Irish Songs

Continuing from the bottom of the last post, yes, I may have a chance to sing for a Celtic Rock band. It sounds like it could be great fun, especially since I'd pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I was never going to play live music for the rest of my life.

Immediately after the euphoria of actually being wanted, the good old drawback machine in my head began its inevitable clanking and chugging, cranking out concerns about my voice, my skills, my knowledge, my looks, my social skills, my age, how this will affect my family and work life (such as it is).

Plus, I'm suspicious of a band that asks for my picture for the website before they've even heard whether I can sing at all. And to top it off, I don't have a single picture that is suitable (which may or may not equal 'flattering').

But be that as it may, it's a good a chance as any for me to learn a few songs. I should know more songs; there's few enough to which I can sing every lyric from beginning to end, despite knowing the music by heart. Lyrics have just never been terribly important to me compared to the overall musical impression (thus my attraction tor foreign-language music and the Cocteau Twins).

But here we go, with a quick (and eventually more conveniently-presented) list of a bunch of Irish lyrics that I aim t' know by heart or die tryin':

Whiskey in the Jar

(not a huge personal favorite, mind you, but a fun song and one that seems to be a standard. The lyrics of traditional songs often change, but this is The Dubliners' version)

As I was a goin' over the far famed Kerry mountains

I met with Captain Farrell and his money he was counting

I first produced my pistol and I then produced my rapier

Saying "Stand and deliver" for he were a bold deceiver

Chorus:

musha rig uma do ruma da

whack fol the daddy-o

whack fol the daddy-o

there's whiskey in the jar

I counted out his money and it made a pretty penny

I put it in me pocket and I took it home to Jenny

She sighed and she swore that she never would deceive me

But the devil take the women for they never can be easy

(Chorus)

I went up to my chamber, all for to take a slumber

I dreamt of gold and jewels and for sure 't was no wonder

But Jenny drew me charges and she filled them up with water

Then sent for captain Farrell to be ready for the slaughter

(Chorus)

't was early in the morning, just before I rose to travel

Up comes a band of footmen and likewise captain Farrell

I first produced me pistol for she stole away me rapier

I couldn't shoot the water, so a prisoner I was taken

(Chorus)

Now there's some take delight in the carriages a rolling

and others take delight in the hurling and the bowling

but I take delight in the juice of the barley

and courting pretty fair maids in the morning bright and early

(Chorus)

If anyone can aid me 't is my brother in the army

If I can find his station in Cork or in Killarney

And if he'll go with me, we'll go rovin' through Killkenny

And I'm sure he'll treat me better than my own a-sporting Jenny

(Chorus)

Step it Out Mary (Sean McCarthy)

(a tragic song with a good beat, as done by The Dubliners. Perfect!)

In the village of Kilgory, there's a maiden young and fair

Her eyes they shine like diamonds, she has long and golden hair

But the countryman comes riding, rides up to her father's gates

Riding on a milk-white stallion, he comes at the strike of eight.

Chorus:

Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter

Step it out, mary, if you can

Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter

Show your legs (arse?) to the countryman

I have come to court your daughter, Mary of the golden hair

I have gold and I have silver, I have goods beyond compare

I will buy her silks and satin and a gold ring for her hand

I will buy for her a mansion, she'll have servants to command

I don't want your gold and silver, I don't want your house and land

I am going with a soldier, I have promised him my hand

But the father spoke up sharply: You will do as you are told,

You'll get married on the Sunday and you'll wear that ring of gold

In the village of Kilgory there's a deep stream flowing by

On her marriage day at midnight she drowned with her soldier boy

In the cottage there is music, you can hear her father say:

Step it out, Mary, my fine daughter, Sunday is your wedding day.

The Auld Triangle (Brendan Behan)

(a personal favorite, I'm not sure exactly why. The lyrics are from The Pogues' version)

A hungry feeling

Came o'er me stealing

And the mice were squealing

In my prison cell

And that auld triangle went jingle-jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

Oh! To start the morning

The warden bawling

"Get up out of bed, you! And clean out your cell!"

