Three years after Graffitti Tongue and I’m down the garden with Leo Pearson and his boxes of magic and tricks.†

Burning Times 127080756180_burningtimes

Last Cold Kiss 127080752699_lastcoldkiss

Christy Moore Collection Part 2


Fuckin’ suits are out to get me again!†

Matty 127080723799_matty

Folk Tale 127080726617_folktale

Sonny’s Dream 127080730771_sonny

Graffiti Tongue


Fuckin’ rough slog. Fell out with one of me best mates and we’ve not spoken since. Hate that. Inis Maan, Passage East, Scariff, Kilmainham, Ballyvourney again, on the mattress, no sounding board, I can’t judge this work, good songs, harsh sounds.†

All my own making, my decisions, my responsibility, no blame at all on anyone else, good title, good sleeve idea but badly executed. I am not enjoying my work anymore at this time.

Yellow Triangle 127080628313_yellowtriangle

Minds Locked Shut 127080631374_mindslocked

North And South 127080634583_northandsouth

Live At The Point


I played to 50,000 over 12 nights. Me and my guitar. Weird. I’d be totally fucked after it.† The cigar smoke was getting to me a bit. Some of the backroom boys were startin’ to lose the plot and believe their own publicity. I was believin’ in False Gods and that is bothersome and dangerous.

A fellow told me once that I was the greatest Irish writer since Sean O’Casey. I didn’t believe him. Then I discovered he’d never read either me or O’Casey!

Welcome To The Cabaret 127080443021_welcometothecabaret

Well Below The Valley 127080504826_wellbelowvalley

Nancy Spain 127080603142_nancyspain

King Puck


Difficult to make until Neil McColl came and gave me a dig out. I was working with people, some of whom were very worried about laundry facilities in Ballyvourney.†

I don’t know what to say just now except I like some of this album very much.

Me And The Rose 127080354537_meandtherose

King Puck 127080389651_kingpuck

Lawless 127080396186_lawless

Smoke and Strong Whiskey


Terrible title, strange album, sounds like I’m in a hurry, was very difficult to make, to mix, to finish, and to listen to. Some people love it, good enough for me.

Green Island 12708033425_greenisland

Fairytale of New York 12708033743_fairytaleofnewyork

Aisling 127080341976_aisling

The Christy Moore Collection 1981 – 1991


This was released without any consultation and was a huge seller. It is a good compilation.

Ordinary Man 127074886593_ordinaryman

City of Chicago 127074889776_cityofchicago

Missing You 127074892419_missingyou



I got my head turned here by Warner suits. They came to my home and sat there telling me I should remix the album. An A & R wanker who fell asleep during the meeting, a big shot from London, the head of WEA Ireland, my manager and me.†

I listened to these shysters and took their counsel and allowed my album to be remixed. It was a rash and regrettable move on my part and to this day I regret it – but I learned.

Mystic Lipstick 127074867881_mysticlipstic

The Voyage 127074870929_thevoyage

Middle of The Island 127074873340_middleoftheisland

Compilation USA


I was in New York to play Carnegie Hall. The gig sold out so Atlantic Records felt they should make some sounds. They invited me to their office and had a banner on the wall, which read “Atlantic welcome C. Moore to New York”. They released this compilation and lost the banner.†

No Time For Love 127074847938_notimeforlove

Dying Soldier 127074853120_dyingsoldier

Lisdoonvarna 12707485909_lisdoonvarna

Unfinished Revolution


I’m still singing most of these songs – 15 years on. Always a good sign of an album. Don’t listen much to old albums and never to this. There is intensity about this work that I like to remember but not always to hear. Some wonderful guitar work from Des Moore and Declan Sinnott.†

Suffocate 127074772313_suffocate

Derby Day 127074778319_derbyday

Dr Vibes 127074780978_drvibes

The Spirit Of Freedom


This album came about as the result of a trip I made to H Blocks. I left the Falls Road in a van that was clapped out. It was used daily to ferry prisoner’s families to and from the camp. I got the idea to try and raise money for a new van and that was the purpose of this album.†

WEA got to hear about it and sequestered it under terms of contract which is how it became Warner’s album which I had never wanted it to be. The Hungry Fuckers.

