Gilmour/Waters/Wright
Remember when you were young you shone like the sun
Shine on you crazy diamond
Now there’s a look in your eye like black holes in the sky
Shine on you crazy diamond
Your were caught in the crossfire of childhood and stardom
And blown upon the steel breeze
Come on you target for faraway laughter
Come on you legend you stranger you martyr and shine
You reached for the secret too soon you cried for the moon
Shine on you crazy diamond
Frightened by shadows at night, exposed in the light
Shine on you crazy diamond
You wore out your welcome with random precision
You rode upon the steel breeze
Come on you raver you seer of visions
Come on you painter you piper you prisoner and shine
Nobody knows where you are how near and how far
Shine on you crazy diamond
Pile on many more layers I’ll be joining you there
Shine on you crazy diamond
And we’ll bask in the shadow of yesterdays triumph
We’ll sail upon the steel breeze
Come on you boy child you winner and loser
Come on you miner of truth and delusion and shine
Hank Wedell
Listen to the whisper of moonlight on the water
Close your eyes and listen
Listen to the singing of a feather on the breeze
Close your eyes and listen
Listen
Listen to the harmony of heartbeats in unison
Close your eyes and listen
Listen to the rhythm of souls dancing ‘round the stars
Close your eyes and listen
Listen to the ringing of distant bells calling
Listen to the flutter of an angel wings on high
Listen to the rapping and the clapping and the humming
Listen to the snow fall gently on the mining town
Close your eyes and listen
Listen to the whisper of moonlight on the water
Listen to the singing of a feather on the breeze
Listen to the prayers of children to their blessed mothers
Listen to the pleading of the faithful to their father
Christy Moore
As I wandered abroad by Kilsheelan
Where the river meanders on down
To my left lay the Comeragh Mountains
To the right of me sweet Sliabh na mBan
Where the fishermen cast on the waters
And the apples are pressed into wine
Where the herd returns slowly to pasture
Through the fields that surround Ballydine
I marvelled at nature’s abundance
In Tipperary so rich and so rare
I drank from the well of spring water
Breathing in deep the fresh air
When I came to John Hanrahan’s homestead
In the fields around Ballycurkeen
I lay down in a meadow of wild flower
And dreamt a mysterious dream
I dreamt of a curious eviction
Unlike the evictions of old
No sign of a redcoat nor bailiff
‘twas more pernicious and cold
On the air cam a colourless vapour
The fields they felt silent and still
As I lay in that meadow of wildflower
Dreaming on Hanrahan’s hill
When I awoke I was frightenened
I knew ‘twas time to head home
I made my way back to Cluan Meala
On the road passing Merck Sharpe and Dohme
Paul McCormack & Barney Rush
When we got our redundancy, myself and the lads went on a spree
A brand new passport in my hand as we took off for The Netherland
Myself and Dinny and O’Dwyer and Scut at Schipol we were all half cut
We opened up the duty-free, the red lemonade and brandy
And we jumped on board a tram
O the weekend that we spent in Amsterdam
Our first stop was the coffee shop, in we went and we all sparked up
Hashish from Pakistan, Morocco, Nepal and the Lebanon
All the boys was rollin’ joints, they forgot to drink their pints
Water pipe came bubblin’ around, took one pull and hit the ground
Lads wake him if you can
O the weekend that we spent in Amsterdam
Sunday we went to the Blarney Stone, Paddy Wynne had the Leinster final on
The Lily Whites and The Boys in Blue, the Majors and Taytos
Over to Mulligans for the night, the bar was leppin’ and the bank was shite
De Burgh, De Bono and De Wolfe Tones ‘til Dinny grabbed the microphone
And gave us Van the Man
O the weekend that we spent in Amsterdam
Macker sez while we’re here we’ll go and have a look at the kinky gear
I said a quiet prayer I would’nt bump into anyone from Kildare
Big dildos, blow up dolls, snap on tools and hairy balls
Vibrators, whips and chains and fanny ticklers
God between us and all harm
O the weekend that we went to Amsterdam
Then we went for a midnight walk, all our eyes were out on stalks
Gay bars, bordellos, models in the windows with no clothes
Dinny he danced all night with a South American transvestite
Everything was goin’ grand until Dinny tried to drop the hand
There was pandemonium
O the weekend that we went to Amsterdam
The bouncer she was 5’10’’, Lowland heavyweight champion
She hit Dinny an awful box, the boys ran amok and wrecked the shop
We could hear the squad cars getting near, it’s time lads we were out of here
Dinny pulled up his tights and we disappeared into the night
All together no one by one
O the weekend that we spent in Amsterdam
Queen Beatrix she rides her bike, Rembrandt is hangin’ down in the Rijk
Ajax, Heineken, Van Gogh, The Gargle and The Ghanja
Monday morning we were all half cracked we dived into the Kaisergracht
They fished us out, hosed us down and put us on the plane to Dublin
Home to the Mammy again
O the weekend that we spent in Amsterdam
John Spillane & Christy Moore
Haiti was born, The Calabash was broken
The waters of the world flowed down the mountain
From the sacred caves came the Mestizo
Island people of the Arawak Taino
In Port-Au-Prince the city has fallen
From rubble and dust a voice is calling
Hear the fearful cry of a frightened nation
Carried on the wind from the Carribean Ocean
O Haiti when I heard your cry I knew that you were broken
O Haiti you will rise again, one day you’ll smile again
My Creole sister
Way back in the time when Skibbereen lay mourning
There came a message of love from the Choctaw nation
Tom Tuohy
My little Honda 50 she’s rapid and she’s nifty
She’ll do a hundred and fifty on a windy day
My little Honda 50, hit the nitro and she’ll shift me
