FIDDLER'S GREEN
(John Connelly)
As I walked by the dockside one evening so fair
To view the saltwater and take the salt air
I heard an old fisherman singing a song
Take me away, boys, me time is not long
Chorus:
Wrap me up in me oilskins and jumper
No more on the docks I'll be seen
Just tell me old shipmates, I'm taking a trip mates
I'll see you someday on Fiddler's Green
Now Fiddler's Green is a place I've heard tell
Where fishermen go, when they don't go to hell
Where the weather is clear and dolphins do play
And the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away
Chorus
Where the skies are all clear and there's never a gale
And the fish jump on board with one swish of their tails
Where you lie at your leisure, there's no work to do
And the skipper's below making tea for the crew
Chorus
When you get back at home and the long trip is through
There's pubs and there's clubs and there's lassies there too
The girls are all pretty and the beer is all free
And there's bottles of rum growin' on every tree
Chorus
Well I don't want a harp or a halo, not me
Just give me a breeze and a good rolling sea
I'll play me old squeeze box, as we sail along
With the wind in riggin' to sing me this song
Chorus
Chorus
THE FIELDS OF ATHENRY
(Pete St. John)
By a lonely prison wall, I heard a young girl calling
"Michael, they have taken you away,
For you stole Trevelyn's corn, So the young might see the morn.
Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay.”
Chorus:
Low lie the fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly
Our love was on the wing, we had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry.
By a lonely prison wall, I heard a young man calling
"Nothing matters, Mary, when you're free
Against the famine and the crown, I rebelled, they cut me down.
Now you must raise our child with dignity.”
Chorus
By a lonely harbour wall, she watched the last star fall
As the prison ship sailed out against the sky
For she lived to hope and pray for her love in Botany Bay
It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry.
Chorus
Chorus
FIFTY PENCE
Trad.
I met a girl the other night, she smiled and gave me hope
She stayed when all the rest had gone, the music had all stopped
So I took her to a restaurant, the finest in the street
She said she wasnae hungry, but this is what she ate
Three plates of soup, two melons, a pound and a half of roast
Some Irish stew, potatoes too, and then some beans on toast
Next she tried some oysters fried, her appetite was immense
She asked for pie, I thought I'd die for I just had fifty pence
And when the food was finished she smiled so very sweet
Said she wasn't hungry, and she wished that she could eat
And when she called the waiter back my heart began to sink
She said she wasn't thirsty but she showed me how to drink
Three whiskies, two vodkas, twenty pints of beer
Fourteen brandies, thirteen gins, quickly disappeared
Four pints of Guinness followed, she astonished all the gents
She called for more, I fell on the floor for I just had fifty pence
And then this delicate little lass cleaned out the ice-cream can
And said, Now Iain, I'll tell my mum you're such a nice young man
She said she'd bring her sister too next time she came, for fun
I gave the waiter my fifty pence, and this is what he done
He stood on my toes, broke my nose, knocked me out of breath
My two black eyes were worth a prize, he kicked me half to death
He pulled me out the restaurant, he threw me o'er the rail
And that was when the polis came and took me to the gaol
So if I don't smile back tonight, girls, use your common sense
You know I'm only thinking of my experience
But I'm feeling rather hungry, so I wouldn't take offence
If you took me to a restaurant, I've just got fifty pence
FINNEGAN'S WAKE
Tim Finnegan lived in Walken Street a gentle Irishman mighty odd
He'd beautiful brogue both rich and sweet to rise in the world he carried a hod
Tim had a bit of a tipplin' way with a love for the liquor Tim was born
And to help him on with his work each day he'd a drop of the cray-thur every more
Chorus:
Whack fol the da will ya dance to your partner,
Welt the floor your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told ya,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake
One morning Tim felt rather full his head was heavy which made him shake
He fell from the ladder and he broke his skull and they carried him home his corpse to
wake
Well they laid him out in a nice clean sheet and they laid him out upon the bed
With a bottle of whiskey at his feet and a barrel of porter at his head
Chorus
Well his friends assembled at the wake and Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch
First the brought in teas and cake then pipes tobacco and whiskey punch
The Widow Malone began to cry "Such a lovely corpse did you ever see?"
