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.
Jim Page
They dropped the bomb in ’45 to end the World War.
No one had ever seen such a terrible sight before.
The world looked on with eyes awide to see where it might lead.
The politics of power passed around the seed.
It was a time to remember that we never can forget.
They were playing Hiroshima Nagasaki Russian Roulette.
They rose up like the saviours of our modern human race
With radiation haloes hung about their face
With the keys to the sure cure – the treatment for our ills,
A hot shot of cobalt – a pocket full of pills,
Speaking always of the enemy who lurked across the seas
While they crept in our midst like a carrier disease.
Deep down inside the bunkers of the concrete and the lead,
Einstein’s disciples working steadily ahead,
Making heavy-metal power plants to fire the city lights
All you hear in the underground is the humming through the night.
The walls of tight security circle all around
Where they spill out their poison and they bury it in the ground.
Holed up in the harbours, hidden secretly away,
Warheads and submarines they await to make their play,
Military masterminds improving their design
The soldiers get all doped up – stumble through the lines
The spills into the rivers get carried by the tide
They call this security – were not satisfied.
Our statesmen and leaders with their politicians’ pay,
Quick to heed the hand that feeds, they’re careful what they say
The call out experts to assure us, to wave the magic wand
This is the power of the future, the future marches on.
And they call in all their favours, all their political gains
While the spills fill the rivers and settle in the plains.
They’ve caused the deaths of millions, that’s their stock-in-trade.
They will be afflicate by the fallout that they made
They’ve sealed their own inevitable doom, it must surely come.
Not even the moons of Jupiter would be far enough away to run
When the earth that they’ve assaulted begins to turn around
And the unavoidable gravity sucks them to the ground.
I know the minds behind them, they’re riddled full of holes,
Not to be trusted with their hands at the controls.
Their eyesight is twisted by the glory of their careers
The heaped praise of flattery is music to their ears.
To listen to them talk about how it hasn’t happened yet
It’s like playing Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Russian Roulette.
Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Russian Roulette.
Harvey Andrews –
Christy’s Version
The sun was hot and the air was heavy and the marching men came by
You stood at the door and you watched then pass you asked the reason why
The sound of steel on their Jackboot heel came pounding through your head
Your reason is past, they’ve come at last, with the blessings of the dead.
CHORUS
Hey Sandy, hey Sandy why are you the one?
All the years of growing up are wasted now and gone.
Did you see them turn did you feel the burn of the bullets as they flew?
Hey Sandy, hey Sandy just what did you do?
At the college square they were standing there with flag and with the gun
And the whispered words as the young ones stirred, why are these things done
And the air was still with the lonely thrill of now the hour is near
And the smell of sweat was better yet than the awful smell of fear.
CHORUS
The awful shout as you all ran out, why are these things done
And you stood and stared yet no one cared for another campus bum
Your songs are dead and your hymns instead are to the funeral pyre
And the words of youth, like love and truth are just ashes on the fire.
CHORUS
Did you throw the stone at the men alone with their bayonets fixed for hire?
Did you think that they would kill no one did you scream as they opened fire?
As the square ran red with your bloodstains spread and the darkness round you grew
Did you feel the pain did you call the name of the man that you never knew?
CHORUS
Original Version
CHORUS
Hey Sandy, hey Sandy why were you the one?
All the years of growing up are wasted now and gone.
Did you see them turn, did you feel the burn of the bullets as they flew?
Hey Sandy, hey Sandy just what did you do?
Hey Sandy, hey Sandy just what did you do?
Well the sun was hot and the air was heavy and the marching men came by
And you ran to the door and you watched then pass you asked the soldiers “Why?”
The sound of steel and the black boot’s heel was pounding in your head
And your freedom’s past, they’ve come at last, with the blessings of the dead.
In the college square they were standing there with flag and with the gun
And the whispered words as the young ones stirred, “Now at last they’ve come”
And the air was still with the lonely thrill of now the hour is near
And the smell of sweat was better yet than the awful stench of fear.
Through the air th shout as you all ran out was “Why are these things done?”
You stood and you stared but no one cared for another campus bum
And your songs were dead and your hymns instead were to the burning pyre
And the words of youth, like love and truth, just ashes in the fire.
Did you throw the stone at the men alone with their bayonets fixed for hire?
Did you doubt that they would, say no one could, did you scream when they opened fire?
As the square ran red with your bloodstains spread and the darkness round you grew
Through the fear and pain did you call the name of the man you never knew?
Reproduced with permission
I’m including both sets of lyrics: Christy’s version and the original version. The author, Harvey Andrews, wrote and sent on the original. He says;
“Here’s the correct lyric for “Hey Sandy”. Her name was Sandy Schuer and she was shot by the National Guard at Kent State University”
Wally Page
From Rotherhithe in London to Bethnal by the Green
Paddy worked the buildings with the pick and shovel squad
Friday nights he’d always end up drinking with the lads
The craic was mighty with the navvies from the sod
There’s a hooley on for Jimmy he’s the gofor on the site
They lifted him for sleeping rough they gave him forty days and nights
He’s out again and crouching beside ‘got ye’s’ fire for heat
Drinking billy after billy can of charcoal tea
Hey! Paddy, Hey! Paddy where have you been Paddy
Hey! Paddy where have you been (hi ho)
Hey! Paddy guess what we’re taking you in Paddy
Hey! Paddy where have you been (hi ho)
Fol de doll de dairy do
Jimmy sang the rebel songs Paddy sang them too
Till the Rasta man from Trinidad whispered them the news
Listen to me my good friend this warning take from me
The cops are lifting Paddy bastards from across the Irish Sea
Sitting in a caf� down the Kings cross road
Drinking cappuccinos on a bellyful of beer
His head was only lifting he had twenty minutes left
For another cup of coffee and another cigarette
Lousy Monday morning on the tube Paddy read the rag
They were looking for a photo fit he was the one they lagged
The coppers lifted him and took his photo for the files
And they kicked him in the bollix just to make him smile
John Maguire
I remember the show twenty-one years ago,
When John Kennedy paid us a visit.
Now the world’s rearranged – not improved, only changed –
But our heart’s in the same place – or is it?
CHORUS
Hey Ronnie Reagan, I’m black and I’m pagan,
I’m gay and I’m left and I’m free.
I’m a non-fundamentalist environmentalist,
Please don’t bother me.
