a Caravan! (And Auntie Gert-trude!) * MOLLY MALONE -Joe Bethancourt In Dublin's fair city, where the girls have no titties T'was there that I first met sweet Molly Malone You could have her for a penny, and be one of many, But for sixpence she would act alive, alive-o! Alive, alive-o! Alive alive-o! But for sixpence she would act alive, alive-o! She was a street walker, and sure t'was no wonder For so were her mother and grandmother too, With a mattress on the barrow, thru streets broad and narrow, And for sixpence they would act alive, alive-o! Alive, alive-o! Alive alive-o! And for sixpence they would act alive, alive-o! She died of a fever, and no one could save her; It was caught from a folkie from Ontario, Now her ghost wheels the barrow thru streets broad and narrow But a ghost can't be had that's alive, alive-o! Alive, alive-o! Alive alive-o! But a ghost can't be had that's alive, alive-o! * PEGGY-O -Traditional There once was a troop of Irish Dragoons Cam' marching doon thru Fyvie-o And the Captain fell in love wi' a lady like a dove And her name it was called Pretty Peggy-o! There's many a bonnie lass in the howe of Auchterless There's many a bonnie lassie in the Geerie-o There's many a bonnie Jean in the streets of Aberdeen, But the flower of them all lives in Fyvie-o! Come trippin' doon the stairs, pretty Peggy, my dear Come trippin' doon the stairs, pretty Peggy-o Come trippin' doon the stairs, combin' back your yellow hair Bid a lang fareweel tae your Mammy-o! What will your mother think, pretty Peggy-o? What will your mother think, pretty Peggy-o? What will your mother think, when she hears the guineas clink And the sodjers gang marchin' on bye-o? The Colonel he cried "Mount! Mount, boys, mount!" Our Captain he cried "Tarry-o!" "Oh tarry a little while for I see this lady smile, Let me see if this bonny lass will marry-o!" T'was earlie in the mornin' that we marched awa' And oh, but our Captain he was sorry-o The drums they did beat o'er the bonnie braes o'Gight And the pipes played the "Lowlands of Fyvie-o!" T'was lang ere we left the toon of Auchterless We had our young Captain tae carry-o And lang ere we had seen the streets of Aberdeen We had our young Captain tae bury-o! Oh green grows the birks upon bonnie Ythanside And low lie the lowlands of Fyvie-o Our Captain's name was Ned, and he died for a maid He died for the chambermaid of Fyvie-o! If ever I return, Pretty Peggy-o If ever I return, Pretty Peggy-o If ever I return, then your city I will burn Destroyin' all the ladies in the aree-o! * THE BANKS OF SICILY -Hamish Henderson (c) copyright by author (Tune: "Farewell to the Creeks") The pipie is dozie, the pipie is fey He wullnae come round for his vino the day The sky o'er Messina is unco and grey An' a' the bricht chalmers are eerie CHORUS: Then fare-ye-weel ye banks of Sicily Fare-ye-weel ye valley and shaw There's nae Jock will mourn the kyles of ye Puir bliddy swaddies are wearie Then fare-ye-weel ye banks of Sicily Fare-ye-weel ye valley and shaw There's nae name can smoor the wiles of ye Puir bliddy swaddies are wearie! The drummie is polished, the drummie is braw He cannae be seen for his webbin' ava He's beezed himsel' up for a photy and a' Tae leave wi' his Lola, his dearie! CHORUS: Then fare-ye-weel ye dives of Sicily Fare-ye-weel ye shielin' and ha' We'll all mind shebeens and bothies Where Jock made a date wi' his dearie Then fare-ye-weel ye dives of Sicily Fare-ye-weel ye shielin' and ha' We'll all mind shebeens and bothies Whaur kind signorinas were cheerie Then tune the pipes and drub the tenor drum Leave your kit this side of the wa' Then tune the pipes and drub the tenor drum A' the bricht chalmers are eerie! * THE PORTREE KID -Bill Hill (Chapell Publishing) (Tune: "Ghost Riders in the Sky") A man came ridin' oot the west one wild and stormy day He was quiet, lean and hungry; his eyes were smoky grey He was lean across the hurdies, but his shoulders they were big The terror of the Hieland glens; that was the Portree Kid! CHORUS: Hiederum ho! Hiederum hey! The Tcheuchter that cam' frae Skye! His sidekick was an alderman, and oh, but he was mean! He was called the Midnight Plowboy, and he come frae Aberdeen He had twenty-seven notches on his crommach, so they say, And he killed a million Indians wae up by Storna way! Portree booted in the door, he sauntered tae the bar He poured a shot o'Crabbies, he shouted "Slainte Mhor!" While Midnight was being chatted up by a bar-room girl called Pam Who said "Well, howdy stranger! Would you buy us a babycham?" Now over in the corner sat three men