And that auld triangle went jingle-jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

Oh! the screw was peeping

And the (lag|loike) was sleeping

As he lay weeping

For his girl Sal

And that auld triangle went jingle-jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

On a fine Spring evening

The (lag|loike) lay dreaming

And the sea-gulls were wheeling

High above the wall

And that auld triangle went jingle-jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

Oh! the wind was sighing

And the day was dying

As the (lag|loike) lay crying

In his prison cell

And that auld triangle went jingle-bloody-jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

In the women's prison

There are seventy women

And I wish it was with them

That I did dwell

Then that auld triangle could go jingle-jangle

All along the banks of the Royal Canal

Rocky Road to Dublin

(another of my all-time favorites, hard as hell to learn and master. Oh well, start big they say)

While in the merry month of May from me home I started,

Left the girls of Tuam so sad and broken hearted,

Saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother,

Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother,

Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born,

Cut a stout black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins;

Bought a pair of brogues rattling o'er the bogs

And fright'ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin.

One, two, three four, five,

Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road

all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !

In Mullingar that night I rested limbs so weary,

Started by daylight next morning blithe and early,

Took a drop of pure to keep me heartfrom sinking;

Thats a Paddy's cure whenever he's on drinking.

See the lassies smile, laughing all the while

At me curious style, 'twould set your heart a bubblin'

Asked me was I hired, wages I required,

I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin.

One, two, three four, five,

Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road

all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !

In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity

To be soon deprived a view of that fine city.

So then I took a stroll, all among the quality;

Me bundle it was stole, all in a neat locality.

Something crossed me mind, when I looked behind,

No bundle could I find upon me stick a wobblin'

Enquiring for the rogue, they said me Connaught brogue

Wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin.

One, two, three four, five,

Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road

all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !

From there I got away, me spirits never falling,

Landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailing.

The Captain at me roared, said that no room had he;

When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy.

Down among the pigs, played some hearty rigs,

Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubbling;

When off Holyhead I wished meself was dead,

Or better for instead on the rocky road to Dublin.

One, two, three four, five,

Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road

all the way to Dublin, Whack follol de rah !

Well the boys of Liverpool, when we safely landed,

Called meself a fool, I could no longer stand it.

Blood began to boil, temper I was losing;

Poor old Erin's Isle they began abusing.

"Hurrah me soul" says I, me Shillelagh I let fly.

Some Galway boys were nigh and saw I was a hobble in,

With a load "hurray !" joined in the affray.

We quitely cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin.

One, two, three four, five,

Hunt the Hare and turn her down

the rocky road and all the way to Dublin,

Whack follol de rah !

(The) Leaving of Liverpool

(yet another all-time favorite, upbeat and sad as usual. I'm distressingly partial to the Clancy Brothers' harmonies on this one)

Farewell to Prince's Landing Stage

River Mersey, fare thee well

I am bound for California,

A place I know right well

Chorus:

So fare thee well, my own true love

For 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'm bound off for California

By the way of stormy Cape Horn

And I'm bound to write you a letter, love

When I am homeward bound

(Chorus)

I have signed on a Yankee clipper ship

Davy Crockett is her name

And Burgess is the Captain of her

And they that say she's a floating shame

(Chorus)

I have shipped with Burgess once before

And I think I know him well

If a man's a sailor, he can get along

If not, then he's sure in Hell

(Chorus)

Farewell to lower Frederick Street

Ensign Terrace and Park Lane

For I think it will be a long, long time

Before I see you again

(Chorus)

Oh the sun is on the harbour, love

And I wish I could remain

For I know it will be a long, long time

Till I see you again

(Chorus)

Bottle of Smoke (Shane MacGowan / Jem Finer)

(probably my favorite Pogues song. Again, learning the lyrics seems hard as hell)