"Tim avourneen why did you die?" "Shut your gob!" said Biddy McGee
Chorus
Then Peggy O'Connor took up the job "Biddy," says she, "You're wrong I'm sure.”
Biddy fetched her a belt in the gob and left her sprawled out on the floor
Then the war did soon engage woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh-law was all the rage and a row and a ruction soon began
Chorus
Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head as a noggin' of whiskey flew at him
It missed and fallen on the bed the liquor scattered over Tim
Tim revived see how he rises, Timothy rising from the bed
Sayin' "Whirl your whiskey around like blazes? Thunderin' Jaysus ! Do you think I'm dead?"
Chorus
THE FIRST OF THE EMIGRANTS
Now I'm leaving old England, the land that I love,
And I'm bound out far across the sea.
Oh I'm bound to Australia, the land of the free,
Where there will be a welcome for me.
So fill up your glasses and drink what you please,
For no matter's the damage, oh, I'll pay;
So be aisy and free whilst you're drinking with me,
Sure, I'm the man you don't meet every day.
Now when I boarded my ship for to go
She was looking all snug and trim;
For I landed aboard with my bag and baggage,
And the mate he told me just where to go.
Now down to Gravesend, oh, soon we did go,
And the customs they came on board,
And inspected us all and called out our names:
There was girls and boys all galore.
They let go of us and we soon sailed away
Down to the Nore and around.
Oh, the Foreland's in sight, oh, it became late at night,
But I was the man they didn't meet every day.
Now we sailed down the Channel of old England, and away
To the Ushant and far across the bay;
Oh, out into the Roaring Forties did stay,
And its here were our westerly winds.
Now I'll never forget the look on the Old Man's face
As he roared: 'All stuns'ls we'll set.'
Oh, we're bound to the island of St. Helena,
And around the cape of Good Hope we will get.
Now I oft times have wondered just what he meant
When he roared like a bull to the mate;
But the mate understood, and soon they were bound.
We're the men you don't meet every day.
We rounded the Cape with a fair wind abaft,
And soon we were running our easting down.
We were bound to the Semaphore and the southern shores,
And good lord, how the wind did roar.
Now we got round the Heads and into Sydney harbour,
Where the bays are all fine to look upon.
Oh the doctor he came on board and examined us,
And, 'What a fine crowd', the words he did say.
Now I've worked hard in Australia for thirty long years,
And today, sure, I'm homeward bound,
With a nice little fortune for to call me own;
I'm bound home, but not the same way I came out.
Oh I'm sorry I'm leaving you all today,
For I'm homeward bound, don't you see?
But a different way to the way I came out;
I am going home on a steamboat, you see.
Then it's goodbye to one and its goodbye to all,
For I'm bound home for England's merry country;
And my girl I will find, the one I left behind,
And I'll make her as happy as can be.