You’re so cool, playing poker with death as the joker,
You’ve nerve, but you don’t reassure us.
With those paranoid vistas of mad Sandanistas,
Are you really defending Honduras?
You’ll be wearing the green down at Ballyporeen,
The town of the little potato.
Put your arms around Garret and dangle your carrot,
But you’ll never get me to join NATO .
CHORUS
Do you share my impression the world’s in recession,
There’s rather too much unemployment?
Still with Pershing and Cruise we’ll have nothing to lose,
But millions in missile deployment.
We can dig shelter holes when we’ve bartered our souls,
For security then we can shovel.
While the myth of our dreams turns to nightmares, it seems,
From the White House straight back to the hovel.
CHORUS
Since the Irish dimension has won your attention,
I ask myself just what’s your game.
Do your eyes share the tears of our last fifteen years,
Or is that just a vote-catcher’s gleam?
Your dollars may beckon, but I think we should reckon,
The cost of accepting your gold.
If we join your alliance, what price our defiance,
What’s left if our freedom is sold?
CHORUS
Johnny Mulhearn
You’re in the pub at half past ten, the money for the cure all spent again,
Trying to figure out who’s carrying and where they’ll be that day
Forget about the night before when you were flying for an hour or more
And move across to the Central Bar hoping that you’ll see
Chorus:
One of them hard cases, soft faces, who grip you with their deadly smile,
The grip it slowly tightens and the grin gets slowly deeper
And beads of perspiration stand out upon your cadgilation
Someone takes the pressure off and calls out more porter
Soon enough the tap runs dry and the afternoon goes slowly by
The Barman looks on warily as your mates come drifting in
Someone says there’s a session on, a tarnished bard has just hit town
Move across to the Widows; see if you can rustle up the entrance fee from
Chorus:
A woman you know buys you your last and the evening goes flashing past
Bridie’s screaming as your eyeing the slops behind the bar
The party crowd is gathering, the banjo, fiddle and mandolin
The cider flagon hunt is on, if you haven’t got a tosser
Won’t you bring along a dozen of
Chorus
I listen to this song and I fly back to a time in The Cellar,Galway.Mickey Finn is holding court as we try to hang on to our barstools lest we fall off with the laughter.Corky is betwixt counter and corner, Galligan is in and out restless, JJ puts his head round the door but retreats back out into the day his face burnt from Eyre Square tanning.Terry Smith comes on his break,Lord Mexborough swans thru and then Divilly comes in and chases me out to the Van for the trip out to Cotters of Inverin,scian and poit�n
G…F…
C….G.CG..
G…F….
C…..AmGF
CHORUS
C……D…
G…D…
F…Am..
G…Dm..F..
Traditional
I am a roving hackler lad that loves the shamrock shore,
My name is Pat McDonnell and my age is eighty-four;
Belov’d and well-respected by my neighbors one and all
On St. Patrick’s day I loved to stray round Lavey and Grouse Hall.
When I was young I danced and sung and drank good whiskey, too.
Each síbín shop that sold a drop of the real old mountain dew.
With the poitín still on every hill the peelers had no call
Round sweet Stradone I am well known, round Lavey and Grouse Hall.
I rambled round from town to town for hackling was my trade,
None can deny I think that I an honest living made;
Where e’er I’d stay by night or day the youth would always call
To have some crack with Paddy Jack, the hackler from Grouse Hall.
I think it strange how times have changed so very much of late,
Coercion now is all the row and Peelers on their bate.
To take a glass is now, alas, the greatest crime of all
Since Balfour placed that hungry beast the Sergeant of Grouse Hall.
The busy tool of Castle rule he travels night and day,
He’ll seize a goat just by the throat for want of better prey;
The nasty skunk, he’ll swear you’re drunk tho’ you took none at all
There is no peace about the place since he came to Grouse Hall.
‘Twas on pretense of this offense he dragged me off to jail,
Alone to dwell in a cold cell my fate for to bewail.
My hoary head on a plank bed, such wrongs for vengeance call
He’ll rue the day he dragged away the hackler from Grouse Hall.
He haunts the League just like a plague, and shame for to relate
The priest can’t be on Sunday free the Mass to celebrate.
It’s there he’ll kneel encased in steel prepared on duty’s call
For to assail and drag to jail our clergy from Grouse Hall.
Down into hell he’d run pell-mell to hunt for poitín there
And won’t be loath to swear an oath ’twas found in Killinkere.
He’ll search your bed from foot to head, sheets, blankets, tick and all
Your wife, undressed, must leave the nest for Jemmy of Grouse Hall.
He fixed a plan for one poor man who had a handsome wife
To take away without delay her liberty and life.
He’d swear quite plain that he’s insane and got no sense at all,
As he has done of late with one convenient to Grouse Hall.
Thank God the day’s not far away when Home Rule will be seen,
And brave Parnell at home will dwell and shine in College Green;
Our policemen will all be then our nation’s choice and all,
Old Balfour’s pack will get the sack and banished from Grouse Hall.
Let old and young clear out their lungs and sing this little song,
Come join with me and let him see you all resent the wrong.
And while I live I’ll always give a prayer for his downfall
And when I die I don’t deny I’ll haunt him from Grouse hall
John Gibbs
A G
Once upon a time there was
A
Irish ways and Irish laws,
C A
Villages of Irish blood
C G
Waking in the morning,
A C
Waking in the morning.
Then the Vikings came around,
Turned us up and turned us down,
Started building boats and towns.
They tried to change our living,
They tried to change our living.
Cromwell and his soldiers came,
Started centuries of shame,
But they could not make us turn.
We are a river flowing,
We’re a river flowing.
Again, again the soldiers came,
Burnt our houses, stole our grain,
Shot the farmers in their fields,
Working for a living,
Working for a living.
Eight hundred years we have been down.
The secret of the water sound
Has kept the spirit of the man
Above the pain descending,
Above the pain descending.
Today the struggle carries on,
I wonder will I live so long
To see the gates being opened up
To a people and their freedom,
A people and their freedom.
