Christy Moore
A boat sailed out of Brandon in the year of 501
’twas a damp and dirty mornin’ Brendan’s voyage it began.
Tired of thinnin’ turnips and cuttin’ curley kale
When he got back from the creamery he hoisted up the sail.
He ploughed a lonely furrow to the north, south, east and west
Of all the navigators, St. Brendan was the best.
When he ran out of candles he was forced to make a stop,
He tied up in Long Island and put America on the map.
Did you know that Honolulu was found by a Kerryman,
Who went on to find Australia then China and Japan.
When he was touchin’ 70, he began to miss the crack,
Turnin’ to his albatross he sez “I’m headin’ back”.
To make it fast he bent the mast and built up mighty steam.
Around Terra del Fuego and up the warm Gulf Stream,
He crossed the last horizon, Mt. Brandon came in sight
And when he cleared the customs into Dingle for the night.
When he got the Cordon Bleu he went to douse the drought,
He headed west to Kruger’s* to murder pints of stout
Around by Ballyferriter and up the Conor Pass
He freewheeled into Brandon, the saint was home at last.
The entire population came (281) the place was chock-a-block
Love nor money wouldn’t get your nose inside the shop.
The fishermen hauled up their nets, the farmers left their hay,
Kerry people know that saints don’t turn up every day.
Everythin’ was goin’ great ’til Brendan did announce
His reason for returnin’ was to try and set up house.
The girls were flabbergasted at St. Bredan’s neck
To seek a wife so late in life and him a total wreck.
Worn down by rejection that pierced his humble pride,
“Begod”, sez Brendan “If I run I’ll surely catch the tide”
Turnin’ on his sandals he made straight for the docks
And haulin’ up his anchor he cast off from the rocks.
As he sailed past Inishvickallaun there stood the albatross
“I knew you’d never stick it out, ’tis great to see you boss”
“I’m bailin’ out” sez Brendan, “I badly need a break
A fortnight is about as much as any aul saint could take.”
CHORUS
“Is it right or left for Gibraltar”
“What tack do I take for Mizen Head?”
“I’d love to settle down near Ventry Harbour”,
St. Brendan to his albatross he said.
* – Kruger Kavanagh’s, the ‘Nearest pub to the States’
Author Unknown
St Patrick was a gentleman he came from dacent people
He built a church in Dublin Town and on it put a steeple
His father was a Gallagher his uncle was a Grady
His Aunt was an O’Shaughnessy and his mother was a Brady
The Wicklow hills are very high so is the hill of Howth sir
But there’s a hill much higher still much higher that them both sir
On the top of this high hill St. Patrick preached his sermon
He drove the frogs into the bogs and banished all the vermin
There’s not a mile on Erin’s Isle where dirty vermin mustered
But there he put his dear fore foot and murdered them in clusters
The toads went pop and the frogs went hop slap dash into the water
And the snakes committed suicide to save themselves from slaughter
A hundred thousand reptiles blue he charmed with sweet discourses
And he dined on them in Killaloe in soups and second courses
Where the blind worms crawling in the grass disgusted all the nation
Right down to Hell with a holy spell he changed their situation
No wonder that them Irish boys should be so gay and frisky
Sure St Pat he thought them that as well as making whiskey
No wonder that the saint himself should understand distilling
For his mother kept a shebeen shop near the town of Enniskillen
was I but so fortunate as to be back in Ulster
I’d be bound that from that ground I never more would once stir
For there St. Patrick planted turf and cabbages and praties
Pigs galore, mo gra, mo stor, altar boys and ladies
Author Unknown
As I went out by Dublin City at the hour of twelve at night
Who should I see but the Spanish lady washing her feet by candlelight
First she washed them then she dried them all by the fire of amber coal
In all my life I ne’er did see a maid so sweet about the sole
I asked her would she come out a walking and went on till the grey cocks crew
A coach I stopped then to instate her and we rode on till the sky was blue
Combs of amber in her hair were and her eyes knew every spell
In all my life I ne’er did see a woman who I could love so well
But when I came to where to I found her and set her down from the halted coach
Who was there with his arms folded but the fearful swordsman Tiger Roche
Blades were out twas thrust and cut never a man gave me more fright
Till I laid him dead on the floor where she stood holding the candlelight
So if you go to Dublin City at the hour of twelve at night
Beware of the girls who sit in their windows combing their hair in the candlelight
I met one and we went walkin I thought that she would be my wife
When I came to where I found her if it wasn’t for me sword I’d have lost me life
Traditional Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
My mind being bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly
I stepped on board a vision and I followed with the wind
And I shortly came to anchor at the cross of Spancil Hill
It being the 23rd June the day before the fair
When lreland’s sons and daughters in crowds assembled there
The young and the old, the brave and the bold their journey to fulfill
There were jovial conversations at the fair of Spancil Hill
I went to see my neighbors to hear what they might say
The old ones were all dead and gone and the young one’s turning grey
I met with the tailor Quigley, he’s a bould as ever still
Sure he used to make my britches when I lived in Spancil Hill
I paid a flying visit to my first and only love
She’s as white as any lily and as gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me saying “Johnny I love you still”
Oh she’s Ned the farmers daughter and the flower of Spancil Hill
I dreamt I held and kissed her as in the days of yore
She said, “Johnny you’re only joking like many’s the time before”
The cock he crew in the morning he crew both loud and shrill
And I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill.
