W.B. Yeats
I went down to the Hazelwood
Because a fire was in my head
I cut and peeled a hazel wand
And hooked a berry to a thread
And when white moths were on the wing
And moth like stars were flickering out
I put the berry in a stream
And hooked a little silver trout
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame
But something rustled on the floor
And someone called me by my name
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded in the brightening air
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands
I will find out where she has gone
And kiss her lips and hold her hands
And walk among long dappled grass
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon
The golden apples of the sun.
Christy Moore/Wally Page
Hear the Atlantic seethe and swell
And hear the lonely chapel bell
God save their souls and mind them well
Tomas and Sean Conneeley
Yesterday at half past four
They pushed their currach from the shore
One took the net while one took the oar
The two fishermen Conneeley
From Connor’s fort and from Synge’s chair
Towards Inis Mor and Inis Iarr
They scour the sea in silent prayer
As they go searching for their neighbours
Dia Diobh a beirt iascari brea
Nach mbeidh ar ais ar barr an tra
Go mbeidh sibh sona sasta ar neamh
Tomas agus Sean O’Conghaile
Draw the seaweed up the hill
And sow potatoes in the drill
Try to understand God’s will
And the loss of the two Conneeleys
Hear the Atlantic seethe and swell
And hear the lonely chapel bell
God save their souls and mind them well
Tomas and Sean Conneeley
Rory Dall O’Cahain
The Yellow Bittern that never broke out on a drinking bout,he might as well have done.
For his bones are thrown on a naked stone where he lived alone like a hermit monk
Oh Yellow Bittern I pity your case, tho they say that a drunk like myself is cursed.
I was sober for a while,now I’ll drink and I’ll be wise,for fear that I might die in the end of thirst.
It is not for the common bird that I would mourn.The Blackbird,The Corncrake,The Heron or The Crane.
But for the Bittern,that shy and lonesome bird who lives in the quiet of a lone bog drain.
Oh Had I known you were so near your death, with my breath held in I’d have run to you.
‘Til a crack in the ice on your frozen water hole, would stir your heart to life anew.
Oh My darling she tells me do not drink any more or your life it will be over in a little while.
But I told her it was the drink gave me health and strength and could lengthen my road for manys the mile.
See that bird there of the long smooth neck who has got his death from the thirst at last,
Come soothe my soul,Come fill my bowl, For I’ll get no more drink when my life is past.
Andy Rynne taught me this in the back of Mick Currans van halfway between Ffrenchypark and Tulsk when the Prosperous Brigade of The Irish Balladsingers Army were on our way to manouevers in Boyle all set to muster on the square when the poteen was taken.We captured a number of enemy wrens in Mrs Grehans hostelry whereupon we took tham to an appointed carriage at a quiet siding in Boyle station and gave them a jolly good de-briefing before bursting into an arousing version of”The night before Larry was stretched”
CHORDS
I sung this once against  the drone of Liam O’Flynns pipes.
Christy Moore
St. Valentine’s day comes around once a year,
All our thought turn to love as the day it draws near,
When sweethearts and darlings, husbands and wives,
Pledge love and devotion for the rest of their lives.
As day turns to evening soon nighttime does fall,
Young people preparing for the Valentine’s Ball,
As the night rings with laughter some people still mourn
The 48 children who never came home.
CHORUS
Have we forgotten the suffering and pain
the survivors and victims of the fire in Artane,
the mothers and fathers forever to mourn
the 48 children who never came home.
Down to the Stardust they all made their way
The bouncers stood back as they lined up to pay
The records are spinning there’s dancing as well
Just how the fire started sure no one can tell.
In a matter of seconds confusion did reign
The room was in darkness fire exits were chained
The firefighters wept for they could not hide,
Their anger and sorrow for those left inside.
CHORUS
All around the city the bad news it spread
There’s a fire in the Stardust there’s 48 dead
Hundreds of children are injured and maimed
And all just because the fire exits were chained.
Our leaders were shocked, grim statements were made
They shed tears in the graveyard as the bodies were laid
The victims have waited in vain for 4 years
It seems like our leaders shed crocodile tears.
CHORUS
Half a million was spent on solicitor’s fees,
A fortune to the owner and his family
It’s hard to believe not one penny came
To the working class people who suffered the pain.
Days turn to weeks and weeks turn to years
Our laws favour the rich or so it appears
A woman still waits for her lads to come home
Injustice breeds anger and that’s what’s been done.
CHORUS
Provided by a helpful individual & posted from the US outside Irish jurisdiction.This song was withdrawn from the shelves shortly after it was released due to a High Court decision. The Stardust case may well have been Sub Judice at the time. I remember clearly when this tragedy occurred – someone I know was injured in the fire.