Get me away from the Garda anyway
I got her in the Buy and Sell back in ‘82
A travellin’ man in a caravan said “This is the bike for you”
He was lookin’ for a hundred, I gave him thirty two
Took her for a spin out the Kinnegad Road and begod she feckin’ flew
I drove her into Newbridge lookin’ for a couple of parts
Alloy wheels, a sat-nav and a new push button start
Headin’ out to Robertstown for the bingo and the beer
Comin’ down the Hill of Allen she hit the ton in second gear
I was ridin’ across The Curragh nice and slow
The Guards pulled in behind me, Sergeant Kelly, don’t you know
I said, “O Buck, just my luck” and I hit the nitro hard
By the time the squad hit Brookets Cross I had her parked in Brady’s Yard
Kevin Littlewood
Out beyond the street lamps where the calliopes roar
Past the rack and samphire, beyond the shore
I’ve seen them walking through the tide as rain cuts through the spray
Chinese cockle-pickers on the sands of Morecambe Bay
I stood behind them in the corner shop and in the market too
I should have spoken to them, told them everything I knew
Like our mothers told us as we went out to play
Never try and race the tide on the sands of Morecambe Bay
For the tide is The Devil, it will run you out of breath
Race you to the seashore, chase you to your death
The tide is the very Devil and the Devil has its day
On the lonely cockle banks of Morecambe Bay
Saw them sending money orders home, all their hard earned pay
Tales of crossing borders on the road to Morecambe Bay
Sleeping in crowded rooms on cold hard floors
Such dreamless life is not worth dying for
I see them in the distance, laid out in the morning light
23 migrant workers were drowned last night
Their final phonecalls halfway round the world crossed
As between the river estuaries they raced the tide and lost
For the tide is The Devil, it will run you our of breath
Race you to the seashore, chase you to your death
The tides is the very Devil and The Devil has its day
On the lonely cockle banks of Morecambe Bay
In Fujian and Zeeland they mourn their next of kin
Gang masters with snake tattoos call money loans back in
Broked hearted parents watch their children stow away
To the lonely cockle banks of Morecambe Bay
The tide is the very Devil and The Devil has its day
On the lonely cockle banks of Morecambe Bay
Am
“Look at the dying soldier”, I heard someone whisper
Em
Then I saw the blood come through my shirt.
Am
Am I going to die here? I don’t want to die here.
Em
Someone come and pick me from the dirt.
G A
I don’t belong here, don’t let me die here alone.
My hands get colder, my thoughts are growing weaker.
This must be the way it is.
Stop the shooting, don’t you see I’m dying,
Someone come and say a prayer.
I don’t want to die here, don’t let me die here alone.
My eyes are closing. I see someone coming
He turns his back and runs away.
They’ve stopped shooting, it’s started raining,
This must be the way.
I don’t want to die here, don’t let me die here alone.
I don’t want to die here, don’t let me die here alone.
Am
I want to go back home where my friends are,
Em
I want to go on living there, said the dying soldier
I want to go back home where my friends are,
I want to go on living there, said the dying soldier
I met with the author Ger Costello when his band The Outfit played with Moving Hearts in Limerick and The Baggott Inn.He sent me this song shortly afterwards
Author Unknown
In the year of one thousand seven hundred and ninety-eight
A sorrowful tale the truth unto you I’ll relate
Of thirty-six heroes to the world they were left to be seen
By a false information they were shot on Dunlavin Green
Bad luck to you Saunders their lives you sold away
You said a parade would be held on that very day
The drums they did rattle and the fifes they did sweetly play
Surrounded we were and quietly marched away
Quite easily they led us as prisoners through the town
To be shot on the plain we then were forced to lie down
Such grief and such sorrow in one place was ne’er before seen
As when the blood ran in streams down the dykes of Dunlavin Green
There is young Andy Ryan he has plenty of cause to complain
Likewise the two Duffy’s who were shot down on the plain
And young Mattie Farrell whose mother distracted will run
For the loss of her own darling boy her eldest son
Bad luck to you Saunders bad luck may you never shun
That the widow’s curse might melt you like snow in the sun
The cries of those orphans whose murmurs you shall never sheen
For the loss of their own dear fathers who died on the green
Some of our boys to the hills they have run away
Some of them have been shot and more have run off to sea
Michael Dwyer of the mountain has plenty of cause for the spleen
For the loss of his own dear comrades who died on the green
Christie Hennessy
G C
Don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work.
G
Oh don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work.
C
Don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work
Or you’ll end up where you came from like the rest of us
G C
Digging, digging, digging. Ow di liddle do.
And don’t forget your shoes and socks and shirt and tie
And all.
Don’t forget your shoes and socks and shirt and tie and all.
Mr Murphy’s afraid you’ll make a claim if you take a fall.
How’s it goin’ – Not too bad – Ow di liddle do.
And we want to go to heaven but we’re always diggin’ holes.
We want to go to heaven but we’re always diggin’ holes.
Yeah we want to go to heaven but we’re always diggin’ holes.
Well there’s one thing you can say – we know where we are going.
Any chance of a start* – No – OK – Ow di liddle do.
And if you want to do it – don’t you do it again the wall.
If you want to do it – don’t you do it again the wall.
Never seen a toilet on a building site at all.
There’s a shed up in the corner where they won’t see you at all.