Ron Hynes
G
Sonny lives on a farm, in a wide open space
C G
Take off your shoes, stay out of the race
D
Lay down your head, on a soft river bed
C G D
Sonny always remembers the words Mamma says.
CHORUS
G
Sonny don’t go away, I’m here all alone
C G
Your Daddy’s a sailor, never comes home,
D
Nights are so long, silence goes on,
C G D
I’m feeling so tired and not all that strong.
Sonny works on the land, though he’s barely a man
There’s not much to do but he does what he can
Sits by his window in his room by the stairs
Watching the waves drifting soft on the pier.
CHORUS
Many years have rolled on, Sonny’s old and alone
His Daddy the sailor, never came home
Sometimes he wonders what his life might have been
But from the grave Mamma still haunts his dreams.
CHORUS
Here are the original lyrics to this song:
Sonny lives on a farm,on a wide open space
Where you take off your sneakers,and give up the race
And you can lay down your head, by the sweet river bed
But Sonny always remembers what it was his mamma said
Sonny carries a load but he’s barely a man
That ain’t all that you do, still he does what he can
And he watches the sea,from a room by the stairs
And the waves keep on rollin’, they’ve done that for years
CHORUS
Oh Sonny don’t go away,I am here all alone
And your daddy’s a sailor who never comes home
And the nights get so long,and the silence goes on
And I’m feeling so tired,I’m not all that strong…..
And it’s a hundred miles to town
Sonny’s never been there
And he goes to the highway and stands there and stares
And the mail comes at four
And the mailman is old
Oh.. but he still has his dreams,full of silver and gold….
Sonny’s dreams can’t be real, they’re just stories he’s read
They’re just stars in his eyes, they’re just dreams in his head
And he’s hungry inside for the wild world outside
And I know I can’t hold him
Though I tried and I tried and I tried……..
Thanks to Dave Roberts for the lyrics and tabs. Thanks also to Kevin Donahue for the background to this Newfoundland song.
Ron Hynes, the author, contacted me recently and informed me that the lyrics to his song are different than the ones Christy sings. I’ve added Ron’s original lyrics, too.
Sorry no Chords at present.
From Joe Heaney
I wish I had someone to love me
Someone to call my own
Someone to sleep with me nightly
I’m weary of sleeping alone
Meet me tonight in the moonlight
Meet me when we can be alone
I’ve a fine story to tell you
That I’ll tell by the light of the moon
If I had the wings of a swallow
I’d fly far over the sea
I’d fly to the arms of my true love
And bring her home safely with me
If I had ships on the ocean
I’d line them with silver and gold
I’d follow the ship that she sails in
My darling is eighteen years old
(From a different source)
If I had the wings of an eagle
O’er those prison walls I would fly
Fly into the arms of my darling
In there I would stay till I die
Meet me tonight in the moonlight
Meet me when you are alone
In this dreary cell I am pining
I’m weary of being alone
Christy Moore
There’s Bethlehem and Cheltenham, Lourdes and Limerick Junction
Medjugorje or a rub of the extreme unction
Good people climb Croagh Patrick with serenity on their faces
But I found my salvation, below at the Galway Races.
Clergymen dressed up like men and models home from London
Whallup and how’s she cuttin’ John? Begod sure only Middlin’
Gamblers with big wads of notes, going mad to gamble
Na boys’ isteach as inverin, there just to take a ramble.
Helen Lucy smells the mattress and reviews the hairy bacon
Says Mickey Finn to Galligan, hey Peter what are you takin’?
Shish kebabs, Kinvara crabs as people stuff their faces
Others couldn’t eat to save their lives below at the Galway Races.
Its there you’ll see gentility and sheep dressed up like mutton
Double barrelled names with more airs than old melodeons
The talk is all of tillage and of silage and con acre
I tell you scraws and bottoms would be closer to the mark sir.
Sir John Muck Savidge-Smythe is there with Smurfit’s and O’Reilly’s
Owners and trainers, stable boys and jockeys
With silk around their arses getting up on rich mens’ horses
Not to mention wives and daughters and marriages and divorces.
There’s pontoon, twenty five and there’s savage games of poker
There’s them would lay their lives on two flies walking up the wall sure
There’s wise men from the east making eyes at go-go dancers
And ministers of state accepting drinks from terrible chancers.
Salthill after dark, is like Sodom and Gomorra
There’s people doing things tonight that they’ll regret tomorrow
There’s folk and trad, they’re disco mad, karaoke and set dances
And people who’ve seen better days looking to take their chances
They’re under starters orders and Michael O’Hehir is waiting
Lester’s up on the favourite and she’ll surely take some beating
Necks are craned and eyes are strained there’s fear upon their faces
There’s agony and ecstasy below at the Galway Races.
Bethlehem and Cheltenham, Lourdes and Limerick Junction
Medjugorje or a rub of extreme unction
Good people climb Croagh Patrick with serenity on their faces
But I found my salvation, below at the Galway Races.
Wally Page
This is the day the fisherman likes and so do I
when the rain puts a shine on the chestnut spikes and Curlews cry,
the Nightingale sings her best,
we’ll drink a pint in Hamilton’s Rest
The girl I love wore a muslin dress
the fishermen dream of the sun in the west
and So Do
Now I can see.Since the girl that I love dearly,
has cast her loving spell on me.