THE FLIGHT OF EARLS
(Liam Reilly)
I can hear the bells of Dublin, from this lonely waiting room
And the paper boys are singing in the rain
Not too long before they takes us, to the airport and the noise
To get on board a transatlantic plane
We've got nothing left to stay for, we have no more left to say
And there isn't any work for us to do
So farewell you boys and girls, another bloody flight of Earls
Our best asset is our best export too
It's not murder, fear, nor famine that makes us leave this time
We're not going to join McAlpine's Fusiliers
We've got brains and we've got vision, we've got education too
But we just can't throw away these precious years
So we walk the streets of London and the streets of Baltimore
And we meet at night in several Boston bars
We're the leaders of the future, but we're far away from home
And we dream of you beneath the Irish stars
As we look on Ellis Island and the lady in the bay
And Manhattan turns to face another Sunday
We just wonder what you're doing, to bring us all back home
As we look forward to another Monday
It's not the work that scares us, we don't mind an honest job
And we know things will get better, once again
So a thousand times adieu, we've got Bono and U2
All we're missing is the Guinness and the rain
So switch off your new computers, for the writing's on the wall
We're leaving as our fathers did before
Take a look at Dublin Airport and the boat that leaves North Wall
There'll be no youth unemployment anymore
Because we're over here in Queensland, and in parts of New South Wales
We're on the seas, the airways, and the trains
And if we see better days, those big airplanes go both ways
And we'll all be coming home to you again
FLOWER OF SCOTLAND
(Roy Williamson)
Oh, Flower of Scotland, when will we see your likes again
That fought and died for our wee, bit hills and glens
And stood against him, proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward, to think again
The hills are bare now, and autumn leaves lie thick and still
For land that is lost now, which those so dearly held
That stood against him, proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward, to think again
Those days are past now, and it the past, they must remain
But we will arise now, and be the nation again
That stood against him, proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward, to think again
Oh, Flower of Scotland, when will we see your likes again
That fought and died for our wee, bit hills and glens
And stood against him, proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward, to think again
THE FOGGY DEW
'Twas down the glen one Easter morn', to a city fair rode I
There armored bands of marching men, in squadrons passed me by
No pipes did hum, no battle drum, did sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus Bells, o'er the Liffey swell, rang out in Foggy Dew
Right proudly high over Dublin town they hung out their flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky, than at Suvla or Sud El Bar
And the from the plains of royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns, sailed in through the Foggy Dew
O, the night fell black and the rifles crack made "Perfidious Abion" reel
´Mid the leaden rail, seven tongues of flame did shine o´er the lines of steel
By each shining blade a prayer was said that to Ireland her sons be true,
and when morning broke still the war flag shook out its fold in the foggy dew
'Twas England bade our wild geese go, that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves, or the fringe of the great North Sea
O, had they died by Pearse's side, or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we will keep, where Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the Foggy Dew
But the bravest fell and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Easter tide in the springing of the year
And the world did gaze in deep amaze at those fearless men but men
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the Foggy Dew
Back through the glen I rode again, and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then, with valiant men, whom I never shall see more
But to and fro, in my dreams I go, I'll kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the Foggy Dew
'Twas down the glen one Easter morn', to a city fair rode I
There armored bands of marching men, in squadrons passed me by
No pipes did hum, no battle drum, did sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus Bell, o'er the Liffey swell, rang out in Foggy Dew
THE FOLK SINGER'S LAMENT
(Eric Bogle)
At the age of nineteen, I was young, I was keen and I had just one burning ambition:
To be a folksinger, a dope-smoking swinger Sing songs that were steeped in tradition
So I bought a guitar and I practiced real hard I wasn't much good, but I was willin'
Till to my chagrin, my girlfriend came in and she said: “Can you play any Dylan?”
Chorus:
I said “No! No! A thousand times no!
I'd rather see my lifeblood spillin'
I'd sing everything, even 'God Save The King'
But I just won't sing any “Bob Dylan”
And with my guitar I traveled real far, trying to get recognition
I sang 'The Wild Rover' from Dundee to Dover in pubs, clubs and in seaman's missions
I travelled the road for seven long years yy pace, it really was killin'
And everywhere I went from Guaya to Gwent they would say: “Can you play any Dylan?”
Well, I struggled on, but the magic was gone I only had a deep sense of failure
I thought then I'd go to where all failures go so I boarded a ship for Australia
When I landed at Sydney the sun it shone down 'twas a view that was lovely and thrillin'
Till spotting my case with a smile on his face custom said: “Can you sing any Dylan?”
And ever since then, again and again, I've been asked the same bloody question
And I usually reply in me own quiet way with a totally indecent suggestion
But the last time came on at the local motel when I had a young girl who was willin'
As she slipped off her dress she said “I'll say yes if only you sing some Bob Dylan”
But I tell you my friends, that was the end of all my traditional aspirations
If bein' a folkie was gonna cut off my nookie there was one way to end my frustration
The next night I sang at my local folk club where the audience as usual was millin'
Till I took off my coat and I ruptured my throat and I sang just like Bob Dylan:
Well the audience went wild, mans, womans and child
And they clapped till their raw hands were bleedin'
And said so to speak that my style was unique and just what this dreary folk scene was needin'
So all you young folkies who bash out the cart if you want to attain the top billin'
Just murder good prose and sing through your nose and then you'll sing just like Bob Dylan.