Barry Moore
Intro: G D Em
CHORUS
G D Em
In the city of Chicago
G D Bm
As the evening shadows fall
C D Em
There are people dreaming
C D Am
Of the hills of Donegal
Am C
Eighteen forty seven
D Em
was the year it all began
Am C
Deadly pains of hunger
D Em
Drove a million from the land
Am C
They journeyed not for glory
G Em
Their motive wasn’t greed
Am C
A voyage of survival
D Em
Across the stormy sea
CHORUS
Some of them knew fortune
Some of them knew fame
More of them knew hardship
Died upon the plain
They spread throughout the nation
They rode the railroad cars
Brought their songs and music
To ease their lonely hearts
Christy Moore
C F C
I just heard William Nelson – he was singin’ of his hard life on the road
F G
And his lyrics set me thinkin’ it’s much the same no matter where you go,
F G
Be it Tulsk or Bord Na Móna
Dm G Dm G
I’ve received my education in the lounges of the nation;
Dm G C
After twenty years I’m still goin’ fairly well.
I’ve played every lounge in Ireland from Dingle right up to Donegal,
I’ve done ‘Nancy Spain’ on stages where no other ballad singers go at all,
From the Rising Sun in Brownstown to the Unyoke Inn just outside Wexford Town,
Ballymurphy and the Bogside, Ballinamore and even once in Ballinasloe.
CHORUS
F C
If I get an encore I go home feelin’ like a king;
d G d G C
It’s a two way situation – I get a lot of pleasure when I sing.
When I first heard Tommy Makem and the Clancys my future it was sealed,
I was bitten by the music bug and the wound it never healed.
When I got my first guitar my fingers bled until I learnt a chord or two;
I pulled on my Aran sweater, wrote me Ma a goodbye letter
And started singin’ in O’Donoghue’s.
CHORUS
I was playin’ in the Meeting Place when half the Special Branch came through the door.
They were lookin’ for McGlinchey but they never found who they were lookin’ for.
They started listenin’ to my gig and hung around till after the show,
So if I ever need a taxi-plate or a massage at the special rate
The Special Branch they told me where to go.
CHORUS
C G Am C G Am
Oh I wish I was in England, in France or even in Spain
F C G/B Am C G Am
Or wherever dwells my own true love, to hold her near again
F C G/B Am C G Am
Wherever dwells my own true love to hold her near again
Oh long time I had been roaming, in country and in town
But never in my wanderings met, a maid with such renown
No never in my wanderings met, a maid with such renown
Until I met my true love on the shores of Knocknashee
Her brown hair in the howling wind, a-blowing wild and free
Her brown hair in the howling wind, a-blowing wild and free
Oh my true love she did promise me some land with rambling kine
And on her ample pasture land to build a mansion fine
And on her ample pasture land to build a mansion fine
But then my love she left me, and she wandered far away
And I’ve been searching for my love for many’s the night and day
Yes I’ve been searching for my love for many’s the night and day
Oh I wish that I was in England, or wherever she may be
That I could go and call my love, and together we would be
That I could go and call my love and together we would be
It was in the year of eighty-eight, in the lovely month of June,
When the gadflies were swarming and dogs howling at the moon,
Ah with rosary beads and sandwiches for Stuttgart we began,
Joxer packed his German phrase-book, and jump-leads for the van.
Ah well some of the lads had never been away from home before.
It was the first time Whacker put his foot outside of Inchicore.
And before we left for Europe, we knew we’d need a plan,
So we all agreed that Joxer was the man to drive the van.
In Germany the Autobahn was like the Long Mile Road
There was every make of car and van, all carrying the full load
Ford Transits and Hiaces, and an old Bedford from Tralee,
With the engine overheating from long-hauling duty free.
There were fans from Ballyfermot, Ballybough and Ballymun
On the journey of a lifetime and the craic was ninety one
Joxer met a German’s daughter on the banks of the River Rhine
and he told her she’d be welcome in Ballyfermot anytime
And as soon as we found Stuttgart, we got the wagons in a ring
Sean óg got out the banjo and Peter played the mandolin.
Oh there were fans there from everywhere, attracted by the sound
At the first Fleadh Ceol in Europe and Joxer passed the flagon round
But the session it ended when we’d finished all the stout
The air mattresses inflated and the sleeping bags rolled out
As one by one we fell asleep, Joxer had a dream
He dreamt himself and Jack Charlton sat down to pick the team
Joxer dreamt they both agreed on Packie Bonner straight away
And that Moran, Whelan and McGrath were certainly to play
Ah but tempers they began to rise, patience wearing thin
Jack wanted Cascarino, but Joxer wanted Quinn
And the dream turned into a nightmare, Joxer stuck the head on Jack
Who wanted to bring Johnny Giles and Eamonn Dunphy back
Ah well the cock crew in the morning, it crew both loud and shrill
And Joxer woke up in his sleeping bag many miles from Arbour Hill
Ah next morning none of the experts gave us the slightest chance
They said that the English team would lead us on a merry dance
Ah with their union jacks all them English fans for victory they were set
Until Ray Houghton got the ball and he stuck it in the net
What happened next is history, brought tears to many eyes
Oh that day will be the highlight of many people’s lives
Well Joxer climbed right over the top and the last time he was seen
Was arm-in-arm with Jack Charlton, singing ‘Revenge for Skibbereen’.
Ah now Whacker’s back in Inchicore, he’s living with his Mam
And Jack Charlton has been proclaimed an honorary Irishman
Listen do you remember that German’s daughter on the banks of the River Rhine
Ah jeez, well didn’t she show up in Ballyfermot last week ….
From Jimmy Crowley circa 1973
I’ll tell you a story that happened to me
One day as I went down to Youghal by the sea
The sun it was high and the day it was warm
Says I an auld pint wouldn’t do me no harm
I went in and I called for a bottle of stout
Says the barman I’m sorry the beer is sold out
Try whiskey or Paddy ten years in the wood
Says I I’ll try cider I’ve heard that it’s good
O never O never O never again
If I live to a hundred or a hundred and ten
I fell to the floor and I couldn’t get up
After drinking a pint of old Johnny Jump Up
After drinkin a quart I went out to the yard
Where I met up with Brophy the big local guard
Come here to me boy don’t you know I’m the law
So I jumped up on the counter and kissed him on the jaw
We fell to the floor and we couldn’t get up
But it wasn’t me kissed him twas the Johnny Jump Up
And the next thing I met down in Youghal by the sea
Was a poor man on crutches and says he to me
I’m afraid of me life I’ll get hit by a car
Would you help me across to the Railwayman’s Bar?