This is the day the cuckoo likes and so do I
The hills fall down in different shapes and swallows fly
to a hidden beach where boats can’t go
mountain rivers overflow
I hear the squealing of the seagulls as home they go
And So Do I
Now I can see….etc
I’ll cross the Seven Oceans
forever more I’ll wander
‘Til she has cast her loving spell on me.
Wally sent me this 15 years ago. I demo’d it for the “King Puck” album in the early ’90’s and then dropped it. Late one night when rehearsing in Kilkenny for the 2001 album (This is the Day) it arrived back in my head like an old memory. There is a different verion again on the Live at the Point DVD ( April 2006). It’s slightly more up-tempo with Declan playing electric.
CHORDS
CAPO UP 2
VERSE
G……C…….G……C…….
G…C…G…D…C……G…….
CHORUS
D.Am.G..D.C.Am….D…….G…
I’ll cross etc
C.D.G…C.D.G…D…C…G……
Wally Page Intro: C G C G
D G
Kids wear white garters, and smell like their mothers
C G
Whose husbands and fathers alike
D C
Drink black beer in the same public houses
C D G C G
Smelling of smoke and strong whiskey.
Mammies and daddies, skipping ropes
Lectures from priests, living in hope
That they’ve not mistaken the brand of their coats
They’ve paid for by spiritual teachings.
A busy year this, streets running red
How many sent to their nuptial bed
How many sent home to a winter of graves
How many wait in for the slaughter.
It’s Easter again, and we cannot forget
Our brothers and sisters and all that was said
So practise your pipes, stand proud in the wet.
For the eyes of the world are upon you.
CHORUS
G D
Oh, oh, the holy ground
C Am D
Céad míle failte, there’s saints and there’s scholars to see
G Em D
Oh, oh, the holy ground
C Am D
Faraway hills ain’t as green as they once used to be
Seventeen years, Kelly is a man
Who stands on the street with a gun in his hand
He’s protecting the pipers that play in the band
While the enemy waits with an army.
God in his mercy has given us men
To lead us to peace but they can’t bring an end
To the profits that pay off the lease on the land
We’re still sending them over the water
Dia le hÉireann, suckle the empire.
Dia le hÉireann, suffer the loss.
Of the green and the blue while the media feeds
On the blood and the pain and the hatred.
Father walks home on a colourless night
The organisation has blinded his sight
His wife and his kids are sleeping tonight
In the arms of sweet Jesus and Mary.
CHORUS X 2
Wally Page
16 fishermen raving out on the town on E
16 peacocks leave their nest and go flying into mystery
they try to cut the spainish look but they look so untidy
dont eat too much you’ll never get enough when you’re flying into mystery
flyin into mystery when you should be out seafarin
run out the jib rig the boom step back reality
when their ship is on the ocean their nights are so empty
they’re weary of the smelly fish and the wash of the salty sea
16 jolly ravers each one carrying his own caul
they believe it will keep death away when they face the angry squall
why face the angry squall when you could go go-go dancin
run out the jib rig the boom step back reality
to the 16 jolly ravers those girls look so fancy
you could ate your fry off the back of her neck if you want some more say please
when fishermen are feeling good they feel it musically
they go down singing shanties to the dancefloor all at sea
to the dancefloor all at sea 16 jolly ravers
run out the jib rig the boom step back reality
flyin in to mystery when you should be out seafarin
run out the jib rig the boom step back reality
yad adad ada yadd a dadd a da yat ti a rat ti a rat ti a ra da
yadd a dad a da yad adad ada yatt tye a rat tie a rat
I can end up anywhere in this song.Rolled in Yarmouth on the first night in and looking to get back out early next morning.In a haybarn outside Portarlington, me nostrils caked with hay dust, trying to find me bearings.In a railroad car in Boyle listening to the dry land sailors singin”hey ho chicken on a raft, Ben and Jake leading us all into glorious mayhem whilst the losers were ridin like rabbits in the turf mould.About to enter paradise when the back wheel came off Mick Currans Bedford van out around Dardis’s gate as we roared home through Walshestown and that put an end to me gallop.
Or I can think about poor auld Plunky, that fisherman of Dun Leary who never settled for sardines whilst there were dolphins in the ocean. Go for it John Paul, write your dreams now that you have found a quieter place. Tell Richie I was askin for him.
Am……E.
Am.G.FEAm
Am…..E.
Am.G.FEAmG
C.C.CG
Am.G.FEAm
Christy Moore
Somalia, Somalia.
She picked up a handful of earth and kissing it, she cried;
“The song of our village has come to an end”.
Then she heard the sirens voice
And the sirens voice was singing;
Island of the welcomes. One hundred thousand welcomes.
Christian holy island. One hundred thousand welcomes.
Land of the Holy Fathers. One hundred thousand welcomes.
Land of Saints and scholars. One hundred thousand welcomes.
Ancient city of the deep lagoon. Céad míle failte.
Heart of The Rowl. Céad míle failte.
Dublin city of the rare auld times. Céad míle failte.
Where the green snot river flows. Céad míle failte.
Again she heard the sirens voice
And the sirens voice was singing;
Black life, white life, pro-life,
Black life, white life, pro-life,
Black lies, white lies, no life.
Again she heard the sirens voice
And the sirens voice was singing;
No niggers or knackers or wogs, no refugees.
No Dia is Muire, sez she,
And no divorce in Heaven, sez she, no refugees.
Céad míle failte.
