Patrick Galvin ( Poet of Cork)
Where oh where is our James Connolly ?
Where oh where is that gallant man ?
He is gone to organise the union
That working men they may yet be free.
Oh who then who will lead the van ?
Oh who then who will lead the van ?
Who but our James Connolly
The hero of the working man.
Who will carry high the burning flag ?
Who will carry high the burning flag ?
Who but our James Connolly
Could carry high the burning flag.
They carried him up to the jail
They carried him up to the jail
And they shot him down on a bright May morning
And quickly laid him in his grave.
Who mourns the death of this great man ?
Who mourns the death of this great man ?
Oh bury me down in yon green garden
With union men on every side.
So they buried him down in yon green garden
With union men on every side
They swore they would form a mighty union
That James Connolly’s name might be filled with pride.
Where oh where is our James Connolly ?
Where oh where is that gallant man ?
He is gone to organise the Union
That working men they may yet be free.
Jimmy MacCarthy
When I was young and I was in my day
I could steal what woman’s heart there was away
I’d sing and dance till morning blaze away until the dawning
Long before I was the man you see today
I was born beneath the star that promised all
I could have lived my life between Cork Cobh and Youghal
But the Wheel of Fortune took me from the highest point it shook me
By the bottle live by the bottle I will fall
But there in the mirror on the wall
I see the dream is fading
From the contender to the brawl
The Ring, The Rose, The Matador is raving
When I die I’ll die a drunk down on the street
You can count me out to 10 in clear defeat
Wrap the starry plough around me and let the piper’s air resound me
There I’ll rest until the Lord of Love I meet
Christy Moore
D A D
At the early age of thirty-eight Me mother said ‘Go West!’
D A D
‘Get up, ‘ says she. ‘and get a job’. Says I, ‘I’ll do my best’
G D Em A
I pulled on me Wellingtons to march to Kiltimagh
D A D
But I took a wrong turn in Charlestown and ended up in Knock
D A D
Oh once this quiet crossroads was a place of gentle prayer
D A D
Where Catholics got indulgent once or twice a year.
G D Em A
You could buy a pair of rosary beads or get your candles blessed
D A D
If you had a guilty conscience you could get it off your chest.
D A D
Then came the priest form Partry father Horan was his name
D A D
And since he’s been appointed Knock has never been the same.
G D Em A
‘Begod,’ says Jem, ’tis eighty years since Mary was adout.’
D A D
‘Tis time for another miracle.’ and he blew the candle out.
CHORUS
G D G D
From Fatima to Bethlehem, from Lourdes to Kiltimagh,
D A D
There’s never been a miracle like the airport up in Knock
To establish terra firma he draw up a ten year plan
And started running dances around 1961.
He built a fantabulous church, Go h-álainn, on the holy ground
And once he had a focal point he started to expand
Chip shops and Bed and Breakfasts sprung up over night.
Once a place for quiet retreats now a holy sight.
All sorts of fancy restaurants for every race and creed
Where black and white and yellow pilgrims all could get a feed
The stalls once under canvas became religious supermarts
With such a range o’ godly goods, they had top twenty charts.
While the airport opposition was destroyed by James’ trump card.
For centenary celebrations he got John Paul the twenty-third
CHORUS
‘We had the Blessed virgin here,’ Bold Jamesie did declare,
‘And Pope John Paul the twenty-third appeared just over there.’
‘Now do you mean to tell me’, he said in total shock,
‘That I am not entitled to an airport here in Knock.’
TD’s were lobbied and harassed with talk of promised votes
And people who’d been loyal for years now spoke of changing coats.
Eternal damnation was threatened on the flock
Who said it was abortive building airports up in Knock
Now everyone is happy the miracle is complete.
Father Horan’s got his runway, it’s eighteen thousand feet
All sorts of planes could land there, of that there’s little doubt,
handy for the George Bush to keep knock Gadaffi out.
Did NATO donate, me boys, did NATO donate the dough?
Did NATO donate, me Girls, did NATO donate the dough?
Did NATO donate the dough, the dough, did NATO donate the dough?
Eighteen thousand feet of runway is an awful long way to go.
Author Unknown
In Mountjoy jail one Monday morning high upon the gallows tree
Kevin Barry gave his young life for the cause of liberty
Just a lad of eighteen summers yet there’s no-one can deny
As he walked to death that morning he proudly held his head on high
Just before he faced the hangman in his dreary prison cell
British soldiers tortured Barry because he would not tell
The names of his brave comrades and other things they wished to know
Turn informer or we’ll kill you Kevin Barry answered no
Calmly standing to attention as he bade his last farewell
To his broken hearted mother whose sad grief no-one can tell
For the cause he proudly cherished this sad parting had to be
Then to the death went proudly smiling that his country might be free
Another martyr for old Ireland another murder for the crown
Whose cruel laws may crush the Irish but can’t keep their spirit down
Lads like Barry are not cowards from their foes they will not fly
Lads like Barry will free Ireland for her cause they’ll fight and die
Trad.Planxty/Andy Irvine
Here’s a health to you, bonny Kellswater
Where you’ll get all the pleasures of life,
Where you’ll get all the fishing and fowling,
And a bonny wee lass for your wife.
Oh, it’s down where yon waters run muddy,
I’m afraid they will never run clear.
And it’s when I dig in for to study,
My mind is on them that’s not here.
It’s this one and that one they court him,
but if anyone gets him but me,
It’s early and late I will curse them
That parted lovely Willie from me.
Oh, a father he calls on his daughter,
Two choices I’ll give unto thee.
Would you rather see Willie’s ship a-sailing,
Or see him hung like a dog from yon tree?
Oh, Father, dear Father, I love him.
I can no longer hide it from thee.
Through an acre of fire I would travel
Alone with lovely Willie to be.
Oh, hard was the heart that confined her,
And took from her her heart’s delight.
May the chains of old Ireland bind around them,
And soft be their pillows at night.
Oh, yonder’s a ship on the ocean
And she does not know which way to steer.
From the east to the west she’s a-going.
She reminds me of the charms of my dear.