After drinkin a pint of that cider so sweet
He threw down his crutches and danced round on his feet
A man died in the union by the name of McNab
They washed him and shaved him and laid him right out on the slab
And after the undertaker his measurements did take
His wife took him home to a very fine wake
It was about twelve o’clock and the beer it was high
The corpse he sat up and says he with a sigh
I can’t get into heaven for they won’t let me up
Till I bring them a drink of old Johnny Jump Up
O never O never O never again
If I live to a hundred or a hundred and ten
For I fell to the floor and I couldn’t get up
After drinking a pint of old Johnny Jump Up
John Spillane
Johnny don’t go to Ballincollig
Where you always get so disappointed
Johnny don’t go to Carragaline
I’m not coming with you this time
You only go there to get let down
Johnny don’t go Johnny don’t go
Johnny don’t go stay in town
Johnny don’t go calling that woman
She’s the one left you behind
If you go and call that woman
I’m not coming with you this time
If you go up to Mallow
You better beware of the big Blackwater
If you went as far as Mallow
You might never again come down
Johnny don’t go to the banks of the Shannon
Johnny don’t go to the banks of the Nile
Johnny don’t go to the tower of London
Hang around for another little while
Johnny don’t go to the Crystal Palace
Johnny don’t go to the hole in the wall
Johnny don’t go to the big television
Hey Johnny don’t go at all
Where would you be going
Where would you be going
Where would you be going
Where would you be going
Johnny don’t go Johnny don’t go
Johnny don’t go stay in town
Christy Moore/Wally Page
My name is Johnny Connors, I am a travelling man
My people have been travelling since time it first began
With my horse and covered wagon
And my family by my side
Grazing the long acre, I travelled far and wide
I met Bridie Maughan my sweet wife
On a fair day in Rathkeale
She was the finest travelling girl that ever wore a shawl.
We worked the tin around Galway
On up to Ballinasloe
For a traveller with a horse to sell
It was the place to go
We sold the old linoleum, swapped carpets for old pine
But as the years passed on, the travelling life
Got harder all the time.
Where have all the halting places gone
All them friendly doors
Where we’d haul spring water from the well
And sell paper flowers
Now its guards and jailers and JCB’s
To roll big boulders in
Temporary dwellings are prohibited
Innocent little travelling children
Lost out on them streets
Sons and daughters on the wine and lying ’round me feet
As they try to dull the hurt and pain
The rejection that’s imposed
Travellers are not wanted here
But there’s no place left to go.
My name is Johnny Connors
I am a travelling man
I’ve taken everything that’s been thrown at me,
Now I’m going to take a stand.
Bill Caddick
When midnight comes and people homeward tread
Seek now your blanket and your feather bed
Home comes the rover his journeys over
Yield up the night time to old John O’Dreams
Across the hills the sun has gone astray
Tomorrows cares are many dreams away
They stars are flying your candle is dying
Yield up the darkness to old John O’Dreams
Both man and master in the night are one
All things are equal when the day is done
The prince and the ploughman, the slave and the freeman
All find their comfort in old John O’Dreams
When sleep it comes the dreams come running clear
The hawks of morning cannot reach you here
Sleep is a river, flow on forever
And for your boatman choose old John O’Dreams
Eamon O’Doherty
Come all of you fine people wherever you may be
I’ll sing of a brave Belfast man
Who scorned Britain’s might though they’d shoot him on sight
And they shot down Joe McCann
He fought for the people in the markets where he lived
In defence of the rights of man
But the undercover crew told the soldiers what to do
They shot Joe McCann
In a Belfast bakery in the August of the year
When internment was imposed throughout the land
Six volunteers from Belfast held 60 soldiers at bay
And their leader was Joe McCann
He had no gun so he started to run
To escape them as many’s the time before
One bullet brought him down as he lay on the ground
They shot him ten times more
He fought and he died for the people of this land
The protestant and catholic working man
He caused the bosses fear and for this they paid him dear
When they murdered Joe McCann
Brian Moore
Will you come and listen to the story going round
How our Lord and Jesse James rode into Belfast Town
They stopped for a drink they stopped for a meal
Drinking whiskey, drinking wine they were feeling mighty fine
As they rode into Belfast through the hills of Ligoniel
Not a word was spoken as they travelled on their way
Until the came to the Falls and Jesse he did say
God I haven’t felt so good since I robbed the Glendale train
Our Lord he raised his head turned to Jesse and he said
I never thought I’d see the likes of Calvary again
They rode past the burnt out motorcars and the tangle of barbed wire
In a city built upon a swamp and baptised by fire
Our Lord was going to bless the place but a bullet pierced his hand
As the blood cam trickling down turned to Jesse with a frown
Looks like the old stigmata is infectious in this land
Our lord was riding a donkey; Jesse James was riding a mare
And they rode past the army tanks and never showed a care
Jesse on his fiddle played the victory at the Boyne
Jesus put his guitar down turned to Jesse with a frown
I don’t think you should play that tune when we’re passing through Ardoyne
On the top of Divis Mountain there stands a lonely tree
And children passing by there they stop and bend a knee
And men with hidden guns they make a silent vow
That the riots will stop the day the soldiers go away
Leave our Lord on Calvary and Jesse hanging from the bough
Dave Goulder
Am C G Am
The January man he goes around in woolen coat and boots of leather
C Am G Am
The February man still shakes the snow from of his clothes and blows his hands
Am C (play different bass lines) G
The man of March he sees the Spring and wonders what the year will bring
Am
and hopes for better weather.
Through April rain the man goes down to watch the birds come in to share the summer
The man of May stands very still to watch the children dance away the day
In June the man inside the man is young and wants to lend a hand
and smiles at each new comer.