Céad míle failte my arse, sez she.
Míle fáilte my arse.
Living off our land,
Living off our land,
Living of our hard earned surplus,
Creating housing shortages and unemployment.
Living off our land.
They’re coming here to save us,
Saving the white babies.
They’re coming here to save us,
Saving white babies souls.
The sirens voice was heard.
Barry Moore
Who are they to decide what we should hear?
Who are they to decide what we should see?
What do they think we can’t comprehend here?
What do they fear that our reaction might be, might be?
CHORUS
Section 31 on the TV
Section 31 on the radio
Section 31 is like a blindfold
Section 31 makes me feel cold, feel cold.
The pounding of the footsteps in the early morning light,
Another family waking to an awful deadly fright.
There’s a body on the pavement with a bullet to the jaw,
A thirteen-year-old victim of plastic bullet law.
The silence in my ears, the darkness in my eyes,
Heightens the fear, deafens the cries.
Of another brother taken in another act of hate.
A family preparing for another dreadful wait.
E. Cowan/C. Moore
Hugh Callaghan, Paddy Hill, Gerry Hunter, Johnny Walker,
Billy Power, Dick McIlkenny that’s their names.
Five men playing poker on the Heysham train
Fate was dealing them a cruel hand
Hugh Callaghan walked home through the evening rain
Not knowing what lay in store for him
There’s traces of nitro on cigarettes and matches
On Formica tabletops and on decks of playing cards
When forensics found traces on the hands of these six men,
The police drove up from Birmingham
Hoping the case was closed
Have you ever seen the mug shots that were taken
After 48 hours in custody
Battered and bruised, haunted looks upon their faces
The judge accepted they confessed willingly
Please take another look at what you see
If you tell me my family are being terrorised
Keep me awake for six days and nights confused and terrified
In the lonely dark of night I will swear that black is white
If you’ll just let me lay down and close my eyes
Ill sign anything if you let me close my eyes
Scales of justice balance up your act
Am I talking to myself or to the wall?
Hugh Callaghan, Paddy Hill, Gerry Hunter, Johnny Walker,
Billy Power, Dick McIlkenny scapegoats all
For 16 years they were taking to the wall
Christy Moore
Sunday morning you’ve a page to fill
You gather grist to grind your mill
Seek a pot to dip your quill
Sacrifice all candour
Your pointed beaks as sharp as knives
As you tear strips off peoples lives
Buzzing like bluebottle flies
Among the dead and wounded
Scallcrows
You’re only Scallcrows
Scallcrows
Vultures, Dirtbirds and Scallcrows
Attracted by the lure of stars
You lurk around expensive bars
Seeking rumours swapping jars
Down among the posers
Sunday morning I can hear the sound
It’s the Scallcrows flocking around
Seeking prey that must be found
To satisfy the hunger
Author Unknown
Oh my name it is Sam Hall, chimney sweep, chimney sweep
Oh my name it is Sam Hall, chimney sweep
Oh my name it is Sam Hall and I’ve robbed both rich and small
And my neck will pay for all when I die when I die
And my neck will pay for all when I die
Oh they took me to Coote Hill in a cart, in a cart
Oh they took me to Coote Hill in a cart
Oh they took me to Coote Hill and ’twas there I made my will
For the best of friends must part, so must I, so must I?
For the best of friends must part, so must I
Up the ladder I did grope, that’s no joke, that’s no joke
Up the ladder I did grope and the hangman pulled the rope
And ne’er a word I spoke, tumbling down, tumbling down
And ne’er a word I spoke tumbling down
Woody Guthrie
C G C
Oh say there, did you here the news? Sacco worked at trimming shoes.
C G C
Vanzetti was a travelling man, pushed his cart round with his hand
CHORUS
F C G C C7
Two good men’s a long time gone. Sacco and Vanzetti are gone.
F7 C G7 C
Two good men’s long time gone. They left me here to sing this song
Sacco was born across the sea, somewhere over in Italy.
Vanzetti born of parents fine, drank the best Italian wine.
Sacco sailed the sea one day, landed over in the Boston bay.
Vanzetti sailed the ocean blue, ended up in Boston too.
CHORUS
Sacco was a family man, Sacco’s wife three children had
Vanzetti was a dreaming man, his books were always in his hand.
Sacco made his bread and butter being the factory’s best shoe cutter.
Vanzetti worked both day and night, showed the people how to fight.
CHORUS
I’ll tell you if you ask me about the pay-roll robbery.
Two clerks were shot in the shoe factory on the streets of old Braintree
I’ll tell you the prosecutors’ names: Katman, Admans, Williams, Kane.
Them and the judge were the best of friends. Did more tricks than circus clowns
The judge he told his friends around. He’d put them rebels down.
Communist bastards was the name the judge he gave these two fine men.
CHORUS
Vanzetti docked in ’98. Slept along a dirty street.
Showed the people how to organise. Now in the electric chair he dies.
All us people ought to be like Sacco & Vanzetti.
Every day find ways to fight on the union side for the workers’ right
CHORUS
I ain’t got time to tell the tales because the branch and the bulls are on my fail
I won’t forget these men who died to show us people how to live.
All you people in window lane sing this song and sing it plain.