Oh, it’s yonder my Willie will be coming,
He said he’d be here in the spring,
And it’s down by yon green shades I’ll meet him,
And among yon wild roses we’ll sing.
For a gold ring he placed on my finger,
Saying “Love, bear this in your mind,
If ever I sail from Old Ireland,
You’ll mind I’ll not leave you behind.”
Farewell to you, bonny Kellswater
Where you’ll get all the pleasures of life,
Where you’ll get all the fishing and fowling,
And a bonny wee lass for your wife.
Mick O’Keeffe
The years have passed the time has flown since I first saw you there
With feet apart to the music moved your head of curly hair
The spotlight shone in colours bright reflecting on your face
The music notes soared sweet and clear, the spirit of your race
Your songs told tales of peace and joy, of sorrow and of love
The power and passion of your voice soared heavenly above
And from the inner soul there came emotion in each song
You stirred the hearts of many, Luke, when you sang of right and wrong
The humour of those laughing eyes was shared in full with all
You sang songs that filled the hearts that filled the music hall
The ecstasy and joy was felt in chorus clap and cheer
When that son of Éireann took the stage, the King of Balladeers
I saw you sing a hundred times, a thousand songs or more
I still can clearly hear your voice though your time with us is o’er
Fond memories are all we have when we think of you today
Your name we’ll always honour, Luke, we’re glad you passed this way.
Oh my lovely young one
I’m left standing at your wake
My eyes are searching but I can find no trace
Of your final footsteps as you walked out the door
Leaving Tir na nOg for Tir na nOiche
Oh my lovely young one
Oh my lovely young one
Gone from Tir na nOg to Tir na nOiche
Traditonal (From the singing of John Reilly)
There was a Lord who lived in this land
He being a Lord of high degree
He left his foot down on a ship’s board
And swore strange countries he would go find
He’s travelled east and he’s travelled west
Half the north and the south also
Until he arrived into Turkey Land
There he was taken and bound in prison
Until his life it grew weary
Turkey bold had one only daughter
As fair a lady as the eye could see
She stole the key to her Dado’s harbour
And swore lord baker she would set free
Singing you have houses and you have linen
All North Humber belongs to thee
What would you give to the Kings good daughter
If out of prison she’d set you free
Singing I have houses and I have linen
And all North Humber belongs to me
I would will them all to the King of Turkey’s daughter
Of out of prison she’d set me free
She’s brought him down to her Dado’s harbour
And filled for him was the ship of fame
And every toast that she did drink round him
I wish Lord Baker that you were mine
They made a vow for seven years
And for seven more to keep it strong
Saying if you don’t wed with no other woman
I’m sure I’ll wed with no other man
And seven years been passed and over
And seven more they were rolling on
She’s bundled up all her gold and clothing
And swore Lord Baker she would go find
She’s travelled east and she’s travelled west
Until she came to the palace of fame
Who is that? Who is that? Called the young foot soldier
Who knocks so gently and can’t get in
Is this Lord Baker’s palace replied the Lady
Or is his Lordship himself within
This is Lord Baker’s palace replied the soldier
This very day he took a new bride in
Well ask him send me a cut of his wedding cake
And a glass of his wine it being e’er so strong
And to remember the King’s young daughter
Who did release him in Turkey Land
In goes in goes the young foot soldier
And kneels down gently on his right knee
Rise up rise up my young foot soldier
What news what news have you got for me?
Singing I have news of a grand arrival
A fair a Lady as the eye could see
She is at the gate waiting for your charity
She wears a gold ring on every finger
And on the middle one where she wears three
She has more gold hung around her middle
Than would buy North Humber and family
She asks you send her a cut of your wedding cake
A glass of your wine it being e’er so strong
And to remember the King’s young daughter
Who did release you in Turkey Land
Down comes down comes the new bride’s Mother
What will I do with my daughter dear?
I own that your daughter she’s not been covered
Nor has she shown any love for me
Your daughter came with one pack of gold
I’ll avert her home now with thirty three
He took his sword all by the handle
And cut his wedding cake in pieces three
Singing here is one slice for the new bride’s Mother
A slice for my new love and one for me
And then Lord Baker ran to his darling
Of twenty one steps he made but three
He put his arms around Turkey’s daughter
And kissed his true love most tenderly
Trad / Arr: Christy Moore
As I was a-walking down by the Locke Hospital
Cold was the morning and dark was the day
I spied a young squaddie wrapped up in old linen
Wrapped up in old linen as cold as the day.
CHORUS
So play the drums slowly and play the fifes lowly
Sound a dead march as you carry him along
And over his coffin throw a bunch of white laurels
For he’s a young soldier cut down in his prime.
Oh mother, dear mother, come sit ye down by me
Sit ye down by me and pity my sad plight
For my body is injured and sadly disordered
All by a young girl me own heart’s delight.
Get six of me comrades to carry my coffin
Get six of me comrades to carry me on high
And let every one hold a bunch of white roses
So no-one will notice as we pass them by.
And over his headstone these words they were written
“All ye young fellows take warning from me.
Beware of the flash girls that roam through the city
For the girls of the city were the ruin of me.”
This is another one of those archetypal songs that appears in many guises again and again. The Furey Brothers and Davey Arthur had a major hit with a version of this song called”The Green Fields of France”
Christy says;
“There have been many British garrisons around the world through the years and each one has had its own Locke Hospital for soldiers who caught the dreaded disease. I believe this is a Dublin song, but if not its musical origins are certainly Irish.”
Traditonal With New Words By Christy Moore
It fell upon a holy day as many in the year
Musgrave to the church did go to see fine ladies there
some were dressed in velvet red and some in velvet grey
then in came Lord Barnards wife the fairest among them all
She cast an eye on Little Musgrave as bright as the Summer’s sun
said Musgrave unto himself this Lady’s heart I’ve won
I have loved you Little Musgrave full long and manys the day
and I have loved you Fair Lady and never a word did say
I have a bower in Bucklesfordberry its my heart’s delight
I’ll take you back there with me and lie in your arms all night
But standing by was a little footpage from the Lady’s coach he ran
although I am a lady’s page I am Lord Barnard’s man
My Lord Barnard shall hear of this whether I sink or swim
and every where the bridge was broken he’d enter the water and swim
My Lord Barnard my Lord Barnard you are a man of life
But Musgrave is at Bucklesfordberry asleep with your wedded wife
If this be true my little footpage, this thing that you tell me ]
all the gold in Bucklesfordberry I gladly will give to thee
But if this be a lie my little footpage this thing that you tell me
From the highest tree in Bucklesfordberry hanged you will be
go saddle me the black he said go saddle me the grey
sound you not your horns he said lest our coming you’d betray
but there was a man in Lord Barnard’s train who loved the Little Musgrave
he blew his horn both loud and shrill. Away Musgrave Away!