Forever on My Mind 127074749957_foreveronmymind

Back Home in Derry 127074756742_backhomeinderry

Granny’s Dustbin Lid 127074760934_granniesdustbinlid

Ordinary Man


I really enjoyed the making of this. Donal and I were joined by Arty McGlynn who provided gorgeous licks. We made it in Nicky Ryan’s back garden and had a rare ole time of it. We were joined by various others but the four of us did the business.†

I may be repeating myself but this album proves yet again the magic of Donal Lunny. The riffs he created, the colours he painted, the sensitivity he shows, the help he offers, the performances he coaxes and all this done selflessly.

For me, there is no greater rock in all of Irish music and I am privileged in my tether. Of course, it helps that he’s a bogman and Gavin Wednesday has proclaimed the Culchie is the new cool. Far amach!

Sweet Music Roll On 127074729678_sweetmusicrollon

Matty 127074732663_matty

Hard Cases 127074735373_hardcases

Ride On


Muckross Cottages 1984. Donal Lunny, Declan Sinnott and myself. The Eerie mobile, which had seen better days – 7 of the 16 channels were not functioning. The engineer was Marc Franc and between himself and Jim Donohue the tracks were recorded in a three-week period which was fun and very hard work.†

We had a few nights on the town, got barred out of Danny Manns and chucked out of Gabys Lobster shed. I’d love to record in Killarney again. I’ve many good friends around there and it’s always been a good place to hang out.

El Salvador 127074683436_elsalvador

Back Home in Derry 127074765329_backhomeinderry_ro

Vive LA Quinte Brigada 127074694467_vivelaquintebrigada

The Time Has Come


A bit of a dogs mickey of an album that I recorded to step back onto the acoustic stage. It was my first serious outing as a writer with three of my own songs featured.†

“Don’t forget your shovel” became a very big hit when Ronan Collins began to play it every morning on his early show – he literally played it into the charts and this contributed to my work crossing over into the mainstream.

I also was being managed seriously for the first time and beginning to understand the workings of the music business, the moola and the shamboola and how to try and hang to a bit of if for myself and the family.

Wicklow boy 127074660344_wicklowboy

All I Remember 127074675820_alliremember_mh

H Block


Having written ” 90 miles to Dublin” I became aware that there were a number of people who wanted to give support to the men and women on the Blanket in the H. Blocks and Armagh Jails.†

Mick Hanly wrote and performed “On the Blanket” Stephen Rea read 2 works by Bobby Sands and one by Brian O’Buille. Dan Dowd played ” Taimse im Colaid” Matt Molloy played The Rights of Man and Repeal the Union. Noel Hill and Tony Linnane played Reels and Anne and Frances Brolly sang “I’ll wear no convicts uniform”.

Thomas Ryan offered up his startling image for the sleeve and the special branch obliged us by raiding the launch and guaranteeing us much publicity. Thanks Lads.

Rights Of Man 127074584495_rightsofman

On The Blanket 127074586633_ontheblanket

90 Miles From Dublin 127074591564_90milesfromdublin

Live In Dublin


This was a busy year. Once I had the Iron Behind the Velvet it was straight into rehearsals for this album. I had not worked with Donal Lunny and Nick Ryan since ‘73 so along with Jimmy Faulkner we decided to record some gigs around Dublin City.†

In the original Grapevine Arts Centre, Trinity College, The Meeting Place, Nicky Ryans Parlour and a quick run down to Pat Dowlings in Prosperous we recorded these tracks over 6 nights.

The first of my 3 live albums this one is from a time when my gigs were less than exhilarating. The more substances in the air, the less substance in the work. It’s still kicking about and recently I heard a couple tracks on radio and it sounded fine.

Little Mother 127074551715_littlemother

Hey Sandy 127074554888_heysandy

The Crack Was Ninety in The Isle Of Man 127074558535_thecrackwasninetyintheisleofman

The Iron Behind The Velvet


We were living in Co. Carlow. I was doing wild gigs up on the Castlecomer Plateaux. There were midgies in the hot summer air. Great growth in Coolcullen even before horsehit arrived. Old songs lurking behind hedges. Pipes glowing in the dark down the Protestant road.†

Great neighbours one and all. Stedmonds, Walshes, Kelly’s, Kinsella’s, Shirleys, hospitality in Moloney’s, Sheerans, Larkins, The Salmon Pool, Conways, Pedigree corner, the El Ruedo and Furey’s in Carlow, Kytelers, and the Metropole Kilkenny and the madness al around – New Ross, St. Mullins, Urlingford . . .