Everybody here tonight singing this song we’ll get it right
CHORUS
After Tickling my Fancy, I turned back towards my roots with this album. A good number of songs here have become very well known. I recall very late nights in the studio (Dublin Sound) with Donal Lunny, Jimmy Faulkner, Declan McNelis, Kevin Burke, and visits from Micheal O’Domhnall, Barney McKenna coming in to stir the pot.†
I was operating outside the system at this time – dealing with promoters and agents myself and also dealing with Polydor directly. It was a time of learning too – for I got to understand the nuts and bolts of the industry.
Kevin Burke left to join the Bothy Band and I started touring farther afield with Jimmy Faulkner. We pursued our audience in Germany, France, U.K, Austria, Holland, and Scariff in a Peugeot 404 diesel pickup.
We even got lost once in Lichtenstein.
Little Musgrave 12707448462_littlemusgrave
Limerick Rake 12707449530_limerickrake
Boys Of Mullabawn 127074498688_boysofmullabawn
Having left the band (Paul Brady came in) I was soon to discover I had no profile in Ireland as a solo singer. Whatever career I’d developed in Britain in the late sixties meant nothing in Ireland in 1974. I had to start almost from scratch. I floundered for a while seeking work and direction.†
Through Nicky Ryan (Planxty’s sound producer) I had befriended Jimmy Faulkner and Declan McNelis. I phoned Kevin Burke in London and invited him over for some rehearsals. He came and stayed. With Jimmy and Declan we began a residency in the Meeting Place in Dorset Street. Initially we played Monday nights, but soon began Saturdays as well and we were beginning to sound like a band.
This album was recorded at the Ashling Studio in Rathgar. Robbie Brennan joined us on drums. It was a bit out of my depth playing with bass and drums rhythm section and I could not offer much direction. A lot of the music at this time was confused and unstructured but we had happy days and made some good music.
Bunch Of Thyme 127074465999_bunchofthyme
Ballad Of Timothy Evans 127074468847_balladoftimothyevans
Home By Bearna 127074472673_homebybearna
As I got over the excitement of having made an album I began to hear what it was that had been recorded. I realised how important it was to work with musicians who could hear the work and empathise with the singer. All these songs have an atmosphere and a definite vibe of their own and that must be respected.†
When Bill Leader agreed to record my work for his Trailer label. I made contact with Donal Lunny, Andy Irvine, Liam O’Flynn and asked them to play on my second album. I’d known Donal since school and followed his music right from the start. He taught me how to play guitar and bowrawn and has always been the most sensitive collaborator and friend.
He also has a great understanding of the other instruments their capabilities and limitations and can write riffs and fills for all occasions. Liam O’Flynn is the first piper I encountered and forty years on is still my favourite. I’d known Andy from his work with Sweeny’s Men and occasional meetings along the trail.
This was a wonderful session of recordings. It was a time of great music and fun. Bill Leader was the most innovative of engineers and got on with his task of getting it down. Considering he was working with a Revox Reel to Reel and two mikes the sounds he recorded are ageing well.
I’ve talked about this album in many interviews. It has been viewed in lots of ways and taken apart, dissected and given all sorts weighty significance these past 30 years. It is flattering and titillating to hear of it’s debate but the truth is it was made primarily for the sheer joy of making music. We did it because we loved to do it. We had a ball and all we sought to do was to record the sounds that we liked. All that followed has been an unexpected and most welcome bonus.
Lock Hospital
Dark Eyed Sailor
I met Dominic Behan in Shepherds Bush in 1968 when we both played a benefit gig. It may have been 19th of November at Hampton Court. We hit it off and he took me under his wing. He said he would help me make an album in Sound Techniques Chelsea in 1969. Steve Benbow put a band together.
He wrote dots and brought in a bunch of his drinking mates to read the dots. I met them for the first time in the studio. They were all pub jazz players and I was the apprentice Paddy folkie greenhorn.
They did their thing and I tried to keep up with them. While I couldn’t keep up with their chord shapes I could keep up with their drinking and we all got on well – there was pain in the music but we were not feeling it. I can still hear it.
Dominic wrote four of the songs and also produced. A man called Harold Shampan paid the bills and Mercury put it out briefly. It led to doors being opened in the B.B.C and R.T.E and I did broadcasts on both networks after the release.
There are a couple of shams out there burning CD’s of this album. But don’t be tempted. As soon as I’m set up I’ll bang it out to you at a suitable price.
Audio Files
Paddy On The Road Paddy on the Road
James Larkin James Larkin
Maid From Athy 127074389064_maidfromathy
Track List
1 Paddy On The Road
2 Marrow Bones
3 Strike Weaspon
4 Avondale
5 James Larkin
6 Cunla
7 Spanish Lady
8 Belfast Brigade
9 Cricklewood
10 Curragh Of Kildare
11 Maid Of Athy
12 Father McFadden
The Handsome Family
I had nothing to say on Christmas Day when you threw all your clothes on the floor.
When you burned your hair knocked over the chair I tried to stay out of your way.
When you fell asleep with blood on your teeth I got into my car and drove away.
Listen to me butterfly, theres only so much wine you can drink in one life,
But it will never be enough to save you from the bottom of your glass.
Where the highway starts I parked my car I got out and stared up at the stars.
As meteors died and shot across the sky, I thought about your sad shining eyes.
