Irish songs and traditional music
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Top of page DANNY BOY [This song was written by Frederic Edward Weatherly (1848-1929), an english lawyer. He was also a radio entertainer and a songwriter. In 1910 he wrote words and music for a song he called "Danny boy", bot the song did not get much attention. Two years later, 1912, Weatherly's sister-in-law sent him a tune called "Londonderry air". He immediately noticed that the melody was perfect to his text. In 1913 Weatherly published a revised version of his lyrics to Londonderry air.] Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling From glen to glen and down the mountain side The summer's gone, and all the leaves are falling 'Tis ye, 'tis ye must go, and I must bide But come ye back when summer's in the meadow Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow 'Til I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow Danny boy, Oh Danny boy, I love you so And when ye come and all the flowers are dying If I am dead, as dead I well may be Ye'll come and find the place where I am lying And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me And I shall hear, 'though soft ye tread around me And all my grave shall linger sweeter be Then ye will bend and tell me that ye love me And I shall sleep in peace until ye come to me Top of page THE DAWNING OF THE DAY One morning early I walked forth By the margin of Lough Leane The sunshine dressed the trees in green And summer bloomed again I left the town and wandered on Through fields all green and gay And whom should I meet but a colleen sweet At the dawning of the day No cap or cloak this maiden wore Her neck and feet were bare Down to the grass in ringlets fell Her glossy golden hair A milking pail was in her hand She was lovely, young and gay She wore the palm from Venus bright By the dawning of the day On a mossy bank I sat me down With the maiden by my side With gentle words I courted her And asked her to be my bride She said, "Young man don't bring me blame" And swiftly turned away And the morning light was shining bright At the dawning of the day Top of page DEAR BOSS (also known as THE SICK NOTE) Dear Boss, I write this note to tell you of my plight And at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight My body is all black and blue, my face a deathly gray And I hope you understand why Paddy's not at work today While working on the fourteenth floor, some bricks I had to clear And to throw them down from off the top seemed quite a good idea But the foreman wasn't very pleased, he was an awful sod He said I had to cart them down the ladder in me hod Well clearing all those bricks by hand, it seemed so very slow So I hoisted up a barrel and secured the rope below But in my haste to do the job, I was too blind to see That a barrel full of building bricks is heavier than me So when I had untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead And clinging tightly to the rope I started up instead I took off like a rocket and to my dismay I found That half way up I met the bloody barrel coming down Well the barrel broke my shoulder as to the ground it sped And when I reached the top I banged the pulley with me head I held on tight, though numb with shock from this almighty blow And the barrel spilled out half its load fourteen floors below Now when those building bricks fell from the barrel to the floor I then outweighed the barrel so I started down once more I held on tightly to the rope as I flew to the ground And I landed on those building bricks that were all scattered 'round Now as I lay there on the deck I thought I'd passed the worst But when the barrel reached the top, that's when the bottom burst A shower of bricks came down on me, and I didn't have a hope And as I was losing conciousness, I let go the bloody rope The barrel being heavier, it started down once more And landed right on top of me as I lay there on the floor It broke three ribs and my left arm, and I can only say That I hope you'll understand why Paddy's not at work today Top of page THE DEAR LITTLE SHAMROCK There's a dear little plant that grows in our isle 'Twas St Patrick himself sure that set it And the sun on his labour with pleasure did smile And with dew from his eye often wet it It shines thro' the bog, the brake and the mire-land And he called it the dear little shamrock of Ireland Chorus: The dear little shamrock, the sweet little shamrock The dear little, sweet shamrock of Ireland That dear little plant still grows in our land Fresh and fair as the daughters of Erin Whose smiles can bewitch and whose eyes can command In each climate they ever appear in For they shine through the bog, through the brake, through the mire-land Just like their own dear little shamrock That dear little shamrock that srings from our soil When its three little leaves are extended Denotes from the stalk we together should toil And ourselves by ourselves be befriended And still through the bog, through the brake, through the mire-land From one shoot should branch, like the shamrock of Ireland Top of page DEATH OF SCHOMBERG 'Twas on the day when kings did fight Beside the Boyne's dark water And thunder Roared from every height And earth was read with slaughter; That morn an aged chieftain stood Apart from mustering bands And, from a height that crowned the flood Surveyed broad Erin's land His hand upon his sword hilt leant His war-horse stood beside And anxiously his eyes were bent Across the rolling tide; He thought of what a changeful fate Had born him from the land Where frowned his father's castle gate High o'er the Renish strand And placed before his opening view A realm where strangers bled Where he, a leader, s carcely knew The tongue of those he led; He looked upon his chequered life From boyhood's earliest time Through scenes of tumult and of strife Endured in every clime To where the snows of eighty years Usurped the raven's strand And still the din was in his ears The broad-sword in his hand; He turned him to futurity Beyond the battle plain But then a shadow from on high Hung o'er the heaps of slain And through the darkness of the cloud The chief's prophetic glance Beheld, with winding-sheet and shroud His fatal hour advance; He quailed not as he felt him near The inevitable stroke But dashing off one rising tear 'Twas thus the old man spoke: "God of my fathers! Death is nigh My soul is not deceived My hour is come, and I would die The conqueror I have lived! Four Thee, for Freedom, have I stood For both I fall to -day: Give me but victory for my blood The price I gladly pay! "Forbid the future to restore A