Mind your sandwiches.
Enoch Powell will give us a job, diggin’ our way to Annascaul.
Enoch Powell will give us a job, diggin’ our way to Annascaul.
Enoch Powell will give us a job, diggin’ our way to Annascaul.
And when we’re finished diggin’ there they’ll close the hole and all.
Now there’s six thousand five hundred and fifty-nine Paddies over there in London all trying to dig their way back to Annascaul
and very few of them boys is going to get back at all
– I think that’s terrible.
Don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work.
Don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work.
Oh, don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work.
Or you’ll end up where you came from like the rest of us
Digging, digging, digging. Ow di liddle doooooooooooooh.
[* A start = a job]
Christie Hennessy made one of the great albums, he is the sweetest singer,the gentlest of men…….his honesty and charm very often unsettles interviewers,they dont have the wherewithal to embrace his affection and generosity … he is a prince among men.
Ian Prowse
McKenzie’s soul lies above the ground in that
Pyramid near Maryland
Easyjet is hanging in the air
Takin’ everyone to everywhere
See the slave ships sailing into port
The blood of Africa is on every wall
Now there’s a ley line runs down Mathew Street
It’s giving energy to all it meets
Hey does this train stop
Does this train stop on Merseyside?
Alan Williams in the Marlboro’ Arms
Giving his story out to everyone
Famine boats are anchored in the bay
Bringing in the poor and desperate
Hey does this train stop
Does this train stop on Merseyside?
Boston babies bouncing on the ground
The Riggers beamin’ out to every town
Can’t conceive what those children done
Guess there’s a meanness in the soul of man
Yorkshire policemen chat with folded arms
While people try and save their fellow fans
Why don’t you remember?
Christy Moore
Bishop walked in circles inside the cloistered wall
Pondering in solitude on leather soles
Just outside the palace down on his wretched knees
Husband begged for whiskey beneath the lilac trees
Over in the courthouse Judge sat wrestling with a yawn
Wondering would the gardener pluck the daisies off the lawn
Annoyed and irritated by a “guilty” woman’s whine
Poor wife pleading innocence to an alleged crime
Next day was a Derby Day down on the Curragh plains
Dry old men of cloth and silk watched the sport of kings
Meanwhile back down the town a husband battered down the door
Beat his wife around the face and kicked her to the floor
Husband took his own life, wife passed away
Judge donned his veil of sorrow, put the children into care
They became God’s little orphans, learned to serve and to obey
To be unobtrusive when Bishop knelt to pray.
every line from a different story,the landlords always have the judges in their pockets and the bishops always bless the carry on (so as they can carry on themselves),,,,,
Elvis Costello
At the Arrividerci Roma night club bar and grill
Standing in the fibre-glass ruin watching time stand still
All your troubles you’ll confess
To another faceless, backless dress
Schnapps, Chianti, Porter and Ouzo
Pernod Vodka, Sambuca, I love you so poor deportee.
There’s a fading beauty talking in riddles
Rome burns down and everybody fiddles
The poor deportee
But a thousand dollars won’t buy you a yankee wife, alas
There’s a thousand years of history
drowned in that whiskey glass
Now I wish that she was mine
I could have been a king in 6/8 time – poor deportee
Schnapps, Chianti, Porter and Ouzo
Pernod Vodka, Sambuca, I love you so poor deportee
It’s a brittle charm, but the lady’s had enough
Still she wrote her number on your paper cuff
It’s hard to know when to start and when to stop
Her pillow talk is nothing more than talking shop
When I came here tonight my pockets were overflowing
She stole my return ticket and I didn’t even know it
I prayed to the saints and all the martyrs
For the secret life of Frank Sinatra
And all of these things have to come to pass
In America the law is a piece of ass – deportee
Schnapps, Chianti, Porter and Ouzo
Pernod, Vodka, Sambuca, I love you so
Poor deportee.
Schnapps, Chianti, Porter and Ouzo
Pernod, Vodka, Sambuca, I love you so – deportee.
I love you so poor deportee.
I met the quare fella when he lived here for a decade or two,when I heard him on “Blue” his singin mesmerised me,he called in and sang a great harmony on “Missing you” and then (Ithink) he sent me the words of this, I changed a few of them but he never complained.He set sail out west a few years ago,way out west now but always making music,one of these days hes gonna write a song for me..maybe when ….
Christy Moore
I dreamt a dream the other night I couldn’t sleep a wink
The rats were tryin’ to count the sheep and I was off the drink
There were footsteps in the parlour and voices on the stairs
I was climbin’ up the walls and movin’ round the chairs.
I looked out from under the blanket up at the fireplace.
The Pope and John F. Kennedy were starin’ in me face.*
Suddenly it dawned at me I was getting the old D.T.s
When the Child o’ Prague began to dance around the mantlepiece.
CHORUS
Goodbye to the Port and Brandy, to the Vodka and the Stag,
To the Schmiddick and the Harpic, the bottled draught and keg.
As I sat lookin’ up the Guinness ad I could never figure out
How your man stayed up on the surfboard after 14 pints of stout.
Well I swore upon the bible I’d never touch a drop.
My heart was palpitatin’ I was sure ’twas going to stop,
Thinkin’ I was dyin’ I gave my soul to God to keep.
A tenner to St. Anthony to help me get some sleep.
I fell into an awful nightmare – got a dreadful shock.
When I dreamt there was no Duty-free at the airport down in Knock.
George Seawright was sayin’ the rosary and SPUC were on the pill.**
Frank Patterson was gargled and he singin’ Spancil Hill.