I think I hear the morning cock I think I hear the jay
I think I hear Lord Barnards men I wish I was away
Lie still lie still my Little Musgrave and hug me from the cold
’tis nothing but a sheperd lad a bringing his flock to fold
is not your hawk upon his perch your steed eats oats and hay
You a lady in your arms why would you go away
so he turned her round and kissed her twice and then they fell
when they awoke Lord barnard’s men were standing at their feet
how do you like my bed he said and how do you like my sheets
How do you like My fair Lady that lies in your arms asleep
Tis well I like your bed he said and full great it gives me pain
I’d gladly give a hundred pounds to be on yonder Plain
Rise up rise up Little Musgrave rise up and then put on
it’ll not be said in this country I slayed a naked man
Slowly slowly he got up and slowly he put on
Slowly down the stairs thinking he’d be slain
there are 2 swords down by my side full dear they cost my purse
you can have the best of them and i will have the worst
and the first sstroke Little Musgrave struck it hurt Lord Barnard sore
but the next stroke Lord Barnard struck Little Musgrave ne’er struck more
Then up spoke the lady fair from the bed whereon she lay
although youre dead my Little Musgrave still for you I’ll pray
How do you like his cheeks he said and how do you like his chin
how do you like his fair lady now theres no life within
Tis more I like his cheeks sshe cried and more I love his chin
its more I want his dead body then all your kith and kin
He’s taken out his long long sword to strike the mortal blow
through and through the Lady’s heart the cold steel it did go
A grave a grave kord Barnard cried to put these lovers in
with my Lady on the upper hand for she scame from better kin
For I’ve just killed the finest man that ever rode a steed
and I’ve just killed the finest lady that ever did a woman’s deed
It fell upon a holy day as manys in the year
Little Musgrave to the church did go to see fine Ladies there
its a long story, told often in other places. At my Granny Dowlings wake my dear grand Uncle Frank Dowling surprised at 20 past 3 in the morning when waking from a half dozen of stout slumber he burst into song and sang Little Musgrave before falling asleep again. It was the only time in his 83 yrs that he ever sang a song.
g.c.g.
gc.gcg
Anon
Hey, Little Mother, what’s in your bag?
Chocolates and sweets.
Hey, Mr. Postman, what’s in your bag?
A note from your beloved.
Hey, Mr. Tailor, what’s in your bag?
The finest wedding dress.
Hey, Mr. Harvester, what’s in your bag?
Solitude and death.
Author Unknown
One fine summer’s evening both gallant and gay
Twenty-four ladies went out on the quay
A regiment of soldiers soon passed them by
A drummer and one of them soon caught his eye
He went to his comrade and to him did say
Twenty-four ladies I saw yesterday
And one of them ladies has my heart won
And if she denies me I’m surely undone
Go to this lady and tell her your mind
Tell her she has wounded your poor heart inside
Tell her she has wounded your poor heart full sore
And if she denies you what can you do more
Early next morning the drummer arose
Dressed himself up in the finest of clothes
A watch in his pocket and a cane in his hand
Saluting the ladies he walked down the strand
He went up to her and he said pardon me
I’m the young drummer who caught your eye
Fine honoured lady you have my heart won
And if you deny me I’m surely undone
Get off little drummer what do you mean
I am the lord’s daughter from Ballykisteen
I’m the lords daughter I’m honoured you see
Get off outta that and stop makin so free
He put on his hat and he bade her farewell
Saying I’ll send my soul down to heaven or hell
With this pistol that hangs by my side
I’ll put an end to my dreary young life
Come back little drummer don’t take it so ill
I do not want to be guilty of sin
To be guilty of innocent blood for to spill
Come back little drummer I’m here at your will
We’ll hire a car and to Bansha we’ll go
There we’ll be married in spite of our foes
For what can be said when it’s over and done
But I fell in love with the roll of your drum
Author Unknown
I am a little beggarman and begging I have been
For three score or more down the little Isle of Green
I’m known from the Liffey way down to Killaloe
And the name that I go by is Auld Johnny Doo
Of all the trades a going sure beggin’ is the best
For when a man is tired he can sit down and rest
Beg for his supper when he’s nothing left to do
Except to slip around the corner with his auld rig-a-doo
I slept one night way down in Curraghbawn
‘Twas a wet damp night and I slept till the dawn
Holes in the roof and the rain was comin’ through
And the rats and the cats they were playin’ peek- a- boo
Who should I waken but the woman of the house
With her white spotted apron and her calico blouse
She began to frighten when I said how do you do
Don’t be afraid m’am, its only Johnny Doo
Over the road with me pack on me back
Over the road with me big heavy sack
Holes in me shoes and me toes peepin’ through
Sing skidderi dill doodle dam its only Johnny Doo
I must be going to bed its getting late at night
In goes the fire and out goes the light
Now you’ve heard the story of me aul’ rig-a-doo
Goodnight and God be with you sez aul Johnny Doo
Christy Moore
How’s it goin’ there everybody,
From Cork, New York, Dundalk, Gortahork and Glenamaddy.
Here we are in the County Clare
It’s a long, long way from here to there.
There’s the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher,
the Tulla and the Kilfenora,
Miko Russell, Doctor Bill,
Willy Clancy, Noel Hill.
Flutes and fiddles everywhere.
If it’s music you want,
You should go to Clare.
CHORUS
G C
Oh, Lisdoonvarna
G C
Lisdoon, Lisdoon, Lisdoon, Lisdoonvarna!
Everybody needs a break,
Climb a mountain or jump in a lake.