frae Auchtertule They were playing games for money, in a "Snakes and Ladders" school The fourth man was a southerner, who'd come up from McMarry He'd been a river gambler on the Balahoolish Ferry! Portree walked to the table and he shouted "Shake me in!" He shuggled on the egg-cup; he gave the dice a spin, He threw seven sixes in a row, and the game was nearly done But then he landed on a snake, and finished on square one! The game was nearly over, and Portree was daein' fine He had landed on a ladder; he was up tae forty-nine He only had but one to go, and the other man was beat But the gambler couped the board, and he shouted "You're a cheat!" Men dived behind the rubber plants t'try and save their skins The accordionist stopped playing; his sidekick dropped the spoons! He said "I think it's funny you've been up that ladder twice, And do y'always dunt the table when I go t'throw my dice?" The gambler drew his skean dhu as fast as lightening speed Portree grabbed a screw-top; he cracked him o'er the heid Then he gave him laldie wi' a salmon off the wall And he finished off the buisness wi' his lucky grouse-foot's claw! Portree he walked up tae the bar, he says "I'll hae a half! And ya like the way I stuck it on that wee McMarry yaf?" But the southerner crept up behind, his features wracked wi' pain And he gobbed him wi' an ashtray made oot of a curlin' stane! The fight went ragin' on all night til openin' time next day Wi' a break for "soup and stovies" off a Coronation tray It was gettin' kind of obvious that neither man would win When came the shout that stopped it all: "There's a bus-trip comin' in!" They sing this song in Gallowshiels, and up by Peterheid Way down o'er the Border, across the Rio Tweed About what became of Portree, Midnight and the gamblin' man: They opened up a gift shop, sellin' fresh-air-in-a-can! * FLIGHT OF EARLS I can hear the bells of Dublin in this lonely waitin' room And the paperboys are singin' in the rain Not too long before they take us to the airport and the noise To get on board a transatlantic plane We've got nothin' left to stay for, We've got no more left to say And there isn't any work for us to do So farewell ye boys and girls; Another bloody Flight of Earls Our best asset is our best export, too.... It's not for the fear of Cromwell that makes us leave this time We're not going to join McAlpine's Fusileers We've got brains, and we've got visions; we've got education, too! But we just can't throw away these precious years So we walk the streets of London, And the streets of Baltimore And we meet at night in several Boston bars We're the leaders of the future But we're far away from home And we dream of you beneath those Irish stars As we look on Ellis Island, and the Lady in the bay And Manhattan turns to face another Sunday We just wonder what you're doin' for to bring us all back home As we look forward to another Monday Because there's nothin' more that scares us; We don't mind an honest job And we know things will get better once again So a thousand times adieu, We've got Bono and U2! And all we're missin' is the Guiness, and the rain So switch off your new computers, cause the writin's on the wall We're leavin' as our fathers did before Take a look at Dublin airport, or the boat that leaves North Wall There'll be no Youth Unemployment any more.... Because we're over here in Queensland, And in parts of New South Wales And we're on the seas and airways and the trains And if we see better days, Those big airplanes go both ways And we'll all be comin' home to you again! * FAREWELL TO THE RHONDDA CHORUS: Farewell ye colliery workers, the muffler and the cap Farewell ye Rhondda valley girls, we never will come back The mines they are a-closin', the valleys they're all doomed There's no work in the Rhondda boys, we'll be in London soon My father was a miner, and his father was before him, He always had been proud to work the coal Since they fell 'neath Provin's axe, All the lads have had the sack So away to work in England we must go! No more the chapel singin', that long ago has left us And the public house no more the miner's songs For the boot wheels they are stoppin', And the populations' droppin' And I can't afford to stay here very long Trehearve and Teralvye, Talleyfinley and Tenobbit Trastreondda and Semfentra, all adeiu For I can no longer wait While Parliament debates So a fond farewell I bid to all of you! CHORUS 2X * DUBLIN IN THE RARE OLD TIMES Raised on songs and stories; heroes of renown All the passing tales of glory that once was Dublin town The hallowed halls and