Wally Page    Intro: C G       C G
DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
Kids wear white garters, and smell like their mothers
CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
Whose husbands and fathers alike
DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â C
Drink black beer in the same public houses
CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â GÂ Â Â Â Â Â C G
Smelling of smoke and strong whiskey.
Mammies and daddies, skipping ropes
Lectures from priests, living in hope
That they’ve not mistaken the brand of their coats
They’ve paid for by spiritual teachings.
A busy year this, streets running red
How many sent to their nuptial bed
How many sent home to a winter of graves
How many wait in for the slaughter.
It’s Easter again, and we cannot forget
Our brothers and sisters and all that was said
So practise your pipes, stand proud in the wet.
For the eyes of the world are upon you.
CHORUS
GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â D
Oh, oh, the holy ground
C                      Am                            D
Céad mÃle failte, there’s saints and there’s scholars to see
G  Em     D
Oh, oh, the holy ground
C                     Am                        D
Faraway hills ain’t as green as they once used to be
Seventeen years, Kelly is a man
Who stands on the street with a gun in his hand
He’s protecting the pipers that play in the band
While the enemy waits with an army.
God in his mercy has given us men
To lead us to peace but they can’t bring an end
To the profits that pay off the lease on the land
We’re still sending them over the water
Dia le hÉireann, suckle the empire.
Dia le hÉireann, suffer the loss.
Of the green and the blue while the media feeds
On the blood and the pain and the hatred.
Father walks home on a colourless night
The organisation has blinded his sight
His wife and his kids are sleeping tonight
In the arms of sweet Jesus and Mary.
CHORUS X 2
Wally Page
16 fishermen raving out on the town on E
16 peacocks leave their nest and go flying into mystery
they try to cut the spainish look but they look so untidy
dont eat too much you’ll never get enough when you’re flying into mystery
flyin into mystery when you should be out seafarin
run out the jib rig the boom step back reality
when their ship is on the ocean their nights are so empty
they’re weary of the smelly fish and the wash of the salty sea
16 jolly ravers each one carrying his own caul
they believe it will keep death away when they face the angry squall
why face the angry squall when you could go go-go dancin
run out the jib rig the boom step back reality
to the 16 jolly ravers those girls look so fancy
you could ate your fry off the back of her neck if you want some more say please
when fishermen are feeling good they feel it musically
they go down singing shanties to the dancefloor all at sea
to the dancefloor all at sea 16 jolly ravers
run out the jib rig the boom step back reality
flyin in to mystery when you should be out seafarin
run out the jib rig the boom step back reality
yad adad ada yadd a dadd a da yat ti a rat ti a rat ti a ra da
yadd a dad a da yad adad ada yatt tye a rat tie a rat
I can end up anywhere in this song.Rolled in Yarmouth on the first night in and looking to get back out early next morning.In a haybarn outside Portarlington, me nostrils caked with hay dust, trying to find me bearings.In a railroad car in Boyle listening to the dry land sailors singin”hey ho chicken on a raft, Ben and Jake leading us all into glorious mayhem whilst the losers were ridin like rabbits in the turf mould.About to enter paradise when the back wheel came off Mick Currans Bedford van out around Dardis’s gate as we roared home through Walshestown and that put an end to me gallop.
Or I can think about poor auld Plunky, that fisherman of Dun Leary who never settled for sardines whilst there were dolphins in the ocean. Go for it John Paul, write your dreams now that you have found a quieter place. Tell Richie I was askin for him.
Am……E.
Am.G.FEAm
Am…..E.
Am.G.FEAmG
C.C.CG
Am.G.FEAm
Christy Moore
Somalia, Somalia.
She picked up a handful of earth and kissing it, she cried;
“The song of our village has come to an end”.
Then she heard the sirens voice
And the sirens voice was singing;
Island of the welcomes. One hundred thousand welcomes.
Christian holy island. One hundred thousand welcomes.
Land of the Holy Fathers. One hundred thousand welcomes.
Land of Saints and scholars. One hundred thousand welcomes.
Ancient city of the deep lagoon. Céad mÃle failte.
Heart of The Rowl. Céad mÃle failte.
Dublin city of the rare auld times. Céad mÃle failte.
Where the green snot river flows. Céad mÃle failte.
Again she heard the sirens voice
And the sirens voice was singing;
Black life, white life, pro-life,
Black life, white life, pro-life,
Black lies, white lies, no life.
Again she heard the sirens voice
And the sirens voice was singing;
No niggers or knackers or wogs, no refugees.
No Dia is Muire, sez she,
And no divorce in Heaven, sez she, no refugees.
Céad mÃle failte.
Céad mÃle failte my arse, sez she.
MÃle fáilte my arse.
Living off our land,
Living off our land,
Living of our hard earned surplus,
Creating housing shortages and unemployment.
Living off our land.
They’re coming here to save us,
Saving the white babies.
They’re coming here to save us,
Saving white babies souls.
The sirens voice was heard.
Barry Moore
Who are they to decide what we should hear?
Who are they to decide what we should see?
What do they think we can’t comprehend here?
What do they fear that our reaction might be, might be?
CHORUS
Section 31 on the TV
Section 31 on the radio
Section 31 is like a blindfold
Section 31 makes me feel cold, feel cold.
The pounding of the footsteps in the early morning light,
Another family waking to an awful deadly fright.
There’s a body on the pavement with a bullet to the jaw,
A thirteen-year-old victim of plastic bullet law.