Some head off to exotic places,
Others go to the Galway Races.
Mattie goes to the South of France,
Jim to the dogs, Peter to the dance.
A cousin of mine goes potholing,
A cousin of heres loves Joe Dolan.
Summer comes around each year,
We go there and they come here.
Some jet off to … Frijiliana,
But I always go to Lisdoonvarna.
CHORUS
I always leave on a Thursday night,
With me tent and me groundsheet rolled up tight.
I like to hit Lisdoon,
In around Friday afternoon.
This gives me time to get me tent up and my gear together,
I don’t need to worry about the weather.
Ramble in for a pint of stout,
you’d never know who’d be hangin’ about!
There’s a Dutchman playing a mandolin,
And a German looking for Liam óg O’Floinn.
And there’s Adam, Bono and Garrett Fitzgerald,
Gettin’ their photos taken for the Sunday World.
Finbarr, Charlie and Jim Hand,
And they drinkin’ pints to bate the band.
( why would’nt they for Jasus sake are’nt they getting it for nothing)
CHORUS
The multitudes, they flocked in throngs
To hear the music and the songs.
Motorbikes and Hi-ace vans,
With bottles – barrels – flagons – cans.
Mighty craic. Loads of frolics,
Pioneers and alcoholics,
PLAC, SPUC and the FCA,
Free Nicky Kelly and the IRA.
Hairy chests and milk-white thighs,
Mickey dodgers in disguise.
Mc Graths, O’Briens, Pippins, Coxs,
Massage parlours in horse boxes.
There’s amhráns, bodhráns, amadáns,
Arab sheiks, Hindu Sikhs, Jesus freaks,
RTE are makin’ tapes, takin’ breaks and throwin’ shapes.
This is heaven, this is hell.
Who cares? Who can tell?
(Anyone for the last few Choc Ices, now?)
CHORUS
A 747 for Jackson Browne,
They had to build a special runway just to get him down.
Before the Chieftains could start to play,
Seven creamy pints came out on a tray.
Shergar was ridden by Lord Lucan,
Seán Cannon did the backstage cookin’.
Clannad were playin’ “Harry’s Game”,
Christy was singin’ “Nancy Spain”.
Mary O’Hara and Brush Shields,
Together singin’ “The Four Green Fields”.
Van the Man and Emmy Lou,
Moving Hearts and Planxty too!
CHORUS
Everybody needs a break,
Climb a mountain or jump in a lake.
Sean Doherty goes to the Rose of Tralee,
Oliver J. Flanagan goes swimming in the Holy Sea.
But I like the music and the open air,
So every Summer I go to Clare.
Coz Woodstock, Knock nor the Feast of Cana,
Can hold a match to Lisdoonvarna.
CHORUS
first performed in The Lawns, Belturbet the week before I was to go on before Rory Gallagher at the Lisdoonvarna festival in 1983.The original version was more chaotic and referred to a series of events that took place on the way down to West Clare.There was a break in to Portlaois prison to serenade friends,a savage feed at the old treaty stone diner in Limerick where a card school broke out and Dickie Rock went all in on a pair of threes.
Verse is: D G C G
Traditional I am a young fellow that’s easy and bold,
In Castletown conners I’m very well known.
In Newcastle West I spent many a note,
With Kitty and Judy and Mary.
My father rebuked me for being such a rake,
And spending my time in such frolicsome ways,
But I ne’er could forget the good nature of Jane,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
My parents had reared me to shake and to mow,
To plough and to harrow, to reap and to sow.
But my heart being airy to drop it so low,
I set out on high speculation.
On paper and parchment they taught me to write,
In Euclid and Grammar they opened my eyes,
And in Multiplication in truth I was bright,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
If I chance for to go to the town of Rathkeale,
The girls all round me do flock on the square.
Some give me a bottle and others sweet cakes,
To treat me unknown to their parents,
There is one from Askeaton and one from the Pike,
Another from Arda, my heart was beguiled,
Tho’ being from the mountains her stockings are white,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
To quarrel for riches I ne’er was inclined,
For the greatest of misers must leave them behind.
I’ll purchase a cow that will never run dry,
And I’ll milk her by twisting her horn.
John Damer of Shronel had plenty of gold,
And Devonshire’s treasure is twenty times more,
But he’s laid on his back among nettles and stones,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
This cow can be milked without clover or grass,
For she’s pampered with corn, good barley and hops.
She’s warm and stout, and she’s free in her paps,
And she’ll milk without spancil or halter.
The man that will drink it will cock his caubeen,
And if anyone coughs there’ll be wigs on the green,
And the feeble old hag will get supple and free,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
If I chance for to go to the market at Croom,
With a cock in my hand and my pipes in full tune,
I am welcome at once and brought up to a room,
Where Bacchus is sporting with Venus.
There’s Peggy and Jane from the town of Bruree,
And Biddy from Bruff and we all on the spraoí,
Such a combing of locks as there was about me,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
There’s some say I’m foolish and more say I’m wise,
But being fond of the women I think is no crime,
For the son of King David had ten hundred wives,
And his wisdom was highly recorded.
I’ll take a good garden and live at my ease,
And each woman and child can partake of the same,
If there’s war in the cabin, themselves they may blame,
Agus fágaimíd siúd mar atá sé.
And now for the future I mean to be wise,
And I’ll send for the women that acted so king,
And I’ll marry them all on the morrow by and by,
If the clergy agree to the bargain.
And when I’m on my back and my soul is at peace,
These women will crowd for to cry at my wake,
And their sons and their dauhgters will offer their prayer,
To the Lord for the soul of their father.
Joe Mulhearn
As I was climbing into bed,
At my poor granny’s side,
I looked out the window,
The Brits had arrived.
The house was surrounded,
They smashed the front door in.
They’ve come to take away,
The lid of me granny’s bin.
Well she opened up her window,
And she clambered down the spout,
Soon her bin was rattling,
To call her neighbors out.
She took out her whistle,
And blew away like hell,
And soon we heard an echo,
As the neighbors blew as well.
CHORUS
With a Scream, Bang, Shout,
Rattle up a din.
Let the army know, my Girls,
The Brits is comin’ in.
Now rattle up your bin lid.