CHORUS
I dreamt that Mr. Haughey had recaptured Crossmaglen
Then Garret got re-elected and gave it back again.
Dick Spring and Roger Casement were on board the Marita-Ann
As she sailed into Fenit they were singin’ Banna Strand.
I dreamt Archbishop McNamara was on Spike Island for 3 nights
Havin’ been arrested for supportin’ Traveller’s rights.
I dreamt that Ruairi Quinn was smokin’ marijuana in the Dail
Barry Desmond handin’ Frenchies out to scuts in Fianna Fail.
CHORUS
I dreamt of Nell McCafferty and Mary Kenny too
The things that we got up to, but I’m not tellin’ you.
I dreamt I was in a jacuzzi along with Alice Glenn
’twas then I knew I’d never ever, ever drink again.
CHORUS
[In Christy’s live versions, the previous 2 verses are replaced with the following; ]
I dreamt I was in ecstacy in Heaven, and in agony in Hell,
I was bored in Limbo and then I was in Purgatory as well
And there was original sins and venial sins and mortal sins by the score
So I tied barbed wire around my underpants and flagellated myself on the floor
Then I dreamt I was in the confessional box and the auld Bishop said to me;
‘Any impure thoughts, my child?’
Sure the f**king barbed wire was killin’ me!
And then I dreamt I was in the jacuzzi with that auld hoor from No. 10
And then I knew I’d never ever, ever drink again.
* – In later versions, Jack Charlton gets a mention!
** – Ian Paisley was sayin’ the rosary and Mother Teresa was on the pill
at the end of a top shelf stagger I rattled me knob off the corner of a gable end, thats it sez I -never again….but shur I was ony coddin mysel….put us on a nice basin there Shay and I’ll have a large Vera and super while its settlin ….whose upstairs tonight, Oh its myself is it,…Is there, by any chance, a spare box in the house, do ye want one set or two,whos doin the door, could you sub a few bob til after
Traditional
As I roved out one evening fair
It bein’ the summertime to take the air
I spied a sailor and a lady gay
And I stood to listen
And I stood to listen to hear what they would say.
He said “Fair lady, why do you roam
For the day is spent and the night is on”
She heaved a sigh while the tears did roll
“For my dark-eyed sailor
For my dark-eyed sailor, so young and stout and bold.”
“‘Tis seven long years since he left this land
A ring he took from off his lily-white hand
One half of the ring is still here with me
But the other’s rollin’
But the other’s rollin’ at the bottom of the sea.”
He said “You may drive him out of your mind
Some other young man you will surely find
Love turns aside and soon cold has grown
Like the winter’s morning
Like the winter’s morning, the hills are white with snow.”
She said “I’ll never forsake my dear
Although we’re parted this many a year
Genteel he was and a rake like you
To induce a maiden
To induce a maiden to slight the jacket blue.”
One half of the ring did young William show
She ran distracted in grief and woe
Sayin’ “William, William, I have gold in store
For my dark-eyed sailor
For my dark-eyed sailor has proved his honour long”
And there is a cottage by yonder lea
This couple’s married and does agree
So maids be loyal when your love’s at sea
For a cloudy morning
For a cloudy morning brings in a sunny day.
I think I learned this from Andy Rynne.He was a great man to sing in a Hayshed.He shared many songs with me and a few floors too,always the best kempt of bog balladeers,coiffed and cravatted carefully but pour a dozen Smithwicks into him and he was as rowdy as the rest of us
Dan Penn
At the dark end of the street
thats where we always meet
hiding in shadows where we don’t belong
living in darkness to hide our wrongs………You and me
time is going to take its toll
we’ll have to pay for the love we stole
its a sin and they say its wrong
oh! but our love has grown so strong…..you and me
they’re goin’ to find us
they’re goin’ to find us
some day, we’ll hide away
down the dark end of the street…you and me
And when the daylight comes around
by chance we are both downtown
if we should meet walk on by…hush baby don’t you cry
tonight we’ll meet down the dark end of the street,you and me.
The Baggot Inn Dublin 1981. Moving Hearts are playing in this smelly kip – three nights a week and it was a wild and wonderful time. The hellhole was thronged every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday night with the same gang of reprobates and some of ’em came all three nights (and not just the band either).
We would rehearse on the top floor on the afternoons of the gig days, people would roll in as best we could in various states of dishevelment – some neater than others. Declan brought this song in one day and we had it up and running that night for we were always keen to get new noise into the set. Keith Donald used to blow this gorgeous on the sax, it never failed to bring on the lump. We filmed it once, just me and Keith in the Baggott. It was on a film called Christy, anyone got it on dvd?
C.G.F…
C.G.F…
C.FGAm.
F.G.F.GC….
middle bit
Am….
Am…
F.C.FC…FGF.G.C…
Traditional
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer’s gone, and all the flowers are dying
’tis you, ’tis you must go and I must bide.
But come you back when summer’s in the meadow
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow
’tis I’ll be there in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
And if you come, when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You’ll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an “Ave” there for me.
And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
And you will bend and tell me that you love me
And I will sleep in peace until you come to me.