The silence in my ears, the darkness in my eyes,
Heightens the fear, deafens the cries.
Of another brother taken in another act of hate.
A family preparing for another dreadful wait.
E. Cowan/C. Moore
Hugh Callaghan, Paddy Hill, Gerry Hunter, Johnny Walker,
Billy Power, Dick McIlkenny that’s their names.
Five men playing poker on the Heysham train
Fate was dealing them a cruel hand
Hugh Callaghan walked home through the evening rain
Not knowing what lay in store for him
There’s traces of nitro on cigarettes and matches
On Formica tabletops and on decks of playing cards
When forensics found traces on the hands of these six men,
The police drove up from Birmingham
Hoping the case was closed
Have you ever seen the mug shots that were taken
After 48 hours in custody
Battered and bruised, haunted looks upon their faces
The judge accepted they confessed willingly
Please take another look at what you see
If you tell me my family are being terrorised
Keep me awake for six days and nights confused and terrified
In the lonely dark of night I will swear that black is white
If you’ll just let me lay down and close my eyes
Ill sign anything if you let me close my eyes
Scales of justice balance up your act
Am I talking to myself or to the wall?
Hugh Callaghan, Paddy Hill, Gerry Hunter, Johnny Walker,
Billy Power, Dick McIlkenny scapegoats all
For 16 years they were taking to the wall
Christy Moore
Sunday morning you’ve a page to fill
You gather grist to grind your mill
Seek a pot to dip your quill
Sacrifice all candour
Your pointed beaks as sharp as knives
As you tear strips off peoples lives
Buzzing like bluebottle flies
Among the dead and wounded
Scallcrows
You’re only Scallcrows
Scallcrows
Vultures, Dirtbirds and Scallcrows
Attracted by the lure of stars
You lurk around expensive bars
Seeking rumours swapping jars
Down among the posers
Sunday morning I can hear the sound
It’s the Scallcrows flocking around
Seeking prey that must be found
To satisfy the hunger
Author Unknown
Oh my name it is Sam Hall, chimney sweep, chimney sweep
Oh my name it is Sam Hall, chimney sweep
Oh my name it is Sam Hall and I’ve robbed both rich and small
And my neck will pay for all when I die when I die
And my neck will pay for all when I die
Oh they took me to Coote Hill in a cart, in a cart
Oh they took me to Coote Hill in a cart
Oh they took me to Coote Hill and ’twas there I made my will
For the best of friends must part, so must I, so must I?
For the best of friends must part, so must I
Up the ladder I did grope, that’s no joke, that’s no joke
Up the ladder I did grope and the hangman pulled the rope
And ne’er a word I spoke, tumbling down, tumbling down
And ne’er a word I spoke tumbling down
Woody Guthrie
CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â C
Oh say there, did you here the news? Sacco worked at trimming shoes.
CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â C
Vanzetti was a travelling man, pushed his cart round with his hand
CHORUS
FÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â C7
Two good men’s a long time gone. Sacco and Vanzetti are gone.
F7Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G7Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â C
Two good men’s long time gone. They left me here to sing this song
Sacco was born across the sea, somewhere over in Italy.
Vanzetti born of parents fine, drank the best Italian wine.
Sacco sailed the sea one day, landed over in the Boston bay.
Vanzetti sailed the ocean blue, ended up in Boston too.
CHORUS
Sacco was a family man, Sacco’s wife three children had
Vanzetti was a dreaming man, his books were always in his hand.
Sacco made his bread and butter being the factory’s best shoe cutter.
Vanzetti worked both day and night, showed the people how to fight.
CHORUS
I’ll tell you if you ask me about the pay-roll robbery.
Two clerks were shot in the shoe factory on the streets of old Braintree
I’ll tell you the prosecutors’ names: Katman, Admans, Williams, Kane.
Them and the judge were the best of friends. Did more tricks than circus clowns
The judge he told his friends around. He’d put them rebels down.
Communist bastards was the name the judge he gave these two fine men.
CHORUS
Vanzetti docked in ’98. Slept along a dirty street.
Showed the people how to organise. Now in the electric chair he dies.
All us people ought to be like Sacco & Vanzetti.
Every day find ways to fight on the union side for the workers’ right
CHORUS
I ain’t got time to tell the tales because the branch and the bulls are on my fail
I won’t forget these men who died to show us people how to live.
All you people in window lane sing this song and sing it plain.
Everybody here tonight singing this song we’ll get it right
CHORUS
After Tickling my Fancy, I turned back towards my roots with this album. A good number of songs here have become very well known. I recall very late nights in the studio (Dublin Sound) with Donal Lunny, Jimmy Faulkner, Declan McNelis, Kevin Burke, and visits from Micheal O’Domhnall, Barney McKenna coming in to stir the pot.â€
I was operating outside the system at this time – dealing with promoters and agents myself and also dealing with Polydor directly. It was a time of learning too – for I got to understand the nuts and bolts of the industry.
Kevin Burke left to join the Bothy Band and I started touring farther afield with Jimmy Faulkner. We pursued our audience in Germany, France, U.K, Austria, Holland, and Scariff in a Peugeot 404 diesel pickup.
We even got lost once in Lichtenstein.