Beat the message out.
Get your head down.
Whistle, Bang, Shout.
A Tommy came right upstairs,
A rifle in his hand.
She kicked him with her button boots,
As down the hall she ran.
Up came another one,
His medal for to win.
But all he got right on the gob,
Was the lid of me granny’s bin.
The music rose like thunder,
As the bins and whistles played.
The enemy soon retreated,
They knew they’d overstayed.
It wasn’t made of silver,
It wasn’t made of tin,
But once again it saved us all,
The lid of me granny’s bin.
CHORUS
The English have the telly,
The radio and press.
To all communications,
They’ve always had access.
But from Pettigo to Bellaghy,
From the bone to Castlefin,
The only way to spread the news,
Is rattle your granny’s bin.
CHORUS
Dave Cartwright / Bill Caddick
C Cmaj9 Am Dm G
I wrote me a letter to Syracuse, it was a letter full of lies
C Cmaj9 Am Dm G
I told them that we were doing fine, very much to their surprise
Em Am Dm G
For how were they to know that here the ground was soaked in red
C Cmaj9 Am G
Or that we could fill the valley with our dead.
I started out and told them that by Christmas we’d begin
To pack our bags and head on home to bring the new year in
While all around me boys who help me sow last season’s crop
By charging at the cannons till they drop
I told my mother not to write cause we’re always moving on
I told my brother not to join cause he’d only fight me gun
But if we keep on much further retreating all the way
Oh we’d all be going home just any day.
I wrote me a letter to Syracuse, it was a letter full of lies
I told them that we were doing fine, very much to their surprise
For how were they to know that here the ground was soaked in red
Or that we could fill the valley with our dead.
Author Unknown
Fare thee well to you my own true love
I am going far away
I am bound for California
And I hope that I’ll return some day
So fare the well my own true love
And when I return united we will be
It’s not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me
But my darling when I think of thee
I am sailing on a Yankee clipper ship
The Davy Crockett is her name
And Burgess is the Captain of her
And they say she is a floating hell
Oh the sun is on the harbour love
And I wish I could remain
For I know it will be some long long time
Before I see you again
Gerry Murray
Em A D
The least we can do, is make the world a better place
D Em A D
Not just for the few, but for the human race
D Em A D
To end wars and quarrels, make John Lennon’s dream come true
D Em A D
To build a new set of morals, It’s the least we can do.
Show some love and compassion, when people are feeling low
Make it notjust a fashion, that may come and go
Bring an end to oppression, ‘cos it imprisons the truth
And be free with expression, It’s the least we can do.
So follow his rainbow, deep into the evening sun
And pray that It’s colours, will blend together as one
Seek and we may find, the dream he loved to persue
A peace for all mankind, it’s the least we can do.
Mick Curry
He was Lawless by name and lawless by nature,trouble right from the start.
hard as nails running wild thru the streets he was breaking his poor mother’s heart.
Nature played a trick on Lawless and the humour of nature is cruel.
he grew up as we all had expected into a dangerous fool
He was a hard man a man for all seasons always out for a fight
he could’nt hold drink but still he’d get plastered in Clarkes every saturday night
hed strip of his vest, challenge the best ’til the guards were called to come fast
they’d lock him away for the rest of the day leave him out sunday morning for mass
One night he went down to the Ringsend regatta where he met up with the bould Dolly Platts
She was’nt exactly what you’d call beauty but she was the belle of our flats
a whilwind romance and Dolly took a flier with Lawless she would settle down
twas pure coincidence 3 months before there was a Yankee destroyer in town
The couple were blessed with one of Gods miracles before 6 months had elapsed
Dolly gave birth to a 9 pound black baby and Lawless was fit to collapse
she swore she’d never been touched by another and Lawless took her at her word
and the neighbours exclaimed”he’s the spit of his father-the cuckoo is a wonderful bird
Lawless stayed in and looked after his baby while Dolly went out for the night
the auld gossips all say she was free in her ways and their evil rumours ran rife
when Lawless heard this he waited for Dolly on the bridge where the river runs low
no-one will ever know what happened but Dolly drowned in The Dodder below.
some say he is crazy, more say he’s evil and everyone says that he’s mad.
no one will defend him,he was no angel, but I’ll you he was’nt all bad.
They’ve locked him away for the rest of his natural never again will he see.
Down the back of Ringsend theres a lonely child playin where the Liffey flows into the sea.
Barney Rush was home and we organised a sing-song in The Ferrryman.Barney brought Mick Curry who sang this song. He is a great song writer.We had a great night. Frank harte was there too.
CHORDS
G..CG.DG
Am.DG.D.
Am.DG.D.
G..CG.DG
Traditional
In the town of Athy, one Jeremy Lanigan battered away till he hadn’t a shilling.
His father died, made him a man again, left him a farm and ten acres of ground.
Myself, to be sure, got invitations for the boys and girls I might ask.
Having been asked, friends and relations danced like bees around a sweet cask.
There was lashings of drink wine for the ladies, potatoes and cake bacon and tea.
Nolans and Dolans and all the O’Gradys, courting the girls and dancing away.
While songs went round as plenty as water,
The harps that are sounded through Tara’s old hall,
Biddie Grey and the rat catcher’s daughter singing away at Lanigan’s ball.
CHORUS
Six long months I spent in Dublin, six long months doing nothing at all,
Six long months I spent in Dublin, learning to dance for Lanigan’s ball.
She stepped out, I stepped in again. I stepped out and she stepped in again.
She stepped out, I stepped in again, learning to dance for Lanigan’s ball.
They were doing all kinds of nonsensical dances all around in a whirligig.
Julie and I soon banished their nonsense,
Out on the floor for a reel and a jig.
How the girls all got mad at me for they thought the ceilings would fall.
I spent six months in Brook’s Academy learning to dance for Lanigan’s ball.
Well the boys were merry and the girls all hearty
Dancing around in their couples and groups.
An accident happened; Terence McCarthy,
He put his boot through Miss Finnerty’s hoops.
She fell down in a faint and cried, ‘Holy murder!’
Called her brothers and gathered them all.
Carmody swore he’d go no further till he got revenge at Lanigan’s ball.
