Posts tagged ‘lyrics’

Thursday, 1 July 2021

Walking Into Doors by Archibald (Archie) William Roach

You say you’re a man, you understand, but you don’t,
You should lend her a helping hand, but you won’t.
Because I’m a man I don’t understand, but I try
She always does what I command, while she cries.
And why should we do what we do and sleep at night?
The crazy things we put her through, it isn’t right—
It isn’t right.

So, my brother, don’t hurt her anymore:
She’s got her lore; you’ve got yours—
And she’s sick and tired of walking into doors

Her gentle spirit, her sacred way and her smile,
May not be here, she may disappear in a little while.
Sister Moon, Sister Girl and giving birth
Mother Nature, Mother of Pearl and Mother Earth—
Sweet Mother Earth.

So, my brother, don’t hurt her anymore:
She’s got her lore and you’ve got yours—
And she’s sick and tired of walking into doors.

So, my brother, don’t hurt her anymore:
She’s got her lore; you’ve got yours—
And she’s sick and tired of walking into doors—
Yes, she’s sick and tired of walking into doors.

From: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YicAAbx757U (transcribed by flusteredduck)

Date: 1992

By: Archibald (Archie) William Roach (1956- )

Tuesday, 1 June 2021

Western Australia for Me by George Fletcher Moore

Air—”Ballinamona oro”

From the old Western world, we have come to explore
The wilds of this Western Australian shore;
In search of a country, we’ve ventured to roam,
And now that we’ve found it, let’s make it our home.
And what though the colony’s new, Sirs,
And inhabitants yet may be few, Sirs,
We see them encreasing here too, Sirs,
So Western Australia for me.

With care and experience, I’m sure ’twill be found
Two crops in the year we may get from the ground;
There’s good wood and good water, good flesh and good fish,
Good soil and good clime, and what more could you wish.
Then let every one earnestly strive, Sirs,
Do his best, be alert and alive, Sirs,
We’ll soon see our colony thrive, Sirs,
So Western Australia for me.

No lions of tigers we here dread to meet,
Our innocent quadrupeds hop on two feet;
No tithes and no taxes we now have to pay,
And our geese are all swans, as some witty folks say.
Then we live without trouble or stealth, Sirs,
Our currency’s all sterling wealth, Sirs,
So here’s to our Governor’s health, Sirs,
And Western Australia for me.

From: Moore, George Fletcher, Diary of Ten Years Eventful Life of an Early Settler in Western Australia; and also A Descriptive Vocabulary of the Language of the Aborigines, 1884, M. Walbrook: London, p. [unnumbered].
(https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Diary_of_ten_years_eventful_life_of_an_early_settler_in_Western_Australia_and_also_A_descriptive_vocabulary_of_the_language_of_the_aborigines/Western_Australia_for_me)

Date: 1834

By: George Fletcher Moore (1798-1886)

Tuesday, 5 January 2021

The Jolly Beggar attributed to James V of Scotland with rough rendering into modern English by flusteredduck

There was a jolly beggar, and a-begging he was boun,
And he took up his quarters into a land’art town,

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

He wad neither ly in barn, nor yet wad he in byre,
But in ahint the ha’ door, or else afore the fire.

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

The beggar’s bed was made at e’en wi’ gude clean straw and hay,
And in ahint the ha’ door, and there the beggar lay.

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

Up raise the goodman’s dochter and for to bar the door,
And there she saw the beggar standin’ I’ the floor.

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

He took the lassie in his arms, and to the bed he ran,
O hooly, hooly wi’ me, sir, ye’ll waken our goodman.

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

The beggar was a cunnin’ loon, and ne’er a word he spake
Until he got his turne done, syne he began to crack.

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

“Is there ony dogs into this toun? maiden, tell me true.”
“:And what wad ye do wi’ them, my hinny and my dow?

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

“They’ll rive a’ my meal pocks, and do me meikle wrang.”
O dool for the doing o’t, are ye the poor man?”

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

Then she took up the meal pocks, and flang them o’er the wa’,
“The deil gae wi the meal pocks, my maidenhead and a’!”