Stuart's despot gloom Or that, by freemen dreaded more The tyranny of Rome! From either curse let Erin freed As prosperous ages run Acknowledge what a glorious deed Upon that day was done!" He said--fate granted half his prayer His steed he straight bestrode And fell as on the routed rear Of Jame's host he rode; He sleeps in a cathedral's gloom Amongst the mighty dead; And frequent o'er his hallowed tomb Redeedful pilgrims tread: The other half, though fate deny We'll arrive for one and all And William's Schomberg's spirits nigh We'll gain or fighting fall! Top of page THE DECOMMISSIONING SONG We remember back in time in the year of '69 You unleashed your dogs of war onto our streets We could not stand idly by and let our families die We fought you back and joined the IRA Chorus: So stuff your f-ing crown we Irish won't lie down and give away our guns to foreign lands No semtex not our guns will you ever get from us You can stick your decommissioning up your ass Well you murdered free young men and you'll do the same again Decommissioning you will never ever see As long as we have men like those famous fighting men Yes those famous fighting men from Crossmaglen Chorus In memory of the ten they were Ireland's bravest men We will not forget the ones who fought and died Decommissioning you can see will never ever be 'Cause the IRA will always be around Chorus You can tell the RUC those black bastards from Drumcree You'll never march down Garvaghy road If you want to make a fight we will stand up for our rights You can take your fucking march and give us peace Chorus Now Trimble you're an ass if you think that it will last Six counties are under tyranny You can tell wee Tony Blair and Mo Mowlam if you dare They can stick their decommissioning up their ass Chorus Top of page DERRY'S DEATHLESS STORY Behold the crimson banner float O'er yonder turret hoary; It tells of days of mighty note And Derry's deathless story When her brave sons undaunted stood Embattled to defend her Indignant stemmed oppressions flood And sung out - "done Surrender!" Old Derry's walls were firm and strong Well fenced in every quarter Each frowning bastion grim along With culverin and mortar: But Derry had a surer guard Than all that art could lend her: Her 'Prentice hearts the gates who barr'd And sung out - "No Surrender!" On came the foe, in bigot ire And fierce the assault was given By shot and shell, 'mid streams of fire Her fated roof was riven; But baffled was the tyrant's wrath And vain his hopes to bend her For still, 'mid famine, fire and death And sung out - "No Surrender!" Again when treason madden'd round And rebel hordes were swarming Were Derry's sons the foremost found For King and country Ireland And forth they rush'd at honor's call From age to boyhood tender Again to man their virgin wall And sing out - "No Surrender!" Long may the crimson banner wave A meteor streaming airy Portentious of the free and brave Who guard the walls of Derry; And Derry's sons alike defy Pope, traitor or pretender And peal to Heaven the 'Prentice cry Their patriot - "No Surrender!" Top of page DE VALERA I remember the day De Valera he died My father he just broke down and he cried He wept like a baby for Dev was his pride But I shed no tears it held me no fear For a man of our time Now dev was a hero at Easter '16 He held Boland's mill for the orange and green He was sentenced to die with Pearse and McBride But his birth far away let him fight another day Lucky man of our times Chorus: He was loved he was hated he was cherished despised There were rivers of tears when the chieftain he died But love him or hate him I cannot decide What to make of old Dev this man of our times When I was in school Christian brothers were cruel To live off the land to be scarce was the rule And we fled in our droves to the emigrant boats We weren't free yet and we questioned respect For a man of our time My parents were poor and the cupboard was bare You can't feed a child on a dream or a prayer But the boys in Dail Eirean got rich as we pined They were led by the chief and we had no relief from a man of our times Now Spain had it's Franco and France it's De Gaulle We had our Dev and god rest his soul But history will judge on the man form Bruree De Valera's lost dream a nation unfree It's the shame of our time Top of page THE DEVIL AND BAILIFF MCGLYNN [This ballad was collected in Northern Ireland by Sean O'Boyle and Peter Kennedy in 1952. The tune is a traditional jig. (banbh = pig)] One fine sunny evening last summer I was straying along by the sea When a pair of quare playboys a-roving before me I happened to see Now to learn what these boy-os were up to A trifle I hastened me walk For I thought I could learn their profession When I got within range of their talk Now, one of these boys was the devil And the other was Bailiff McGlynn And the one was as black as the other And both were as ugly as sin Says the old boy, says he, "I'm the devil And you are a bailiff, I see" "Ah! 'tis the devil himself," cries the bailiff "Now that beats the devil," says he A gossoon ran out from a cottage and took him up over the fields "May the devil take you," said his mother As she rattled a stone at his heels "Ah now, why don't you take the young rascal your highness?" the bailiff he cried "It was not from her heart that she said it" the devil he smiling replied Close by a small patch of potatoes A banbh was striving to dig When the owner come out and she cried "May the devil take you for a pig!" Said the bailiff, "Now that's a fine offer Why not take the banbh?" says he "It was but with her lips that she said it And that's not sufficient for me" As they jogged on, the gossoon espyed them and into his mother he sped Crying, "Mother!" says he, "There's a bailiff!" She clasped her two hands and she said "May the devil take that ugly bailiff!" Said the old boy, "Bedad! That'll do It was straight from her heart that she said it So Bailiff McGlynn, I'll take you" Top of page DICEY REILLY Oh poor old Dicey Reilly, she has taken to the sup And poor old Dicey Reilly, she will never give it up It's off each morning to the pop that she goes in for another little drop But the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly She will walk along Fitzgibbon Street with an independent air And then it's down by Summerhill, and as the people stare She'll say, "It's nearly half past one" Time I went in for another little one But the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly Now at two, pubs close and out she goes as happy as a lark She'll find a bench to sleep it off at St. Patrick's Park She'll wake at five feeling in the pink And say, "Tis time for another drink" But the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly Now she'll travel far to a dockside bar to have another round And after one or two or three she doesn't feel quite so sound After four she's a bit unstable After five underneath the table But the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly Oh, they carry her home at twelve o'clock as they do every night Bring her inside, put her on the bed and then turn out the light Next morning she'll get out of bed And look for a cure for her head But the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly Top of page DID YOUR MOTHER COME FROM IRELAND Oh I've never seen old Ireland o'er the ocean Tho' I've wished for the chance to greet it In my mind I've always had a crazy notion That I'd know a bit of Irish when I meet it Did your mother come from Ireland? 