THE FOLKER
(Fred Wedlock)
Oh, my name is “Lead Fingers Murphy” and my story's seldom told
I massacre folk music with a yard of German plywood and a capo
I do requests--just the ones that have two chords in them and I disregard the rest
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .
In the Seabeen Pub I clean forgot the 42nd verse,
So I sang the 27th twice as loud and in reverse and no one notice.
I laughed for hours the tears ran down me trouser leg
I thought I'd wet me drawers
Well, I stand on stage the hero a martyr to me trade
And carry the reminders of all the gigs I've played in like the Irish Club
Where I fled in mortal fear—with the imprint of a Guinness bottle stamped across my ear
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .
Seeking twenty with expenses I went looking for a gig
But I got no offers--just a come on from a groupie up in Boulder
I do declare--I was feeling rather randy and I had her then and there
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .
Na na na-ya Na na na na na na na-ya
Na na na-ya Na na na na na na na-ya
Na na na-ya Na na na na na na na-ya
Well, I've sung the folk tradition with my finger in my ear
Cause half the stuff I'm singin'—I just can't bear to hear—it's a load of cobblers
Bar after bar--to the rhythm of an out of tune Japanese guitar
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .
Well, I met this great guitarist and I asked him for advice
But the message that he gave me--wasn't very nice or even civil
Stick it where--and if I did how could I tune it with it shoved way up there
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .
Now I've got my thing together, man, I'm really freaking out
Reading “Melody Maker,” mainlining on draught stout and having hang ups
And like the rest, I'm having trouble with my sex life since I fell and broke my wrist
And my other songs are twice as bad as this
FOLLOW ME UP TO CARLOW
Lift MacCahir Og your face brooding o'er the old disgrace
That black Fitzwilliam stormed your place, drove you to the Fern
Grey said victory was sure soon the firebrand he'd secure;
Until he met at Glenmalure with Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne.
Chorus:
Curse and swear, Lord Kildare, Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now Fitzwilliam, have a care fallen is your star, low
Up with Halbert out with sword on we'll go for by the lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word, follow me up to Carlow.
See the swords of Glen Imayle, flashing o'er the English Pale
See all the children of the Gael, beneath O'Byrne's banners
Rooster of the fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock, fly up and teach him manners.
Chorus
From Tassagart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore
And great is Rory Og O'Moore, sending the loons to Hades.
White is sick and Lane is fled, now for black Fitzwilliam's head
We'll send it over, dripping red, to Queen Liza and the ladies.
Chorus
Chorus
FOOTBALL CRAZY
You all know my big brother and his Christian name is Paul
He's lately joined a football club for he's mad about football.
He's got two black eyes already and teeth out from his gob
Since Paul became a member of that terrible football club
Chorus
He's football crazy, He's football mad.
The football it has taken away the little bit of sense he had
And it would take a dozen servants to wash his clothes and scrub
Since Paul became a member of this terrible football club.