Author Unknown ( This version from Denis Sabey of Bradshaw, Halifax, Yorkshire)
It’s hard when folks can’t get their work where they’ve been bred and born
When I was young I used to think I’d bide my time ‘mid the roots and the corn
But I’ve been forced to flee the town so here’s my litany
From Hull and Halifax and Hell good Lord deliver me
When I was courting Mary Anne the auld squire he said one day
I’ve got no room for wedded folk choose to wed or stay
I could not leave the girl I loved so town we had to flee
From Hull and Halifax and Hell good Lord deliver me
I’ve worked in Leeds and Huddersfield where I’ve addled honest brass
In Bradford, Keightley, Rotherham, I’ve kept my bairns and lass
I’ve travelled all three ridings round and once I’ve been to sea
From Hull and Halifax and Hell good Lord deliver me
I’ve been through Sheffield lanes at night ’twere just like being in hell
The furnaces thrust out tongues of flame that roared like wind o’er the fell
I’ve sammed up coal in Barnsley pit with muck up to my knee
From Hull and Halifax and Hell good Lord deliver me
I’ve seen grey fog creep o’er Leeds Brig as thick as Bastille soup
I’ve been where folks are stowed away like rabbits in a coup
I’ve seen snow fall on Bradford Beck as black as ebony
From Hull and Halifax and Hell good Lord deliver me
But now my children all have flown to the country I’ll go back
There’ll be forty miles of heathery moor ‘twixt me and the coal pit slack
And oft at night as I sit round the fire I’ll think of the misery
From Hull and Halifax and Hell good lord deliver me
from Alastair Cameron and Dennis Sabey founder members of the Bradshaw Tavern Folk Club in the mid 60s.Thesong is based on an older Yorkshire dialect poem.
Nigel Rolfe/Christy Moore
Everybody knew, nobody said.
A week ago last Tuesday.
She was just fifteen years.
When she reached her full term.
She went to a grotto.
Just a field,
In The Middle of The Island.
To deliver herself.
Her Baby died,
She died
A week ago last Tuesday.
It was a sad, slow, stupid death for them both.
Everybody knew, nobody said.
At a Grotto
In a Field
In The Middle Of The Island
Anne Lovett – may that child rest in peace, is an icon whose passing we should remember.
Her death showed up a terrible but accurate picture of the society that we lived in, in which so many still wallow.
I believe Nigel Rolfe’s lyric to be a monument to the passing of her innocent life. There was a collective shame across the Island. However, its shadow did not reach into the darkest corners where the righteous dwell.
Does anyone have a photo of Anne Lovett? My son wishes to create a shrine to her memory.
Sung accapella to a drone.
Johnny Duhan
Am G
A girl cries in the early morning
Em Am
Woken by the sound of a gun
Am G
She knows somewhere somebody’s dying
Em F
Beneath the rising sun
C G
Outside the window of her cabana
Am Em
The shadows are full of her fears
C G
She knows her lover is out there somewhere
Am Em
He’s been on the run for a year
CHORUS
F G Am
Oh, the soul of El Salvador
Bells ring out in the chapel steeple
A priest prepares to say mass
The sad congregation come tired and hungry
To pray that trouble will pass
Meanwhile the sun rises over the dusty streets
Where his body is found
Flies and mosquitoes are drinking from pools of blood
Where the crowd gathers round.
CHORUS
Out on the ranch the rich man’s preparing
To go for his morning ride
They’ve saddled his horse out in the corral
He walks out full of pride
He looks like a cowboy from one of those pictures
A president made in the past
Peasants in rags, they stand back for they know
That El Rico travels fast
CHORUS
Over the soul of El Salvador.
Christy Moore
Oh the Easter snow
It has faded away
It was so rare and beautiful
And it melted back into the clay
Those days will be remembered
Beyond out in the Naul
Listening to the master’s notes
As gently they did fall
Oh the music
When Seamus he did play
But the thaw came on the mantle white
And turned it back into the clay
He gazed at the embers in reflection
Called up lost verses again
Smiled in roguish recollection
While his fingers gripped the glass to stem the pain
When knocked upon his door would open
With a welcome he’d bid the time of day
Though you came when the last flakes had melted
While it lay upon the ground you stayed away
I first met Seamus Ennis in 1968.I was living in Yorkshire and he stayed with me for a week while he played some Folk Clubs. When I played with Planxty in 1972-74), Seamus was sharing a house with Liam and Michael O’Flynn. Lastly I used to visit him towards the end of his life when he lived back in the home place in The Naul,Co.Dublin. During those visits he talked about Music and Songs and shared deeply.I wrote this tribute after he passed.
Ewan McColl
I’m a freeborn man of the travelling people
Got no fixed abode with nomads I am numbered
Country lanes and byways were always my ways
I never fancied being lumbered
In the open ground we could stop and linger
For a month or two for time was not our master
Then we’d pack our load and be on the road
Nice and easy no need to go faster
I’ve known life hard and I’ve known life easy
And I’ve cursed the nights when winter winds were storming
But I’ve danced and sung through the whole night long
Watched the summer sun rise in the morning
We knew the woods and the resting places
And the small birds sang when winter time was over
Then I’d jog with my horse and dog
They were good old days for the rover
All you freeborn men of the travelling people
Every tinker, rolling stone and gypsy rover
Winds of change are blowing old ways are going
Your travelling days will soon be over
You’re the foxy devil when you like
You set my mind at ease and then you strike
You set me head a-reeling
You make me shout and sing.
My memory flees, I get no ease
Till I have a little drink.
You’re the crafty rogue and that’s for sure
For your company there is no cure
I’ve squandered all my money
And the best days of my life.
All on your charms, in spite of harm
In spite of peace and strife.
Whiskey in the morning or at night
Gives strength to sing and dance, to love and fight
And so despite misfortune
I’ll take you as you are –
The best of friends and enemies
The best I’ve known by far.