'Cos there's something in you Irish Will you tell me where you get those Irish eyes And before she left Killarney Did your mother kiss the Blarney? 'Cos your little touch of brogue you can't disguise Oh I wouldn't be romancin' I can almost see you dancin' While the Kerry pipers play Shure! And maybe we'll be sharin in the shamrock you'll be wearing On the next Saint Patrick's Day Did your mother come from Ireland? 'Cos there's something in you Irish And that bit of Irish steals my heart away Top of page DINGLE BAY The sun was sinking oer the westward The fleet is leaving Dingle shore I watch the men row in their curraghs As they mark the fishing grounds near Scellig Mor All through the night men toil until the daybreak while at home their wives and sweethearts kneel and pray That God might guard them and protect them and bring them safely back to Dingle Bay I see the green Isle of Valencia I mind the days around Lough Lein The gannets swinging with abandon As they watch the silver store that comes their way I also see a ship on the horizon She is sailing to a country far away on board are exiles feeling lonely As they wave a fond farewell to Dingle Bay Now years have passed as I came homeward And time has left me old and grey I sit and muse about my childhood And the happy times I spent near Dingle Bay I see again the green isle of Valencia And the Isle of Inishmore seems far away And I'm always dreaming of my childhood And the happy days I spent near Dingle Bay Top of page DIRTY OLD TOWN (Ewan McColl) I found my love 'neath the gasworks falls Dreamed a dream by the old canal 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 Springs a girl in the streets at night Dirty old town, dirty old town Heard a siren from the dock Saw a train set the night on fire Smelled the spring on the smoky wind Dirty old town, dirty old town I'm going to take a good sharp ax Shining steel tempered in the fire We´ll chop you down like an old dead tree Dirty old town, dirty old town Top of page DOWN BY THE GLENSIDE 'Twas down by the glenside, I met an old woman She was picking young nettles and she scarce saw me coming I listened a while to the song she was humming Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men 'Tis fifty long years since I saw the moon beaming On strong manly forms and their eyes with hope gleaming I see them again, sure, in all my daydreaming Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men. Some died on the glenside, some died near a stranger And wise men have told us that their cause was a failure They fought for old Ireland and they never feared danger Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men I passed on my way, God be praised that I met her Be life long or short, sure I'll never forget her We may have brave men, but we'll never have better Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men Top of page DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS (or ...Sally Gardens) [By W. B. Yeats] Down by the Salley Gardens my love and I did meet She passed the Salley Gardens with little snow white feet She bid me to take love easy, as the leaves grow on the trees But I, being young and foolish, with her did not agree In a field by the river, my love and I did stand And on my leaning shoulder she placed her snow white hand She bid me to take life easy, as the grass grows on the weir But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears Top of page DO YOU WANT YOUR OLD LOBBY WASHED DOWN I've a nice little cot and a small bit of land In a place by the side of the sea And I care about no one because I believe There's no body cares about me My peace is destroyed and I'm fairly annoyed By a lassie who works in the town She sighs every day as she passes the way: "Do you want your old lobby washed down?" Chorus: "Do you want your old lobby washed down, conshine Do you want your old lobby washed down?" She sighs every day as she passes the way: "Do you want your old lobby washed down?" The other day the old landlord came by for his rent I told him no money I had Beside t'wasn't fair for to ask me to pay The times were so awfully bad He felt discontent at no getting his rent And he shook his be head in a frown Says he: "I'll take half", and says I with a laugh: "Do you want your old lobby washed down?" Do you want your old lobby washed down, conshine Do you want your old lobby washed down? Says he: "I'll take half", and says I with a laugh: "Do you want your old lobby washed down?" Now the boys look so bashful when they go out courtin' They seem to look so very shy As to kiss a young maid, sure they seem half afraid But they would if they could on the sly But me, I do things in a different way I don't give a nod or a frown When I goes to court, I says: "Here goes for sport Do you want your old lobby washed down?" "Do you want your old lobby washed down, conshine Do you want your old lobby washed down?" When I goes to court, I says: "Here goes for sport Do you want your old lobby washed down, conshine?" Top of page DUBLIN JACK OF ALL TRADES Oh I am a roving sporting blade, they call me Jack of all Trades I always place my chief delight in courting pretty fair maids So when in Dublin I arrived to try for a situation I always heard them say it was the pride of all the Nations Chorus: I'm a roving jack of all trades Of every trade of all trades And if you wish to know my name They call me Jack of all trades On George's Quay I first began and there became a porter Me and my master soon fell out which cut my acquaintance shorter In Sackville Street, a pastry cook; In James' Street, a baker In Cook Street I did coffins make; In Eustace Street, a preacher In Baggot street I drove a cab and there was well requited In Francis Street had lodging