The first match that he played at, I was there myself and saw
Two turf sods for goalposts and a tin can for a ball
The Lord Mayor he was there, himself, and Lords and Ladies grand
And Paul got an orange box and made a Hogan stand
Chorus
In the middle of the field one afternoon the captain said to Paul
Would you kindly take this place kick since you're mad about football
And he took 40 paces backwards and shot off from the mark
And the ball went sailin' over the bar and landed in New York
Chorus
His wife she says she'll leave him if Paul doesn't keep
Away from football kicking at night time in his sleep
He calls out, “That's a fifty,” and other things so droll
Last night he shot her out of bed and swore it was a goal
Chorus
Chorus
(John Connelly)
As I walked by the dockside one evening so fair
To view the saltwater and take the salt air
I heard an old fisherman singing a song
Take me away, boys, me time is not long
Chorus:
Wrap me up in me oilskins and jumper
No more on the docks I'll be seen
Just tell me old shipmates, I'm taking a trip mates
I'll see you someday on Fiddler's Green
Now Fiddler's Green is a place I've heard tell
Where fishermen go, when they don't go to hell
Where the weather is clear and dolphins do play
And the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away
Chorus
Where the skies are all clear and there's never a gale
And the fish jump on board with one swish of their tails
Where you lie at your leisure, there's no work to do
And the skipper's below making tea for the crew
Chorus
When you get back at home and the long trip is through
There's pubs and there's clubs and there's lassies there too
The girls are all pretty and the beer is all free
And there's bottles of rum growin' on every tree
Chorus
Well I don't want a harp or a halo, not me
Just give me a breeze and a good rolling sea
I'll play me old squeeze box, as we sail along
With the wind in riggin' to sing me this song
Chorus
Chorus
THE FIELDS OF ATHENRY
(Pete St. John)
By a lonely prison wall, I heard a young girl calling
"Michael, they have taken you away,
For you stole Trevelyn's corn, So the young might see the morn.
Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay.”
Chorus:
Low lie the fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly
Our love was on the wing, we had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry.
By a lonely prison wall, I heard a young man calling
"Nothing matters, Mary, when you're free
Against the famine and the crown, I rebelled, they cut me down.
Now you must raise our child with dignity.”
Chorus
By a lonely harbour wall, she watched the last star fall
As the prison ship sailed out against the sky
For she lived to hope and pray for her love in Botany Bay
It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry.
Chorus
Chorus
FIFTY PENCE
Trad.
I met a girl the other night, she smiled and gave me hope
She stayed when all the rest had gone, the music had all stopped
So I took her to a restaurant, the finest in the street
She said she wasnae hungry, but this is what she ate
Three plates of soup, two melons, a pound and a half of roast
Some Irish stew, potatoes too, and then some beans on toast
Next she tried some oysters fried, her appetite was immense
She asked for pie, I thought I'd die for I just had fifty pence
And when the food was finished she smiled so very sweet
Said she wasn't hungry, and she wished that she could eat
And when she called the waiter back my heart began to sink
She said she wasn't thirsty but she showed me how to drink
Three whiskies, two vodkas, twenty pints of beer
Fourteen brandies, thirteen gins, quickly disappeared
Four pints of Guinness followed, she astonished all the gents
She called for more, I fell on the floor for I just had fifty pence
And then this delicate little lass cleaned out the ice-cream can
And said, Now Iain, I'll tell my mum you're such a nice young man
She said she'd bring her sister too next time she came, for fun
I gave the waiter my fifty pence, and this is what he done
He stood on my toes, broke my nose, knocked me out of breath
My two black eyes were worth a prize, he kicked me half to death
He pulled me out the restaurant, he threw me o'er the rail
And that was when the polis came and took me to the gaol
So if I don't smile back tonight, girls, use your common sense
You know I'm only thinking of my experience
But I'm feeling rather hungry, so I wouldn't take offence
If you took me to a restaurant, I've just got fifty pence
FINNEGAN'S WAKE
Tim Finnegan lived in Walken Street a gentle Irishman mighty odd
He'd beautiful brogue both rich and sweet to rise in the world he carried a hod
Tim had a bit of a tipplin' way with a love for the liquor Tim was born
And to help him on with his work each day he'd a drop of the cray-thur every more
Chorus:
Whack fol the da will ya dance to your partner,
Welt the floor your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told ya,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake
One morning Tim felt rather full his head was heavy which made him shake
He fell from the ladder and he broke his skull and they carried him home his corpse to
wake
Well they laid him out in a nice clean sheet and they laid him out upon the bed
With a bottle of whiskey at his feet and a barrel of porter at his head
Chorus
Well his friends assembled at the wake and Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch
First the brought in teas and cake then pipes tobacco and whiskey punch
The Widow Malone began to cry "Such a lovely corpse did you ever see?"