Little Musgrave 12707448462_littlemusgrave
Limerick Rake 12707449530_limerickrake
Boys Of Mullabawn 127074498688_boysofmullabawn
Having left the band (Paul Brady came in) I was soon to discover I had no profile in Ireland as a solo singer. Whatever career I’d developed in Britain in the late sixties meant nothing in Ireland in 1974. I had to start almost from scratch. I floundered for a while seeking work and direction.â€
Through Nicky Ryan (Planxty’s sound producer) I had befriended Jimmy Faulkner and Declan McNelis. I phoned Kevin Burke in London and invited him over for some rehearsals. He came and stayed. With Jimmy and Declan we began a residency in the Meeting Place in Dorset Street. Initially we played Monday nights, but soon began Saturdays as well and we were beginning to sound like a band.
This album was recorded at the Ashling Studio in Rathgar. Robbie Brennan joined us on drums. It was a bit out of my depth playing with bass and drums rhythm section and I could not offer much direction. A lot of the music at this time was confused and unstructured but we had happy days and made some good music.
Bunch Of Thyme 127074465999_bunchofthyme
Ballad Of Timothy Evans 127074468847_balladoftimothyevans
Home By Bearna 127074472673_homebybearna
As I got over the excitement of having made an album I began to hear what it was that had been recorded. I realised how important it was to work with musicians who could hear the work and empathise with the singer. All these songs have an atmosphere and a definite vibe of their own and that must be respected.â€
When Bill Leader agreed to record my work for his Trailer label. I made contact with Donal Lunny, Andy Irvine, Liam O’Flynn and asked them to play on my second album. I’d known Donal since school and followed his music right from the start. He taught me how to play guitar and bowrawn and has always been the most sensitive collaborator and friend.
He also has a great understanding of the other instruments their capabilities and limitations and can write riffs and fills for all occasions. Liam O’Flynn is the first piper I encountered and forty years on is still my favourite. I’d known Andy from his work with Sweeny’s Men and occasional meetings along the trail.
This was a wonderful session of recordings. It was a time of great music and fun. Bill Leader was the most innovative of engineers and got on with his task of getting it down. Considering he was working with a Revox Reel to Reel and two mikes the sounds he recorded are ageing well.
I’ve talked about this album in many interviews. It has been viewed in lots of ways and taken apart, dissected and given all sorts weighty significance these past 30 years. It is flattering and titillating to hear of it’s debate but the truth is it was made primarily for the sheer joy of making music. We did it because we loved to do it. We had a ball and all we sought to do was to record the sounds that we liked. All that followed has been an unexpected and most welcome bonus.
Lock Hospital
Dark Eyed Sailor
I met Dominic Behan in Shepherds Bush in 1968 when we both played a benefit gig. It may have been 19th of November at Hampton Court. We hit it off and he took me under his wing. He said he would help me make an album in Sound Techniques Chelsea in 1969. Steve Benbow put a band together.
He wrote dots and brought in a bunch of his drinking mates to read the dots. I met them for the first time in the studio. They were all pub jazz players and I was the apprentice Paddy folkie greenhorn.
They did their thing and I tried to keep up with them. While I couldn’t keep up with their chord shapes I could keep up with their drinking and we all got on well – there was pain in the music but we were not feeling it. I can still hear it.
Dominic wrote four of the songs and also produced. A man called Harold Shampan paid the bills and Mercury put it out briefly. It led to doors being opened in the B.B.C and R.T.E and I did broadcasts on both networks after the release.
There are a couple of shams out there burning CD’s of this album. But don’t be tempted. As soon as I’m set up I’ll bang it out to you at a suitable price.
Audio Files
Paddy On The Road Paddy on the Road
James Larkin James Larkin
Maid From Athy 127074389064_maidfromathy
Track List
1 Paddy On The Road
2 Marrow Bones
3 Strike Weaspon
4 Avondale
5 James Larkin
6 Cunla
7 Spanish Lady
8 Belfast Brigade
9 Cricklewood
10 Curragh Of Kildare
11 Maid Of Athy
12 Father McFadden
The Handsome Family
I had nothing to say on Christmas Day when you threw all your clothes on the floor.
When you burned your hair knocked over the chair I tried to stay out of your way.
When you fell asleep with blood on your teeth I got into my car and drove away.
Listen to me butterfly, theres only so much wine you can drink in one life,
But it will never be enough to save you from the bottom of your glass.
Where the highway starts I parked my car I got out and stared up at the stars.
As meteors died and shot across the sky, I thought about your sad shining eyes.
I came back for my clothes when the sun finally rose you were still passed out on the floor
Listen to me butterfly, there’s only so much wine you can drink in one life
But it will never be enough to save you from the bottom of your glass
I was down in the Protestant church in Dingle recording “Songs from a Room” for the Kings and their retinue when I came face to face with this couple of Yanks, she incredibly brown eyed and red lipped, he bespectacled and large, not the sort of people you normally meet in the sacristy.  A year later I go to hear the Handsome Family in Leap, West Cork and it was them again. Song after gorgeous song. Dark and beautiful and humourous and he’s not too bad either.  Saw them later again in the Savoy in Cork at the European Year of the Culchies. They bound the spell again and poor auld Brett half killed with the gout as Rennie blew her bugle and I was glued to the floor.
C…F.C.Am.G.Dm…GC…F.C.AmF.C…
F.C.F.CC.Am.F.C……Am…F…….C….Am…F……..C….Am..F..
C…F…
Margaretta D’Arcy
In Black Armagh of the Goddess Macha,
Last February in the grey cold jail,
The governor Scott in his savage fury
Came down to break the women’s will.