CHORUS
Boys oh boys ’tis then there was ructions. I got a belt from Phelim Mc Hugh.
I replied to his introduction, kicked up a terrible hullabaloo.
Moloney the piper was near gettin’ smothered.
They leapt on his pipes, bellows, chanter and all.
Boys and girls all got entangled and that put an end to Lanigan’s ball.
CHORUS
There’s also a joke version of this around, called “Learning to Dance for Fianna Fáil!!
Jim Page
Here he comes, lookin’ for the rent,
His greedy yellow eyes and his tongue all bent,
Padlocked pockets and bad luck nose
Sniffin’ ’round my doorway and goin’ through my clothes.
Oh how could you treat me so cold?
Got a mortgage on my body and the deeds of my soul.
I’ve a run-down room with a two-way roof.
That man’s a thief. I’ve even got the proof.
He likes to take, he doesn’t like to give.
I have to pay him rent just to have a place to live.
Hey you, I know you well;
You run a rock-and-roll tavern and a greasy hotel.
You misuse a lot of people. You’re such a greedy man.
I have to put gloves on in case I touch your hand.
Oh how could you treat me so cold?
Got a mortgage on my body and the deeds of my soul.
You go sneakin ’round windows to see what you can see.
You unlock doors where you’ve got no right to be.
Your legs are weak. You’ve been tellin’ lies.
Some day somebody’s gonna get wise.
You’re gonna get evicted out in the street,
No food in your belly and no shoes on your feet
You’re gonna walk around from door to door
But nobody’s gonna want to see you anymore.
Oh how could you treat me so cold?
Got a mortgage on my body and the deeds of my soul.
You’re gonna wake up down here on the street,
Bricks and mortar lyin’ round your feet.
Treat me cold now, cold as you please
Come next winter the two of us will freeze.
Oh landlord,
How could you treat me so cold?
Trad / Arr: Christy Moore
C
It was one fine March morning I bid New Orleans adieu
Am G Am C/G F
And I took the road to Jackson town, my fortune to renew.
C Am G Am C/G F
I cursed all foreign money, no credit could I gain,
C
Which filled me heart with longing for the lakes of Ponchartrain.
I stepped on board of a railroad car beneath the morning sun,
I rode the rods till evening and I laid me down again.
All strangers there no friends to me till a dark girl towards me came
And I fell in love with my Creole girl by the lakes of Ponchartrain.
I said, “Me pretty Creole girl, me money here’s no good,
If it weren’t for the alligators, I’d sleep out in the wood.”
“You’re welcome here, kind stranger, from such sad thoughts refrain,
For me Mammy welcomes strangers by the lakes of Ponchartrain.
She took me into her Mammy’s house, and treated me right well.
The hair upon her shoulders in jet black ringlets fell.
To try and paint her beauty, Im sure twould be in vain,
So handsome was my Creole girl by the lakes of Ponchartrain.
I asked her if she’d marry me. She said that ne’er could be
For she had got a lover and he was far at sea.
She said that she would wait for him and true she would remain
Till he’d return to his Creole girl on the lakes of Ponchartrain.
Its fare thee well, me Creole girl, I never may see you more.
I’ll neer forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore
And at each social gathering, a flowing bowl I’ll drain
And I’ll drink a health to my Creole girl by the lakes of Ponchartrain.
Jimmy McCarthy She wears Mystic Lipstick; she wears stones and bones,
She tells myth and legend; she sings rock and roll,
She wears chains of bondage; she wears the wings of hope
She wears the gown of plenty, and still it’s hard to cope.
Chroi o mo chroi, your heart is breaking,
Your eyes are red your song is blue,
Your poets underneath the willow in despair,
They have been lovers of your sad tune, lovers of your slow air.
And though they say how it hurts you,
And sing the book of your heart
Oh sweet black rose how they’ve loved you,
And it’s hard to,
But they do Eire, they do.
She keeps fools for counsel; she keeps the wig and gown,
The cloth and bloody warfare, the stars, the stripes and crown,
And still we pray for a better day now,
God willing it’s for the best,
But I’ve just seen the harp on the penny,
With a dollar on her naked breast.
Chroi o mo chroi your heart is breaking
Your eyes are red your song is blue
Your poets underneath the willow in despair,
They have been lovers of your sad tune,
Lovers of your slow air, lovers in sweet despair.
Pierce Turner
Ah Sure, musha, God help her,
She’s in an awful state,
She’s got that husband fellow’s run away,
A teenage daughter in the family way,
And she can’t pay her bills to nobody.
Poor Mrs. Donoghue,
Out there by Ballynew,
She used to be a King from Davitt Street,
All of them were spotless in their parent’s home,
Till she got married to that animal.
According to all accounts,
They never go to Mass,
He’s with that young one out in Ballyhack,
She don’t have a stitch across her back,
But she can well afford to drink.
I really don’t know,
What’s to become of them?
All the street is up in arms at them,
They make more noise than an army,
When she starts throwing all the cups at him.
I really wouldn’t mind,
If they were friendly,
But they don’t say hello to nobody,
You’d really think that they were somebody,
It makes me laugh you know,
At the back of it all.
Ah sure musha, God help her,
She’s in an awful state,
She’s got that husband fellows run away,
A teenage daughter in the family way,
And she don’t pay her bills to nobody.
Author Unknown
Now Mrs McGrath the sergeant said
Would you like to make a soldier out of your son Ted?
With scarlet coat and cockade hat
Now Mrs. McGrath wouldn’t you like that?
Mrs. McGrath stood by the shore
Waiting for her son for seven years or more
Till she saw a ship sailing into the bay
Here’s my son Ted now musha clear the way
Captain dear where have you been
Have you been sailing on the Med-it-tare-i-in?
Have you got news of my son Ted?
Is the poor fellow living or is he dead
Then up came Ted without any legs
Walking on a pair of wooden pegs
She kissed him a dozen times or two
Mother of God sure it can’t be you
Were you drunk or were you blind
When you left your two fine legs behind
Or was it walking on the say
Took your two fine legs from the knees away
No I wasn’t drunk and I wasn’t blind
When you left your two fine legs behind
But a cannonball on the fifth of May
Took my fine legs from the knees away
Oh Teddy McGrath the widow cried
Your fine legs were your mothers’ pride
Them stumps of trees won’t do at all
Why didn’t you run from the cannonball?