"Tim avourneen why did you die?" "Shut your gob!" said Biddy McGee
Chorus
Then Peggy O'Connor took up the job "Biddy," says she, "You're wrong I'm sure.”
Biddy fetched her a belt in the gob and left her sprawled out on the floor
Then the war did soon engage woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh-law was all the rage and a row and a ruction soon began
Chorus
Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head as a noggin' of whiskey flew at him
It missed and fallen on the bed the liquor scattered over Tim
Tim revived see how he rises, Timothy rising from the bed
Sayin' "Whirl your whiskey around like blazes? Thunderin' Jaysus ! Do you think I'm dead?"
Chorus
THE FIRST OF THE EMIGRANTS
Now I'm leaving old England, the land that I love,
And I'm bound out far across the sea.
Oh I'm bound to Australia, the land of the free,
Where there will be a welcome for me.
So fill up your glasses and drink what you please,
For no matter's the damage, oh, I'll pay;
So be aisy and free whilst you're drinking with me,
Sure, I'm the man you don't meet every day.
Now when I boarded my ship for to go
She was looking all snug and trim;
For I landed aboard with my bag and baggage,
And the mate he told me just where to go.
Now down to Gravesend, oh, soon we did go,
And the customs they came on board,
And inspected us all and called out our names:
There was girls and boys all galore.
They let go of us and we soon sailed away
Down to the Nore and around.
Oh, the Foreland's in sight, oh, it became late at night,
But I was the man they didn't meet every day.
Now we sailed down the Channel of old England, and away
To the Ushant and far across the bay;
Oh, out into the Roaring Forties did stay,
And its here were our westerly winds.
Now I'll never forget the look on the Old Man's face
As he roared: 'All stuns'ls we'll set.'
Oh, we're bound to the island of St. Helena,
And around the cape of Good Hope we will get.
Now I oft times have wondered just what he meant
When he roared like a bull to the mate;
But the mate understood, and soon they were bound.
We're the men you don't meet every day.
We rounded the Cape with a fair wind abaft,
And soon we were running our easting down.
We were bound to the Semaphore and the southern shores,
And good lord, how the wind did roar.
Now we got round the Heads and into Sydney harbour,
Where the bays are all fine to look upon.
Oh the doctor he came on board and examined us,
And, 'What a fine crowd', the words he did say.
Now I've worked hard in Australia for thirty long years,
And today, sure, I'm homeward bound,
With a nice little fortune for to call me own;
I'm bound home, but not the same way I came out.
Oh I'm sorry I'm leaving you all today,
For I'm homeward bound, don't you see?
But a different way to the way I came out;
I am going home on a steamboat, you see.
Then it's goodbye to one and its goodbye to all,
For I'm bound home for England's merry country;
And my girl I will find, the one I left behind,
And I'll make her as happy as can be.