Thanks and praises

Thanks to Jesus

I bet on the Bottle of Smoke

I went to Hell

And to the races

To bet on the Bottle of Smoke

The day being clear

The sky being bright

He came up on the left

Like a streak of light

Like a drunken fuck

On a Saturday night

Up came the Bottle of Smoke

Twenty fucking five to one

My gambling days are done

I bet on a horse called the Bottle of Smoke

And my horse won

Stewards inquiries

Swift and fiery

I had the Bottle of Smoke

Inquisitions and suppositions

I had the Bottle of Smoke

Fuck the stewards

A trip to Lourdes

Might give the old fuckers

The power of sight

Screaming springers and stoppers

And call out coppers

But the money still gleams in my hand like a light

Bookies cursing

Cars reversing

I had the Bottle of Smoke

Glasses steaming

Vessels bursting

I had the Bottle of Smoke

Slip a fifty to the wife

And for each brat a crisp new five

To give me a break on a Saturday night

When I had the Bottle of Smoke

Priests and maidens

Drunk as pagans

They had the Bottle of Smoke

Sins forgiven and celebrations

They had the Bottle of Smoke

Fuck the Yanks

And drink their wives

The moon is clear

The sky is bright

I'm happy as the horses shite

Up came the Bottle of Smoke

(Take Her Up to) Monto

(hated it at first. Now I think it's great fun, especially the obscene bits)

Well, if you've got a wing-o,

Take her up to Ring-o

Where the waxies sing-o all the day;

If you've had your fill of porter, And you can't go any further

Give your man the order: "Back to the Quay!"

And take her up to Monto, Monto, Monto

Take her up to Monto, lan-ge- roo,

To you!

Have you heard of Buckshot Forster,

The dirty old impostor

Took a mot and lost her, up the Furry Glen.

He first put on his bowler

And buttoned up his trousers,

Then whistled for a growler and he said, "My man!"

Take me up to Monto, Monto, Monto

Take me up to Monto, lan-ge- roo,

To you!

You've seen the Dublin Fusiliers,

The dirty old bamboozeleers,

De Wet'll kill them chiselers, one, two, three.

Marching from the Linen Hall

There's one for every cannonball,

And Vicky's going to send them all, o'er the sea.

But first go up to Monto, Monto, Monto

March them up to Monto, lan-ge- roo,

To you!

When Carey told on Skin-the-goat,

O'Donnell caught him on the boat

He wished he'd never been afloat, the dirty skite.

It wasn't very sensible

To tell on the Invincibles

They stand up for their principles, day and night.

And you'll find them all in Monto, Monto, Monto

Standing up in Monto, lan-ge- roo,

To you!

Now when the Tsar of Russia

And the King of Prussia

Landed in the Phoenix in a big balloon,

They asked the police band

To play "The Wearin' of the Green"

But the buggers from the depot didn't know the tune.

So they both went up to Monto, Monto, Monto

Scarpered up to Monto, lan-ge- roo,

To you!

The Queen she came to call on us,

She wanted to see all of us

I'm glad she didn't fall on us, she's eighteen stone.

"Mister Me Lord Mayor," says she,

"Is this all you've got to show me?"

"Why, no ma'am there's some more to see, Póg mo thóin!"

And he took her up Monto, Monto, Monto

He set her up in Monto, lan-ge- roo,

For you!

Waxie's Dargle

(same as Monto, hated it when I first heard it. What do I know?)

Says my aul' one to your aul' one

"Will ye come to the Waxies' Dargle?"

Says your aul' one to my aul' one,

"Sure, I haven't got a farthin'.

I've just been down to Monto town

To see old Bill McArdle

But he wouldn't give me a half a crown

For to go to the Waxies' Dargle."

Chorus:

"What'll ye have? Will ye have a pint?"

"I'll have a pint with you, sir."

And if one of us doesn't order soon

We'll be thrown out of the boozer.

Says my aul' one to your aul' one

"Will ye come to the Galway Races?"

Says your aul' one to my aul' one,

"With the price of me aul' lad's braces.

I went down to Capel Street

To the Jew-man moneylenders

But they wouldn't give me a couple of bob

On me aul' lad's red suspenders."

Says my aul' one to your aul' one

"We have no beef nor mutton

But if we go down to Monto town

We might get a drink for nothin'."

Here's a nice piece of advice

I got from an aul' fishmonger:

"When food is scarce and you see the hearse

You'll know they've died of hunger.

Streams of Whiskey

(kinda surprised when I found out this is a MacGowan original. The refrain sounds older, but I guess that's how good he is)

Last night as I slept

I dreamt I met with Behan

I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day

When questioned on his views

On the crux of life's philosophies

He had but these few clear and simple words to say

chorus:

I am going, I am going

Any which way the wind may be blowing

I am going, I am going

Where streams of whiskey are flowing

I have cursed, bled and sworn

Jumped bail and landed up in jail

Life has often tried to stretch me

But the rope always was slack

And now that I've a pile

I'll go down to the Chelsea

I'll walk in on my feet

But I'll leave there on my back

Oh the words that he spoke

Seemed the wisest of philosophies

There's nothing ever gained

By a wet thing called a tear

When the world is too dark

And I need the light inside of me

I'll go into a bar and drink

Fifteen pints of beer

Mursheen Durkin

(just loud and fun. Who hasn't been sick and tired of workin'?)