houses; the haunting children's rhymes That once was part of Dublin in the rare old times CHORUS: Ring a ring a rosie, as the light declines I remember Dublin city in the rare old times Oh me name it is Sean Dempsey, as Dublin as can be Born hard and late in Pimlicoe, in a house that ceased to be By trade, I was a cooper. Lost out t'redundancy Like my house that fell to "progress," my trade a memory And I courted Peggy Diegnan. as pretty as you please A rose and a child of Mary from the rebel Liberty I lost her to a student lad, with skin as black as coal When he took her off to Birmingham, she took away my soul CHORUS Ah, the years have made me bitter; the drink has dimmed my brain And Dublin she keeps changin', nothin' stays the same The Metropol and Pillar are gone, they're all since long pulled down And that grey unyielding concrete makes a city of my town Fare ye well, sweet Anna Liffey, I can no longer stay And watch the new glass cages rise up along the Quay My mind's filled full of memories, too old to hear new chimes But I'm still a part of Dublin in the rare old times CHORUS 2X * DONALD WHERE'S YOUR TROUSERS? -Traditional Well, I just come down frae the Isle of Skye, I'm no very big and I'm awfu' shy, And the lassies shout as I go by, "Donald, where's your trousers." CHORUS: Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low, Through the streets in m'kilt I go. All the lassies cry, "Hello, Donald, where's your trousers?" I went into a fancy ball And it was slippery in the hall And I was a-feared that I might fall 'Cause I had nae on me trousers! Now I went down tae London town T'have a little fun on the Underground The ladies turned their heads around Sayin' "Donald, where ARE your trousers?!" The lassies love me, every one But they must catch me, if they can! Y'canna take the breeks off a Hieland man! Sayin' "Donald, where's your trousers?" * MY OLD MAN'S A DUSTMAN -Traditional Now here's a little story, to tell it is a must About an unsung hero, who moves away your dust... ....and garbage! Some people make a fortune, others make a mint But my old man don't earn that much, in fact he's flippin' skint! CHORUS: My old man's a dustman, He wears a dustman's hat He wears "gor blimey" trousers, And he lives in a Council flat! Now folks give tips at Christmas, and some of them forget So when he picks their bins up, he spills some on the step Now one old man got nasty, and to the Council wrote Next time my old man went round there, he punched him up the throat! One day, in such a hurry, he missed a lady's bin He hadn't gone but a few yards, when she chased after him She cried out to him loudly, in a voice right from the heart "You missed me; am I too late?" "No, hop up on the cart!" Now my old man's a dustman, he's got a heart of gold Now he got married recently, tho he's 86 years old! We said "Here! Hang on, Dad! You're getting past your prime!" He said "Well, when you reach my age, it's just to pass the time!" He found a tiger's head one day, nailed to a piece of wood The tiger looked quite miserable, but I suppose he should Just then, from out a window, a voice was heard to wail: "'Ere! Where's me tiger's head?" "Four foot from his tail!" He looks a proper nabob in his great big hobnail boots He has such a job to pull 'em up that he call's 'em "daisy roots!" Next time you see a dustman, a-lookin' all pale and sad Don't kick him in the dustbin, it might be my old dad! * CALEDONIA -Dougie Maclean (c) copyright 1989 Limetree Arts and Music I don't know if you can see The changes that have come over me In these last few days I've been afraid That I might drift away I've been telling old stories, singing old songs That make me think about where I come from And that's the reason why I seem So far away today... CHORUS: Ah, but let me tell you that I love you And I think about you all the time Caledonia, you're callin' me and now I'm goin' home But if I should become a stranger You know that it would make me more than sad Caledonia's been everything I've ever had I have moved and kept on moving, Proved the points that I needed proving Lost the friends that I needed losing Found others on the way I have kissed the ladies and left them crying Stolen dreams, yes there's no denying I have traveled hard with conscience flying Somewhere with the wind... Now I'm sitting here, before the fire, The empty room, the forest choir The flames that couldn't get any higher They're withered, now, they're gone But I'm steady thinkin' my way is clear And I know what I will do tomorrow When the hands have shaken and the kisses flowed Then