Anon
Lift MacCahir Óg your face brooding o’er the old disgrace
That black Fitzwilliam stormed your place, drove you to the Fern
Grey said victory was sure soon the firebrand he’d secure;
Until he met at Glenmalure with Fiach Mac Hugh O’Byrne.
CHORUS
Curse and swear Lord Kildare
Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now Fitzwilliam, have a care
Fallen is your star, low
Up with halbert out with sword
On we’ll go for by the Lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word,
Follow me up to Carlow.
See the swords of Glen Imayle, flashing o’er the English Pale
See all the children of the Gael, beneath O’Byrne’s banners
Rooster of a fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock, fly up and teach him manners.
From Saggart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore
O, great is Rory Óg O’More, sending the loons to Hades.
White is sick and Lane is fled, now for black Fitzwilliam’s head
We’ll send it over dripping red, to Queen Liza and the ladies.
Paula Meehan
Em
A young man fell in love with truth
D
And searching the wide world for her
Em
He found her in a small house
D
In a clearing in the forest
Em
She was old and she was stooped
D
He pledged himself to her
Em D
To chop wood and to carry water
Em
To collect the root the stem the leaf
D
And the flowering top and seed
Em
Of every plant she’d need
D
To do her work
Em
Years went by until one day
D Em D
The young man woke up longing for a child
Em
He went to the old woman
D Em
And he asked to be released from his oath to her
D Em D
That he might return to the world
Em D
“Certainly”, she said,
Em
“On one condition”
G D
“You must tell them that I’m young and beautiful.”
Em G D
“You must tell them that I’m young and beautiful.”
Tim Dennehy
It was a Friday in April 1986,
The day that the nightmare began,
When the dust it rained down on our buildings and streets,
And entered our bedrooms at noon,
Touched the grass and the streets, bicycles, cars,
Beds books and picture frames too,
We stood around, helpless, confused,
Nobody knew what to do.
At two o’clock on Sunday the buses arrived,
A fleet of a thousand or more,
We were ordered to be on our way,
Not knowing what lay in store,
Some of our citizens fled in dismay,
And looked for a good place to hide,
Four o’clock came and the last bus pulled out,
T’was the day our lovely town died.
And the shirts sheets and handkerchiefs crack in the wind,
On the window ledge the withering plants,
And the Ladas and Volga’s are parked by the door,
And the bike’s in its usual stance.
Our evergreen trees lie withered and drooped,
They’ve poisoned our fertile land,
The streets speak a deafening silence,
Nothing stirs but the sand.
A visit back home is so eerie today,
A modern Pompeii on view,
To see all the old shops and the Forest Hotel,
And the Promyet Cinema too.
The mementos we gathered were all left behind,
Our Photos, letters and cards,
The toys of our children untouchable now,
Toy soldiers left standing on guard.
So fare thee well Pripyat, my home and my soul,
Your sorrow can know no relief,
A terrifying glimpse of the future you show,
Your children all scattered like geese,
The clothes line still sways but the owners long gone,
As the nomadic era returns,
The question in black and white blurred into grey,
The answer is too easy to learn.
Late one night during The Willie Week we were gathered in the back lounge of Malones hostelry.Porter and songs were flying in all direction with tunes for diversion. Mrs Malone,God rest her,put down the pan and started to fry up fresh fillets of mackerel whilst fresh white bread was buttered.Never tasted anything so good. Then there followed a lull amongst the late drinkers.Tim Dennehy quietly slipped into this song (which he had just penned).It was a sad song to hear..
Phil Chevron
C A
This graveyard hides a million secrets,
C A
And the trees know more than they can tell.
C F
The ghosts of the saints and the scholars will haunt you,
G C
In heaven and in hell.
C A
Rattled by the glimmer man, the boogie man, the holy man,
C A
And livin’ in the shadows, in the shadows of a gunman.
C F
Rattled like the coppers in your greasy till,
G C
Rattled until time stood still.
C A
Look over your shoulder, hear the school bell ring,
C A
Another day of made-to-measure history.
C F
I don’t care if your heroes have wings,
G C
Your terrible beauty has been torn.
CHORUS
A F G C
Faithful departed, we fickle hearted,
F E D G
As you are now so once were we.
A F G C
Faithful departed, we the meek hearted,
F E D G
With graces imparting bring flowers to thee.
The girls in the kips proclaim their love for you
When you stumbled in they knew you had a shilling or two.
They cursed you on Sundays and holy days of abstinence,
When you all stayed away.
When you slept there a naked bulb hid your shame,
Your shadows on the wall, they took all the blame.
The Sacred Heart’s picture, compassion in his eyes,
Drowned out the river of sighs.
Let the grass grow green over the brewery tonight,
It’ll never come between the darkness and the light.
There is no pain that can’t be eased,
By the devil’s holy water and the rosary beads.
CHORUS
You’re a history book I never could write,
Poetry in paralysis, too deep to recite.
Dress yourself, bless yourself, you’ve won the fight,
We’re gonna celebrate the night.
We’ll even climb the pillar like you always meant to,
Watch the sun rise over the strand.
Close your eyes and we’ll pretend,
It could somehow be the same again.
I’ll bury you upright so the sun doesn’t blind you.
You won’t have to gaze at the rain and the stars.
Sleep and dream of chapels and bars,
And whiskey in the jar.
FINAL CHORUS
A F G C
Faithful departed, look what you’ve started;
F D D G
An underdog’s wounds aren’t so easy to mend.