Forty jailers, my forty jailers,
From the hell of Long Kesh come down
And help me break these warrior women
Who will not yield to the power of the crown.
The forty jailers put on the armour,
Strapped on their helmets, took up their shields,
Then they beat the Armagh women, they beat them down,
They were sure they’d yield.
Three days he kept them locked up in darkness,
Locked up in filth you would not believe.
When he released them he was so conceited
That one and all he thought they would yield.
“If you have suffered” he smilingly said,
“It never happened; it was all just a dream.
Come out, come out and obey my orders”
But the Armagh women they would never yield
They’d never yield to Scott the governor,
They’d never yield till they broke him down.
He and his jailers were all locked in prison
By the women of Armagh jail
And there they remain, those warrior women,
Locked up in filth you could not believe.
They hold Scott and his warders powerless.
They hold them there, they’ll never concede.
Women of Ireland, stand up and declare.
Women of Ireland, understand your power.
Make us see that together we’ll do it
We’ll tumble down their stone grey tower.
In Black Armagh of the Goddess Macha,
Last February in a cold grey cell…
________________________________________________________________________
In Irish mythology, Macha is a goddess linked with horses, battle, and sovereignty. She is said to have collected the heads of the slain, which were known as “Macha’s acorn crop”. Though possibly a triple goddess herself, she is often seen as one aspect of the Irish triple goddess of battle and sovereignty, the Morrigan.
Christy Moore
There’s Bethlehem and Cheltenham, there’s Lourdes and Limerick Junction
The trip to Mejagori come up for the extra munction
Good people climb Croagh Patrick with serenity on their faces
But Ruby Walsh he saved me life below at the Galway Races.
Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
They’re under starters orders, Ted Walsh is commentating,
Ruby’s up on the favourite, she’ll take some beating
necks are craned and eyes are trained there’s fear upon their faces
There’s agony and ecstasy below at the Galway races
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
It’s there you’ll see gentility and sheep dressed up like mutton
There’s double barrelled names with Mulherns on old melodeons
The talk is all of tillage of silage and corn acre
I fancy Tracy Piggott in the saddle in the enclosure
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go
Sir John Mucksavage Smythe is there with Smurfits and O’Reilly’s
The owners and the trainers, the stable boys and jockeys
With silk around their arses getting up on rich men’s horses
The convention wives and daughters and marriages and divorces.
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
There’s Celtic helicopters land bank speculators,
Builders and developers, crocodiles and alligators
Soldiers of destiny their in the fields of frenzy
their mouths wrapped round the Lamb Of God come back for the gravy,
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
Thursday is the ladies day and the women all look smashing
Their lashing on the lipstick Philip Tracy’s all the fashion
You can see the liposuction the botox and ogmanation
Brazilian haircuts colonic irrigation,
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
And every one’s out in Salthill for the craic and for the porter
There’s bookies making odds on two flies walking up the wall
There’s folk and trad there’s disco karaoke and set dances
While some of us who seen better days were looking to take our chances
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
Their galloping down the back straight, he has her in the canter
A look at her up the jumps be Gad, she’s like a ballet dancer
Over the last she hits the front the other one’s going to pass her
Winner alright it’s up Kildare, follow me up to Carlow
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go
Unknown
When two lovers meet down beside the green ocean
When two lovers meet beneath the green tree
And Mary my fond Mary to her love she is declaring
You have stolen away my young heart from the banks of the Lee
I loved her dearly both true and sincerely
There is no-one in this wide world I loved so much as she
Every bush, every bower, every wild Irish flower
It reminds me of my Mary on the banks of the Lee
So I will pluck my love some roses some wild Irish roses
I will pluck my love some roses the fairest that ever grew
And I will place them on the mound of my own darling true love
In that cold and silent valley where she lies beneath the dew
From Mick Moloney (Incomplete Version)
As I went out on a summer’s morning
As I went out by the Broomielaw
It was there I met with a fair young maiden
Her cheeks like roses and her skin like snow
Lassie lassie why do you wander
All alone by the Broomielaw
Sailor sailor the truth I’ll tell you
I’ve a lad of me ain and he’s far awa’
It’s seven long years since I loved that sailor
It’s seven long years since he sailed awa’
Another seven I’ll wait upon him
To be bleaching clothes in the Broomielaw
Lassie lassie you have been faithful
And true to me while I’ve been away
Our true hearts will be rewarded
We’ll part no more from the Broomielaw
For many years now they have been married
They keep an alehouse in Kelvinhall
And the sailor laddies they come calling
On the bleacher lassie from the Broomielaw
Christy Moore
As we I walked over the Glenshane Pass I heard a young woman mourn
The boy from Tamlaghduff she said is ten years dead and gone
How my heart is torn apart this young man to lose
We’ll never see the likes again of young Francis Hughes
For many years his exploits were a thorn in England’s side
The hills and glens became his home it was there he used to hide
Often when surrounded he’d quietly slip away
Like a fox he went to ground and kept the dogs of war at bay
Francis and three volunteers were coming around the pass
When they were confronted by a squad of SAS
The volunteers gave all they had till Francis took two rounds
He gave the order to retreat and wounded went to ground
The UDR and RUC came with their tracker dogs
In their hundreds hunted him across the farms and bogs
When he was too weak to move they captured him at last
And from the countryside he loved they brought him to Belfast
From Musgrave Park to Crumlin Road then to a H-Block cell
He went straight on the blanket then on hunger strike as well
Although his weapon had been changed to a blanket from a gun
He wielded it courageously as the hunger strike begun
As his young life ebbed away we helplessly looked on
On the twelfth of May the black flags lay in 1981
Deep mourning around Tamlaghduff has turned to burning pride
Francis fought them every day he lived and fought them as he died
As I walked over the Glenshane Pass I heard a young woman mourn
The boy from Tamlaghduff she said is ten years dead and gone
How my heart is torn apart this young man to lose
We’ll never see the likes again of young Francis Hughes.