beds, to entertain all strangers For Dublin is of high reknown, or I am much mistaken In Kevin Street, I do declare, sold butter, eggs and bacon In Golden Lane I sold old shoes: In Meath Street was a grinder In Barrack Street I lost my wife. I'm glad I ne'er could find her In Mary's Lane, I've dyed old clothes, of which I've often boasted In that noted place Exchequer Street, sold mutton ready roasted In Temple Bar, I dressed old hats; In Thomas Street, a sawyer In Pill Lane, I sold the plate, in Green Street, an honest lawyer In Plunkett Street I sold cast clothes; in Bride's Alley, a broker In Charles Street I had a shop, sold shovel, tongs and poker In College Green a banker was, and in Smithfield, a drover In Britain Street, a waiter and in George's Street, a glover On Ormond Quay I sold old books; in King Street, a nailer In Townsend Street, a carpenter; and in Ringsend, a sailor In Cole's Lane, a jobbing butcher; in Dane Street, a tailor In Moore Street a chandler and on the Coombe, a weaver In Church Street, I sold old ropes- on Redmond's Hill a draper In Mary Street, sold 'bacco pipes- in Bishop street a quaker In Peter Street, I was a quack: In Greek street, a grainer On the Harbour, I did carry sacks; In Werburgh Street, a glazier In Mud Island, was a dairy boy, where I became a scooper In Capel Street, a barber's clerk; In Abbey Street, a cooper In Liffey street had furniture with fleas and bugs I sold it And at the Bank a big placard I often stood to hold it In New Street I sold hay and straw, and in Spitalfields made bacon In Fishamble Street was at the grand old trade of basketmaking In Summerhill a coachmaker; in Denzille Street a gilder In Cork Street was a tanner, in Brunswick Street, a builder In High Street, I sold hosiery; In Patrick Street sold all blades So if you wish to know my name, they call me Jack of all Trades Top of page EASY AND SLOW 'Twas down by Christchurch that I first met with Annie A neat little girl and not a bit shy She told me her father, who came from Dungannon Would take her back home in the sweet by and by Chorus: And what's it to any man whether or no Whether I'm easy or whether I'm true As I lifted her petticoat easy and slow And I tied up my sleeves for to buckle her shoe We wandered by Thomas Street down to the Liffey The sunshine was gone and the evening grew dark Along by Kingsbridge and begot in a jiffy Me arms were around her beyond in the park Chorus From city or county a girl is a jewel And well made for gripping the most of them are But any young man he is really a fool If he tries at the first time to go a bit far Chorus Now if you should go to the town of Dungannon You can search till your eyes are weary or blind Be you lying or walking or sitting or running A girl like Annie, you never will find Chorus Top of page EILEEN AROON When, like the dawning day Eileen Aroon Love sends his early ray Eileen Aroon What makes his dawning glow Changeless through joy and woe Only the constant know Eileen Aroon Were she no longer true Eileen Aroon What would her lover do Eileen Aroon Fly with a broken chain Far o'er the bounding main Never to love again Eileen Aroon Youth must in time decay Eileen Aroon Beauty must fade away Eileen Aroon Castles are sacked in war Chieftains are scattered far Truth is a fixed star Eileen Aroon Top of page ERIN GO BRAGH I'll tell you a story of a row in the town When the green flag went up and the Crown rag came down 'Twas the neatest and sweetest thing ever you saw And they played the best games played in Erin Go Bragh One of our comrades was down at Ring's End For the honor of Ireland to hold and defend He had no veteran soldiers but volunteers raw Playing sweet Mauser music for Erin Go Bragh Now here's to Pat Pearse and our comrades who died Tom Clarke, MacDonagh, MacDiarmada, McBryde [?] And here's to James Connolly who gave one hurrah And faced the machine guns for Erin Go Bragh One brave English captain was ranting that day Saying, "Give me one hour and I'll blow you away," But a big Mauser bullet got stuck in his craw And he died of lead poisoning in Erin Go Bragh Old Ceannt and his comrades like lions at bay From the South Dublin Union poured death and dismay And what was their horror when the Englishmen saw All the dead khaki soldiers in Erin Go Bragh Now here's to old Dublin, and here's her renown In the long generation her fame will go down And our children will tell how their forefathers saw The red blaze of freedom in Erin Go Bragh Top of page THE FAIR AT TURLOUGHMORE [from Irish Songs of Resistance] Come tell me, dearest mother, what makes my father stay Or what can be the reason that he's been so long away? Oh hold your tongue, my darling son, your tears do grieve me sore I fear he has been murdered at the fair of Turloughmore Come all you tender Christians I hope you will draw near It's of this dreadful murder I mean to let you hear Concerning those poor people whose loss we do deplore The Lord have mercy on their souls, they died at Turloughmore 'Twas on the first of August the truth I will declare Those people they assembled that day all at the fair But little was their notion what evil was in store All by the bloody Peelers at the fair of Turloughmore Were you to see that dreadful sight 'twould grieve your heart I know To see those lovely women and the men all lying low God help their tender parents, they will never see them more For cruel was their murder at the fair of Turloughmore It's for that base bloodthirsty crew remark the word I say The Lord he will reward them against the Judgement Day The blood they've taken innocent for it they'll suffer sore And the treatment that they gave to us that day at Turloughmore The morning of their trial as they stood in the dock The words they spoke were feeling, the people round them flock "I tell you judge and jury, the truth I will declare It was Brew that ordered us to fire, that evening at the fair" Now to conclude and finish this sad and doleful lay I hope their souls are happy against the Judgement Day It was little time they got, we know, when they fell like new-mown hay May the Lord have mercy on their souls against the Judgment Day Top of page FAIRYTALE OF NEW YORK (By Kirsty McColl) It was Christmas Eve babe In the drunk tank An old man said to me, won't see another one And then he sang a song The Rare Old Mountain Dew And I turned my face away And dreamed about you Got on a lucky one Came in eighteen to one I've got a feeling This year's for me and you So happy Christmas I love you baby I can see a better time When all our dreams come true They've got cars Big as bars They've got rivers of gold But the