In July the man in cotton short he sits and thinks and being idle
The August man in thousands take the road to find the sun and watch the sea
September man is standing near to saddle up another year
And Autumn is his bridle
The man of new October takes the rain and early frost is on his shoulder
The poor November man sees fire and mist and wind and rain and winter ere
December man looks through the snow to let eleven brothers know
They’re all a little older
The January man he comes around again in coat and boots of leather
To take another turn and walk along the icy roads he knows so well
The January man is here the start of each and every year
Along the road forever
If memory serves me right I met the author when I played the auld triangle folk club in Edinburgh in the late 60s.I seem to recall hearing the song from Derek McEwan, my old companero, in Rochdale when we were billetted together for a spell of madness.We dwelt above a fruit and veg shop so movements were extremely regular and anything not sold was turned into wine.I recall a lovely drop of parsnip at Xmas ’68 and a rogueish little carrot the following easter.Usually it tasted better if preceeded by 12-14 pints of John Willie Lees best bitter from nearby Midleton brewery.Ay Up our Kid
Author Unknown
In Dublin City in 1913 the boss was rich and the poor were slaves
The women working and the children hungry then on came Larkin like a mighty wave
The workers cringed when the boss man thundered seventy hours was their weekly chore
They asked for little and less was granted lest getting little they’d asked for more
Then came Larkin in 1913 a labour man with a union tongue
He raised the workers and gave them courage he was their hero and a workers son
On came Larkin in 1913 a mighty man with a mighty tongue
The voice of labour the voice of justice and he was gifted, he was young
It was in August the bosses told us no union man for them could work
We stood by Larkin and told the boss man we’d fight or die but we’d never shirk
Eight months we fought eight months we starved we stood by Larkin through thick and thin
But foodless homes and the crying children broke our hearts and we could not win
When Larkin left us we seemed defeated the night was dark for the working man
Connolly came with new hope and counsel his motto was we’ll rise again
In 1916 in Dublin City the English army burnt our town
Shelled the buildings shot our leaders the harp was buried beneath the crown
They shot McDermott and Pearse and Plunkett they shot McDonagh Ceannt and Clarke the brave
From bleak Kilmanham they took their bodies to Arbour hill to a quicklime grave
Last of all of the seven leaders they shot down James Connolly
The voice of labour the voice of justice gave his life that we might be free
Patrick Galvin ( Poet of Cork)
Where oh where is our James Connolly ?
Where oh where is that gallant man ?
He is gone to organise the union
That working men they may yet be free.
Oh who then who will lead the van ?
Oh who then who will lead the van ?
Who but our James Connolly
The hero of the working man.
Who will carry high the burning flag ?
Who will carry high the burning flag ?
Who but our James Connolly
Could carry high the burning flag.
They carried him up to the jail
They carried him up to the jail
And they shot him down on a bright May morning
And quickly laid him in his grave.
Who mourns the death of this great man ?
Who mourns the death of this great man ?
Oh bury me down in yon green garden
With union men on every side.
So they buried him down in yon green garden
With union men on every side
They swore they would form a mighty union
That James Connolly’s name might be filled with pride.
Where oh where is our James Connolly ?
Where oh where is that gallant man ?
He is gone to organise the Union
That working men they may yet be free.
Jimmy MacCarthy
When I was young and I was in my day
I could steal what woman’s heart there was away
I’d sing and dance till morning blaze away until the dawning
Long before I was the man you see today
I was born beneath the star that promised all
I could have lived my life between Cork Cobh and Youghal
But the Wheel of Fortune took me from the highest point it shook me
By the bottle live by the bottle I will fall
But there in the mirror on the wall
I see the dream is fading
From the contender to the brawl
The Ring, The Rose, The Matador is raving
When I die I’ll die a drunk down on the street
You can count me out to 10 in clear defeat
Wrap the starry plough around me and let the piper’s air resound me
There I’ll rest until the Lord of Love I meet
Christy Moore
D A D
At the early age of thirty-eight Me mother said ‘Go West!’
D A D
‘Get up, ‘ says she. ‘and get a job’. Says I, ‘I’ll do my best’
G D Em A
I pulled on me Wellingtons to march to Kiltimagh
D A D
But I took a wrong turn in Charlestown and ended up in Knock
D A D
Oh once this quiet crossroads was a place of gentle prayer
D A D
Where Catholics got indulgent once or twice a year.
G D Em A
You could buy a pair of rosary beads or get your candles blessed
D A D
If you had a guilty conscience you could get it off your chest.
D A D
Then came the priest form Partry father Horan was his name
D A D
And since he’s been appointed Knock has never been the same.
G D Em A
‘Begod,’ says Jem, ’tis eighty years since Mary was adout.’
D A D
‘Tis time for another miracle.’ and he blew the candle out.
CHORUS
G D G D
From Fatima to Bethlehem, from Lourdes to Kiltimagh,
D A D
There’s never been a miracle like the airport up in Knock
To establish terra firma he draw up a ten year plan
And started running dances around 1961.
He built a fantabulous church, Go h-álainn, on the holy ground
And once he had a focal point he started to expand
Chip shops and Bed and Breakfasts sprung up over night.
Once a place for quiet retreats now a holy sight.
All sorts of fancy restaurants for every race and creed
Where black and white and yellow pilgrims all could get a feed
The stalls once under canvas became religious supermarts
With such a range o’ godly goods, they had top twenty charts.
While the airport opposition was destroyed by James’ trump card.
For centenary celebrations he got John Paul the twenty-third
CHORUS
‘We had the Blessed virgin here,’ Bold Jamesie did declare,
‘And Pope John Paul the twenty-third appeared just over there.’
‘Now do you mean to tell me’, he said in total shock,
‘That I am not entitled to an airport here in Knock.’
TD’s were lobbied and harassed with talk of promised votes
And people who’d been loyal for years now spoke of changing coats.
Eternal damnation was threatened on the flock
Who said it was abortive building airports up in Knock
Now everyone is happy the miracle is complete.
Father Horan’s got his runway, it’s eighteen thousand feet
All sorts of planes could land there, of that there’s little doubt,
handy for the George Bush to keep knock Gadaffi out.
Did NATO donate, me boys, did NATO donate the dough?
Did NATO donate, me Girls, did NATO donate the dough?
Did NATO donate the dough, the dough, did NATO donate the dough?
Eighteen thousand feet of runway is an awful long way to go.
Author Unknown
In Mountjoy jail one Monday morning high upon the gallows tree
Kevin Barry gave his young life for the cause of liberty
Just a lad of eighteen summers yet there’s no-one can deny
As he walked to death that morning he proudly held his head on high
Just before he faced the hangman in his dreary prison cell
British soldiers tortured Barry because he would not tell
The names of his brave comrades and other things they wished to know
Turn informer or we’ll kill you Kevin Barry answered no
Calmly standing to attention as he bade his last farewell
To his broken hearted mother whose sad grief no-one can tell
For the cause he proudly cherished this sad parting had to be
Then to the death went proudly smiling that his country might be free
Another martyr for old Ireland another murder for the crown
Whose cruel laws may crush the Irish but can’t keep their spirit down
Lads like Barry are not cowards from their foes they will not fly
Lads like Barry will free Ireland for her cause they’ll fight and die
Trad.Planxty/Andy Irvine
Here’s a health to you, bonny Kellswater
Where you’ll get all the pleasures of life,
Where you’ll get all the fishing and fowling,
And a bonny wee lass for your wife.