And if I had you back again
I wouldn’t take the shilling the sergeant paid
(I wouldn’t let you go to fight for the King of Spain)
I’d rather have me son as he used to be
Than the King of France and his whole navee
Natalie Merchant
Where in hell can you go, far from the things that you know,
Far from this concrete sprawl that keeps crawling it’s way,
About a thousand miles a day.
Take one last look behind, commit this to memory and mind,
Don’t miss this wasteland, this terrible place, when you leave,
Keep your heart off your sleeve.
Motherland cradle me, close my eyes lullaby me to sleep,
Keep me safe, lie with me stay beside me don’t go.
My five and dime queen, tell me what have you seen,
The lust and the avarice the bottomless cavernous greed,
Is that what you see?
Motherland cradle me, close my eyes lullaby me to sleep,
Keep me safe, lie with me stay beside me don’t go.
It’s your happiness I want most of all and for that I’d do anything at all.
If you want the best of life and the most of love,
If there is anything I can do at all.
Come on shotgun bride, what makes me envy your life,
The faceless the nameless the innocent the blameless and free,
What’s that like to be?
Motherland cradle me, close my eyes lullaby me to sleep,
Keep me safe lie with me stay beside me don’t go,
Don’t you go
Author Unknown
Oh come all you true born Irishmen, wherever you may be
I hope you’ll pay attention and listen unto me
I’ll sing about a battle that took place the other day
Between a Russian sailor and gallant Morrissey
It was in Tierra Del Fuego in South America
The Russian challenged Morrissey these words to him did say
I hear you are a fighting man you wear the belt I see
Indeed I wish you would consent to have a fight with me
Up spoke Johnny Morrissey with heart both brave and true
I am a valiant Irishman that never was subdued
I can whack the Yankee, the Saxon, Bull or Bear
In honour of old Paddy’s land the laurels I’ll maintain
They shook hands and walked around the ring commencing then to fight
It filled each Irish heart with joy to behold the sight
The Russian he floored Morrissey up to the eleventh round
With Yankee, Saxon and Russian cheers the valley did resound
A minute and a half he lay before he could arise
The word it went around the field he’s dead rang out the cries
But Morrissey recovered and rising from the ground
From that up to the eighteenth the Russian he put down
The Irish offered ten to one that day upon the grass
No sooner said that taken and they covered all the cash
They parried away without delay up to the twentieth round
When Morrissey received a blow which brought him to the ground
Up to the thirty-second round ’twas fall and fall about
Which caused them Yankee tyrants to keep a sharp look out
The Russian called his seconds to pour a glass of wine
Begod sez Johnny Morrissey this battle will be mine
The thirty-seventh ended all when the Russian smelt a fart
When Morrissey with a dreadful blow struck the Russian on the heart
They sent for a physician to open up a vein
The doctor said ‘Tis useless, he will never fight again’
Our hero conquered Thompson, the Yankee clipper too
The Benica boy and Shepherd he also did subdue
Let us fill a flowing glass and here’s a health galore
To noble Johnny Morrissey who came from Templemore
Jimmy MacCarthy Dm G Am
In nineteen hundred and eighty six
Am G Dm
There’s not much for a chippie but swinging a pick
Dm G Am
And you can’t live on love, on love alone
Am G Dm
So you sail cross the ocean, away cross the foam
To where you’re a Paddy, a Biddy or a Mick
Good for nothing but stacking a brick
Your best mate’s a spade and he carries a hod
Two work horses heavily shod
CHORUS
F C G Dm F C G
Oh I’m missing you I’d give all for the price of a flight
F C G Dm F C G
Oh I’m missing you under Piccadilly’s neon
Who did you murder, are you a spy?
I’m just fond of a drink helps me laugh, helps me cry
Now I just drink red biddy for a permanent high
I laugh a lot less and I’ll cry till I die
CHORUS
All ye young people now take my advice
Before crossing the ocean you’d better think twice
Cause you can’t live without love, without love alone
The proof is round London in the nobody zone
Where the summer is fine, but the winter’s a fridge
Wrapped up in old cardboard under Charing Cross Bridge
And I’ll never go home now because of the shame
Of misfit’s reflection in a shop window pane.
CHORUS X 2
Christy Moore
I took a rocky road up Croagh Patrick,
And a mossy path up Sliabh Gallion Braes,
And I plunged in the deep at Brandon Creek,
And slept in a glade beyond Dún Maebh,
All alone along the Wicklow Way,
Peace and solitude I found.
When I reached the slopes of Mullaghmore,
I could have sworn that was the holy ground.
Minister, minister,
Pause for reflection,
As you fly by helicopter,
In pursuit of re-election.
An obsession with affairs of State
And legislature
Leaves little time for us to share,
In the miracles of Nature.
Like the fairy foxglove,
And the rusty-back fern at Poll Na Gollum,
The silver cranesbill,
And columbine at Caher Connell,
The juniper at Bellharbour,
The wintergreen around Slaibh Carron.
These miracles of nature,
Surviving in the crevices of the Burren.
There’s gonna be sewerage schemes
And septic tanks, tarmac and concrete mixers
And rumours circling Co. Clare,
Promising lots of nixers*,
And car parks to be levelled,
Infills and elevations.
And when the dust is settled,
A handful of jobs and relations.
Nature took two million years,
To sculpture Mullaghmore.
Carved from the ancient rock,
By the freezing ice and snow.
As the sun shines down on the mountain
At the broad Atlantic ocean,
You can hear the small birds singing,
On the Burren round Mullaghmore.
*Nixers – illegal, untaxed part-time work.
I heard an angry voice behind a drystone wall
At a beauty spot on out by Carron;
“Go on, Get back to Dublin.
You hippies don’t belong here.
Traipsin’ round the Burren
Never spendin’ very long here.”
And the only thing,
That I could think to say was;
We all belong here,
This is our native shore,
While I’m here I’d love to sing,
A song in praise of Mullaghmore.