Traditional
There were three drunken maidens
Come from the Isle of Wight
They drunk from Monday morning
Nor stopped till Saturday night
When Saturday night would come me boys,
They wouldn’t then go out
And these three drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.
Then in comes bouncing Sally,
Her cheeks as red as blooms
Move up me jolly sisters,
And give young Sally some room
Then I will be your equal
Before the night is out
And these four drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.
There’s woodcock and pheasant,
There’s partridge and hare
There’s all sorts of dainties,
No scarcity was there
There’s forty quarts of beer, me boys,
They fairly drunk them out rose
And these four drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.
And up comes the landlord,
He’s asking for his pay
It is a forty pound bill, me boys
These gobs have got to pay
That’s ten pounds apiece, me boys,
But still they wouldn’t go out
These four drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.
Oh where are your feather hats,
Your mantles rich and fine
They all got swallowed up, me lads,
In tankards of good wine
And where are your maidenheads,
You maidens frisk and gay
We left them in the alehouse,
We drank them clean away
Nigel Rolfe / Christy Moore  Â
G
A country artist making tiles
F
Whilst on a grave slab sleeps a son
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 F
Wet clay dug from the earth, wet stones covering the ground
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 Â F
Earth that buried another woman died, dead and gone
GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â F
Left a torn lonely boy trying to reconfirm
GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â F
Trying to reconnect
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
Trying to know himself and to contact the country
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
Trying to know himself and to contact the country
GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â F
Whilst the artist celebrates
GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â F
Connects and confirms
GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â F
Contacts the country
GÂ Â Â Â F
Knows herself
GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â C
Tiles and slabs
CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
Woman and son
C
Take away
G
Take a gun
GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â C7
Blow away the blow-in
C7
The blow-in
GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â F
Kill the mother, kill the child in yourself
G
Kill the pain
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 Â Â Â Â Â F
Kill the father and the son and the holy ghost
G
Kill the pain
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 FÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
Violence from an inner rage buried in the country
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 FÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
Violence from an inner rage buried in the country
Ewan McColl
Tim Evans was a prisoner down in his prison cell
And those who read about his crime condemned his soul to hell
Go down you murderers go down
For the killing of his own dear wife and murder of his child
The jury found him guilty and the hanging judge he smiled
Tim Evans walked around the yard and the screws they walked behind
He saw the sky above the wall but he knew no peace of mind
The screws they came to his cell and they hammered on his door
Get up you dirty murderer the screws at him did roar
The governor came to his cell with the chaplain by his side
Saying your appeal has been turned down prepare yourself to die
They took Tim Evans to the place where the hangman did prepare
They tied the rope around his neck with the knot behind his ear
A thousand lags were screaming and banging on their doors
Tim Evans didn’t hear them he was dead forever more
They sent Tim Evans to the drop for a crime he did not do
Dr. Christie was the murderer, the judge and jury too.
Christy Moore/Donal Lunny
The time has come to part, my love,
I must go away
I leave you now, my darling girl,
No longer can I stay.
My heart like yours is breaking
Together we’ll prove strong
The road I take will show the world
The suffering that goes on.
The gentle clasp that holds my hand
Must loosen and let go
Please help me through the door
Though instinct tells you no.
Our vow it is eternal
And will bring you dreadful pain
But if our demands aren’t recognised
Don’t call me back again.
How their sorrow touched us all
In those final days
When it was the time she held the door
And touched his sallow face.
The flame he lit by leaving
Is still burning strong
By the lights it’s plain to see
The suffering still goes on.
The time has come to part, my love
I must go away
I leave you now, my darling girl,
No longer can I stay.
Traditional   Â
Oh, there’s been a woman in our town, a woman you ought know well
She dearly loved her husband and another man twice as well
CHORUS
With me right finnickineerio, me tip finnick a wall
With me right finnickineerio, We’re tipping it up to Nancy
She went down to the chemist shop some remedies for to buy,
Have you anything in your chemist shop to make me old man blind?
“Give him eggs and marrowbones and make him suck them all,
Before he has the last one sucked, he won’t see you at all.”
She gave him eggs and marrowbones and made him suck them all,
Before he had the last one sucked, he couldn’t see her at all.
If in this world I cannot see, here I cannot stay.
I’d drown myself; “Come on,” says she, “and I’ll show you the way”
She led him to the river, she led him to the brim
But sly enough of Martin, it was him that shoved her in.
She swam through the river, she swam through the brine
“Oh Martin, dear Martin. Don’t leave me behind.”
“Oh Martin, dear Martin. Don’t leave me behind.”