I sang the Ridge and Coolcullen brigade, The Carlow XV and I somehow managed to get this album together. Rehearsals were uneven and we even managed a tour before flying in to Keystone studio in Harcourt Street to get the tracks down.

The music was fun to play. I was trying to get a band together, but it was not happening – fellows had day jobs and others had their own projects and gigs to prioritise so it just faded away once we had her down on wax.

The Foxy Devil 127074518235_thefoxydevil

Trip To Jerusalem 127074540089_triptojerusalem

Dunlavin Green 127074543553_dunlavingreen

Christy Moore


After Tickling my Fancy, I turned back towards my roots with this album. A good number of songs here have become very well known. I recall very late nights in the studio (Dublin Sound) with Donal Lunny, Jimmy Faulkner, Declan McNelis, Kevin Burke, and visits from Micheal O’Domhnall, Barney McKenna coming in to stir the pot.†

I was operating outside the system at this time – dealing with promoters and agents myself and also dealing with Polydor directly. It was a time of learning too – for I got to understand the nuts and bolts of the industry.

Kevin Burke left to join the Bothy Band and I started touring farther afield with Jimmy Faulkner. We pursued our audience in Germany, France, U.K, Austria, Holland, and Scariff in a Peugeot 404 diesel pickup.

We even got lost once in Lichtenstein.

Little Musgrave 12707448462_littlemusgrave

Limerick Rake 12707449530_limerickrake

Boys Of Mullabawn 127074498688_boysofmullabawn

Whatever Tickles Your Fancy


Having left the band (Paul Brady came in) I was soon to discover I had no profile in Ireland as a solo singer. Whatever career I’d developed in Britain in the late sixties meant nothing in Ireland in 1974. I had to start almost from scratch. I floundered for a while seeking work and direction.†

Through Nicky Ryan (Planxty’s sound producer) I had befriended Jimmy Faulkner and Declan McNelis. I phoned Kevin Burke in London and invited him over for some rehearsals. He came and stayed. With Jimmy and Declan we began a residency in the Meeting Place in Dorset Street. Initially we played Monday nights, but soon began Saturdays as well and we were beginning to sound like a band.

This album was recorded at the Ashling Studio in Rathgar. Robbie Brennan joined us on drums. It was a bit out of my depth playing with bass and drums rhythm section and I could not offer much direction. A lot of the music at this time was confused and unstructured but we had happy days and made some good music.

Bunch Of Thyme 127074465999_bunchofthyme
Ballad Of Timothy Evans 127074468847_balladoftimothyevans
Home By Bearna 127074472673_homebybearna



As I got over the excitement of having made an album I began to hear what it was that had been recorded. I realised how important it was to work with musicians who could hear the work and empathise with the singer. All these songs have an atmosphere and a definite vibe of their own and that must be respected.†

When Bill Leader agreed to record my work for his Trailer label. I made contact with Donal Lunny, Andy Irvine, Liam O’Flynn and asked them to play on my second album. I’d known Donal since school and followed his music right from the start. He taught me how to play guitar and bowrawn and has always been the most sensitive collaborator and friend.

He also has a great understanding of the other instruments their capabilities and limitations and can write riffs and fills for all occasions. Liam O’Flynn is the first piper I encountered and forty years on is still my favourite. I’d known Andy from his work with Sweeny’s Men and occasional meetings along the trail.

This was a wonderful session of recordings. It was a time of great music and fun. Bill Leader was the most innovative of engineers and got on with his task of getting it down. Considering he was working with a Revox Reel to Reel and two mikes the sounds he recorded are ageing well.

I’ve talked about this album in many interviews. It has been viewed in lots of ways and taken apart, dissected and given all sorts weighty significance these past 30 years. It is flattering and titillating to hear of it’s debate but the truth is it was made primarily for the sheer joy of making music. We did it because we loved to do it. We had a ball and all we sought to do was to record the sounds that we liked. All that followed has been an unexpected and most welcome bonus.

Lock Hospital


Dark Eyed Sailor


Paddy on the Road


I met Dominic Behan in Shepherds Bush in 1968 when we both played a benefit gig. It may have been 19th of November at Hampton Court. We hit it off and he took me under his wing. He said he would help me make an album in Sound Techniques Chelsea in 1969. Steve Benbow put a band together.