I came back for my clothes when the sun finally rose you were still passed out on the floor
Listen to me butterfly, there’s only so much wine you can drink in one life
But it will never be enough to save you from the bottom of your glass
I was down in the Protestant church in Dingle recording “Songs from a Room” for the Kings and their retinue when I came face to face with this couple of Yanks, she incredibly brown eyed and red lipped, he bespectacled and large, not the sort of people you normally meet in the sacristy. A year later I go to hear the Handsome Family in Leap, West Cork and it was them again. Song after gorgeous song. Dark and beautiful and humourous and he’s not too bad either. Saw them later again in the Savoy in Cork at the European Year of the Culchies. They bound the spell again and poor auld Brett half killed with the gout as Rennie blew her bugle and I was glued to the floor.
C…F.C.Am.G.Dm…GC…F.C.AmF.C…
F.C.F.CC.Am.F.C……Am…F…….C….Am…F……..C….Am..F..
C…F…
Margaretta D’Arcy
In Black Armagh of the Goddess Macha,
Last February in the grey cold jail,
The governor Scott in his savage fury
Came down to break the women’s will.
Forty jailers, my forty jailers,
From the hell of Long Kesh come down
And help me break these warrior women
Who will not yield to the power of the crown.
The forty jailers put on the armour,
Strapped on their helmets, took up their shields,
Then they beat the Armagh women, they beat them down,
They were sure they’d yield.
Three days he kept them locked up in darkness,
Locked up in filth you would not believe.
When he released them he was so conceited
That one and all he thought they would yield.
“If you have suffered” he smilingly said,
“It never happened; it was all just a dream.
Come out, come out and obey my orders”
But the Armagh women they would never yield
They’d never yield to Scott the governor,
They’d never yield till they broke him down.
He and his jailers were all locked in prison
By the women of Armagh jail
And there they remain, those warrior women,
Locked up in filth you could not believe.
They hold Scott and his warders powerless.
They hold them there, they’ll never concede.
Women of Ireland, stand up and declare.
Women of Ireland, understand your power.
Make us see that together we’ll do it
We’ll tumble down their stone grey tower.
In Black Armagh of the Goddess Macha,
Last February in a cold grey cell…
________________________________________________________________________
In Irish mythology, Macha is a goddess linked with horses, battle, and sovereignty. She is said to have collected the heads of the slain, which were known as “Macha’s acorn crop”. Though possibly a triple goddess herself, she is often seen as one aspect of the Irish triple goddess of battle and sovereignty, the Morrigan.
Christy Moore
There’s Bethlehem and Cheltenham, there’s Lourdes and Limerick Junction
The trip to Mejagori come up for the extra munction
Good people climb Croagh Patrick with serenity on their faces
But Ruby Walsh he saved me life below at the Galway Races.
Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
They’re under starters orders, Ted Walsh is commentating,
Ruby’s up on the favourite, she’ll take some beating
necks are craned and eyes are trained there’s fear upon their faces
There’s agony and ecstasy below at the Galway races
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
It’s there you’ll see gentility and sheep dressed up like mutton
There’s double barrelled names with Mulherns on old melodeons
The talk is all of tillage of silage and corn acre
I fancy Tracy Piggott in the saddle in the enclosure
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go
Sir John Mucksavage Smythe is there with Smurfits and O’Reilly’s
The owners and the trainers, the stable boys and jockeys
With silk around their arses getting up on rich men’s horses
The convention wives and daughters and marriages and divorces.
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
There’s Celtic helicopters land bank speculators,
Builders and developers, crocodiles and alligators
Soldiers of destiny their in the fields of frenzy
their mouths wrapped round the Lamb Of God come back for the gravy,
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
Thursday is the ladies day and the women all look smashing
Their lashing on the lipstick Philip Tracy’s all the fashion
You can see the liposuction the botox and ogmanation
Brazilian haircuts colonic irrigation,
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
And every one’s out in Salthill for the craic and for the porter
There’s bookies making odds on two flies walking up the wall
There’s folk and trad there’s disco karaoke and set dances
While some of us who seen better days were looking to take our chances
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
Their galloping down the back straight, he has her in the canter
A look at her up the jumps be Gad, she’s like a ballet dancer
Over the last she hits the front the other one’s going to pass her
Winner alright it’s up Kildare, follow me up to Carlow
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go
Unknown
When two lovers meet down beside the green ocean
When two lovers meet beneath the green tree
And Mary my fond Mary to her love she is declaring
You have stolen away my young heart from the banks of the Lee
I loved her dearly both true and sincerely
There is no-one in this wide world I loved so much as she
Every bush, every bower, every wild Irish flower
It reminds me of my Mary on the banks of the Lee
So I will pluck my love some roses some wild Irish roses
I will pluck my love some roses the fairest that ever grew
And I will place them on the mound of my own darling true love
In that cold and silent valley where she lies beneath the dew
From Mick Moloney (Incomplete Version)
As I went out on a summer’s morning
As I went out by the Broomielaw
It was there I met with a fair young maiden
Her cheeks like roses and her skin like snow
Lassie lassie why do you wander
All alone by the Broomielaw
Sailor sailor the truth I’ll tell you
I’ve a lad of me ain and he’s far awa’
It’s seven long years since I loved that sailor
It’s seven long years since he sailed awa’
Another seven I’ll wait upon him
To be bleaching clothes in the Broomielaw
Lassie lassie you have been faithful
And true to me while I’ve been away
Our true hearts will be rewarded
We’ll part no more from the Broomielaw
For many years now they have been married
They keep an alehouse in Kelvinhall
And the sailor laddies they come calling
On the bleacher lassie from the Broomielaw
Christy Moore
As we I walked over the Glenshane Pass I heard a young woman mourn
The boy from Tamlaghduff she said is ten years dead and gone
How my heart is torn apart this young man to lose
We’ll never see the likes again of young Francis Hughes
For many years his exploits were a thorn in England’s side
The hills and glens became his home it was there he used to hide
Often when surrounded he’d quietly slip away
Like a fox he went to ground and kept the dogs of war at bay
Francis and three volunteers were coming around the pass
When they were confronted by a squad of SAS
The volunteers gave all they had till Francis took two rounds
He gave the order to retreat and wounded went to ground
The UDR and RUC came with their tracker dogs
In their hundreds hunted him across the farms and bogs
When he was too weak to move they captured him at last
And from the countryside he loved they brought him to Belfast
From Musgrave Park to Crumlin Road then to a H-Block cell
He went straight on the blanket then on hunger strike as well
Although his weapon had been changed to a blanket from a gun
He wielded it courageously as the hunger strike begun
As his young life ebbed away we helplessly looked on
On the twelfth of May the black flags lay in 1981
Deep mourning around Tamlaghduff has turned to burning pride
Francis fought them every day he lived and fought them as he died
As I walked over the Glenshane Pass I heard a young woman mourn
The boy from Tamlaghduff she said is ten years dead and gone
How my heart is torn apart this young man to lose
We’ll never see the likes again of young Francis Hughes.