“Yerra shut up outa that ye silly aul fool, ye know poor Martin is blind”
There’s nine in me family and none of them is my own,
I wish that each and every man would come and claim his own.
Joe Dolan
I’m a stranger here from Ireland shore
I’ve been on the road six months or more
Hiking, working, travelling in style
I’m a vagabond from Eireann’s Isle
Sunburnt thumb stuck up in the air
Many’s the lift from here to there
I’m cars buses vans and trains
In the punishing heat and the snow and the rain
Whack fol de diddle fol de diro de
Whack fol de diddle fol de dayro
Oh Mrs Dolan
Your son he isn’t working
Came from Dublin to Jerusalem town
Had a drink or two on the journey down
At a railway station called Gare Du Nord
I missed my train through gargling hard
Three days later in Napoli
On a Turkish boat I sailed to sea
Slept in a hot hole down below
Travelling tourist class you know
It was in the Gulf of Aqaba
I met some Paddies and we had a fleadh
Danced through the streets of Eilat town
Sang Sean South Of Garryowen
I was travelling I don’t know
You pack your gear get up and go
Leave the rest for another bout
I could damn well do with a Pint of Stout
Gail Collins and Felix Pappalardi
Two island swans, mated for life,
And his faithful heart would not consider any other wife.
For three years peaceful joy midst the rushes of the pond,
Proud and gentle was the loving of the last two island swans.
Their love was like a circle, no beginning and no end,
With his lady by his side a treasure and best friend.
The pond was all so peaceful in the rising of the sun,
Young and free at the island breeze their life had just begun.
‘Til a dread day in November when the searing cold did start,
Stalked the hunter with his bow and put an arrow through her heart.
Husband come to my side let your feathers warm my pain,
For I feel I will not spend another day with you again.
And the cold winds blow,
He was brave but he’s laid low.
By her body in the isle of mist,
I saw him give her one last cold kiss, one last cold kiss.
Of swans the people talk of only one in this days tide,
Through they brought him twenty ladies he would take no other bride.
They say he will not move from the place where she did fall,
Once so proud he’s beaten now and he will not rise at all.
Christy Moore
where John Hinde paints in Carribbean colours
Tyrone Boys dream of lovin on the strand
flowers heaped in gesture on the courthouse steps in Tralee
as the law trampled on Joanne’s hand
Roman posters on the wall of Rathmore graveyard
No Divorce is all they say
I saw a little sister of mercy
invoke the wrath of god on polling day
When the pope came here to meet his people
he knelt and kissed the holy ground
diverted from the Gloucester Diamond
where good people had built a holy shrine
high above the clouds a promised heaven
on the street a confused and homeless child
while men in black declare social order
frightened women sail to the other side
Far away from The Island where Tyrone Boys dream of lovin on the strand
far away from the Island where the law trambles on Joanna’s hand
Thatcher sent young squaddies o’er the water
Geordie dont be afraid to die
in blackened face he dreams of his darlin bairns and hinny
on the watchtower overlooking Aughnacloy
In Long Kesh young Ulstermen are dreaming
of making love upon the strand some day
on the downtown news comes a mid-Atlantic accent
Karen Livingstone has been blown away.
AÂ body slips quietly through the rushes
Mountcharles surveys the battlefield
the silk clad pompadour who played sun city
hears little of the corpse amongst the reeds
the mist comes swirling off the mountain
the children have forgotten how to play
death train sneaks across the island
deadly poisen bound for Killala Bay
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
back home theres cricket in Cloughjordan
the gentle clack of croquet on the lawn
our children shackled by illegal status
hold their heads down behind the Brooklyn wall
Peter Cadle
From the health centre porch she looks to the North
Where Nicaragua’s enemies hide
Polio crippled and maimed before things were changed
Slowly they’re turning the tide
In the twilight she stands, with a rifle in hand
And a memory of what used to be
Now she’s part of the unfinished revolution
Feudal landlords they’ve known seen overthrown
Afghanistan comes into view
Learning to read and to write is part of the fight
But for her it’s something that’s new
Down all of the years ashamed of her tears
Imprisoned behind a black veil
Now she’s part of the unfinished revolution
Soldiers kicked down the door, called her a whore
While he lingered in Castlereagh
Internment tore them apart, brought her to the heart
of resistance in Belfast today
Her struggle is long, it’s hard to be strong
She’s determined deep down inside
To be part of the unfinished revolution.
She holds the key to the unfinished revolution.