Barry Moore
In the City of Chicago
As the evening shadows fall
There are people dreaming
Of the hills of Donegal
1847 was the year it all began
Deadly pains of hunger drove a million from the land
They journeyed not for glory
Their motive wasn’t greed
A voyage of survival across the stormy sea
To the City of Chicago
As the evening shadows fall
There are people dreaming
Of the hills of Donegal
Some of them knew fortune
Some of them knew fame
More of them knew hardship
And died upon the plain
They spread throughout the nation
They rode the railroad cars
Brought their songs ant music to ease their lonely hearts
To the City of Chicago
As the evening shadows fall
There are people dreaming
Of the hills of Donegal
Author Unknown
The sheep’s in the meadow the cows in the corn
Now is the time for a child to be born
He’ll cry for the moon and he’ll laugh at the sun
If it’s a boy he’ll carry a gun
And if it should be that our baby’s a girl
Never you mind if her hair doesn’t curl
With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
And bombers above her wherever she goes
Sang the crow in the cradle
Your Mammy and Daddy they’ll sweat and they’ll save
Build you a garden and dig you a grave
O-hush-a-bye baby why do you weep
We’ve got a pill that can put you to sleep
Hush-a-bye baby the black and the white
Somebody’s baby was born for to fight
Hush-a-bye-baby the white and the black
Hush-a-bye-baby is not coming back
Bring me a gun and I’ll shoot that bird dead
That’s what your Mammy and Daddy once said
Oh crow in the cradle what shall I do?
That is the question I leave unto you
Hugh McDonald
The faces in the photographs are fading
I can’t believe he looks so much like me
For its been ten long years today since I left for old Cork Station
And I won’t be back till the drove is done.
Chorus:
For the rain never falls on the dusty Diamantina
The drover finds it hard to change his mind
For the years have surely gone like the drays from old Cork Station
And I won’t be back till the drove is done.
It seems like the sun comes up each morning
Sets me up then takes it all away
Dreaming by the light of the campfire at night
Ends with the early light of the day.
Chorus
I sometimes think I’ll settle back in Sydney
It’s been so long and it’s hard to change your mind
For the cattle trail rolls on and on, the fences last forever
And I won’t be back when the drove is done.
Ewan McColl
The first time ever I saw your face,
I thought the sun rose in your eyes,
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave,
To the dark and the endless skies.
The first time ever I kissed your lips,
I felt the earth move in my hand,
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird,
That was there at my command.
The first time ever I lay with you,
I felt your heart beat close to mine,
And I knew our love would fill the earth,
And would last till the end of time.
From Patsy Halloran, With new words by C. Moore
I joined the Flying Column in 1916
In Cork with Sean Moylan in Tipperary with Dan Breen
Arrested by Free Staters and sentenced for to die
Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee Mountain boy
We tracked the Wicklow Mountains we were rebels on the run
Though hunted night and morning we were outlaws but free men
We tracked the Dublin Mountains as the sun was shining high
Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee Mountain boy
We went across the valleys and over the hilltops green
Where we met with Dinny Lacey, Sean Hogan and Dan Breen
Sean Moylan and his gallant men they kept the flag flying high
Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee Mountain boy
I’ll bid farewell to old Clonmel I never more shall see
And to the Galtee Mountains that oft times sheltered me
Those who fought for freedom, died without a sigh
May their fight not be forgotten, said the Galtee Mountain boy
Author Unknown
About four years ago I was digging the land
With my brogues on my feet and my spade in my hand
Says I to myself what a pity to see
Such a fine strapping lad footing turf in Tralee
Wid me toorum mi neaa me toorum mi na
Wid me toorim me nure im mi nure im mi nya
So I buttered me brogues and shook hands with my spade
And I went to the fair like a dashing young blade
When up comes a Seargeant and asks me to ‘list
Arra, sergeant a gra put the bob in me fist
O! Then here is the shilling, as we’ve got no more
When you get to headquarters you’ll get half a score
Arra, quit your kimeens, sez I, Sergeant goodbye
You’d not wish to be quartered, and neither would I
And the first thing they gave me it was a red coat
With a wide strap of leather to tie round my throat
They gave me a quare thing I asked what was that
And they told me it was a cockade for my head
They next thing they gave me they called it a gun
With powder and shot and a place for my thumb
And first she spit fire and then she spit smoke
Lord, she gave a great lep and my shoulder near broke
The next place they sent me was down to the sea
On board of a warship bound for the Crimea
Three sticks in the middle all rowled with sheets
She walked thro’ the water without any feet
When at Balaclava we landed quite sound
Both cold wet and hungry we lay on the ground
Next morning for action the bugle did call
And we got a hot breakfast of powder and ball
Sure it’s often I thought of my name and my home
And the days that I spent cutting turf, och mavrone
The balls were so thick and the fire was so hot
I lay down in the ditch, boys, for fear I’d be shot
We fought at the Alma, likewise Inkerman
But the Russians they whaled us at the Redan
In scaling the walls there myself lost my eye
And a big Russian bullet ran off with me thigh
It was there I lay bleeding stretched on the cold ground
Heads, legs and arms were scattered all around
Says I, if my mama or my cleaveens were nigh
They’d bury me decent and raise a loud cry
They brought me the doctor, who soon staunched my blood
And he gave me an elegant leg made of wood
They gave me a medal an ten pence a day
Contented with Sheila, I’ll live on half pay.