A F G C
Faithful departed, there’s no broken hearted,
F E D G C
And no more tristesse in your world without end.
A classic song from Philip Chevron whom I first met when he was a schoolboy with a dream, a dream which he still follows. Another wonderful song to sing.It means different things all the time, such a litany of powerful images,it can be a soft ballad or a mad scream or both.
Shane Mac Gowan
C F
It was Christmas Eve, babe, in the drunk tank
C G
An old man said, “Son, I won’t see another one”
C F
And then he sang a song, a rare old mountain tune
C G C G
I turned my eyes away, and I thought about you
I got on a lucky one, came in at 18/1
I’ve got a feeling this year’s for me and you
So Happy Christmas, I love you baby
There’s going to be good times
When all our dreams come true.
C
They’ve got cars big as bars
F
They’ve got rivers of gold
C
But the wind blows right through you
G
It’s no place for the old
C
When I first took your hand on a cold Christmas Eve
F G
I told you that Broadway was waiting for me.
You were handsome and pretty, queen of New York city
When the band finished playing, the crowd howled for more
Sinatra was swinging, and the crowd they were singing
We kissed on the corner and danced round the floor.
CHORUS
F C Am
And the boys from the New York police choir were singin’ Galway Bay
F G C
And the bells were ringin’ out on Christmas Day
I could have been someone and so could anyone
I took my dreams from you when I first met you
I kept them with me, babe, and put them with my own
I can’t make it all alone
I’ve built my dreams around you.
C G C F
You’re a bum you’re a punk you’re an aul hoor on junk
C G C G
Lyin’ there on the drip nearly dead in the bed
C G C C
You scumbag you maggot you cheap lousy faggot
C F G C
Happy Christmas me arse, I would rather be dead…
CHORUS
[Extra verse from the live version]
I love you baby
I’ve got a feeling this year’s for me and you
So Happy Christmas, I love you baby
There’s going to be good times
When all our dreams come true.
The most written about song in my repertoire,Shane and Jem Finer fairly nailed it with this classic.Why cover it at all the pricks often ask.It is a wonderful song to sing,magical to dream through,faces from my past inhabit the characters of the story.Some fail to understand that we sing songs, primarily, for personal reasons, not to do a “better” version or gain fortune and acclaim.The definitive version is Shane and Kirsty and The Pogues.How many songs have had films made about them? Then there is the ” The Haggart” version.
Ewan McColl
The island lies like a leaf upon the sea.
Green island like a leaf new-fallen from the tree.
Green turns to gold,
as morning breeze gently shakes the barley,
bending the yellow corn.
Green turns to gold,
there’s purple shadows on the distant mountains.
Sun in the yellow corn.
They came in their long ships from lands across the sea.
They came in their long ships – they saw the land was green.
Wind in the barley,
trout and salmon leaping in the rivers.
Sun in the yellow corn.
Leaping ashore
they slaughtered those laboured in the barley,
scything them down like corn.
The long ships sailed away and new invaders came.
With long bow and lance bringing death in England’s name.
With sword and with mace,
they went reaping though the fields of barley,
They plundered the yellow corn.
Crop followed crop,
they prospered in their killing fields of barley,
The harvest of new young corn.
Marching down the years the men of war they came,
with bombs, assassins, bullets, CS gas and guns.
Ghosts from the past
are chasing shadows through the fields of barley
hiding in the new young corn.
Nine hundred years
they tried to trap the wind that shakes the barley.
Sun in the yellow corn.
The island lies like a leaf upon the sea.
Green island like a leaf new-fallen from the tree.
Green turns to gold,
as morning breeze gently shakes the barley,
bending the yellow corn.
No force on Earth
can ever trap the wind that shakes the barley.
Sun in the yellow corn.
From Mrs Elizabeth Cronin, Macroom, Co. Cork
Once I was a waiting man who lived at home at ease
Now I am a mariner that ploughs the stormy seas
I always loved seafaring life I bid my love adieu
I shipped as steward and cook me boys on board the kangaroo
I never thought she would prove false or either prove untrue
As we sailed away from Milford Bay on board the Kangaroo
Think of me oh think of me she mournfully did say
When you are in a foreign land and I am far away
And take this lucky thrupenny bit it will make you bear in mind
This loving trusting faithful heart you left in tears behind
Cheer up, cheer up my own true love don’t weep so bitterly
She sobbed she sighed she choked she cried till she could not say goodbye
I won’t be gone for very long but for a month or two
And when I return again of course I’ll visit you
Our ship it was homeward bound from manys the foreign shore
Manys the foreign present unto my love I bore
I brought tortoises from Tenerife and ties from Timbuktu
A China rat, a Bengal cat and a Bombay cockatoo
Paid off I sought her dwelling on a street above the town
Where an ancient dame upon the line was hanging out her gown
Where is my love? she’s vanished sir about six months ago
With a smart young man who drives the van for Chaplin Son & Co.
Here’s a health to dreams of married life to soap suds and blue
Heart’s true love, patent starch and washing soda too
Ill go into some foreign shore no longer can I stay
With some China Hottentot I’ll throw my life away
My love she was no foolish girl her age it was two score
My love she was no spinster she’d been married twice before
I cannot say it was her wealth that stole my heart away
She was a washer in the laundry for one and nine a day
Christy Moore
Dm Am Dm Am
Dm F Am
She spent seven days creating the World, the Sun, the Moon and Stars
Dm Am
And the Plough and the Milky-Way and Jupiter and Mars
Dm F Am
And she opened her ribcage. Then she pulled out a little man.