Oh, it’s down where yon waters run muddy,
I’m afraid they will never run clear.
And it’s when I dig in for to study,
My mind is on them that’s not here.
It’s this one and that one they court him,
but if anyone gets him but me,
It’s early and late I will curse them
That parted lovely Willie from me.
Oh, a father he calls on his daughter,
Two choices I’ll give unto thee.
Would you rather see Willie’s ship a-sailing,
Or see him hung like a dog from yon tree?
Oh, Father, dear Father, I love him.
I can no longer hide it from thee.
Through an acre of fire I would travel
Alone with lovely Willie to be.
Oh, hard was the heart that confined her,
And took from her her heart’s delight.
May the chains of old Ireland bind around them,
And soft be their pillows at night.
Oh, yonder’s a ship on the ocean
And she does not know which way to steer.
From the east to the west she’s a-going.
She reminds me of the charms of my dear.
Oh, it’s yonder my Willie will be coming,
He said he’d be here in the spring,
And it’s down by yon green shades I’ll meet him,
And among yon wild roses we’ll sing.
For a gold ring he placed on my finger,
Saying “Love, bear this in your mind,
If ever I sail from Old Ireland,
You’ll mind I’ll not leave you behind.”
Farewell to you, bonny Kellswater
Where you’ll get all the pleasures of life,
Where you’ll get all the fishing and fowling,
And a bonny wee lass for your wife.
Mick O’Keeffe
The years have passed the time has flown since I first saw you there
With feet apart to the music moved your head of curly hair
The spotlight shone in colours bright reflecting on your face
The music notes soared sweet and clear, the spirit of your race
Your songs told tales of peace and joy, of sorrow and of love
The power and passion of your voice soared heavenly above
And from the inner soul there came emotion in each song
You stirred the hearts of many, Luke, when you sang of right and wrong
The humour of those laughing eyes was shared in full with all
You sang songs that filled the hearts that filled the music hall
The ecstasy and joy was felt in chorus clap and cheer
When that son of Éireann took the stage, the King of Balladeers
I saw you sing a hundred times, a thousand songs or more
I still can clearly hear your voice though your time with us is o’er
Fond memories are all we have when we think of you today
Your name we’ll always honour, Luke, we’re glad you passed this way.
Oh my lovely young one
I’m left standing at your wake
My eyes are searching but I can find no trace
Of your final footsteps as you walked out the door
Leaving Tir na nOg for Tir na nOiche
Oh my lovely young one
Oh my lovely young one
Gone from Tir na nOg to Tir na nOiche
Traditonal (From the singing of John Reilly)
There was a Lord who lived in this land
He being a Lord of high degree
He left his foot down on a ship’s board
And swore strange countries he would go find
He’s travelled east and he’s travelled west
Half the north and the south also
Until he arrived into Turkey Land
There he was taken and bound in prison
Until his life it grew weary
Turkey bold had one only daughter
As fair a lady as the eye could see
She stole the key to her Dado’s harbour
And swore lord baker she would set free
Singing you have houses and you have linen
All North Humber belongs to thee
What would you give to the Kings good daughter
If out of prison she’d set you free
Singing I have houses and I have linen
And all North Humber belongs to me
I would will them all to the King of Turkey’s daughter
Of out of prison she’d set me free
She’s brought him down to her Dado’s harbour
And filled for him was the ship of fame
And every toast that she did drink round him
I wish Lord Baker that you were mine
They made a vow for seven years
And for seven more to keep it strong
Saying if you don’t wed with no other woman
I’m sure I’ll wed with no other man
And seven years been passed and over
And seven more they were rolling on
She’s bundled up all her gold and clothing
And swore Lord Baker she would go find
She’s travelled east and she’s travelled west
Until she came to the palace of fame
Who is that? Who is that? Called the young foot soldier
Who knocks so gently and can’t get in
Is this Lord Baker’s palace replied the Lady
Or is his Lordship himself within
This is Lord Baker’s palace replied the soldier
This very day he took a new bride in
Well ask him send me a cut of his wedding cake
And a glass of his wine it being e’er so strong
And to remember the King’s young daughter
Who did release him in Turkey Land
In goes in goes the young foot soldier
And kneels down gently on his right knee
Rise up rise up my young foot soldier
What news what news have you got for me?
Singing I have news of a grand arrival
A fair a Lady as the eye could see
She is at the gate waiting for your charity
She wears a gold ring on every finger
And on the middle one where she wears three
She has more gold hung around her middle
Than would buy North Humber and family
She asks you send her a cut of your wedding cake
A glass of your wine it being e’er so strong
And to remember the King’s young daughter
Who did release you in Turkey Land
Down comes down comes the new bride’s Mother
What will I do with my daughter dear?
I own that your daughter she’s not been covered
Nor has she shown any love for me
Your daughter came with one pack of gold
I’ll avert her home now with thirty three
He took his sword all by the handle
And cut his wedding cake in pieces three
Singing here is one slice for the new bride’s Mother
A slice for my new love and one for me
And then Lord Baker ran to his darling
Of twenty one steps he made but three
He put his arms around Turkey’s daughter
And kissed his true love most tenderly
Trad / Arr: Christy Moore
As I was a-walking down by the Locke Hospital
Cold was the morning and dark was the day
I spied a young squaddie wrapped up in old linen
Wrapped up in old linen as cold as the day.
CHORUS
So play the drums slowly and play the fifes lowly
Sound a dead march as you carry him along
And over his coffin throw a bunch of white laurels
For he’s a young soldier cut down in his prime.
Oh mother, dear mother, come sit ye down by me
Sit ye down by me and pity my sad plight
For my body is injured and sadly disordered
All by a young girl me own heart’s delight.
Get six of me comrades to carry my coffin
Get six of me comrades to carry me on high
And let every one hold a bunch of white roses
So no-one will notice as we pass them by.
And over his headstone these words they were written
“All ye young fellows take warning from me.
Beware of the flash girls that roam through the city
For the girls of the city were the ruin of me.”