Bob Dylan
William Zanzinger killed Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled on his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gathering
The police were called in and his weapon took from him
They drove him into custody down at the station
Charged William Zanzinger with First Degree Murder
And you who philosophise disgrace and criticise my fears
Take that rag away from your face now’s not the time for your tears
When William Zanzinger was 24
He was farming tobacco on 600 acres
With rich wealthy parents to provide and protect him
High office relations in the politics of Maryland
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
With sneering and swear words his tongue it was snarling
In less than 10 minutes on bail was out walking
And you who philosophise disgrace and criticise my fears,
Take that rag away from your face now’s not the time for your tears.
Hattie Carroll was a maid who worked in the kitchen
51 years old she had 10 children
She carried the dishes and took out the garbage
She never once sat at the head of the table
She never even spoke to the people at the table
Just cleared all the food from the table
And emptied ashtrays on a whole other level
Killed by a blow and lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room
Doomed and determined to destroy all that’s gentle
She never did nothing to William Zanzinger
And you who philosophise disgrace and criticise my fears
Take that rag away from your face now’s not the time for your tears
At the courtroom of honour the Judge pounded his gavel
To show all is equal and his court is on the level
That the strings and the books are not pulled or persuaded
Even the rich get properly treated
Once the cops have chased them and caught them
The ladder of the law has no top and no bottom
He stared at that man who had killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feeling that way without warning
He spoke through his cloak most deep and distinguished
And handed down strongly form penalty and repentance
Gave William Zanzinger a 6 month sentence
And you who philosophise disgrace and criticise my fears
Bury that rag most deep in your face now is the time for your tears.
Woody Guthrie
It was early springtime and the strike was on
They drove us miners out of our homes
Out of the houses that the company owned
Into the tents of the little Ludlow
We were worried bad about our children
State troopers guarded the railway bridge
Every once in a while a bullet would fly
Kick up gravel around our feet
We were so afraid that you’d kill our children
That we dug a cave that was seven foot deep
Took the children and the pregnant women
Down inside the cave to sleep
It was late that night the soldiers waited
Till all us miners were asleep
They crept around one little camp town
And soaked our tents in kerosene
They struck a match and the blaze it started
They pulled the triggers of their Gatling guns
I made a run for the children but the firewall stopped me
Thirteen children died from their guns
I never will forget the looks on the faces
Of the men and women that awful day
As they stood around to preach the funeral
And lay the corpses of the dead away
The women from Trinidad took some potatoes
Up to Wallensburg in a little cart
They sold the potatoes and brought some guns back
Put a gun in every hand
We asked the governor to phone up the president
Ask him call off the National Guard
But the National Guard belonged to the governor
I guess he didn’t try very hard
Late one night the troopers charged us
They didn’t know that we had guns
The red necked miners shot them troops down
You should have seen those poor boys run
We took some cement and walled the cave up
Where the thirteen little children died
I thanked God for the Mine Workers Union
And then I hung my head and cried
Jimmy McCarthy
Among the walls and ruins,
Of the horrid civic stone,
I walked without a lover,
For my older bones.
The sun was strong and going down,
It was a dreamlike day,
It’s there I met the trinity,
It’s there I heard them say.
Chorus:
And she said bye bye Mama,
Goodbye brother John,
Fare thee well ye Shandon bells,
Ring on, ring on.
She leaned and leaned much closer,
And she hugged them all goodbye,
Her mother said “Don’t go my love”,
We all must by and by,
A drunken tongue said “leave her off”,
She’ll drive us all crazy,
She turned around and saw my face,
And both of us was she.
Chorus
Up on to the limestone wall,
And down the level steps,
She threw herself into the stream,
With a splash and no regrets,
Sidestroke swimming midstream,
Throwing kisses to the crowd,
And everything was silent,
And the sky had not one cloud.
Chorus
We were swimming out in the sunset,
We were swimming out to sea,
Swimming down by the opera house,
The Mad Lady and Me.