In the days I went a-courtin', I was never tired resortin'

To the alehouse and the playhouse and many's the house besides,

But I told me brother Seamus I'd go off and go right famous

And before I'd return again I'd roam the whole world wide.

Chorus:

So goodbye, Muirsheen Durkin, I'm sick and tired of working,

No more I'll dig the praties, no longer I'll be poor.

For as sure as me name is Carney

I'll be off to California, where instead of digging praties

I'll be digging lumps of gold.

I've courted girls in Blarney, in Kanturk, and in Killarney

In Passage, and in Queenstown—that is, the Cobh of Cork.

But goodbye to all this pleasure, for I'm going to take me leisure

And the next time that you hear t'will be

A letter from New York.

Goodbye to all the boys at home, I'm sailing far across the foam

To try to make me fortune in far America,

For there's silver there aplenty for the poor man and the gentry

And when I do come back again I never more will stray.

Dirty Old Town (Ewan MacColl)

(truly great. It could be any of the towns in which I've lived. Not exactly Irish, though...)

I met my love by the gas works wall

Dreamed a dream by the old canal

I Kissed my girl by the factory wall

Dirty old town

Dirty old town

Clouds are drifting across the moon

Cats are prowling on their beat

Spring's a girl from the streets at night

Dirty old town

Dirty old town

I Heard a siren from the docks

Saw a train set the night on fire

I Smelled the spring on the smoky wind

Dirty old town

Dirty old town

I'm gonna make me a big sharp axe

Shining steel tempered in the fire

I'll chop you down like an old dead tree

Dirty old town

Dirty old town

I met my love by the gas works wall

Dreamed a dream by the old canal

I kissed my girl by the factory wall

Dirty old town

Dirty old town

Dirty old town

Dirty old town

The Parting Glass

(sad to say this is not well-known to me. Seems to be a standard so I'll take the plunge)

Of all the money e'er I had,

I spent it in good company.

And all the harm I've ever done,

Alas! it was to none but me.

And all I've done for want of wit

To mem'ry now I can't recall

So fill to me the parting glass

Good night and joy be with you all

Oh, all the comrades e'er I had,

They're sorry for my going away,

And all the sweethearts e'er I had,

They'd wish me one more day to stay,

But since it falls unto my lot,

That I should rise and you should not,

I gently rise and softly call,

Good night and joy be with you all.

If I had money enough to spend,

And leisure time to sit awhile,

There is a fair maid in this town,

That sorely has my heart beguiled.

Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips,

I own she has my heart in thrall,

Then fill to me the parting glass,

Good night and joy be with you all.

South Australia

(as Irish as many of these songs. I love The Pogues' version, very raucous)

In South Australia I was born

Heave away, Haul away

In South Australia 'round Cape Horn

We're bound for South Australia

chorus:

Haul away your rolling king

Heave away, Haul away

Haul away oh hear me sing

We're bound for South Australia

As I walked out one morning fair

Heave away, Haul away

'Twas there I met Miss Nancy Blair

We're bound for South Australia

There's just one thing that's on my mind

Heave away, Haul away

That's leaving Nancy Blair behind

We're bound for South Australia

And as we wallop round Cape Horn

Heave away, Haul away

You'll wish to God you've never been born

We're bound for South Australia

I wish I was on Australia's strand

Heave away! Haul away!

With a bottle of whiskey in my hand

And we're bound for South Australia

In South Australia my native land

Heave away! Haul away!