I will disappear.... * PATRICK FAGAN -Traditional CHORUS: Hello, Patrick Fagan, you can hear the girls all cry Hello, Patrick Fagan, you're the apple of me eye! You're a decent boy from Ireland, there's no one can deny You're a rare of a tear of a devil-may-care Of a decent Irish boy! I'm workin' here in Glascow, I got a decent job I'm carryin' bricks and mortar, and the pay is fifteen bob! I rise up in the mornin', I get up with the lark And when I'm walkin' down the street you can hear the girls remark: Well the day that I left Ireland, t'was many months ago I left my home in Ulster where the pigs and praties grow Since I left old Ireland, it's always been my plan To let you people see that I'm a decent Irishman! Now if there's one among you, who'd like to marry me I'll take you to my little home across the Irish Sea I'll dress you up in satin and I'll do the best I can To let the people see that I'm a decent Irishman! * THE TOWN THAT I LOVED SO WELL -Phil Coulter (c) copyright 1973 Professional Music Consultants Ltd In my memory I will always see The town that I loved so well Where our school played ball by the gas-yard wall And we laughed thru the smoke and the smell Going home in the rain, running up the dark lane Past the jail and down by the fountain Those were happy days, in so many, many ways In the town that I loved so well In the early morn the shirt factory horn Called women from Creggan, the Moor and the Bog While the men on the dole played a mother's role Fed the children, and then walked the dog And when times got tough, there was just about enough And they saw it thru without complainin' For deep inside was a burning pride In the town that I loved so well There was music there, in the Derry air Like a language that we all could understand I remember the day that I earned my first pay When I played in a small pick-up band There I spent my youth, and to tell you the truth I was sad to leave it all behind me For I'd learned about life, and I'd found a wife In the town that I loved so well But when I've returned, how my eyes have burned To see how a town could be brought to it's knees By the armoured cars, and the bombed-out bars And the gas that hangs on every breeze Now the Army's installed by the gas-yard wall And the damned barbed wire gets higher and higher With their tanks and guns, oh my God what have they done To the town that I loved so well Now the music's gone, but they carry on For their spirit's been bruised, never broken They will not forget, but their hearts are set On tomorrow, and peace once again For what's done is done, and what's won is won And what's lost, is lost and gone forever I can only pray for a bright, brand new day In the town that I loved so well * LOCH TAY BOAT SONG When I've done my work of day, and I row my boat away Doon the waters of Loch Tay as the evening light is fading And I look upon Ben Lawers where the after glory glows And I think on two bright eyes and the melting mouth below She's my beauteous nighean ruadh, she's my joy and sorrow too And although she is untrue, well I cannot live without her For my heart's a boat in tow and I'd give the world to know Why she means to let me go as I sing horee horo Nighean ruadh, your lovely hair has more glamour I declare Than all the tresses rare 'tween Killin and Aberfeldy Be they lint white, brown or gold, be they blacker than the sloe They are worth no more to me than the melting flake of snow Her eyes are like the gleam o' the sunlight on the stream And the songs the fairies sing seem like songs she sings at milking But my heart is full of woe, for last night she bade me go And the tears begin to flow, as I sing horee, horo She's my beauteous nighean ruadh, she's my joy and sorrow too And although she is untrue, well I cannot live without her For my heart's a boat in tow and I'd give the world to know Why she means to let me go as I sing horee horo nb: "nighean ruadh" is "red-haired little girl" * COULTER'S CANDY -Traditional CHORUS: Ally bally, ally bally bee Sittin' on your mammy's knee Waitin' for a wee penny Tae buy some Coulter's Candy Mammy gimme ma thrifty doon Here's auld Coulter comin' roon Wi' a basket on his croon Sellin' the Coulter's candy Little Annie's greetin' tae Sae whit can puir wee Mammy dae But gie them a penny atween them twae Tae buy more Coulter's candy Ally bally, ally bally bee When ye grow up you'll go tae sea Makin' pennies for your daddy and me Tae buy mair Coulter's candy Times are gettin' hard the noo Yer daddys singin' on the brew Yer Mammys' still got a penny or two Tae buy some Coulter's candy