Christy Moore
G C
It happened on a Sunday afternoon
G C
On a lovely bright crisp winters afternoon
D G
On a perfect day for walking.
G
There was gunshots, stones and bullets
C G
On a lovely bright crisp winters afternoon
C
There was chaos, panic and death,
G C
Disbelief upon the faces
C
Fear and bewilderment
G
The seconds seemed so long
C
They’re firing bullets at us
G C
It was not supposed to be like this
G C
Awesome to behold
G
And then our minds locked shut
C
And then our minds locked shut
G
And then our minds locked shut
C
And then our minds locked shut
D C
And there remains ..
G C
Jackie Duddy and Willie Nash,
G C
Gerry Donaghy, Willy McKinney,
G C
Gerard McKinney and Jim Wray
G C
Johnny Johnston, Barney McGuigan,
G C
Paddy Doherty, Kevin McIlhenny
G C
John Young, Mickey Kelly,
G C
Hugh Gilmore, Micheal McDaid
C
Let us remember ..
G C
It happened on a Sunday afternoon
G C
On a lovely bright crisp winters afternoon
D G
On a perfect day for walking.
Noel Brazil
First Days in the loft I thought I might live,new faces new streets.
No cash in the hand was making me thing,what now? whats next?
Thats not to say I was’nt welcomed I was welcomed I was taken in.
I took the bait when I was hunted I was wretched I was freezing.
Chorus
Metropolitan Avenue standing tall in the winter snow,I’ll be back with you before I go
Don’t run like a dog I know how it feels without heat without love.
Ran free in the park like Jekyll and Hyde, me and Pete, me and Pete.
Up half the night unwilling witness to some strangers feud.
Deep underground I hear the notes of some old gamblers blues.
Chorus
This rose will never blossom now it needs light shining on its back.
this road will never take me out, I’ve been stopped in my tracks.
There goes the night and now the sun begins to filter through,
I took the bait when I was hunted I was wretched did’nt know that I was failing you
Chorus
I first met Noel Brazil when he came in and played support to Moving Hearts in the Baggott Inn in 1982.He was an extremely nervous performer and a brilliant songwriter. He recorded a number of albums before passing on- far too young.He was ill at ease with the world but I always loved to meet him.I sang another of his songs “Suffocate” in the Unfinished Revolution album and Mary Black has recorded many of his songs most notably “Ellis Island”
Capo up 2 or 3 (if playing with “Live at Vicar St” version)
D..C…D…Em….
D..C…D…Em….
C…….G…..
C…….G….
CHORUS
EM..D…C….D…C…Em…..
D..C…D…C…
Christy Hennessy
I’m goin’ to saddle up me old grey mare
I’m goin’ to ride through the night without a worry or a care
CHORUS
I’m a messenger boy bringing my love to you
I’m a messenger boy bringing my love to you
I see the light in the bedroom
I pray to God that I didn’t come too soon
CHORUS
Two big dogs and a man shouts “Who goes there?”
I’ve ridden trough the cold and the wind and the rain and the frost
And the snow and I’m in love and I do not feel the pain
CHORUS
Wally Page
We used to sit and watch the kids belly flop divin in the river.
Share a bottle a scrumpy by the neck,lie in the sun and you’d make me laugh.
Take of early and head on home to get dolled up for the Casino.
we’d head out lookin all shiny and new, we were Teddyboys we had to be cool,
later that night we’d go down to Mario’s for fish and chips and vinegar,
a smile for the camera man got me and you in a photograph.
But time goes on and on and nothin beautiful lasts forever,
I know what you’ve done and what you’ve been through
I dont understand why you do what you do,
I give you my hand its a hand you can hold on to
MERCY, MERCY,
We drifted apart and you grew strange you were more into whisky then women.
The first time you got lifted you loved it,you wrote your own epitaph.
here lies a wanted man could’nt take the rules when they hit him.
here lies a man with an attitude and a polaroid shot of a hand he could hold onto
MERCY,MERCY.
The older you get the harder it bites,when you fight you go kamikaze.
It hurts so bad to see you fall back from your tender ways.
Now all you’ve got is in a police bag beside a row of walkie-talkies on the mantlepiece,
I know what you’ve done and what you’ve been through,
but I dont understand why you do what you do what you do,
I give you my hand its a hand you can hold onto
MERCY,MERCY,MERCY, MERCY
.
Wally wrote this song so I dont know what its about but when I sing it myself I see a story of two brothers once so close when they were lads knockin about but time changed everything . They moved on and away from each other but the bond always remained bringing confusion,hurt and sadness where it once brought fun and love. Only the Love remains.
I love this mans songs and the way he sings them. I hope you get a chance someday to hear Wally sing,
COMING YOUR WAY SOON. IN THE MEANTIME STICK ON THE BURNING TIMES CD AND TRY
CEmFG.
CEmG..
CEmFG…
Dm…G
Dm..G
PLAY AROUND FOR A WHILE AND GOD BE WITH YOU
Bobby Sands
Intro: C D C D
C D C D
In Glenravel’s Glen there lives a man whom some would call a god
C D C G
For he could cure your shakes with a bottle of his stuff would cost you thirty bob
D C C D
Come winter, summer, frost all over, a jiggin’ Spring on the breeze
G C G D
In the dead of night a man steps by, “McIlhatton, if you please”
CHORUS
G F C G
McIlhatton you blurt we need you, cry a million shaking men
G C G F
Where are your sacks of barley, will your likes be seen again?
G C G C
Heres a jig to the man and a reel to the drop and a swing to the girl he loves
G D C D
May your fiddle play and poitín cure your company up above
Theres a wisp of smoke to the south of the Glen and the poitín is on the air
The birds in the burrows and the rabbits in the sky and there’s drunkards everywhere
At Skerries Rock the fox is out and begod he’s chasing the hounds
And the only thing in decent shape is buried beneath the ground
CHORUS
At McIlhatton’s house the fairies are out and dancing on the hobs
The goat’s collapsed and the dog has run away and there’s salmon down the bogs
He has a million gallons of wash and the peelers are on the Glen
But they’ll never catch that hackler cos he’s not comin’ home again