Full of rocks, and fleas, and thieves, and sand

And we're bound for South Australia

The Broad Majestic Shannon (MacGowan)

(it's a good song. And obviously it reminds me of my sister)

The last time I saw you was down at the Greeks

There was whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks

You sang me a song as pure as the breeze

Blowing up the road to Glenaveigh

I sat for a while at the cross at Finnoe

Where young lovers would meet when the flowers were in bloom

Heard the men coming home from the fair at Shinrone

Their hearts in Tipperary wherever they go

chorus:

Take my hand, and dry your tears babe

Take my hand, forget your fears babe

There's no pain, there's no more sorrow

They're all gone, gone in the years babe

I sat for a while by the gap in the wall

Found a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball

Heard the cards being dealt, and the rosary called

And a fiddle playing Sean Dun na nGall

And the next time I see you we'll be down at the Greeks

There'll be whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks

For it's stupid to laugh and it's useless to bawl

About a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball

So I walked as day was dawning

Where small birds sang and leaves were falling

Where we once watched the row boats landing

By the broad majestic Shannon

The Galway Races

(traditional, but the Pogues' version has incredible intensity)

As I went down to Galway Town

To seek for recreation

On the seventeenth of August

Me mind being elevated

There were passengers assembled

With their tickets at the station

And me eyes began to dazzle

And they off to see the races

With me wack fol the do fol

The diddle idle day

There were passengers from Limerick

And passengers from Nenagh

The boys of Connemara

And the Clare unmarried maiden

There were people from Cork City

Who were loyal, true and faithful

Who brought home the Fenian prisoners

From dying in foreign nations

And it's there you'll see the pipers

And the fiddlers competing

And the sporting wheel of fortune

And the four and twenty quarters

And there's others without scruple

Pelting wattles at poor Maggie

And her father well contented

And he gazing at his daughter

And it's there you'll see the jockeys

And they mounted on so stably

The pink, the blue, the orange, and green

The colors of our nation

The time it came for starting

All the horses seemed impatient

Their feet they hardly touched the ground

The speed was so amazing!

There was half a million people there

Of all denominations

The Catholic, the Protestant, the Jew, the Presbyterian

Yet there was no animosity

No matter what persuasion

But failte hospitality

Inducing fresh acquaintance

The Black Velvet Band

(loved since young, another one that is initially the fault of the Irish Rovers)

In a neat little town they call Belfast

Apprenticed in trade I was bound

And many an hour of sweet happiness

I spent in that neat little town

Till bad misfortune befell me

And caused me to stray from the land

Far away from my friends and relations

To follow the black velvet band

Chorus

Her eyes they shone like the diamond

You'd think she was queen of the land

And her hair hung over her shoulder

Tied up in a black velvet band

Well, I was out strolling one evening

Not meaning to go very far

When I met with a pretty young damsel

She was selling her trade in a bar

When I watched, she took from a customer

And slipped it right into my hand

Then the Watch came and put me in prison

Bad luck to the black velvet band

Next morning before judge and jury

For our trial I had to appear

The judge, he said, "Young fellow

The case against you is quite clear

And seven years is your sentence

You're going to Van Dieman's Land

Far away from your friends and relations

To follow the black velvet band"

So come all you jolly young fellows

I'd have you take warning by me

And whenever you're out on the liquor

Beware of the pretty colleen

They'll fill your with whiskey and porter

Until you're not able to stand

And the very next thing that you know

You're landed in Van Dieman's Land

The Wind that Shakes the Barley (?)

(I know I've heard this, if nowhere else than Dead Can Dance, but I can't recall the tune. I think I need to know it)

I sat within a valley green

I sat me with my true love

My sad heart strove to choose between

The old love and the new love

The old for her, the new that made

Me think on Ireland dearly

While soft the wind blew down the glade

And shook the golden barley

Twas hard the woeful words to frame

To break the ties that bound us

But harder still to bear the shame

Of foreign chains around us

And so I said, "The mountain glen

I'll seek at morning early

And join the bold United Men

While soft winds shake the barley"

While sad I kissed away her tears

My fond arms 'round her flinging

The foeman's shot burst on our ears

From out the wildwood ringing

A bullet pierced my true love's side

In life's young spring so early

And on my breast in blood she died

While soft winds shook the barley

I bore her to some mountain stream

And many's the summer blossom

I placed with branches soft and green

About her gore-stained bosom

I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse

Then rushed o'er vale and valley

My vengeance on the foe to wreak

While soft winds shook the barley

But blood for blood without remorse

I've taken at Oulart Hollow

And laid my true love's clay-cold corpse

Where I full soon may follow

As 'round her grave I wander drear

Noon, night and morning early

With breaking heart when e'er I hear

The wind that shakes the barley

Dicey Reilly

(yet another from the "once hated, now fun" category)

Oh poor old Dicey Reilly she has taken to the sup.