He wrote dots and brought in a bunch of his drinking mates to read the dots. I met them for the first time in the studio. They were all pub jazz players and I was the apprentice Paddy folkie greenhorn.

They did their thing and I tried to keep up with them. While I couldn’t keep up with their chord shapes I could keep up with their drinking and we all got on well – there was pain in the music but we were not feeling it. I can still hear it.

Dominic wrote four of the songs and also produced. A man called Harold Shampan paid the bills and Mercury put it out briefly. It led to doors being opened in the B.B.C and R.T.E and I did broadcasts on both networks after the release.

There are a couple of shams out there burning CD’s of this album. But don’t be tempted. As soon as I’m set up I’ll bang it out to you at a suitable price.

Audio Files

Paddy On The Road Paddy on the Road

James Larkin James Larkin

Maid From Athy 127074389064_maidfromathy

Track List

1 Paddy On The Road
2 Marrow Bones
3 Strike Weaspon
4 Avondale
5 James Larkin
6 Cunla
7 Spanish Lady
8 Belfast Brigade
9 Cricklewood
10 Curragh Of Kildare
11 Maid Of Athy
12 Father McFadden


Butterfly (so much wine)

The Handsome Family

I had nothing to say on Christmas Day when you threw all your clothes on the floor.

When you burned your hair knocked over the chair I tried to stay out of your way.

When you fell asleep with blood on your teeth I got into my car and drove away.

Listen to me butterfly, theres only so much wine you can drink in one life,

But it will never be enough to save you from the bottom of your glass.

Where the highway starts I parked my car I got out and stared up at the stars.

As meteors died and shot across the sky, I thought about your sad shining eyes.

I came back for my clothes when the sun finally rose you were still passed out on the floor

Listen to me butterfly, there’s only so much wine you can drink in one life

But it will never  be enough to save you from the bottom of your glass

more info


I was down in the Protestant church in Dingle recording “Songs from a Room” for the Kings and their retinue when I came face to face with this couple of Yanks, she incredibly brown eyed and red lipped, he bespectacled and large, not the sort of people you normally meet in the sacristy.  A year later I go to hear the Handsome Family in Leap, West Cork and it was them again.  Song after gorgeous song. Dark and beautiful and humourous and he’s not too bad either.  Saw them later again in the Savoy in Cork at the European Year of the Culchies.  They bound the spell again and poor auld Brett half killed with the gout as Rennie blew her bugle and I was glued to the floor.






The Armagh Women

Margaretta D’Arcy

In Black Armagh of the Goddess Macha,
Last February in the grey cold jail,
The governor Scott in his savage fury
Came down to break the women’s will.
Forty jailers, my forty jailers,
From the hell of Long Kesh come down
And help me break these warrior women
Who will not yield to the power of the crown.

The forty jailers put on the armour,
Strapped on their helmets, took up their shields,
Then they beat the Armagh women, they beat them down,
They were sure they’d yield.
Three days he kept them locked up in darkness,
Locked up in filth you would not believe.
When he released them he was so conceited
That one and all he thought they would yield.

“If you have suffered” he smilingly said,
“It never happened; it was all just a dream.
Come out, come out and obey my orders”
But the Armagh women they would never yield
They’d never yield to Scott the governor,
They’d never yield till they broke him down.
He and his jailers were all locked in prison
By the women of Armagh jail

And there they remain, those warrior women,
Locked up in filth you could not believe.
They hold Scott and his warders powerless.
They hold them there, they’ll never concede.
Women of Ireland, stand up and declare.
Women of Ireland, understand your power.
Make us see that together we’ll do it
We’ll tumble down their stone grey tower.

In Black Armagh of the Goddess Macha,
Last February in a cold grey cell…


In Irish mythology, Macha is a goddess linked with horses, battle, and sovereignty. She is said to have collected the heads of the slain, which were known as “Macha’s acorn crop”. Though possibly a triple goddess herself, she is often seen as one aspect of the Irish triple goddess of battle and sovereignty, the Morrigan.

The Ballad Of Ruby Walsh

Christy Moore

There’s Bethlehem and Cheltenham, there’s Lourdes and Limerick Junction
The trip to Mejagori come up for the extra munction
Good people climb Croagh Patrick with serenity on their faces
But Ruby Walsh he saved me life below at the Galway Races.
Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.