Poor wee Jennie's lookin' awfu' thin A rickle of banes kivvered o'er wi' skin Noo she's gettin' a wee double chin From sookin' on Coulter's candy Come my boy, my wee, wee man Run doon that road as fast as y'can Pay your money tae the sweetie man For a big bag of Coulter's candy * WILL YE GO, LASSIE, GO? -Traditional Oh the summer time is comin' And the leaves are sweetly bloomin' And the wild mountain thyme Grows around the bloomin' heather Will y' go, lassie, go? CHORUS: And we'll all go together To pull wild mountain thyme All around the bloomin' heather Will y'go, lassie, go? I will build my love a bower By yon pure crystal fountain And on it I will place All the flowers of the mountain Will y'go, lassie, go? I will build my love a tower By yon pure flowing river And the thing her heart desires Is a thing I'll someday give her Will y'go, lassie, go? I will range thru the wild And the deep glen sae drearie And return wi' the spoils To the bower of my dearie Will y'go, lassie, go? If my true love she were gone Then I'd surely find another Where the wild mountain thyme Grows around the bloomin' heather Will y'go, lassie, go? * THE BONNIE SHIP THE DIAMOND -Traditional The Diamond is a ship me lads, for the Davis Straits she's bound And the quay it is all garnished with bonnie lassies round Captain Thompson gives the order to sail the ocean wide Where the sun it never sets me lads nor darkness dims the sky CHORUS: And it's cheer up me lads let your hearts never fail For the bonnie ship the Diamond goes a-fishing for the whale! Along the quay at Peterhead the lassies stand around Wi' their shawls all pulled about them and the salt tears runnin' down Oh don't you weep, my bonnie lass, though you be left behind For the rose will grow on Greenland's ice before we change our mind Here's a health to the Resolution, likewise the Eliza Swan Here's a health to the Battler of Montrose and the Diamond ship of fame We wear the trousers of the white and the jackets of the blue When we return to Peterhead, we'll hae sweethearts enoo It will be bright both day and night when the Greenland lads come hame Wi' a ship that's fu' of oil me lads and money to our name We'll make the cradles for to rock and the blankets for to tear And every lass in Peterhead sing hushabye my dear! * MINGULAY BOAT SONG -Traditional (Tune: "Lochaber") Heel y'ho boys, let her go, boys Bring her head round now all together Heel y'ho boys, let her go boys Sailing homeward to Mingulay! What care we tho' white the sea is What care we for wind and weather? Let her go boys, every inch is Wearing homeward to Mingulay! Wives are waiting on the bank, boys, Looking seaward from the heather Pull her 'round boys, and we'll anchor 'Ere the sun sets at Mingulay! Heel y'ho boys, let her go, boys Bring her head round now all together Heel y'ho boys, let her go boys Sailing homeward to Mingulay! Heel y'ho boys, let her go, boys Bring her head round now all together Heel y'ho boys, let her go boys Sailing homeward to Mingulay! * MARY HAMILTON -Traditional Word's gane tae the kitchen And word's gane tae the hall That Mary Hamilton's great wi' child By the highest Stewart of a' Arise, arise, Mary Hamilton Arise and come wi' me There is a wedding in Glascow town This night we'll go and see She put nae on her robes of black Nor yet her robes of brown But she put on her gown of white Tae ride into Glascow town Oh, often hae I dressed my Queen And put gold in her hair But noo I've gotten my reward The gallows tae be my share Oh, often hae I dressed my Queen And soft, soft made her bed And now I've got for my reward The gallows tree tae tread I charge ye all ye mariners As ye sail o'er the main Let neither my faither nor mother ken But that I'm comin' hame For little did my mother think When first she cradled me The lands I was to tread in Or the death I was tae dee Oh, happy, happy is the maid That's born of beauty free It was my dimplin' rosy cheeks That's been the doom of me Cast off, cast off my gown, she cried But let my petticoats be And tie a napkin around my face The gallows I would not see Last night there were four Marys Tonight there'll be but three: There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton And Mary Carmichael, and me * THE WEE COOPER O' FIFE -Traditional There was a wee cooper lived in Fife Nickety nackety noo, noo. noo And he has tae'n a gentle wife Risselty-rosselty, hey, pomposity Nickety nackety noo, noo, noo She wouldna card and she wouldna spin For shamin' o'her gentle kin She wouldna bake and she wouldna brew For spoilin' of her gentle hue She