Barry Moore
In the City of Chicago
As the evening shadows fall
There are people dreaming
Of the hills of Donegal
1847 was the year it all began
Deadly pains of hunger drove a million from the land
They journeyed not for glory
Their motive wasn’t greed
A voyage of survival across the stormy sea
To the City of Chicago
As the evening shadows fall
There are people dreaming
Of the hills of Donegal
Some of them knew fortune
Some of them knew fame
More of them knew hardship
And died upon the plain
They spread throughout the nation
They rode the railroad cars
Brought their songs ant music to ease their lonely hearts
To the City of Chicago
As the evening shadows fall
There are people dreaming
Of the hills of Donegal
Author Unknown
The sheep’s in the meadow the cows in the corn
Now is the time for a child to be born
He’ll cry for the moon and he’ll laugh at the sun
If it’s a boy he’ll carry a gun
And if it should be that our baby’s a girl
Never you mind if her hair doesn’t curl
With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
And bombers above her wherever she goes
Sang the crow in the cradle
Your Mammy and Daddy they’ll sweat and they’ll save
Build you a garden and dig you a grave
O-hush-a-bye baby why do you weep
We’ve got a pill that can put you to sleep
Hush-a-bye baby the black and the white
Somebody’s baby was born for to fight
Hush-a-bye-baby the white and the black
Hush-a-bye-baby is not coming back
Bring me a gun and I’ll shoot that bird dead
That’s what your Mammy and Daddy once said
Oh crow in the cradle what shall I do?
That is the question I leave unto you
Hugh McDonald
The faces in the photographs are fading
I can’t believe he looks so much like me
For its been ten long years today since I left for old Cork Station
And I won’t be back till the drove is done.
Chorus:
For the rain never falls on the dusty Diamantina
The drover finds it hard to change his mind
For the years have surely gone like the drays from old Cork Station
And I won’t be back till the drove is done.
It seems like the sun comes up each morning
Sets me up then takes it all away
Dreaming by the light of the campfire at night
Ends with the early light of the day.
Chorus
I sometimes think I’ll settle back in Sydney
It’s been so long and it’s hard to change your mind
For the cattle trail rolls on and on, the fences last forever
And I won’t be back when the drove is done.
Ewan McColl
The first time ever I saw your face,
I thought the sun rose in your eyes,
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave,
To the dark and the endless skies.
The first time ever I kissed your lips,
I felt the earth move in my hand,
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird,
That was there at my command.
The first time ever I lay with you,
I felt your heart beat close to mine,
And I knew our love would fill the earth,
And would last till the end of time.