wind goes right through you It's no place for the old When you first took my hand On a cold Christmas Eve You promised me Broadway was waiting for me You were handsome You were pretty Queen of New York City When the band finished playing They howled out for more Sinatra was swinging All the drunks they were singing We kissed on the corner Then danced through the night The boys of the NYPD choir Were singing 'Galway Bay' And the bells were ringing Out for Christmas day You're a bum You're a punk You're an old slut on junk Living there almost dead on a drip In that bed You scum bag You maggot You cheap lousy faggot Happy Christmas your arse I pray God It's our last I could have been someone So could anyone You took my dreams From me when I first found you I kept them with me babe I put them with my own Can't make it all alone I've built my dreams around you Top of page FARE THEE WELL ENNISKILLEN (1) Our troop was made ready at the dawn of the day From lovely Enniskillen they were marching us away They put us then on board a ship to cross the raging main To fight in bloody battle in the sunny land of Spain Chorus: Fare thee well Enniskillen, fare thee well for a while And all around the borders of Erin's green isle And when the war is over we'll return in full bloom And you'll all welcome home the Enniskillen Dragoons Oh Spain it is a gallant land where wine and ale flow free There's lots of lovely women there to dandle on your knee And often in a tavern there we'd make the rafters ring When every soldier in the house would raise his glass and sing Chorus Well we fought for Ireland's glory there and many a man did fall From musket and from bayonet and from thundering cannon ball And many a foeman we laid low, amid the battle throng And as we prepared for action you would often hear this song Chorus Well now the fighting's over and for home we have set sail Our flag above this lofty ship is fluttering in the gale They've given us a pension boys of fourpence each a day And when we reach Enniskillen never more we'll have to say Chorus Top of page FARE THEE WELL ENNISKILLEN (2) Chorus: Fare thee well Enniskillen, fare thee well for a while To all your fair waters and every green isle Oh your green isle will flourish your fair waters flow While I from old Ireland an exile must go Her hair is as brown as the young raven's wing Her eyes are as clear as the blue-bell of spring Father Once Said To Me In 1916, in the year of our Lord fighting came to Ireland, like it never had before For freedom comes to those who fight for its day so I picked up my rifle and joined the IRA My great grandfather once said to his son: the brits will leave before this year is done This war will soon be in the past and Ireland will be free at last Cause it won't be long until we've won that`s what my great grandfather said to his son A free and united Ireland was our only desire nd the best of the British Army couldn't put out that fire But a deal with the devil was soon put forth Freedom for the South and nothing for the North Well, this didn't seem really right with me For Ireland is one from sea to sea And the IRA said our job's not done So off to the North I went with my gun We fought in the fields, we fought in the streets And the English knew we couldn't be beat We fought with rifles, we fought with rocks And sent many a soldier home in a box The fight has been long and many have fell And we weep for the rebels who starved alone in a cell For the price of our freedom is paid with blood of those IRA men who have died in the mud Is life so sweet or is peace so dear? That the weight of chains are easy to bear For freedom comes to those who fight for its day So pick up your rifle and join the IRA Now I am a father and I have a son The brits are still here, they haven't gone And Ireland bleeds every year For in the North there is death and fear Until it's free, I'll keep my gun That's what I'm going to tell my son Top of page FAREWELL TO DUBLIN IN MY TEARS Fare thee well until we meet again down by the Liffey water I'll bid larewell to Dublin and her streets of cobblestones I'm going away to leave you, my friends and all the girls too Till I return to see you farewell old Dublin town To the City of our fathers where friend and foe have gathered Where the Norman, Dane and Saxon have mingled with he Gael Administered the kingdom and soon the Pale was reeling To cradle Ireland's freedom in dear old Dublin town Down by the river Poddle there was whiskey stout and coddle it was there with all the gentle folk, we laughed and danced and sang And courted with your daughters and swam around your waters And seen our buildings slaughtered in dear Old Dublin Town I remember in my childhood her mountains and her wild woods I've read of all her heroes in a classroom as a boy Of Thomas Street where Emmet died, in Sackville Street they fought with pride Of when brave Wolfe Tone did ride through dear old Dublin town Her poets they were many and her writers they were plenty There was Swift with all his little men and Joyce's Molly Bloom Our heroes they're an unsung gang there's Forty Coats and ould Bang Bang And Zozimus who always sang of dear old.Dublin town And now I'm standing on the Quay, my destiny's uncertain Where fortunes have been lost and won with he dealing of a hand The past it is a purple haze, the future is an untold maze The present is another gaze at dear old Dublin Town Top of page FARMER MICHAEL HAYES [Recorded by John Faulkner (with Dolores Keane) on "Farewell To Eirin" and by Planxty (Christy Moore) on "After The Break" (1979), who notes: "Christy heard versions of this song sung by John Lyons, Tom Lenihan an unknown singer on Donnacha O'Dulaing's "Highways And Byways". He received written versions from Mike Flynn and Seamus Mac Mathuna and there's another in Zimmerman's Songs of Irish Rebellion" This seems like a sort of crash course in Irish geography. The lyrics are those of Faulkner, Moore sings a couple of additional lines and lists even more place names!] I am a bold undaunted fox that never was before on tramp My rent, rate and taxes I was willing for to pay I made my name in fine good land Between Tipperary and Ochlong Where my forefathers lived and died A thousand years or so But then of late I was betrayed By one who was a fool I know, He told me I should leave the place And show me face no more And soon as he evicted me I thought it time that I should flee So late one night I took his life and left him laying low But by telegraph they did insert a great reward for my arrest My figure, size and form, my name without mistake They broke their brogues, one thousand pairs