called him a dirty Hieland whelp If you want yer dinner go get it yourself The cooper's awa tae his wool-pack And lain a sheepskin across her back I'll no thrash you for your gentle kin But I will thrash my ain sheep-skin He's laid the sheepskin across her back And with a good stick he went whickety-whack Oh I will card and I will spin And think nae mair of my gentle kin! She drew the table and spread the board And "My dear husband" was every word All you who have gotten a gentle wife Just send ye for the cooper of Fife! * LORD GREGORY (Child #76) (aka: The Lass of Loch Royal) I am a King's daughter, I come from Cappa Quin In search of Lord Gregory, pray God I find him The wind beats on my yellow hair, the dew wets my skin My babe is cold in my arms, Lord Gregory let me in! Lord Gregory is not here, and likewise can't be seen He's gone to bonnie Scotland to bring home his new Queen Do you remember, Lord Gregory, as we sat at the wine We exchanged rings, love, and the worst one was mine Yours was of the beaten gold, and mine of black tin Yours cost a shilling, love, and mine but a pin. Do you remember, Lord Gregory, that night in my father's hall When you stole away my heart, and that was worst of all Go away from these windows, and likewise this hall For deep in the sea you shall have your downfall! A curse on you, mother, and my curse has been swore For I dreamed my fairest Maid was calling at my door Oh lie down, you foolish one, oh lie down and sleep 'Tis long ago her golden locks were drowned in the deep! Go saddle me my best black horse, the brown and the bay Go saddle me the best horse in my stable this day I will range over valleys, over mountains I'll ride 'Til I find my fairest Maid, and stand by her side! * SEVEN OLD LADIES -Anonymous (Tune: "Oh Dear, What Can The Matter Be?") compiled by Joe Bethancourt CHORUS: Oh dear what can the matter be 7 old ladies got stuck in the lavat'ry They were there from Sunday til Saturday Nobody knew they were there. They said they were going to have tea with the Vicar So they went in together cause they thought it was quicker But the lavat'ry door was a bit of a sticker And nobody knew they were there. Now the first was the wife of a Deacon from Dover And though she was known as a bit of a rover She liked it so much that she thought she'd stay over And nobody knew she was there. Now the next was the Bishop of Chichester's daughter Who went in to pass some superfluous water She pulled on the chain and the rising tide caught her And nobody knew she was there. Now the next old gal was Abigail Humphrey Who settled inside just to make herself comfy Then she found out that she could not get her bum free And nobody knew she was there. Now another old lady was Elizabeth Bender Who was doing all right till a vagrant suspender Somehow got caught in a feminine gender And nobody knew she was there. The next old lady was old Mrs. Draper she went in to find there was no paper The only thing there was a brick layers scraper And nobody knew she was there. The last old lady was old Mrs. Mason She had to go quick so she went in the basin And that was the water that I washed my face in 'Cause I didn't know she'd been there. --- extra verses The next old lady was Abigail Splatter, She went there 'cause something was surely the matter. When she got there, it was only her bladder, And nobody knew she was there. The next old lady was Amoeba Garpickle, Her urge was sincere, her reaction was fickle. She crawled under the door, she'd forgotten her nickle, And nobody knew she was there. The next old lady was Hildegarde Foyle. She hadn't been living according to Hoyle; Was relieved when the swelling was only a boil, And nobody knew she was there. The next old lady was Emily Grancy, She went there 'cause something had tickled her fancy, When she got there, it was ants in her pantsy, And nobody knew she was there. The next old lady was extremely fertile, Her name was O'Connor, the boys called her Myrtle, She went there to repair a hole in her girdle, And nobody knew she was there. The next old lady was named Brenda Fraser She went in to fix a broken brassiere She had drunk nothing but small beer And nobody knew she was there. The next old lady was Gwendolyn Daucus She had been finding the party quite raucus She went there avoiding a fellow named Paucus And nobody knew she was there. The next old lady was Susan Van Doozin She could not get the man of her choosin' She went there and found the art work amusin' But nobody knew she was there. The next old lady was Antoinette Boomer She went there to see what was wrong