Oh poor old Dicey Reilly she will never give it up.

For it`s off each morning to the pop,

And then she`s in for another little drop,

For the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly.

Oh she walks along Fitzgibbon street with an independent air,

And then it`s down be Summerhill and as the people stare

She says it`s nearly half past one, and it`s time I had another little one

Ah the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly

Long years ago when men were men and fancied May Oblong

Or lovely Beckie Cooper or Maggie`s Mary Wong,

One woman put them all to shame, just one was worthy of the name,

And the name of the dame was Dicey Reilly

Oh but time went catching up on her like many pretty whores,

And it`s after you along the street before you`re out the door,

The balance weighed and they looks all fade, but out of all that great brigade,

Still the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly

Off to Dublin in the Green

(or "The Merry Ploughboy". I knew it as "Green in the Green" and I blame The Clancy Brothers. But the traditional version has more violence!)

Oh I am a merry ploughboy and I ploughed the fields all day

Till a sudden thought came to my head that I should roam away

For I'm sick and tired of slavery since the day that I was born

And I'm off to join the IRA, and I'm off tomorrow morn

Chorus:

And we're all off to Dublin in the green, in the green

Where the helmets glisten in the sun

Where the bayonets flash and the rifles crash

To the rattle of a Thompson gun

I'll leave aside my pick and spade, I'll leave aside my plough

I'll leave aside my horse and yoke, I no longer need them now

And I'll leave aside my Mary, she's the girl that I adore

And I wonder if she'll think of me when she hears the rifles roar

And when the war is over and dear old Ireland is free

I'll take her to the church to wed, and a rebel's wife she'll be

Well, some men fight for silver and some men fight for gold

But the IRA are fighting for the land that the Saxons stole

Joe Hill (Hayes/Robinson)

(not Irish at all, but The Dubliners sang it (among many others), and it seems a good song to know. It makes me tear up, but I'm a bit Wobbly anyway at the best of times)

I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,

Alive as you or me

Says I, "But Joe, you're ten years dead,"

"I never died," says he

"I never died," says he

"In Salt Lake, Joe," says I to him,

Him standing by my bed,

"They framed you on a murder charge,"

Says Joe, "But I ain't dead,"

Says Joe, "But I ain't dead."

"The copper bosses killed you, Joe,

They shot you, Joe," says I.

"Takes more than guns to kill a man,"

Says Joe, "I didn't die,"

Says Joe, "I didn't die."

And standing there as big as life

And smiling with his eyes

Joe says, "What they forgot to kill

Went on to organize,

Went on to organize."

"Joe Hill ain't dead," he says to me,

"Joe Hill ain't never died.

Where working men are out on strike

Joe Hill is at their side,

Joe Hill is at their side."

"From San Diego up to Maine,

In every mine and mill,

Where workers strike and organize,"

Says he, "You'll find Joe Hill,"

Says he, "You'll find Joe Hill."

I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,

Alive as you or me

Says I, "But Joe, you're ten years dead,"

"I never died," says he

"I never died," says he

John O'Dreams (Bill Caddick)

(a sweet and strangely sad song that some think is more about death than sleep. I doubt I was thinking that when I first heard it from The Clancy's. Me mum loves it, so I'll learn it for her)

When midnight comes good people homeward tread

Seek now your blanket and your feather bed

Home is the rover, his journey's over

Yield up the night time to old John O' Dreams

Yield up the night time to old John O' Dreams

Across the hill, the sun has gone astray

Tomorrow's cares are many dreams away

The stars are flying, your candle's dying

Yield up the darkness to old John O' Dreams

Yield up the darkness to old John O' Dreams

Both man and master in the night are one

All things are equal when the day is done

The prince and the ploughman, the slave and the freeman

All find their comfort in old John O' Dreams

All find their comfort in old John O' Dreams

When sleep it comes the dreams come running clear

The hawks of morning cannot harm you here

Sleep is a river, flows on forever

And for your boatman choose old John O' Dreams

And for your boatman choose old John O' Dreams

When midnight comes good people homeward tread

Seek now your blanket and your feather bed

Home is the rover, his journey's over

Yield up the night time to old John O' Dreams

Yield up the night time to old John O' Dreams

The Wild Rover

(I don't really want to know this song any better than I do, but I probably have to. It's such a standard)

I've been a wild rover for many's the year,

and I spent all me money on whiskey and beer.