THE FLIGHT OF EARLS
(Liam Reilly)
I can hear the bells of Dublin, from this lonely waiting room
And the paper boys are singing in the rain
Not too long before they takes us, to the airport and the noise
To get on board a transatlantic plane
We've got nothing left to stay for, we have no more left to say
And there isn't any work for us to do
So farewell you boys and girls, another bloody flight of Earls
Our best asset is our best export too
It's not murder, fear, nor famine that makes us leave this time
We're not going to join McAlpine's Fusiliers
We've got brains and we've got vision, we've got education too
But we just can't throw away these precious years
So we walk the streets of London and the streets of Baltimore
And we meet at night in several Boston bars
We're the leaders of the future, but we're far away from home
And we dream of you beneath the Irish stars
As we look on Ellis Island and the lady in the bay
And Manhattan turns to face another Sunday
We just wonder what you're doing, to bring us all back home
As we look forward to another Monday
It's not the work that scares us, we don't mind an honest job
And we know things will get better, once again
So a thousand times adieu, we've got Bono and U2
All we're missing is the Guinness and the rain
So switch off your new computers, for the writing's on the wall
We're leaving as our fathers did before
Take a look at Dublin Airport and the boat that leaves North Wall
There'll be no youth unemployment anymore
Because we're over here in Queensland, and in parts of New South Wales
We're on the seas, the airways, and the trains
And if we see better days, those big airplanes go both ways
And we'll all be coming home to you again
FLOWER OF SCOTLAND
(Roy Williamson)
Oh, Flower of Scotland, when will we see your likes again
That fought and died for our wee, bit hills and glens
And stood against him, proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward, to think again
The hills are bare now, and autumn leaves lie thick and still
For land that is lost now, which those so dearly held
That stood against him, proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward, to think again
Those days are past now, and it the past, they must remain
But we will arise now, and be the nation again
That stood against him, proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward, to think again
Oh, Flower of Scotland, when will we see your likes again
That fought and died for our wee, bit hills and glens
And stood against him, proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward, to think again
THE FOGGY DEW
'Twas down the glen one Easter morn', to a city fair rode I
There armored bands of marching men, in squadrons passed me by
No pipes did hum, no battle drum, did sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus Bells, o'er the Liffey swell, rang out in Foggy Dew
Right proudly high over Dublin town they hung out their flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky, than at Suvla or Sud El Bar
And the from the plains of royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns, sailed in through the Foggy Dew
O, the night fell black and the rifles crack made "Perfidious Abion" reel
´Mid the leaden rail, seven tongues of flame did shine o´er the lines of steel
By each shining blade a prayer was said that to Ireland her sons be true,
and when morning broke still the war flag shook out its fold in the foggy dew
'Twas England bade our wild geese go, that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves, or the fringe of the great North Sea
O, had they died by Pearse's side, or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we will keep, where Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the Foggy Dew
But the bravest fell and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Easter tide in the springing of the year
And the world did gaze in deep amaze at those fearless men but men
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the Foggy Dew
Back through the glen I rode again, and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then, with valiant men, whom I never shall see more
But to and fro, in my dreams I go, I'll kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the Foggy Dew
'Twas down the glen one Easter morn', to a city fair rode I
There armored bands of marching men, in squadrons passed me by
No pipes did hum, no battle drum, did sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus Bell, o'er the Liffey swell, rang out in Foggy Dew
THE FOLK SINGER'S LAMENT
(Eric Bogle)
At the age of nineteen, I was young, I was keen and I had just one burning ambition:
To be a folksinger, a dope-smoking swinger Sing songs that were steeped in tradition
So I bought a guitar and I practiced real hard I wasn't much good, but I was willin'
Till to my chagrin, my girlfriend came in and she said: “Can you play any Dylan?”
Chorus:
I said “No! No! A thousand times no!
I'd rather see my lifeblood spillin'
I'd sing everything, even 'God Save The King'
But I just won't sing any “Bob Dylan”
And with my guitar I traveled real far, trying to get recognition
I sang 'The Wild Rover' from Dundee to Dover in pubs, clubs and in seaman's missions
I travelled the road for seven long years yy pace, it really was killin'
And everywhere I went from Guaya to Gwent they would say: “Can you play any Dylan?”
Well, I struggled on, but the magic was gone I only had a deep sense of failure
I thought then I'd go to where all failures go so I boarded a ship for Australia
When I landed at Sydney the sun it shone down 'twas a view that was lovely and thrillin'
Till spotting my case with a smile on his face custom said: “Can you sing any Dylan?”
And ever since then, again and again, I've been asked the same bloody question
And I usually reply in me own quiet way with a totally indecent suggestion
But the last time came on at the local motel when I had a young girl who was willin'
As she slipped off her dress she said “I'll say yes if only you sing some Bob Dylan”
But I tell you my friends, that was the end of all my traditional aspirations
If bein' a folkie was gonna cut off my nookie there was one way to end my frustration
The next night I sang at my local folk club where the audience as usual was millin'
Till I took off my coat and I ruptured my throat and I sang just like Bob Dylan:
Well the audience went wild, mans, womans and child
And they clapped till their raw hands were bleedin'
And said so to speak that my style was unique and just what this dreary folk scene was needin'
So all you young folkies who bash out the cart if you want to attain the top billin'
Just murder good prose and sing through your nose and then you'll sing just like Bob Dylan.