From Frank Lunny Junior
Cold blows the wind o’er my true love’s grave
Soft fall the drops of rain
I never had but the one true love
In the cold clay she lies slain
I’ll do as much for my true love
As any young man may
And I will lie upon her grave
For twelve months and a day
The twelve months and a day being o’er
A voice came from the deep
Saying who is that who sits upon my grave
And disturbs me from my sleep
‘Tis me ‘Tis me your ever true love
Who sits upon your grave
All I seek is a kiss from your cold lips
One kiss is all I crave
You crave one kiss from my cold lips
But my breath is earthly strong
Take one kiss from my cold clay lips
And your life will not be long
Go sit in yonder garden green
Where once we used to walk
The sweetest flower that ever grew
Has withered to a stalk
The stalk it withered decayed and died
So must our love decay
You must seek contentment my love
Till death takes you away
From Mike Waterson
Me and three more went out one night into Squire Noble’s park
We were hoping we might catch some game the night been proven dark
It being out sad misfortune they captured us with speed
And brought us down to Warwick Gaol did cause our hearts to bleed
Young men all be aware lest you be drawn into a snare
Young men all be aware lest you be drawn into a snare
It was about the fifth of March me boys at the court we did appear
Like Job we stood with patience our sentence to hear
Without jury bail nor witness our case it did go hard
Our sentence was for fourteen years straight away being sent on board
The ship that bore us from the land the Speedwell was her name
For full five months and upwards we ploughed the raging main
We saw no land nor harbour I tell you its no lie
All around us one black ocean, above us one blue sky
About the fifth of August tis then we made the land
At five o’clock next morning they tied us hand to hand
To see our fellow sufferance filled my heart with woe
For there’s some chained to the harrow and the others to the plough
To see our fellow sufferance it filled me with despair
For they’d leather smocks and lindsey shorts and their feet and hands were bare
They tied them up two by two like horses in a dray
And the driver he stood over them with his Malacca cane
There was a female prisoner, Rosanna was her name
For sixteen years a convict from Wolverhampton came
She often told her tale of love when she was young at home
But now it’s rattling of the chains in a foreign land to roam
Come all of you young poaching lads and a warning take from me
Mark you well the story that I tell and guard your destiny
Its all about transported lads as you may understand
And the hardships we did undergo going to Van Dieman’s Land
Christy Moore
In the broad daylight of a Summer’s day,
On the Cork to Dublin motorway.
Suddenly the singing birds,
Were startled in their song.
In the quiet of that moment,
Our world went out of kilter.
In that split second,
Veronica was gone.
But you will never silence her,
Your story will be written,
Her spirit won’t rest easy,
Until her job is done.
With fists and boots you broke her bones,
You gunned her down at home,
But as soon as she was able,
She faced you once again.
You who made the phone call,
And you who took the message down,
You who hired the hit men,
And you who hatched the plan,
You who drew the money down,
And you who paid it over,
You who remain silent,
You are guilty, every one.
CHORUS
Veronica, Veronica, Veronica, warrior woman,
Veronica, Veronica, Veronica, I offer you this song.
Arlo Guthrie/A. Mitchell
Victor Jara of Chile lived like a shooting star
He fought for the people of Chile with his songs and his guitar
His hands were gentle and his hands were strong
Victor Jara was a peasant boy barely six years old
He sat upon his father’s plough and watched the earth unfold
When the neighbours had a wedding or one of their children died
His mother sang all night to them with Victor by her side
He grew up to be a fighter stood against what was wrong
He learned of peoples grief and joy and turned it into song
He sang for the copper miners and those who farmed the land
He sang for the factory workers who knew Victor was their man
He campaigned for Allende canvassed night and day
Singing take hold of your brother’s hand the future starts today
When Pinochet seized Chile they arrested Victor then –
They caged him in the stadium with 5000 frightened men
Victor picked up his guitar his voice resounded strong
And he sang for his comrades till the guards cut short his song
They broke the bones in both his hands and beat him on the head
Tortured him with electric wires then they shot him dead
Victor Jara of Chile lived like a shooting star
He fought for the people of Chile with his songs and his guitar
His hands were gentle and his hands were strong
Christy Moore       Â
CÂ 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 C
Ten years before I saw the light of morning
CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â F
A comradeship of heroes was laid
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 Â Â Â Â G
From every corner of the world came sailing
GÂ Â Â Â FÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â C
The Fifth International Brigade
They came to stand beside the Spanish people
To try and stem the rising fascist tide
Franco’s allies were the powerful and wealthy
Frank Ryan’s men came from the other side
Even the olives were bleeding
As the battle for Madrid it thundered on
Truth and love against the force of evil
Brotherhood against the fascist clan
CHORUS
CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â F
Viva la Quinta Brigada
FÂ 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 C
“No Pasaran”, the pledge that made them fight
CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â C/BÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Am
“Adelante” is the cry around the hillside
FÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â C
Let us all remember them tonight
Bob Hilliard was a Church of Ireland pastor
Form Killarney across the Pyrenees he came
From Derry came a brave young Christian Brother
Side by side they fought and died in Spain
Tommy Woods age seventeen died in Cordoba
With Na Fianna he learned to hold his gun
From Dublin to the Villa del Rio
Where he fought and died beneath the blazing sun
CHORUS
Many Irishmen heard the call of Franco
Joined Hitler and Mussolini too
Propaganda from the pulpit and newspapers
Helped O’Duffy to enlist his crew
The word came from Maynooth, “support the Nazis”
The men of cloth failed again
When the Bishops blessed the Blueshirts in Dun Laoghaire
As they sailed beneath the swastika to Spain
CHORUS
This song is a tribute to Frank Ryan
Kit Conway and Dinny Coady too
Peter Daly, Charlie Regan and Hugh Bonar
Though many died I can but name a few
Danny Boyle, Blaser-Brown and Charlie Donnelly
Liam Tumilson and Jim Straney from the Falls
Jack Nalty, Tommy Patton and Frank Conroy
Jim Foley, Tony Fox and Dick O’Neill
CHORUS
Johnny Duhan
GÂ Â Â Â Â DÂ Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
I am a sailor,you’re my first mate
DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â D
We signed on together, we coupled our fate
CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
Hauled up our anchor, determined not to fail
DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
For the hearts treasure together we set sail.
GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
With no maps to guide us we steered our own course
DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â D
Rode out the storms when the winds were gale force
CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
Sat out the doldrums in patience and hope
DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
Working together we learned how to cope.
CHORUS
Bm        C        Bm       C
Life is an ocean and love is a boat
Am        C        D
In troubled water that keeps us afloat
C          D               Bm         C
When we started the voyage,there was just me and you
Am       D   G
Now gathered round us we have our own crew.
GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
Together we’re in this relationship
DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â D
We built it with care to last the whole trip
CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
Our true destination’s not marked on any charts
DÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
We’re navigating to the shores of the heart.
CHORUSx2
Barry Moore
A daffodil is born and rises in the spring
It opens out its beauty to hear the cricket sing
But as quick as it does grow it decays away so soon
Before the summer sunshine has reached its golden noon
A stream it does rise in the mountains so tall
It swells into a river as gently it does fall
It meanders to country through city and through town
And in the boundless ocean the river it is drowned
On the seas the winds do rage and the waves grow so high
As they turn into white horses leaping towards the sky
But soon the waves grow gentle no longer do they roar
As they make their lonesome passageway up to the pebble shore
If I were like a daffodil so fair upon the ground
Or like a gentle river with its sweet and mellow sound
Like a wave up to the shore like a river into the sea
I’d lay down in my resting place contented I would be
Christy Moore
How’s it going there everybody?
You’re very welcome to this evening’s cabaret
I want to thank you for the trouble you’re after taking
To come and hear me play
I know the effort that you make and all the trouble that you have to take
When you decide you’re gonna go and see a show
Your wife says Oh not Christy Moore, we’ve seen him loads of times before
And we’re going to miss Gay Byrne on the Late Late Show
Well there’s people here upon my word from every corner of the world
Portarlington Portlaoise and Tullamore
From Two Mile House and Poulaphouca
From Blacktrench Cutbush and Boolea
Such a crowd I’ve never seen before
Well you are welcome welcome everyone
Special branch you’re on the run
Fine Gael, Fianna Fail or Sinn Fein
When the elections are all over
We’ll all be pushing up clover
And everyone in the graveyard votes the same
My belly thought my throat was cut
And all the restaurants were shut as I was driving out through Kinnegad
So I drove on to Mother Hubbard’s where I saw a swarm of truckers
And I said to myself this place doesn’t look too bad
In came a 40ft lorry leaking lines of slurry
And the king of the road jumped down and he said to me
Hey John, don’t I know your face
Are you Paddy Reilly or Brendan Grace?
Are you Mary Black or Freddy White says he
Wait til I tell you what happened to me today
I was coming up the dual carriageway
Half a mile the far side on Naas
The Irish Army, they were all over the place
So I pulled in and rolled my window down
The saighdiuiri they surrounded my car I thought it was the third world war
Some of the boys were throwin Shi’ite shapes
I said brigadier general what appears to be the trouble
He said “Don’t forget your shovel”
Have you any auld autographs or tapes?
I do.. what about the leb?