They’re under starters orders, Ted Walsh is commentating,
Ruby’s up on the favourite, she’ll take some beating
necks are craned and eyes are trained there’s fear upon their faces
There’s agony and ecstasy below at the Galway races
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.

It’s there you’ll see gentility and sheep dressed up like mutton
There’s double barrelled names with Mulherns on old melodeons
The talk is all of tillage of silage and corn acre
I fancy Tracy Piggott in the saddle in the enclosure
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go

Sir John Mucksavage Smythe is there with Smurfits and O’Reilly’s
The owners and the trainers, the stable boys and jockeys
With silk around their arses getting up on rich men’s horses
The convention wives and daughters and marriages and divorces.
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.

There’s Celtic helicopters land bank speculators,
Builders and developers, crocodiles and alligators
Soldiers of destiny their in the fields of frenzy
their mouths wrapped round the Lamb Of God come back for the gravy,
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.

Thursday is the ladies day and the women all look smashing
Their lashing on the lipstick Philip Tracy’s all the fashion
You can see the liposuction the botox and ogmanation
Brazilian haircuts colonic irrigation,
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.

And every one’s out in Salthill for the craic and for the porter
There’s bookies making odds on two flies walking up the wall
There’s folk and trad there’s disco karaoke and set dances
While some of us who seen better days were looking to take our chances
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.

Their galloping down the back straight, he has her in the canter
A look at her up the jumps be Gad, she’s like a ballet dancer
Over the last she hits the front the other one’s going to pass her
Winner alright it’s up Kildare, follow me up to Carlow
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go

The Banks Of The Lee


When two lovers meet down beside the green ocean
When two lovers meet beneath the green tree
And Mary my fond Mary to her love she is declaring
You have stolen away my young heart from the banks of the Lee

I loved her dearly both true and sincerely
There is no-one in this wide world I loved so much as she
Every bush, every bower, every wild Irish flower
It reminds me of my Mary on the banks of the Lee

So I will pluck my love some roses some wild Irish roses
I will pluck my love some roses the fairest that ever grew
And I will place them on the mound of my own darling true love
In that cold and silent valley where she lies beneath the dew

The Bleacher Lassie Of Kelvinhall

From Mick Moloney (Incomplete Version)

As I went out on a summer’s morning
As I went out by the Broomielaw
It was there I met with a fair young maiden
Her cheeks like roses and her skin like snow

Lassie lassie why do you wander
All alone by the Broomielaw
Sailor sailor the truth I’ll tell you
I’ve a lad of me ain and he’s far awa’

It’s seven long years since I loved that sailor
It’s seven long years since he sailed awa’
Another seven I’ll wait upon him
To be bleaching clothes in the Broomielaw

Lassie lassie you have been faithful
And true to me while I’ve been away
Our true hearts will be rewarded
We’ll part no more from the Broomielaw

For many years now they have been married
They keep an alehouse in Kelvinhall
And the sailor laddies they come calling
On the bleacher lassie from the Broomielaw

The Boy From Tamlaghduff

Christy Moore

As we I walked over the Glenshane Pass I heard a young woman mourn
The boy from Tamlaghduff she said is ten years dead and gone
How my heart is torn apart this young man to lose
We’ll never see the likes again of young Francis Hughes

For many years his exploits were a thorn in England’s side
The hills and glens became his home it was there he used to hide
Often when surrounded he’d quietly slip away
Like a fox he went to ground and kept the dogs of war at bay

Francis and three volunteers were coming around the pass
When they were confronted by a squad of SAS
The volunteers gave all they had till Francis took two rounds
He gave the order to retreat and wounded went to ground

The UDR and RUC came with their tracker dogs
In their hundreds hunted him across the farms and bogs
When he was too weak to move they captured him at last
And from the countryside he loved they brought him to Belfast

From Musgrave Park to Crumlin Road then to a H-Block cell
He went straight on the blanket then on hunger strike as well
Although his weapon had been changed to a blanket from a gun
He wielded it courageously as the hunger strike begun

As his young life ebbed away we helplessly looked on
On the twelfth of May the black flags lay in 1981
Deep mourning around Tamlaghduff has turned to burning pride
Francis fought them every day he lived and fought them as he died

As I walked over the Glenshane Pass I heard a young woman mourn
The boy from Tamlaghduff she said is ten years dead and gone
How my heart is torn apart this young man to lose
We’ll never see the likes again of young Francis Hughes.