From Patsy Halloran, With new words by C. Moore
I joined the Flying Column in 1916
In Cork with Sean Moylan in Tipperary with Dan Breen
Arrested by Free Staters and sentenced for to die
Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee Mountain boy
We tracked the Wicklow Mountains we were rebels on the run
Though hunted night and morning we were outlaws but free men
We tracked the Dublin Mountains as the sun was shining high
Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee Mountain boy
We went across the valleys and over the hilltops green
Where we met with Dinny Lacey, Sean Hogan and Dan Breen
Sean Moylan and his gallant men they kept the flag flying high
Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee Mountain boy
I’ll bid farewell to old Clonmel I never more shall see
And to the Galtee Mountains that oft times sheltered me
Those who fought for freedom, died without a sigh
May their fight not be forgotten, said the Galtee Mountain boy
Author Unknown
About four years ago I was digging the land
With my brogues on my feet and my spade in my hand
Says I to myself what a pity to see
Such a fine strapping lad footing turf in Tralee
Wid me toorum mi neaa me toorum mi na
Wid me toorim me nure im mi nure im mi nya
So I buttered me brogues and shook hands with my spade
And I went to the fair like a dashing young blade
When up comes a Seargeant and asks me to ‘list
Arra, sergeant a gra put the bob in me fist
O! Then here is the shilling, as we’ve got no more
When you get to headquarters you’ll get half a score
Arra, quit your kimeens, sez I, Sergeant goodbye
You’d not wish to be quartered, and neither would I
And the first thing they gave me it was a red coat
With a wide strap of leather to tie round my throat
They gave me a quare thing I asked what was that
And they told me it was a cockade for my head
They next thing they gave me they called it a gun
With powder and shot and a place for my thumb
And first she spit fire and then she spit smoke
Lord, she gave a great lep and my shoulder near broke
The next place they sent me was down to the sea
On board of a warship bound for the Crimea
Three sticks in the middle all rowled with sheets
She walked thro’ the water without any feet
When at Balaclava we landed quite sound
Both cold wet and hungry we lay on the ground
Next morning for action the bugle did call
And we got a hot breakfast of powder and ball
Sure it’s often I thought of my name and my home
And the days that I spent cutting turf, och mavrone
The balls were so thick and the fire was so hot
I lay down in the ditch, boys, for fear I’d be shot
We fought at the Alma, likewise Inkerman
But the Russians they whaled us at the Redan
In scaling the walls there myself lost my eye
And a big Russian bullet ran off with me thigh
It was there I lay bleeding stretched on the cold ground
Heads, legs and arms were scattered all around
Says I, if my mama or my cleaveens were nigh
They’d bury me decent and raise a loud cry
They brought me the doctor, who soon staunched my blood
And he gave me an elegant leg made of wood
They gave me a medal an ten pence a day
Contented with Sheila, I’ll live on half pay.
Bob Dylan
William Zanzinger killed Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled on his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gathering
The police were called in and his weapon took from him
They drove him into custody down at the station
Charged William Zanzinger with First Degree Murder
And you who philosophise disgrace and criticise my fears
Take that rag away from your face now’s not the time for your tears
When William Zanzinger was 24
He was farming tobacco on 600 acres
With rich wealthy parents to provide and protect him
High office relations in the politics of Maryland
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
With sneering and swear words his tongue it was snarling
In less than 10 minutes on bail was out walking
And you who philosophise disgrace and criticise my fears,
Take that rag away from your face now’s not the time for your tears.
Hattie Carroll was a maid who worked in the kitchen
51 years old she had 10 children
She carried the dishes and took out the garbage
She never once sat at the head of the table
She never even spoke to the people at the table
Just cleared all the food from the table
And emptied ashtrays on a whole other level
Killed by a blow and lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room
Doomed and determined to destroy all that’s gentle
She never did nothing to William Zanzinger
And you who philosophise disgrace and criticise my fears
Take that rag away from your face now’s not the time for your tears
At the courtroom of honour the Judge pounded his gavel
To show all is equal and his court is on the level
That the strings and the books are not pulled or persuaded
Even the rich get properly treated
Once the cops have chased them and caught them
The ladder of the law has no top and no bottom
He stared at that man who had killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feeling that way without warning
He spoke through his cloak most deep and distinguished
And handed down strongly form penalty and repentance
Gave William Zanzinger a 6 month sentence
And you who philosophise disgrace and criticise my fears
Bury that rag most deep in your face now is the time for your tears.
Woody Guthrie
It was early springtime and the strike was on
They drove us miners out of our homes
Out of the houses that the company owned
Into the tents of the little Ludlow
We were worried bad about our children
State troopers guarded the railway bridge
Every once in a while a bullet would fly
Kick up gravel around our feet
We were so afraid that you’d kill our children
That we dug a cave that was seven foot deep
Took the children and the pregnant women
Down inside the cave to sleep
It was late that night the soldiers waited
Till all us miners were asleep
They crept around one little camp town
And soaked our tents in kerosene
They struck a match and the blaze it started
They pulled the triggers of their Gatling guns
I made a run for the children but the firewall stopped me
Thirteen children died from their guns
I never will forget the looks on the faces
Of the men and women that awful day
As they stood around to preach the funeral
And lay the corpses of the dead away
The women from Trinidad took some potatoes
Up to Wallensburg in a little cart
They sold the potatoes and brought some guns back
Put a gun in every hand
We asked the governor to phone up the president
Ask him call off the National Guard
But the National Guard belonged to the governor
I guess he didn’t try very hard
Late one night the troopers charged us
They didn’t know that we had guns
The red necked miners shot them troops down
You should have seen those poor boys run
We took some cement and walled the cave up
Where the thirteen little children died
I thanked God for the Mine Workers Union
And then I hung my head and cried
Jimmy McCarthy
Among the walls and ruins,
Of the horrid civic stone,
I walked without a lover,
For my older bones.
The sun was strong and going down,
It was a dreamlike day,
It’s there I met the trinity,
It’s there I heard them say.
Chorus:
And she said bye bye Mama,
Goodbye brother John,
Fare thee well ye Shandon bells,
Ring on, ring on.
She leaned and leaned much closer,
And she hugged them all goodbye,
Her mother said “Don’t go my love”,
We all must by and by,
A drunken tongue said “leave her off”,
She’ll drive us all crazy,
She turned around and saw my face,
And both of us was she.
Chorus
Up on to the limestone wall,
And down the level steps,
She threw herself into the stream,
With a splash and no regrets,
Sidestroke swimming midstream,
Throwing kisses to the crowd,
And everything was silent,
And the sky had not one cloud.
Chorus
We were swimming out in the sunset,
We were swimming out to sea,
Swimming down by the opera house,
The Mad Lady and Me.