Traditonal With New Words By Christy Moore
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
A gentleman was passing by
And he asked for a drink as he was dry
At the well below the valley-o
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
My cup is full up to the brim
And if I were to stoop I might fall in
At the well below the valley-o
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
If your true love was passing by
You’d fill him a drink if he was dry
At the well below the valley-o
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
She swore by grass, she swore by corn
Her true love had never been born
At the well below the valley-o
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
He said to her you’re swearing wrong
Six fine children you’ve had born
At the well below the valley-o
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
If you be a man of noble fame
You’ll tell to me the father of them
At the well below the valley-o
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
There’s one of them by your brother John
At the well below the valley-o
One of them by your Uncle Don
At the well below the valley-o
Two of them by your father dear
At the well below the valley-o
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
If you be a man of noble fame
You’ll tell to me what did happen to them
At the well below the valley-o
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
There’s one of them buried beneath the tree
At the well below the valley-o
Another two buried beneath the stone
At the well below the valley-o
Two of them outside the graveyard wall
At the well below the valley-o
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
If you be a man of noble fame
You’ll tell to me what will happen myself
At the well below the valley-o
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
You’ll be seven years a-ringing a bell
At the well below the valley-o
And seven years a-burning in hell
At the well below the valley-o
I’ll be seven years a-ringing a bell
But the Lord above may save my soul
From burning in hell at the well below the valley-o
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
Green grows the lily-o
Right among the bushes-o
Christy Moore
One day as I was walking past the bridge in Dolphin’s Barn
By the old canal I saw some children round a car
In the back they were shooting up smack
I had a bird’s eye view
When I called for help
Told me there’s nothing we can do.
Both sides of the river clearly to be seen
Down along O’Connell Street and up to Stephen’s Green
Heroin sold openly there was no need to hide
The drug squad were outnumbered
It seemed like their hands were tied.
John Whacker Humphries is a family man
Him and his wife, they give their children everything they can
Faced with the scourge of heroin, they’d not accept defeat
They joined concerned parents
To put the dealers off the street.
They called on dealers houses and ordered them to quit
Time and time again they warned, we’ve had enough of it
Dirty needles in our doorways
Junkies hanging all about
Keep on dealing heroin and you’re going to be moved out.
From St. Theresa’s gardens to the flats in Ballymun
Concerned parents action had the dealers on the run
They swore they’d stand together until the drugs were stopped
And I will never understand why they got their knuckles rapped.
They were rounded up and charged
With crimes against the state
Brought before the Green Street court to decide their fate
Denied a trial by jury and there was no bail
The concerned parents were taken off to jail.
Sitting in the gallery among family, friends and wives
I strained to hear who told the truth and who was telling lies
Dealers, junkies and police on the prosecution side
I swear to God that’s what I saw before my very eyes.
Whacker Humphries took the dealers on
And he fought them tooth and nail
A squad of well armed soldiers brought him to the portlaoise jail
He tried to protect his children, found guilty of a crime
One man gets a pension, another man gets time.
This morning I went walking out by Dolphin’s Barn
I heard a small bird whisper; mind you don’t come to any harm.
Trad. with new words & music by C. Moore
What put the blood on your right shoulder? Son, come tell it unto me
That is the blood of a hare mama You may pardon me
The blood of a hare never ran so red, Son come tell it unto me
That is the blood of my youngest brother, You may pardon me
What came between you and your youngest brother? Son come tell it unto me
It was all from the cutting of a hazel rod – That never will grow into a tree
What will you do when your Daddy finds out? Son come tell it unto me
I will leave my foot down on a shipboard and sail far across the sea
What will you do with your darling wife? Son come tell it unto me
She will leave her foot down on a shipboard and sail right after me
What will you do with your two fine children? Son come tell it unto me
Ill give one to my mammy and the other to my daddy to keep them company
What will you do with your house and your land? Son come tell it unto me
I will leave them there for the birds of the air to mourn and sing for me
From The Clancy Brothers
As I was going over the Cork and Kerry mountain
I met with Colonel Packenham and his money he was counting
I first produced my pistol then produced my rapier
Saying stand and deliver for I am a bold deceiver
Musha ring dum a doo dum da
Whack fol de daddy o
Whack fol de daddy o
There’s whiskey in the jar
He counted out his money and it made a pretty penny
I put it in my pocket and I brought it home to Jenny
She sighed and she swore she never would deceive me
But the devil take that woman for she never could lie easy
I went up to my chamber all for to take a slumber
I dreamt of gold and silver and sure it was no wonder
But Jenny drew me pistols and filled them up with water
And sent for Captain Farrell to be ready for the slaughter
Early the next morning before I rose to travel
On came the special horsemen and likewise Captain Farrell
I first produced my pistol and then produced my rapier
But I couldn’t shoot the water so a prisoner I was taken
If ever you go hunting in the morning bright and early
Through the hills of Dublin or the mountains of Tipperary
Keep one hand on your pistol and the other on your money
And keep your eyes well peeled for that darling sporting Jenny
Author Unknown Oh whiskey you’re the Devil, you’re leading me astray
Over hill and mountains and to Amerikay
You’re sweeter, stronger, dacenter, you’re spunkier then tay
Oh whiskey you’re me darling, drunk or sober
Well now me boys we’re on for marching
Off to Portugal or Spain
The Drums are beating, banners flying
The devil a home we’ll come tonight
Love fare thee well
With me skiddery eye dill do dill dump ee da
With me skiddery eye dill do dill dump ee da
Me right fol tooraladdy oh
There’s whiskey in the jar
The French are fighting boldly
Men are dying hot and coldly
Give every man a flask of powder
His firelock on his shoulder
Says the mother do not wrong me
Don’t take my daughter from me
For if you do I will torment you
And after death my death will haunt you
As I walked past Portlaoise Prison
“I’m innocent”, a voice was heard to say
“My frame-up is almost completed.