The City Of Chicago

Barry Moore

In the City of Chicago
As the evening shadows fall
There are people dreaming
Of the hills of Donegal

1847 was the year it all began
Deadly pains of hunger drove a million from the land
They journeyed not for glory
Their motive wasn’t greed
A voyage of survival across the stormy sea

To the City of Chicago
As the evening shadows fall
There are people dreaming
Of the hills of Donegal

Some of them knew fortune
Some of them knew fame
More of them knew hardship
And died upon the plain
They spread throughout the nation
They rode the railroad cars
Brought their songs ant music to ease their lonely hearts

To the City of Chicago
As the evening shadows fall
There are people dreaming
Of the hills of Donegal

The Crow In The Cradle

Author Unknown

The sheep’s in the meadow the cows in the corn
Now is the time for a child to be born
He’ll cry for the moon and he’ll laugh at the sun
If it’s a boy he’ll carry a gun
And if it should be that our baby’s a girl
Never you mind if her hair doesn’t curl
With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
And bombers above her wherever she goes

Sang the crow in the cradle

Your Mammy and Daddy they’ll sweat and they’ll save
Build you a garden and dig you a grave
O-hush-a-bye baby why do you weep
We’ve got a pill that can put you to sleep
Hush-a-bye baby the black and the white
Somebody’s baby was born for to fight
Hush-a-bye-baby the white and the black
Hush-a-bye-baby is not coming back

Bring me a gun and I’ll shoot that bird dead
That’s what your Mammy and Daddy once said
Oh crow in the cradle what shall I do?
That is the question I leave unto you

The Diamantina Drover

Hugh McDonald

The faces in the photographs are fading
I can’t believe he looks so much like me
For its been ten long years today since I left for old Cork Station
And I won’t be back till the drove is done.

For the rain never falls on the dusty Diamantina
The drover finds it hard to change his mind
For the years have surely gone like the drays from old Cork Station
And I won’t be back till the drove is done.

It seems like the sun comes up each morning
Sets me up then takes it all away
Dreaming by the light of the campfire at night
Ends with the early light of the day.


I sometimes think I’ll settle back in Sydney
It’s been so long and it’s hard to change your mind
For the cattle trail rolls on and on, the fences last forever
And I won’t be back when the drove is done.

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

Ewan McColl

The first time ever I saw your face,
I thought the sun rose in your eyes,
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave,
To the dark and the endless skies.

The first time ever I kissed your lips,
I felt the earth move in my hand,
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird,
That was there at my command.

The first time ever I lay with you,
I felt your heart beat close to mine,
And I knew our love would fill the earth,
And would last till the end of time.

The Galtee Mountain Boy

From Patsy Halloran, With new words by C. Moore

I joined the Flying Column in 1916
In Cork with Sean Moylan in Tipperary with Dan Breen
Arrested by Free Staters and sentenced for to die
Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee Mountain boy

We tracked the Wicklow Mountains we were rebels on the run
Though hunted night and morning we were outlaws but free men
We tracked the Dublin Mountains as the sun was shining high
Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee Mountain boy

We went across the valleys and over the hilltops green
Where we met with Dinny Lacey, Sean Hogan and Dan Breen
Sean Moylan and his gallant men they kept the flag flying high
Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee Mountain boy

I’ll bid farewell to old Clonmel I never more shall see
And to the Galtee Mountains that oft times sheltered me
Those who fought for freedom, died without a sigh
May their fight not be forgotten, said the Galtee Mountain boy

The Kerry Recruit

Author Unknown

About four years ago I was digging the land
With my brogues on my feet and my spade in my hand
Says I to myself what a pity to see
Such a fine strapping lad footing turf in Tralee

Wid me toorum mi neaa me toorum mi na
Wid me toorim  me nure im mi nure im mi nya

So I buttered me brogues and shook hands with my spade
And I went to the fair like a dashing young blade
When up comes a Seargeant and asks me to ‘list
Arra, sergeant a gra put the bob in me fist

O! Then here is the shilling, as we’ve got no more
When you get to headquarters you’ll get half a score
Arra, quit your kimeens, sez I, Sergeant goodbye
You’d not wish to be quartered, and neither would I