with her bloomer And when she found out, she wished she'd come sooner And nobody knew she was there. The janitor came in the early morning, He opened the door without any warning. The seven old ladies their seats were adorning, And nobody knew they were there. ---- variant verses: The next old lady was Elizabeth Porter. She was the Deacon of Dorchester's daughter. She went to relieve a slight pressure of water, And nobody knew she was there. The next old lady was Agatha Bender, She went there to repair a broken suspender, It snapped up and ruined her feminine gender, (the button flipped into her feminine gender) And nobody knew she was there. Now the next old gal was Abigail Humphrey Who settled inside and could not get her bum free But then she found out she was really quite comfy And nobody knew she was there. * ONE SUNDAY MORNIN' One Sunday mornin while on me way to Mass I met a bloody Orangeman, and I killed him for his pass I killed him for his pass, me boys, and sent his soul to hell And when he got back, he had a strange tale to tell! CHORUS: Fol de rol de rolly ra, fol de rol de rolly ray Fol de rolly rolly rolly, whiskey's in the jar! When an Orangeman dies his toes turn cold His bones begin to rattle, and the Devil takes his soul The gates of hell fly open, and the Devil cries for joy: "I've a nice spot prepared for you, my bold Orange boy!" If I had a yard of an Orangeman's skin Sure, I'd make it into drums for me bold Fenian men And when the drum would rattle, and the pipes begin to play Sure, we'd all march up t'Mass on St. Patrick's Day! * THE CRACK WAS NINETY IN THE ISLE OF MAN Well, weren't we the rare old stock? Spent the evening getting locked Up in the Ace Of Hearts where the high stools were engagin' Over the Butt Bridge, down by the dock, The boat she sailed at five o'clock "Hurry boys now!" said Whack, "Or before we're there, we'll all be back!" Carry him if you can! The crack was 90 in the Isle of Man! Before we reached the Alexander base The ding-dong we did surely raise In the bar of the ship we had great sport as the boat she sailed out of the port Landed up in the Douglas head Inquirin' for a vacant bed The dinin' room we soon got shown by a decent woman up the road "Lads, at it if you can!" The crack was 90 in the Isle of Man! Next mornin' we went for a ramble round Viewed the sights of Douglas town Then we went for a nightly session in a pub they call Dick Darbie's We must have been drunk by half past three To sober up we went swimmin' in the sea Back to the digs for a spruce up and while waitin' for the fry We all drew up our plan The crack was 90 in the Isle of Man! That night we went to the Texas Bar Came back down by horse and car Met Big Jim and all went in to drink some wine at Yate's The Liverpool judies it was said Were all to be found in the Douglas Head McShane was there in his suit and shirt them foreign girls he was tryin' to flirt Sayin' "Here, girls, I'm your man!" The crack was 90 in the Isle of Man! Whacker fancied his good looks On an Isle of Man woman he was struck But a Liverpool lad was by her side and he was throwin' the jar into her Whacker thought he'd take a chance Asked the quare one out to dance Around the floor they stepped it out and to Whack it was no bother Everything was goin' to plan The crack was 90 in the Isle of Man! The Isle of Man woman fancied Whack Your man stood there till his mates came back Whack! They all whacked into Whack and Whack was whacked out on his back The police force arrived as well Banjoed a couple of them as well Landed up in the Douglas jail until the Dublin boat did sail Deported every man! The crack was 90 in the Isle of Man! * THE END From: ioseph@primenet.com (Joe Bethancourt) Newsgroups: rec.org.sca Subject: Re: Graeme's Songbook (Part 10 of 9) LAST! Date: 29 Mar 1995 07:51:26 GMT Organization: Primenet Lord Graeme O'Baoighill (beudach@aol.com) wrote: : Well, folks, that's it! The whole file turned out to be only nine : parts... : Enjoy! If you missed any of the parts, lemme know and we'll get you : set up with the songs you missed. : If anyone would like me to post any of the songs seperately to : Rialto, again lemme know. I'd be glad to. : - Lord G. the B. And if anyone wants the entire collection, the FTP site is named below. -- ioseph@primenet.com PO Box 35190 Locksley Plot Systems White Tree Productions Phoenix, AZ 85069 CyberMongol Ltd "Do not ascribe your own motivations to others. At best, it will break your heart, at worst, get you dead." * song lyrics at ftp/nau/edu /sca/ioseph * Edited by Mark S. Harris SI-songbook4-art