And now I'm returning with gold in great store,

and I never will play the wild rover no more.

(Chorus):

And it's no, nay, never! No, nay, never, no more,

will I play the wild rover. No (nay) never no more!

I went to an alehouse I used to frequent,

and I told the landlady me money was spent.

I asked her for credit, she answered me "nay,

such a custom as yours I could have any day".

I pulled from me pocket a handful of gold,

and on the round table it glittered and rolled.

She said "I have whiskeys and wines of the best,

and the words that I told you were only in jest".

I'll have none of your whiskeys nor fine Spanish wines,

For your words show you clearly as no friend of mine.

There's others most willing to open a door,

To a man coming home from a far distant shore.

I'll go home to me parents, confess what I've done,

and I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son.

And if they forgive me as oft times before,

I never will play the wild rover no more.

Gypsy Rover/ Whistling Gypsy/ Gypsy Davey

(I have to stop being sheepish about the Irish Rovers. It's not their fault, or mine, that they weren't exactly an 'authentic' Irish band. Everyone needs to start somewhere)

A gypsy rover came over the hill

Down through the valley so shady.

He whistled and he sang 'til the green woods rang

And he won the heart of a lady.

chorus:

Ah-dee-doo-ah-dee-doo-dah-day

Ah-dee-doo-ah-dee-day-dee

He whistled and he sang 'til the green woods rang

And he won the heart of a lady.

She left her father's castle gate.

She left her own fine lover.

She left her servants and her state

To follow her gypsy rover.

She left behind her velvet gown

And shoes of Spanish leather

They whistled and they sang 'till the green woods rang

As they rode off together

Last night, she slept on a goose feather bed

With silken sheets for cover

Tonight she'll sleep on the cold, cold ground

Beside her gyspy lover

Her father saddled up his fastest steed

And roamed the valley all over.

Sought his daughter at great speed

And the whistlin' gypsy rover.

He came at last to a mansion fine

Down by the river Claydee.

And there was music and there was wine

For the gypsy and his lady.

"Have you forsaken your house and home?

Have you forsaken your baby?

Have you forsaken your husband dear

For a whistling gypsy rover?"

"He is no gypsy, my Father," she cried

"but Lord of these lands all over.

And I shall stay 'til my dying day

with my whistlin' gypsy rover."

The House Carpenter (not Irish at all, it's a Child Ballad and therefore British, but one of my favorites and musically appropriate -- and it's based on The Daemon Lover, even better). Full version:

Well met, well met, my own true love

Well met, well met, cried he

I've just returned from the salt, salt sea

And it's all for the love of thee

O I could have married the king's daughter dear

And she would have married me

But I have refused the crown of gold

And it's all for the sake of thee

If you could have married the king's daughter dear

I'm sure you are to blame

For I am married to the house carpenter

And he is a fine young man

If you'll forsake your house carpenter

And come away with me

I'll take you to where the grass grows green

On the banks of the sweet Willie

If I forsake my house carpenter

And come away with thee

What have you got to maintain me upon

And keep me from slavery

I've six ships sailing on the salt, salt sea

A-sailing from dry land

And a hundred and twenty jolly young men

Shall be at thy command

She picked up her poor wee babe

And kisses gave him three

Saying stay right here with the house carpenter

And keep him good company

They had not been at sea two weeks

I'm sure it was not three

When this poor maid began to weep

And she wept most bitterly

O do you weep for your gold, he said

Your houses, your land, or your store?

Or do you weep for your house carpenter

That you never shall see anymore

I do not weep for my gold, she said

My houses, my land or my store

But I do weep for my poor wee babe

That I never shall see anymore

They had not been at sea three weeks

I'm sure it was not four

When in their ship there sprang a leak

And she sank to rise no more

(not in my Anthology of American Music version, but awesome:)

What hills, what hills are those, my love

That are so bright and free

Those are the hill of Heaven, my love

But not for you and me

What hills, what hills, are those, my love

That are so dark and low

Those are the hills of Hell, my love

Where you and I must go