Dm Am
She put him down on the plains of Kildare and the human race began
F Am
Go forth said she and multiply God man and I will by God.
Dm F Am
What better place to begin the race than below in the yellow Bog*
CHORUS
Dm Am Dm F Am
God Woman, God Woman, God Woman, God Woman
Dm F Am
Down by the edge of Clongorey he built a holy cell
Dm Am
Where he knelt to contemplate heaven and drink from St. Brigids well.
Dm F Am
And then he went to the mission fields of Raheens and Ballitore
Dm Am
And he sailed on down the Grand Canal to the town of Lollymore.
F Am
Where he went breaking up the Bordellos, and smashing the poit�n stills.
Dm F Am
Introducing the word of God around the furry hills
CHORUS
* The place was in fact Bowlings Gog at Barronstown, Miltown,
Newbridge, County Kildare
Sorry no essay at present.
Tuning:
tune the deep e from ‘e’ to ‘d’ down
Em D G
e-d 2 0 5
a-a 2 0 2
d-d 2 0 0
g-g 0 2 0
h-h 0 3 0
e-e 0 2 3
Dm Am Dm Am
Ewan Mc Coll – additional verses by Christy Moore
Am
Born in the middle of the afternoon
D G Am
In a horsedrawn carriage on the old A5
Am
The big twelve wheeler shook my bed,
D Am D Em
“You can’t stay here” the policeman said.
CHORUS
Am G D Em
You’d better get born in some place else.
Am Em Am Em
So move along, get along, Move along, get along,
F G Am
Go! Move! Shift!
Born in the common by a building site
Where the ground was rutted by the trail of wheels
The local Christian said to me,
“You’ll lower the price of property.”
CHORUS
Born at potato picking time
In a noble tent in a tatie field.
The farmer said, “The work’s all done
It’s time that you was moving on.”
CHORUS
Born at the back of a hawthorn hedge
Where the black hole frost lay on the ground.
No eastern kings came bearing gifts.
Instead the order came to shift.
CHORUS
The eastern sky was full of stars
And one shone brighter than the rest
The wise men came so stern and strict
And brought the orders to evict
CHORUS
Wagon, tent or trailer born,
Last month, last year or in far off days.
Born here or a thousand miles away
There’s always men nearby who’ll say
CHORUS
The sleeve notes from ‘Live at the Point”
has two extra verses (added by Christy)
Six in the morning out in Inchicore
The guards came through the wagon door.
John Maughan was arrested in the cold
A travelling boy just ten years old.
CHORUS
Mary Joyce was living at the side of the road
No halting place and no fixed abode.
The vigilantes came to the Darndale site
And they shot her son in the middle of the night.
Christy Moore/Jimmy Faulkner
Every time I go to London
I think about Giuseppe Conlon
Who left his home in Belfast
And travelled over to his son
As he said goodbye to Sarah
And took the boat to Heysham
Little did Giuseppe know
He’d never see that place again.
Giuseppe was an ailing man
And every breath he drew
Into his tired lungs
He used to maintain his innocence
Behind those walls
Behind those bars
For everyday remaining in his life
Maintaining his innocence
Giuseppe Conlon, Giuseppe.
Jackson Browne
When you look in to a child’s face
You are seeing all the human race
And the endless possibilities there
Where so much can come true
And you think of the beautiful things
A child can do
How long can a child survive
How long if it was up to you
When you think of all the money spent
On defence by the government
And the weapons of destruction we build
We’re so sure that we need
And you think of the millions and millions
That money could feed
How long can you hear someone crying
How long can you hear someone dying
Before you ask yourself why
How long will we hear people speaking
About missiles for peace and just let it go by
How long will they tell us these weapons are keeping us free
It’s a lie
If you saw it from a satellite
With its green and with its blue and white
The beauty of the curve of the earth
And the oceans below
You might think it was paradise
If you didn’t know
You might think it was turning
But it’s turning so slow
How long can you hear someone crying?
How long can you hear someone dying?
Before you ask yourself why
How long will it be till we’ve turned
To the tasks and the skills that we’ll have to have learned
If we’re going to find a place in the future
Have something to offer where this planet is concerned
How long how long
Jim “Doc” Whelan
My name is Nuke Power, a terror am I,
I can cause such destruction on land, sea or sky.
Your Minister tells you I’ll do you no harm,
If he locks me up in that house down in Carne.
CHORUS
Tooraloo, Tooralay,
I can cripple and maim,
Cause death and decay.
He’ll have me well guarded, by night and by day,
With soldiers on land and with sailors at sea;
But no one can tame me; I’ll be restless, I warn,
If he locks me up in that house down in Carne.
CHORUS
Such a beautiful country I see all around,
Where people and flowers and fishes abound.
I’ll change that whole scene in ten seconds, I warn,
If he locks me up in that house down in Carne.
CHORUS
I’ll poison your children, I’ll strangle your dog,
I’ll kill every creature on land, sea or bog.
I’ll devastate Ireland from Killarney to Larne,
If he locks me up in that house down in Carne.
CHORUS
Now, I have three comrades called wind, rain and sun,
Very powerful they are, and also great fun.
Treat them with respect and they’ll do you no harm.
They’ll work for you free every day down in Carne.
CHORUS
Now to all you fine people, I make this strong plea.
Go tell your Minister to let me go free.
If you don’t try to use me, I’ll do you no harm,
So don’t let him lock me in his house down in Carne.