From Andy Rynne (Incomplete)
The night before Larry was stretched the boys they all paid him a visit
A bait in their bags too they fetched and they sweat in their gobs till they riz it
For Larry was ever the lad if a boy was condemned to the squeezer
Would fence all the duds that he had to treat an auld friend to the sneezer
And moisten his gob before he died
The boys they came crowding in fast they drew all their stools round about him
Six glimps of the porter were placed for he wouldn’t be well waked without them
When one of us asked would he die without having duly repented
Sez Larry that’s all in my eye and first by the clergy invented
To gain a fat bit for themselves
Then I’m sorry poor Larry sez I to see you in this situation
And blister my limbs if I lie I’d have soon it had been my own station
A chalk on the back of the neck is all that Jack Catch cares to give you
And mind such trifles a feck for why should the likes of them grieve you
And now boys come tip us the deck
The cards being called for they played till Larry found one of them cheatin
Quick he made a hard rap at his head for this lad was easily beaten
So you’ll cheat me because I’m in grief be the Jasus if that be your reason
I’ll have you to know you damn thief that your crack and your jokes out of season
And I’ll throttle your knob with me fist
They clergyman came with his book and spoke to him so neat and so civil
Larry tipped him the Kilmanham look and tossed his big wig to the divil
Then Larry he raised up his head and taking a sup from the bottle
He cried like a baby and said the rope will soon round my neck throttle
To squeeze my poor windpipe to death
So moving these last words he spoke we all vented our tears on a shower
For my part I thought my heart broke to see him cut down like a flower
On his travels we watched him next day and the hangman I thought I could kill him
But Larry not one word did say until he came to King William
When his collar grew horribly white
When he came to the gallows at last he was tucked up so neat and so pretty
The rumblers jogged him off his feet and he died with his face to the city
He kicked too but that was all pride for soon you could see ’twas all over
Soon after the rope was untied and at dark we waked him in clover
And sent him to take his ground sweat
Ian Campbell
At the turning of the century I was a lad of five
My father went to fight the Boers, he never came back alive
My mother had to bring us up no charity did she seek
She rubbed and scrubbed and scraped along on seven-and-six a week
At the age of twelve I left my school and went to get a job
With growing kids my ma could do with the extra couple of bob
I knew that longer schooling would have stood me better stead
But you can’t afford refinement when you’re struggling for your bread
When the Great War started I did not hesitate
I took the royal shilling and went to do my bit
We fought in blood and sweat and mud three years or thereabouts
Till I copped some gas in Flanders and was invalided out
When the war was over and we’d settled with the Hun
We went back to Civvy Street we thought the fighting done
We sought to earn our wages but we were out of luck
Soon we found we had to fight for the right to go to work
In ’26 the General Strike found me upon the street
By then I had a wife and kids their needs I had to meet
The brave new world was coming and the brotherhood of man
But when the strike was over we were back where we began
I struggled through the thirties out of work now and again
I saw the Blackshirts marching and the things they did in Spain
I brought me kids up decent and thought them wrong from right
But Hitler was the man who came and taught them how to fight
Me daughter was a land girl she got married to a Yank
My son he got a medal for stopping one of Rommel’s tanks
He was wounded near the end of the war and convalesced in Rome
He married and Eyetie nurse and never bothered to come home
Me daughter writes me every week a cheerful little note
About the coloured telly and the other things she’s got
She’s got a son a likely lad he’s just turned twenty-one
Now I hear he’s been called up to fight in Vietnam
Now we’re on the pension and it doesn’t go too far
Not much to show for a life that’s been like one long bloody war
When I think of all the wasted lives it makes me want to cry
I don’t know how we’ll change things but by Christ we’ll have to try
Brendan Behan
A hungry feeling came o’er me stealing and the mice were squealing in my prison cell
And the Auld triangle went jingle jangle all along the banks of the royal canal
To start the morning the screw was bawling get up ye bowsie and clean your cell
The screw was peeping Skinner Mac was sleeping and he was dreaming of his girl Sal
In the female prison there lie seventy women and it’s in there with them that I’d like to dwell
The moon was shining the sun declining Skinner Mac was pining in his prison cell
And the Auld triangle went jingle jangle all along the banks of the royal canal
Christy Moore
Where John paints in Caribbean colours
And Tyrone boys dream of loving on the strand
Flowers heaped in gesture on the courthouse steps in Kerry
And we trampled on the outstretched hand
Roman posters on the wall outside the graveyard
“No Divorce” is all they say
I saw a little sister of Mercy
Invoke the wrath of God on polling day.
Oh the Island, where Tyrone boys dream of loving on the strand
Oh the Island, where we trampled on the outstretched hand.
The lady sends squaddies on the water
Geordie don’t be afraid to die
In blackened face he dreams of his darling bairns and hinny
On the watchtower overlooking aughnacloy
In Long Kesh the Tyrone Boys are dreaming
Of making love upon the strand some day
On the news came a mid-Atlantic accent
Plastic bullet has taken Julie Livingstone away
The King he came to see his people
And he took a soldier by the hand
Eyes averted from the Gloucester Diamond
To comfort those who occupy the land
High above the clouds a promised heaven
On the street a confused and homeless child
While men in black declare a social order
Frightened women sail to the other side
All the young ones are leaving the Island
Out the door, down the steps, around the side,
Unwanted they file through departure lounges
Like deportees dispersing far and wide
In the distance there’s cricket in Cloughjordan
The gentle clack of croquet on the lawn
As our children shackled by illegal status
Hold their heads down behind the Brooklyn wall
Bruce Scott
How many more must die now how many must we lose
Before the island people their own destiny can choose
From immortal Robert Emmet to Bobby Sands MP
Who was given thirty thousand votes while in captivity
No more he’ll hear the lark’s sweet notes upon the Ulster air
Or gaze upon the snowflake to calm his deep despair
Before he went on hunger strike young Bobby did compose
The Rhythm of Time, The Weeping Wind and The Sleeping Rose
He was a poet and a soldier he died courageously
And we gave him thirty thousand votes he was the peoples own MP
Thomas Ashe gave everything in 1917
The Lord Mayor of Cork McSwiney died freedom to obtain
Never a one of all our dead died more courageously
Than Bobby Sands from Twinbrook the people’s own MP
Forever we’ll remember him that man who died in pain
That his country north and south be united once again
To mourn him is to organise and build a movement strong
With ballot box and armalite with music and with song
Lal Waterson/Chris Collins
Down the Pipers path we followed the Winters sun
On its frosty ride or Autumns frosty pride
And the piper by my side took his tunes from Winters mouth
And played them back to the racing clouds
Through waves of copper trees we followed the purple trees
Past the speckled hen and the seaweed men
On down through the bay of soft weather days
That led us back to the racing ways
Wind and weather they told us all be done
All together they sang us a Winters song
And the piper by my side took his tunes from Winters mouth
And played them back to the racing clouds
Trad Arr C. Moore
I am a bold undaunted fox that never yet was trapped or caught.