My people all look the other way.”
Seven years ago his torture started
A forced confession he was made to sign.
Young Irish men specially trained and chosen
Were on the heavy gang that made him run the line.
Others in the Bridewell heard him screaming
Even prison doctors could see
His injuries were not self-inflicted
Those who tipped the scales did not agree.
CHORUS
Give the Wicklow Boy his freedom
Give him back his liberty
Ore are we going to leave him in chains
While those who framed him up hold the key?
Deprived of human rights by his own people
Sickened by injustice he jumped bail,
In the Appalachian Mountains found a welcome
Till his co-accused were both released from jail.
He came back expecting to get justice
Special Branch took him from the plane
For five years we’ve deprived him of his freedom
The guilty jeer the innocent again.
CHORUS
The people versus Kelly was the title
Of the farce we staged at his appeal.
Puppets in well rehearsed collusion,
I often wonder how these men must feel.
As I walked past Portlaoise Prison
Through concrete and steel a whisper came
“My frame-up is almost completed.
I’m innocent, Nicky Kelly is my name.”
CHORUS
m.hanly/j.moynihan/c.moore
I see a dark cloud rising outside Wexford town,
I see a hard rain on Ireland pouring down.
There’ll be no time to shelter. Let’s all make a stand.
O’Malley’s* plan we’ll have to ban or he’ll destroy the land.
CHORUS
It’s the workers are being used again,
The workers are being used again.
They want four nuclear stations, and who knows how many more?
If we are to stop them, we must defend Carnsore.
So men and women of Ireland, it’s time to show your hand.
The lessons of France and the USA must make us understand.
CHORUS
Two thousand jobs are promised, believe that if you can.
O’Malley’s boys with all their ploys, they canvassed around the land,
In Carnsore, Easkey or Kilrush the ESB would build –
Should one go wrong, despite their talk, thousands could be killed.
CHORUS
We never see their faces, these multi-national czars.
Our lands they rape from cape to cape, our seas they fill with tars.
The Westinghouse industrialist confessed to bribery,
I wonder if our leaders from corruption will be free.
CHORUS
It was in 1968 Jack Lynch went back to Cork,
To open Whiddy Island where a handful of men got work.
The multi-national oil tycoons, they all turned out in style,
Ten years later fifty French lay slaughtered in the oil.
CHORUS
And when it comes to dumping waste, here’s what they plan to do.
They’ll bury it in South Armagh and down in Wicklow too,
A nuclear waste triangle right at your front door
With poison manufactured at Windscale and Carnsore.
CHORUS
They’ve tested round the valleys where the Finn goes sparkling down
To join the Shrule at bonny Lifford town,
But if there’s radioactive waste where the stream goes running by
As down the Foyle the waters boil, you’ll know the reason why.
CHORUS
So gather round you people, the fight has just begun,
We fought before, we know the score, this fight must be won.
Remember we’ve the sun up there, waiting for to turn
The wind, the tide, the ocean wide, there’s energy to burn.
CHORUS
(* – Dessie O’ Malley was the then Minister for Energy in Ireland)
its all a bit vague by now. I joined the anti-nuclear movement in the late 70s.The first action was a festival in Carnsore which was very successful in that it brought the nuclear issue on to the front page.Out of that grew the anti-nuclear roadshow and this is my first memory of this song. Mick Hanly wrote the original and I recall further writing on the bus by johnny moynihan and I.This was an exciting and formative time for many people. We discovered the power that exists when people come together, with determination, to try and effect change.This collective, though relatively short lived, sowed seeds that are still growing 30 years on in many different areas of Irish society. Many of us are still on the bus.