This is another one of those archetypal songs that appears in many guises again and again. The Furey Brothers and Davey Arthur had a major hit with a version of this song called”The Green Fields of France”
Christy says;
“There have been many British garrisons around the world through the years and each one has had its own Locke Hospital for soldiers who caught the dreaded disease. I believe this is a Dublin song, but if not its musical origins are certainly Irish.”
Traditonal With New Words By Christy Moore
It fell upon a holy day as many in the year
Musgrave to the church did go to see fine ladies there
some were dressed in velvet red and some in velvet grey
then in came Lord Barnards wife the fairest among them all
She cast an eye on Little Musgrave as bright as the Summer’s sun
said Musgrave unto himself this Lady’s heart I’ve won
I have loved you Little Musgrave full long and manys the day
and I have loved you Fair Lady and never a word did say
I have a bower in Bucklesfordberry its my heart’s delight
I’ll take you back there with me and lie in your arms all night
But standing by was a little footpage from the Lady’s coach he ran
although I am a lady’s page I am Lord Barnard’s man
My Lord Barnard shall hear of this whether I sink or swim
and every where the bridge was broken he’d enter the water and swim
My Lord Barnard my Lord Barnard you are a man of life
But Musgrave is at Bucklesfordberry asleep with your wedded wife
If this be true my little footpage, this thing that you tell me ]
all the gold in Bucklesfordberry I gladly will give to thee
But if this be a lie my little footpage this thing that you tell me
From the highest tree in Bucklesfordberry hanged you will be
go saddle me the black he said go saddle me the grey
sound you not your horns he said lest our coming you’d betray
but there was a man in Lord Barnard’s train who loved the Little Musgrave
he blew his horn both loud and shrill. Away Musgrave Away!
I think I hear the morning cock I think I hear the jay
I think I hear Lord Barnards men I wish I was away
Lie still lie still my Little Musgrave and hug me from the cold
’tis nothing but a sheperd lad a bringing his flock to fold
is not your hawk upon his perch your steed eats oats and hay
You a lady in your arms why would you go away
so he turned her round and kissed her twice and then they fell
when they awoke Lord barnard’s men were standing at their feet
how do you like my bed he said and how do you like my sheets
How do you like My fair Lady that lies in your arms asleep
Tis well I like your bed he said and full great it gives me pain
I’d gladly give a hundred pounds to be on yonder Plain
Rise up rise up Little Musgrave rise up and then put on
it’ll not be said in this country I slayed a naked man
Slowly slowly he got up and slowly he put on
Slowly down the stairs thinking he’d be slain
there are 2 swords down by my side full dear they cost my purse
you can have the best of them and i will have the worst
and the first sstroke Little Musgrave struck it hurt Lord Barnard sore
but the next stroke Lord Barnard struck Little Musgrave ne’er struck more
Then up spoke the lady fair from the bed whereon she lay
although youre dead my Little Musgrave still for you I’ll pray
How do you like his cheeks he said and how do you like his chin
how do you like his fair lady now theres no life within
Tis more I like his cheeks sshe cried and more I love his chin
its more I want his dead body then all your kith and kin
He’s taken out his long long sword to strike the mortal blow
through and through the Lady’s heart the cold steel it did go
A grave a grave kord Barnard cried to put these lovers in
with my Lady on the upper hand for she scame from better kin
For I’ve just killed the finest man that ever rode a steed
and I’ve just killed the finest lady that ever did a woman’s deed
It fell upon a holy day as manys in the year
Little Musgrave to the church did go to see fine Ladies there
its a long story, told often in other places. At my Granny Dowlings wake my dear grand Uncle Frank Dowling surprised at 20 past 3 in the morning when waking from a half dozen of stout slumber he burst into song and sang Little Musgrave before falling asleep again. It was the only time in his 83 yrs that he ever sang a song.
g.c.g.
gc.gcg
Anon
Hey, Little Mother, what’s in your bag?
Chocolates and sweets.
Hey, Mr. Postman, what’s in your bag?
A note from your beloved.
Hey, Mr. Tailor, what’s in your bag?
The finest wedding dress.
Hey, Mr. Harvester, what’s in your bag?
Solitude and death.
Author Unknown
One fine summer’s evening both gallant and gay
Twenty-four ladies went out on the quay
A regiment of soldiers soon passed them by
A drummer and one of them soon caught his eye
He went to his comrade and to him did say
Twenty-four ladies I saw yesterday
And one of them ladies has my heart won
And if she denies me I’m surely undone
Go to this lady and tell her your mind
Tell her she has wounded your poor heart inside
Tell her she has wounded your poor heart full sore
And if she denies you what can you do more
Early next morning the drummer arose
Dressed himself up in the finest of clothes
A watch in his pocket and a cane in his hand
Saluting the ladies he walked down the strand
He went up to her and he said pardon me
I’m the young drummer who caught your eye
Fine honoured lady you have my heart won
And if you deny me I’m surely undone
Get off little drummer what do you mean
I am the lord’s daughter from Ballykisteen
I’m the lords daughter I’m honoured you see
Get off outta that and stop makin so free
He put on his hat and he bade her farewell
Saying I’ll send my soul down to heaven or hell
With this pistol that hangs by my side
I’ll put an end to my dreary young life
Come back little drummer don’t take it so ill
I do not want to be guilty of sin
To be guilty of innocent blood for to spill
Come back little drummer I’m here at your will
We’ll hire a car and to Bansha we’ll go
There we’ll be married in spite of our foes
For what can be said when it’s over and done
But I fell in love with the roll of your drum
Author Unknown
I am a little beggarman and begging I have been
For three score or more down the little Isle of Green
I’m known from the Liffey way down to Killaloe
And the name that I go by is Auld Johnny Doo
Of all the trades a going sure beggin’ is the best
For when a man is tired he can sit down and rest
Beg for his supper when he’s nothing left to do
Except to slip around the corner with his auld rig-a-doo
I slept one night way down in Curraghbawn
‘Twas a wet damp night and I slept till the dawn
Holes in the roof and the rain was comin’ through
And the rats and the cats they were playin’ peek- a- boo
Who should I waken but the woman of the house
With her white spotted apron and her calico blouse
She began to frighten when I said how do you do
Don’t be afraid m’am, its only Johnny Doo
Over the road with me pack on me back
Over the road with me big heavy sack
Holes in me shoes and me toes peepin’ through
Sing skidderi dill doodle dam its only Johnny Doo
I must be going to bed its getting late at night
In goes the fire and out goes the light
Now you’ve heard the story of me aul’ rig-a-doo
Goodnight and God be with you sez aul Johnny Doo
Christy Moore
How’s it goin’ there everybody,
From Cork, New York, Dundalk, Gortahork and Glenamaddy.