And the first thing they gave me it was a red coat
With a wide strap of leather to tie round my throat
They gave me a quare thing I asked what was that
And they told me it was a cockade for my head

They next thing they gave me they called it a gun
With powder and shot and a place for my thumb
And first she spit fire and then she spit smoke
Lord, she gave a great lep and my shoulder near broke

The next place they sent me was down to the sea
On board of a warship bound for the Crimea
Three sticks in the middle all rowled with sheets
She walked thro’ the water without any feet

When at Balaclava we landed quite sound
Both cold wet and hungry we lay on the ground
Next morning for action the bugle did call
And we got a hot breakfast of powder and ball

Sure it’s often I thought of my name and my home
And the days that I spent cutting turf, och mavrone
The balls were so thick and the fire was so hot
I lay down in the ditch, boys, for fear I’d be shot

We fought at the Alma, likewise Inkerman
But the Russians they whaled us at the Redan
In scaling the walls there myself lost my eye
And a big Russian bullet ran off with me thigh

It was there I lay bleeding stretched on the cold ground
Heads, legs and arms were scattered all around
Says I, if my mama or my cleaveens were nigh
They’d bury me decent and raise a loud cry

They brought me the doctor, who soon staunched my blood
And he gave me an elegant leg made of wood
They gave me a medal an ten pence a day
Contented with Sheila, I’ll live on half pay.

The Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carroll

Bob Dylan

William Zanzinger killed Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled on his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gathering
The police were called in and his weapon took from him
They drove him into custody down at the station
Charged William Zanzinger with First Degree Murder

And you who philosophise disgrace and criticise my fears
Take that rag away from your face now’s not the time for your tears

When William Zanzinger was 24
He was farming tobacco on 600 acres
With rich wealthy parents to provide and protect him
High office relations in the politics of Maryland
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
With sneering and swear words his tongue it was snarling
In less than 10 minutes on bail was out walking

And you who philosophise disgrace and criticise my fears,
Take that rag away from your face now’s not the time for your tears.

Hattie Carroll was a maid who worked in the kitchen
51 years old she had 10 children
She carried the dishes and took out the garbage
She never once sat at the head of the table
She never even spoke to the people at the table
Just cleared all the food from the table
And emptied ashtrays on a whole other level
Killed by a blow and lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room
Doomed and determined to destroy all that’s gentle
She never did nothing to William Zanzinger

And you who philosophise disgrace and criticise my fears
Take that rag away from your face now’s not the time for your tears

At the courtroom of honour the Judge pounded his gavel
To show all is equal and his court is on the level
That the strings and the books are not pulled or persuaded
Even the rich get properly treated
Once the cops have chased them and caught them
The ladder of the law has no top and no bottom
He stared at that man who had killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feeling that way without warning
He spoke through his cloak most deep and distinguished
And handed down strongly form penalty and repentance
Gave William Zanzinger a 6 month sentence

And you who philosophise disgrace and criticise my fears
Bury that rag most deep in your face now is the time for your tears.

The Ludlow Massacre

Woody Guthrie

It was early springtime and the strike was on
They drove us miners out of our homes
Out of the houses that the company owned
Into the tents of the little Ludlow

We were worried bad about our children
State troopers guarded the railway bridge
Every once in a while a bullet would fly
Kick up gravel around our feet

We were so afraid that you’d kill our children
That we dug a cave that was seven foot deep
Took the children and the pregnant women
Down inside the cave to sleep

It was late that night the soldiers waited
Till all us miners were asleep
They crept around one little camp town
And soaked our tents in kerosene

They struck a match and the blaze it started
They pulled the triggers of their Gatling guns
I made a run for the children but the firewall stopped me
Thirteen children died from their guns

I never will forget the looks on the faces
Of the men and women that awful day
As they stood around to preach the funeral
And lay the corpses of the dead away

The women from Trinidad took some potatoes
Up to Wallensburg in a little cart
They sold the potatoes and brought some guns back
Put a gun in every hand

We asked the governor to phone up the president
Ask him call off the National Guard
But the National Guard belonged to the governor
I guess he didn’t try very hard

Late one night the troopers charged us
They didn’t know that we had guns
The red necked miners shot them troops down
You should have seen those poor boys run

We took some cement and walled the cave up
Where the thirteen little children died
I thanked God for the Mine Workers Union
And then I hung my head and cried