THE FOLKER
(Fred Wedlock)
Oh, my name is “Lead Fingers Murphy” and my story's seldom told
I massacre folk music with a yard of German plywood and a capo
I do requests--just the ones that have two chords in them and I disregard the rest
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .
In the Seabeen Pub I clean forgot the 42nd verse,
So I sang the 27th twice as loud and in reverse and no one notice.
I laughed for hours the tears ran down me trouser leg
I thought I'd wet me drawers
Well, I stand on stage the hero a martyr to me trade
And carry the reminders of all the gigs I've played in like the Irish Club
Where I fled in mortal fear—with the imprint of a Guinness bottle stamped across my ear
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .
Seeking twenty with expenses I went looking for a gig
But I got no offers--just a come on from a groupie up in Boulder
I do declare--I was feeling rather randy and I had her then and there
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .
Na na na-ya Na na na na na na na-ya
Na na na-ya Na na na na na na na-ya
Na na na-ya Na na na na na na na-ya
Well, I've sung the folk tradition with my finger in my ear
Cause half the stuff I'm singin'—I just can't bear to hear—it's a load of cobblers
Bar after bar--to the rhythm of an out of tune Japanese guitar
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .
Well, I met this great guitarist and I asked him for advice
But the message that he gave me--wasn't very nice or even civil
Stick it where--and if I did how could I tune it with it shoved way up there
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .
Now I've got my thing together, man, I'm really freaking out
Reading “Melody Maker,” mainlining on draught stout and having hang ups
And like the rest, I'm having trouble with my sex life since I fell and broke my wrist
And my other songs are twice as bad as this
FOLLOW ME UP TO CARLOW
Lift MacCahir Og your face brooding o'er the old disgrace
That black Fitzwilliam stormed your place, drove you to the Fern
Grey said victory was sure soon the firebrand he'd secure;
Until he met at Glenmalure with Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne.
Chorus:
Curse and swear, Lord Kildare, Fiach will do what Fiach will dare
Now Fitzwilliam, have a care fallen is your star, low
Up with Halbert out with sword on we'll go for by the lord
Fiach MacHugh has given the word, follow me up to Carlow.
See the swords of Glen Imayle, flashing o'er the English Pale
See all the children of the Gael, beneath O'Byrne's banners
Rooster of the fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock, fly up and teach him manners.
Chorus
From Tassagart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore
And great is Rory Og O'Moore, sending the loons to Hades.
White is sick and Lane is fled, now for black Fitzwilliam's head
We'll send it over, dripping red, to Queen Liza and the ladies.
Chorus
Chorus
FOOTBALL CRAZY
You all know my big brother and his Christian name is Paul
He's lately joined a football club for he's mad about football.
He's got two black eyes already and teeth out from his gob
Since Paul became a member of that terrible football club
Chorus
He's football crazy, He's football mad.
The football it has taken away the little bit of sense he had
And it would take a dozen servants to wash his clothes and scrub
Since Paul became a member of this terrible football club.
The first match that he played at, I was there myself and saw
Two turf sods for goalposts and a tin can for a ball
The Lord Mayor he was there, himself, and Lords and Ladies grand
And Paul got an orange box and made a Hogan stand
Chorus
In the middle of the field one afternoon the captain said to Paul
Would you kindly take this place kick since you're mad about football
And he took 40 paces backwards and shot off from the mark
And the ball went sailin' over the bar and landed in New York
Chorus
His wife she says she'll leave him if Paul doesn't keep
Away from football kicking at night time in his sleep
He calls out, “That's a fifty,” and other things so droll
Last night he shot her out of bed and swore it was a goal
Chorus
Chorus