Here we are in the County Clare
It’s a long, long way from here to there.
There’s the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher,
the Tulla and the Kilfenora,
Miko Russell, Doctor Bill,
Willy Clancy, Noel Hill.
Flutes and fiddles everywhere.
If it’s music you want,
You should go to Clare.
CHORUS
G C
Oh, Lisdoonvarna
G C
Lisdoon, Lisdoon, Lisdoon, Lisdoonvarna!
Everybody needs a break,
Climb a mountain or jump in a lake.
Some head off to exotic places,
Others go to the Galway Races.
Mattie goes to the South of France,
Jim to the dogs, Peter to the dance.
A cousin of mine goes potholing,
A cousin of heres loves Joe Dolan.
Summer comes around each year,
We go there and they come here.
Some jet off to … Frijiliana,
But I always go to Lisdoonvarna.
CHORUS
I always leave on a Thursday night,
With me tent and me groundsheet rolled up tight.
I like to hit Lisdoon,
In around Friday afternoon.
This gives me time to get me tent up and my gear together,
I don’t need to worry about the weather.
Ramble in for a pint of stout,
you’d never know who’d be hangin’ about!
There’s a Dutchman playing a mandolin,
And a German looking for Liam óg O’Floinn.
And there’s Adam, Bono and Garrett Fitzgerald,
Gettin’ their photos taken for the Sunday World.
Finbarr, Charlie and Jim Hand,
And they drinkin’ pints to bate the band.
( why would’nt they for Jasus sake are’nt they getting it for nothing)
CHORUS
The multitudes, they flocked in throngs
To hear the music and the songs.
Motorbikes and Hi-ace vans,
With bottles – barrels – flagons – cans.
Mighty craic. Loads of frolics,
Pioneers and alcoholics,
PLAC, SPUC and the FCA,
Free Nicky Kelly and the IRA.
Hairy chests and milk-white thighs,
Mickey dodgers in disguise.
Mc Graths, O’Briens, Pippins, Coxs,
Massage parlours in horse boxes.
There’s amhráns, bodhráns, amadáns,
Arab sheiks, Hindu Sikhs, Jesus freaks,
RTE are makin’ tapes, takin’ breaks and throwin’ shapes.
This is heaven, this is hell.
Who cares? Who can tell?
(Anyone for the last few Choc Ices, now?)
CHORUS
A 747 for Jackson Browne,
They had to build a special runway just to get him down.
Before the Chieftains could start to play,
Seven creamy pints came out on a tray.
Shergar was ridden by Lord Lucan,
Seán Cannon did the backstage cookin’.
Clannad were playin’ “Harry’s Game”,
Christy was singin’ “Nancy Spain”.
Mary O’Hara and Brush Shields,
Together singin’ “The Four Green Fields”.
Van the Man and Emmy Lou,
Moving Hearts and Planxty too!
CHORUS
Everybody needs a break,
Climb a mountain or jump in a lake.
Sean Doherty goes to the Rose of Tralee,
Oliver J. Flanagan goes swimming in the Holy Sea.
But I like the music and the open air,
So every Summer I go to Clare.
Coz Woodstock, Knock nor the Feast of Cana,
Can hold a match to Lisdoonvarna.
CHORUS
first performed in The Lawns, Belturbet the week before I was to go on before Rory Gallagher at the Lisdoonvarna festival in 1983.The original version was more chaotic and referred to a series of events that took place on the way down to West Clare.There was a break in to Portlaois prison to serenade friends,a savage feed at the old treaty stone diner in Limerick where a card school broke out and Dickie Rock went all in on a pair of threes.
Verse is: D G C G
Traditional I am a young fellow that’s easy and bold,
In Castletown conners I’m very well known.
In Newcastle West I spent many a note,
With Kitty and Judy and Mary.
My father rebuked me for being such a rake,
And spending my time in such frolicsome ways,
But I ne’er could forget the good nature of Jane,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
My parents had reared me to shake and to mow,
To plough and to harrow, to reap and to sow.
But my heart being airy to drop it so low,
I set out on high speculation.
On paper and parchment they taught me to write,
In Euclid and Grammar they opened my eyes,
And in Multiplication in truth I was bright,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
If I chance for to go to the town of Rathkeale,
The girls all round me do flock on the square.
Some give me a bottle and others sweet cakes,
To treat me unknown to their parents,
There is one from Askeaton and one from the Pike,
Another from Arda, my heart was beguiled,
Tho’ being from the mountains her stockings are white,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
To quarrel for riches I ne’er was inclined,
For the greatest of misers must leave them behind.
I’ll purchase a cow that will never run dry,
And I’ll milk her by twisting her horn.
John Damer of Shronel had plenty of gold,
And Devonshire’s treasure is twenty times more,
But he’s laid on his back among nettles and stones,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
This cow can be milked without clover or grass,
For she’s pampered with corn, good barley and hops.
She’s warm and stout, and she’s free in her paps,
And she’ll milk without spancil or halter.
The man that will drink it will cock his caubeen,
And if anyone coughs there’ll be wigs on the green,
And the feeble old hag will get supple and free,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
If I chance for to go to the market at Croom,
With a cock in my hand and my pipes in full tune,
I am welcome at once and brought up to a room,
Where Bacchus is sporting with Venus.
There’s Peggy and Jane from the town of Bruree,
And Biddy from Bruff and we all on the spraoí,
Such a combing of locks as there was about me,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
There’s some say I’m foolish and more say I’m wise,
But being fond of the women I think is no crime,
For the son of King David had ten hundred wives,
And his wisdom was highly recorded.
I’ll take a good garden and live at my ease,
And each woman and child can partake of the same,
If there’s war in the cabin, themselves they may blame,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
And now for the future I mean to be wise,
And I’ll send for the women that acted so king,
And I’ll marry them all on the morrow by and by,
If the clergy agree to the bargain.
And when I’m on my back and my soul is at peace,
These women will crowd for to cry at my wake,
And their sons and their dauhgters will offer their prayer,
To the Lord for the soul of their father.