This great reward for to obtain But still their search was all in vain For Farmer Michael Hayes They searched Tipperary o'er and o'er The corn fields near Baltimore They went across to Wexford then But they'd not long delay By Ballyhill and Stridmore Strand They searched the woods as they came on Till they were hungry, wet and cold At the approach of day Then round the coast they made a steer From Pulbeg lighthouse to Cape Clear Killarney town and the sweet Tralee They then crossed into Clare And when they landed on the shore They searched Kilrush from tip to toe They searched the baths near sweet Lisdoon Likewise Miltown Malbay And Galway being a place of fame They thought 'twas there I might remain But still their search was all in vain For I gave them all legbail They searched the train at Oranmore As she was starting for Drumore And every carriage, car and coach They met upon the road And Connemara being remote They thought that there I might resort When they were getting weary, they resolved to try Mayo In Swinford town as I sat down I heard a dreadful cry of hounds So I lay there in an manger, till the approach of day Then to Dublin town I made my way And then to Cobh and Amerikay And left the hounds to search away For Farmer Michael Hayes And as the moon began to shine I thought I'd make a foreign clime Now I'm in the land of liberty, and fig for all my foes Top of page THE FENIAN RECORD PLAYER Wee Willie John McFadden was a loyal Ulster Prod Who thought that Ian Paisley was one step down from God He scorned the little children, in the backstreets of Ardoyne And he thought that history started with the Battle of the Boyne And he thought that history started with the Battle of the Boyne One day he took the brick in his hands and dandered up the Falls He was singing 'Up the Rangers' and hummin' Derry's Walls He broke the big shop window to annoy the Pope of Rome He took the record player and then he started home He took the record player and then he started home Next night they had a hooley at the local Orange Hall Wee Willie took his player to make music for the boys He chose a stack of records of a very loyal kind But when the music started he nearly lost his mind But when the music started he nearly lost his mind This Fenian record player was a rebel to the core It played out songs the Orange Hall had never heard before For Golly's Brae and Derry's Walls it didn't give a fig It speeded up God Save the Queen till it sounded like a jig It speeded up God Save the Queen till it sounded like a jig Well the boys were plain demented, to the ground Wee Will was thrown They kicked his ribs in one by one to the tune of Garryowen They threw him out the window to the song of Old Sinn Fein They kicked him all down Sandy Row to a Nation Once Again They kicked him all down Sandy Row to a Nation Once Again There's a moral to this story, what it is I cannot say Oh maybe its the ancient curse, crime it will not pay If you ask Wee Willie McFadden, he'll say you're kind, you know If you want to pinch a record player, do it up the Shankill Road If you want to pinch a record player, do it up the Shankill Road Top of page THE FENIANS' ESCAPE Now boys, if you will listen, a story I'll relate I'll tell you of the noble men who from their foe escaped Though bound with Saxon fetters in the dark Australian jail They struck a blow for freedom and for Yankeeland set sail On the seventeenth of April last the Stars and Stripes did fly On board the bark Catalpa, waving proudly to the sky She showed the green above the red as she did calmly lay Prepared to take the Fenian boys in safety o'er the sea When Breslin and brave Desmond brought the prisoners to the shore They gave one shout for freedom; soon to bless them evermore And manned by gallant Irish hearts, pulled towards the Yankee shore For well they knew, from its proud folds, no tyrant could them drag They had nearly reached in safety the Catalpa taut and trim When fast approaching them they saw a vision dark and dim It was the gunboat Georgette, and on her deck there stood One hundred hired assassins, to shed each patriot's blood The gunboat reached the bounding bark and fired across her bow Then in loud voice commanded that the vessel should heave to But noble Captain Anthony in thunder tones did cry "You dare not fire a shot at that bright flag that floats on high" "My ship is sailing peacefully beneath that flag of stars It's manned by Irish hearts of oak and manly Yankee tars And that dear emblem near the fore, so plain to be seen Is is the banner I'll protect, old Ireland's flag of green" The Britisher he sailed away, from the Stars and Stripes he ran He knew his chance was slim to fight the boys of Uncle Sam So Hogan, Wilson, Harrington, with Darragh off did go With Hassett and bold Cranston, soon to whip the Saxon foe Here's luck to Captain Anthony who well these men did free He dared the English man-o'-war to fight him on the sea And here's to that dear emblem which in triumph shall be seen The flag for which our heroes fought, old Ireland's flag of green Top of page FIDDLER'S GREEN (By John Connolly/Bill Meek, 1960s) As I went a walking one evening so rare To view the still waters and taste the salt air I heard an old fisherman singing this song Sayin', "Take me away boys, my time is not long" Chorus: "Wrap me up in me oil skins and blankets No more on the docks I'll be seen Just tell me old shipmates, I'm takin' a trip mates And I'll see you someday on fiddler's green" Now fiddler's green is a place I've heard tell Where fishermen go if they don't go to hell Where the weather is fair and the dolphins do play And the cold coast of Greenland is far far away Where the weather is fair and there's never a gale Where the fish jump on board with a swish of their tail You lie at your leisure there's no work to do While the skipper's below makin' tae for the crew I don't need a harp nor a halo not me Just give me a breeze and a good rollin' sea I'll play me old squeeze box as we sail along And the wind in the riggin' will sing me this song.. Top of page THE FIELDS OF ATHENRY By a lonely prison wall I heard a young girl callin' "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" By a lonely harbour wall she watched the last star falling As that prison ship sailed out against the sky For she'll live in hope and pray For her love in Botany Bay It's so lonely 'round the fields of Athenry Top of page FINNEGAN'S WAKE Tim Finnegan lived in Watling street A gentleman Irishman -- mighty odd He'd a beautiul brogue, so rich and sweet And to rise in the world, he carried the hod But, you see he'd sort of a tipping way With a love for the liquor poor Tim was born And so to help him through with his work each day He'd drop of the craythin' every morn Chorus: Whack; fol-de-dooh-dah, dance to your partner Welt the floor, yer truthers shake Isn't it the truth I've told ye? Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake One morning Tim was rather full His head felt heavy, which made him shake He fell from the ladder and broke his skull So they carried him home a corpse to wake They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet And laid him out upon the bed With fourteen candles round his feet and a gallon of porter at his head Chorus: Whack; fol-de-dooh-dah, dance to your partner Welt the floor, yer truthers shake Isn't it the truth I've told ye? Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake His friends assembled at his wake Missus Finnegan called for the lunch First they laid in tea and cake Then pipes and tobacky and whiskey-punch Miss Biddy O'Brien began to cry 'Such a dacent corpse did you ever see? Arrah! Tim avourmeen, an why did ye die?' 'Ooh, none of your gab,' sez Billy Magee Chorus: Whack; fol-de-dooh-dah, dance to your partner Welt the floor, yer truthers shake Isn't it the truth I've told ye? Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake Then Peggy O'Connor took up the job 'Aargh! Biddy, says she, 'Ye'r wrong, I'm sure' But Biddy then gave her a belt on the gob And left her sprawling on the floor Each side in war did soon engage 'Twas woman to woman and man to man Shullelah law was all the rage And a row and a rucus soon began Chorus: Whack; fol-de-dooh-dah, dance to your partner Welt the floor, yer truthers shake Isn't it the truth I've told ye? Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake Mikey Mulvaney raised his head When a gallon of whiskey flew at him It missed him -- and hopping on the bed The liquor scattered all over Tim! Bedad he revives! See how he rises! An' Timothy, jumping from the bed Cried, while he lathered round like blazes 'In the name of the devil, d'ye think I'm dead' Chorus: Whack; fol-de-dooh-dah, dance to your partner Welt the floor, yer truthers shake Isn't it the truth I've told ye? Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake Top of page FLIGHT OF EARLS (The Wolfe Tones) I can hear the bells of Dublin in this lonely waiting room and the paper boys are singing in the rain Not too long before they take us to the airport and the noise to get onboard 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 for fear of famine that makes us leave this time we're not going to join McAlpine's Fusiliers We've got brains and we've got visions 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 the 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 for to bring us all back home as we look forward to another Monday Because 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 and all we're missing is the Guinness and the rain So switch off your new computers 'cause 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 any more Because they're over here in Queensland and in parts of New South Wales we're on the seas and airways and the trains And if we see better days don't big airplanes go both ways and we're all be coming home to you again Top of page FLOWER OF SWEET STRABANE If I were King of Ireland's Isle And had all things at my will I'd roam for recreation And I'd seek for comfort still The comfort I would ask for So that you may understand Is to win the heart of Martha The Flower of Sweet Strabane Her cheeks they are a ruby red Her hair a lovely brown And o'er her milk white shoulders It carelessly hangs down She is the fairest creature And the pride of all her clan And my heart is captivated By the flower of Sweet Strabane Well I've been in the Phoenix Park And in Killarney fair The lovely glens of Antrim And the winding banks of Clare In all my earthly travels I never yet met one That could compare, I do declare With the Flower of Sweet Strabane But since I cannot gain her love No joy there is for me And I must seek forgetfulness In lands across the sea Unless she cares to follow me I swear by my right hand McKenna's face you'll ne'er more see My Flower of Sweet Strabane So it's farewell to sweet Derry Quay New Mills and Waterside I'll sail out o'er the ocean Whatever may betide I'll sail away from Derry Quay Out by the Isle of Man And I'll bid farewell to Martha The Flower of Sweet Strabane Top of page THE FOGGY DEW 'Twas down the glen one Easter morn To a city fair rode I When Ireland's line of marching men In squadrons passed me by No pipe did hum, no battle drum Did sound it dread tattoo But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell Rang out in the foggy dew Right proudly high over Dublin town They hung out a flag of war 'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky Than at Suvla or Sud el Bar And from the plains of Royal Meath Strong men came hurrying through While Brittania's huns with their long-range guns Sailed in from the foggy dew 'Twas England bade our wild geese go That small nations might be free Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves On the fringe of the grey North Sea But had they died by Pearse's side Or fought with Cathal Bruga Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep 'Neath the hills of the foggy dew The bravest fell, and the solemn bell Rang mournfully and clear For those who died that Eastertide In the springing of the year And the world did gaze in deep amaze At those fearless men and true Who bore the fight that freedom's light Might shine through the foggy dew Top of page FOLLOW ME UP TO CARLOW (Patrick Joseph McCall ca. 1890, Melody dates from pre-1500's) [In 1580, at the pass of Glen Malure, near Glendalough, County Wicklow, Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne overthrew the forces of the English Crown under Lord Grey de Wilton. The victory is commemorated in this great song. Thomas FitzWilliam was born around 1519 and died 1592, fought against the natives outside "The pale" led by Shane O'Neill in 1560 and 1566, and finally defeated the O'Tooles and O'Byrnes in 1601.] Lift Mac Cahir Óg your face, brooding o'er the old disgrace That black FitzWilliam stormed your place, and drove you to the fern Grey said victory was sure, soon the firebrand he'd secure Until he met at Glenmalure: Feach Mac Hugh O'Byrne! Chorus: Curse and swear, Lord Kildare! Feach will do what Feach 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, Feach Mac Hugh 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 a fighting stock, would you let a Saxon cock Crow out upon an Irish rock? Fly