This song was performed on the “Nuclear Late late show” and is (I think) on the Anti-Nuclear 12″ single.The band was The Early Grave Band and featured myself, Donal Lunny, Johnny Moynihan,JimmyFaulkner and Declan McNelis.Also on the show were Freddie White,Susie Kennedy,Jack Lynch,Matt Kelleghan,Mr Clarke, Frank the Yank,Louise,Marie Creed,Fergus Cronin and others whom I will recall asap
Christy Moore\Wally Page
I met a wise and holy woman near the town where I was walkin’
We both sat together down below the Yellow Furze
She closed her eyes and started singing
A song about the light that shines and the wonders of the world
She sang of the forests on the high high mountain
The pure clear water and the fresh air we breathe
Of the bounty we gain from natures abundance
And how the mighty oak tree grows from a little seed
Chorus:
She had an everlasting notion
The wise and holy woman had a neverending dream
As she called out to the stars glistening on the ocean
Shine a light , shine a light on me
She sang a song from the streets of Sao Paolo
For the homeless street children who never learned to smile
She sang of the shrine they built to Chico Mendez
Where the plantation workers laid his body in the soil
She sang of the greed we display before our altars
The oil soaked cormorant drowning in the tide
She sang of the halting site way out beyond Clondalkin
Where Ann Maughan froze to death between the dump and the railway line
Chorus
(outro verse same shape and melody as chorus)
She sang of the eagle flying high above the mountain
The otter that swam through rivers and streams
Of the lilies that bloomed and the countless wild flowers
and the rainbow that rose in the valley of tears.
more info
My mother’s name was Nancy Power. She grew up in Ardmulchan, near Yellow Furze, which is on the southern bank of the Boyne on the low road from Navan to Beauparc (Where Mountcharles surveyed the battlefield). Her father was Jack Power from Hayestown, her mother Ellie Sheeran from The Cotton Mills. Nancy sang all her life. Old songs at first, then Hymns,light Opera, musicals, parlour songs, popular songs and traditional ballads in English and Irish. When she sang in the church on Sundays she had an enormous and beautiful deep soprano voice which emerged miraculously from deep within her diaphram. When she sang parlour and pop songs at the piano her Meath accent would peep out, when she sang the old songs, Eamon an Cnoic, Sean O’Duibhir an Gleanna or The Three Flowers it would be in a small quiet lonesome voice that often stilled my night. Writing these few words here in Belfast this morning, my tears are tears of joy for her memory and sadness for her passing. I feel no mourning for she remains a constant presence in my life and we all still cherish her. I wrote this song for Nancy Power.
CHORDS
Dm……..Am…
Dm……..Am…
Dm……..Am…
Dm C DmC G Am
Dm…….Am…
Dm…….Am
Dm………Am
Dm C Dm C G Am
chorus ( and outro verse)
F…G..C…
F…C.G..
F…G..C…
F.C.FCG
Christy Moore and Wally Page
Christy Moore (after Pastor Niemuller – dedicated to the memory of Phyllis McGhee)
Am      F           Am
Black triangle, pink triangle
FÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Am
Green triangle, red triangle
FÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Am
Blue triangle, lilac triangle
FÂ GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Am
And they wore the yellow triangle
CÂ 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 Am
When first they came for the criminals I did not speak
FÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
Then they began to take the Jews
FÂ 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 Â Â Â Â GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Am
When they fetched the people who were members of trade unions
F-GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Am
I did not speak
CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â G
When they took the Bible students, rounded up the homosexuals
FÂ 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 Am
Then they gathered up the immigrants and the gypsies
Am
I did not speak, I did not speak
FÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â CÂ Â Â Â Â Â E7Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â FÂ Â Â Â Â GÂ Â Â Â Â Â Am
Eventually they came for me and there was no one left to speak
CHORUS
The Rolling Wave is presented by Peter Browne, RTE Radio 1 on Sunday evenings. Next Sunday (13th May) Peter will feature excerpts from a concert I played in Feothannach on 18th February last. I recall it as being a special night down on the Dingle Peninsula and I was honoured by Brendan Begley’s invitation to participate.
PROTECT DUBLIN BAY – NO OIL RIGS ON OUR COAST!
Tony O’Reilly’s Providence Resources wants to drill for oil in Dublin Bay, just 6km off the Coast of Dalkey Island. Providence Resources have applied for a foreshore licence to the Minister for the Environment, Phil Hogan, who will decide on this, in the coming weeks or months.
If Providence Resources get a licence it will mean oil rigs in Dublin Bay for the next five or six years and if they do find oil or gas, it will mean the full industrialisation of our bay for the coming decades.
There will be a public meeting about this in the Kozie II Pub, 73 upper Georges St. Dun Laoghaire Co. Dublin on Tuesday 8th May at 6.30 pm. All are welcome.
For more information see www.richardboydbarret.ie or Save Our Seafront on Facebook.