Me rent, rates and taxes I was willin’ for to pay.
I made me name in fine good land between Tipperary and Knocklong
Where my forefathers lived and died three thousand years ago.
I lived as happy as King Saul and loved me neighbours one and all,
I had no animosity for either friend nor foe,
Then I was of late betrayed by one who was a fool I know.
He told me I should leave the place and show me face no more.
The day that he evicted me, it’s then I knew that I should flee.
Late one night I took his life and left him lying low.
He fell victim to a shot, his agency was soon forgot.
From that day on they’re searchin’ for farmer Michael Hayes.
Soon there was a great lookout by land and sea myself to rout
From Dublin Quay to Belfast along the ragin’ sea.
By telegraph they did insert a great reward for my arrest,
Me figure, size and form, me name without mistake.
They broke their brogues a thousand pairs this great reward for to obtain;
Still their search was all in vain for farmer Michael Hayes.
They searched Tipperary o’er and o’er, the cornfields near Galtymore;
They then went into Wexford town but did not long delay.
Through Ballyhale and Stranemore, they searched the woods as they went on.
It’s they were hungry wet and cold before the break of day.
You may roam the world both far and near but never such a tale you’ll hear
Of a fox to get away so clear as I did from them hounds.
They searched the rocks, the gulfs, the quays, the ships, the liners in the bays,
The ferryboats and steamers as they were goin’ to sea
Around the coast they made a steer from Poolbeg lighthouse to Cape Clear,
Killarney town and sweet Tralee; they then crossed into Clare.
When they landed on the shore they searched Kilrush from tip to toe.
They searched the baths at sweet Lisdoon, likewise Milltown Malbay.
Galway bein’ a place of fame, they thought ’twas there I might remain,
Still their search was all in vain for I gave them all leg bail.
They searched the train at Oranmore as she was leavin’ for Athlone,
Every wagon, car and coach they met along the road.
Connemara being remote, they thought ’twas there I might resort;
As they were gettin’ weary they resolved to try Mayo.
In Ballaghaderreen they has to rest until the hounds they were refreshed.
They then went on to Westport and searched it high and low.
Through Castlebar they made a trot when they heard I was in Castlerock,
Still they were deluded where I lodged the night before.
In Swinford town as I lay down, I heard a dreadful cry of hounds
Which filled me with the notion to retaliate my chase.
Being weary from the road, I took a drink at half past four
Which filled me heart with strength and speed when the hounds were gettin’ slow.
As the moon began to shine I thought I’d make a foreign clime,
Leave them all to search away for farmer Michael Hayes.
To Dublin town I made my way and then to Cobh and Amerikay;
Now I’m in the land of liberty and a fig for all my foes.
This is not complete but it’s all I can recall this morning. There are a few good verses about the chase through south Leinster. I’m striving to get this song back into the set, it was a Planxty classic in the late 70s. Its on the album “After The Break” on the Tara label. This version is an amalgam of different versions and, if memory serves me, the melody we used came from John Lyons from Tradaree. After the lengthy chase the song ends rather abruptly. I suspect one of two things. Either there’s a verse missing or else the writers flow was interrupted by the realisation that it was opening timeÂ
From Mrs. Murphy of Tulla, Co. Clare
The dreadful news through Ireland has spread from shore to shore
Such a deed no living man has ever heard before
The deeds of Cromwell in his time I’m sure no worse could do
Than them Black and Tans that murdered those four youths in Killaloe
Three of the four were on the run and searched for all around
Until with this brave Egan in Williamstown was found
They questioned him and tortured him but to his comrades he proved true
And because he would not tell their whereabouts he was shot in Killaloe
On the twelfth day of November the day that they were found
Sold and traced through Galway to that house near Williamstown
They never got a fighting chance but were captured while asleep
And the way that they ill-treated them would cause your blood to creep
The hackled them both hands and feet with twines they could not break
And brought them down to Killaloe by steamer on the lake
Without clergy judge or jury on the bridge they shot them down
And their blood flowed with the Shannon convenient to the town
After three days of perseverance their bodies they let go
And ten pm the funeral passed through Ogonnolloe
They were kept in Scariff chapel for two nights and a day
Now in that place of rest they lie, kind people for them pray
If you were at the funeral it was an awful sight
To see four hundred clergymen and they all dressed up in white
Such a sight as these four martyrs in one grave was never seen
They died to save the flag of love the orange white and green
Now that they are dead and gone I hope in peace they’ll rest
Like all young Irish martyrs, forever among the blessed
The day will come when all will know who sold their lives away
Of young McMahon and Rogers, brave Egan and Kildea