up and teach him manners! From Tassagart to Clonmore, there flows a stream of Saxon gore Och, great is Rory Óg O'More at sending loons to Hades! White is sick and Grey is fled, now for black FitzWilliam's head! We'll send it over, dripping red, to queen Liza and her ladies! Top of page FORTY SHADES OF GREEN I close my eyes and picture the emerald of the sea From the fishing boats at Dingle to the shores of Donaghadea I miss the River Shannon, the folks at Skibbereen The moorlands and the meadows and the forty shades of green But most of all I miss a girl in Tipperary town And most of all I miss her lips as soft as eiderdown Again I want to see and do the things we've done and seen Where the breeze is sweet as Shalamar And there's forty shades of green I wish I could spend an hour at Dublin churning stuff I'd love to watch the farmer drain the bog and spade the turf To see again the thatching of straw the women clean I'd walk from Cork to Larne to see the forty shades of green But most of all I miss a girl in Tipperary town and most of all I miss her lips as soft as eiderdown Again I want to see and do the things we've done and seen Where the breeze is sweet as Shalamar And there's forty shades of green Top of page FOR WHAT DIED THE SONS OF RóISIN For What Died the Sons of Róisín, was it fame? For What Died the Sons of Róisín, was it fame? For what flowed Irelands blood in rivers That began when Brian chased the Dane And did not cease nor has not ceased With the brave sons of '16 For what died the sons of Róisín, was it fame? For What Died the Sons of Róisín, was it greed? For What Died the Sons of Róisín, was it greed? Was it greed that drove Wolfe Tone to a paupers death in a cell of cold wet stone? Will German, French or Dutch inscribe the epitaph of Emmet? When we have sold enough of Ireland to be but strangers in it For What Died the Sons of Róisín, was it greed? To whom do we owe our allegiance today? To whom do we owe our allegiance today? To those brave men who fought and died that Róisín live again with pride? Her sons at home to work and sing Her youth to dance and make her valleys ring Or the faceless men who for Mark and Dollar Betray her to the highest bidder To whom do we owe our allegiance today? For what suffer our patriots today? For what suffer our patriots today? They have a language problem, so they say How to write "No Trespass" must grieve their heart full sore We got rid of one strange language now we are faced with many, many more For what suffer our patriots today? Top of page FOUR GREEN FIELDS (Tommy Makem) What did I have, said the fine old woman What did I have, this proud old woman did say I had four green fields, each one was a jewel But strangers came and tried to take them from me I had fine strong sons, who fought to save my jewels They fought and they died, and that was my grief said she Long time ago, said the fine old woman Long time ago, this proud old woman did say There was war and death, plundering and pillage My children starved, by mountain, valley and sea And their wailing cries, they shook the very heavens My four green fields ran red with their blood, said she What have I now, said the fine old woman What have I now, this proud old woman did say I have four green fields, one of them's in bondage In stranger's hands, that tried to take it from me But my sons had sons, as brave as were their fathers My fourth green field will bloom once again said she Top of page FREEDOM SONS Chorus: They were the men with the vision the men with the cause The men who defied their oppressors laws The men who traded their chains for guns Born into slavery they were freedoms sons At Easter time 1916 When flowers bloomed and leaves were green There dawned a day when freedoms cry Called on brave men come fight or die In Dublin town they fought and died With Pearse McDermott and McBride Ourselves alone their battle cry And freedom rang through that Easter sky A poets dream had sparked that flame A raging fire it soon became And from that fire of destiny Arose a nation proud and free Six counties are in bondage still They died brave men was this their will Until we're free and oppression ceased Only then brave men shall sleep in peace Top of page FREE THE PEOPLE Laws were made for people and the law can never scorn The right of a man to be free Chorus: Free the people, let them have their say Free the people, let them see the light of day Addys Madden was breaking when they took her man away Not knowing what was his crime Just what he was guilty of not one of them could say But they think of something in time He says "Goodbye and remember, we shall overcome" Comforting her children softly crying in the night She tries very hard to explain "You know your daddy never did a thing that wasn't right So soon he's bound to be home again He is a good man and he shall overcome" But does is profit him, the right to be born If he suffers the loss of liberty Laws were made for people and the law can never scorn The right of a man to be free We are the people and we shall overcome We are the people and we shall overcome Top of page FROM CLARE TO HERE (1) Well there's four of us who share the room, we work hard for the brass And getting up late on Sunday, I never go to mass Chorus: It's a long long way from Clare to here It's a long long way from Clare to here Oh, it's a long long way, it gets further day by day It's a long long way from Clare to here When Friday night comes around and Eddy's only in the fighting My ma would like a letter home but I'm too tired for writing Well it almost breaks my heart when I think of Josephine I promised I'd be coming back with pockets full of green I dream I hear a piper play maybe it's emotion I dream I see white horses dance on that other ocean Top of page FROM CLARE TO HERE (2) There's four who share the room and we work hard for the craic Getting up late on a Sunday, i never get to Mass Chorus: It's a long long way from Clare to here It's a long long way from Clare to here It's a long long way, it gets further every day It's a long long way from Clare to here When Friday night comes round, you'll always find me fighting My ma would like a letter home, but I'm too tired for writing Chorus The only time I feel all right, is when I'm out drinking it eases off the pain a bit and levels out my thinking Chorus It almost breaks my heart when I think of Josephine I told her I'd be coming home, my pockets full of green Chorus I dreamt I heard a piper play - or was it just a notion I dreamt I saw white horses dance upon that other ocean -------------------------------------------------------------- Top of page