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

“I took ye for some gentleman, at least the laird o’ Brodie;
O dool for the doing o’t! are ye the poor bodie?”

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

He took the lassie in his arms, and gae her kisses three,
And four and twenty hunder merk to pay the nurice-fee.

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

He took a horn frae his side, and blew baith loud and shrill,
And four and twenty belted knights came skipping o’er the hill.

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

And he took out his little knife, loot a’ his duddies fa’,
And he was the brawest gentleman tat was amang them a’.

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

The beggar was a clever loon, and he lap shoulder height:
“O, ay for sicken quarters as I gat yesternight!”

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gane nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

The Jolly Beggar attributed to James V of Scotland

There was a jolly beggar, and a-begging he was bound,
And he took up his quarters in a country farmstead,

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

He would neither lie in the barn, nor yet in the byre;
But in behind the main door, or else before the fire.

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

The beggar’s bed was made at evening with good clean straw and hay,
And in behind the main door, and there the beggar lay.

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

Up rose the farmer’s daughter to bar the door,
And there she saw the beggar standing on the floor.

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

He took the lassie in his arms, and to the bed he ran,
O carefully, carefully with me, sir, you’ll waken our farmer.

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

The beggar was a cunning rogue, and never a word he spoke
Until he got his turn done, then he began to talk.

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

“Are there any dogs in this town? maiden, tell me true.”
“And what would you do with them, my honey and my dove?”

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

“They’ll tear all my meal packs, and do me much wrong.”
“O sorrow for the doing of it! are you a poor man?”

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

Then she took up the meal packs, and threw them over the wall;
“The devil go with the meal packs, my maidenhead, and all!”

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

“I took you for some gentleman, at least the lord of Brodie;
O sorrow for the doing of it! are you a poor body?”

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

He took the lassie in his arms, and gave her kisses three,
And four and twenty hundred marks to pay the [wet] nurse’s fee.

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

He took a horn from his side, and blew both loud and shrill,
And four and twenty belted knights came skipping over the hill.

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

And he took out his little knife, and let all his rags fall;
And he was the finest gentleman that was among them all.

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

The beggar was a clever rogue, and he leapt shoulder height;
“O, always such quarters as I had yesternight!”

And we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night;
And we’ll go no more a-roving, boys,
Let the moon shine never so bright.

From: Eyre-Todd, George (ed.), Scottish Poetry of the Sixteenth Century, 1892, William Hodge & Co: Glasgow, pp. 180-182.
(https://archive.org/details/scottishpoetryof00eyre)

Date: c1535

Attributed to: James V of Scotland (1512-1542)

Thursday, 27 August 2020

He Fades Away* by Alistair Hulett

There’s a man in my bed I used to love him
His kisses used to take my breath away
There’s a man in my bed I hardly know him
I wipe his face and hold his hand
And watch him as he slowly fades away

And he fades away
Not like leaves that fall in autumn
Turning gold against the grey
He fades away
Like the bloodstains on the pillow case
That I wash every day
He fades away

There’s a man in my bed, he’s on a pension
Although he’s only fifty years of age
The lawyer says we might get compensation
In the course of due procedure
But he couldn’t say for certain at this stage

And he’s not the only one
Who made that trip so many years ago
To work the Wittenoom mines
So many young men old before their time
And dying slow
He fades away
A wheezing bag of bones his
Lungs half clogged and full of clay
He fades away

There’s a man in my bed they never told him
The cost of bringing home his weekly pay
And when the courts decide how much they owe him
How will he spend his money
When he lies in bed and coughs his life away?

*This song is about an Australian blue asbestos miner. The miners (and often their families) were exposed to blue asbestos through the mine at Wittenoom in Western Australia and had a long and very bitter legal battle for compensation with many miners (and their family members) dying of the effects of the asbestos exposure (specifically mesothelioma) before receiving compensation. Wittenoom itself is a declared contaminated site and was phased out as a townsite, being removed from road signs and maps, in the 1990s. As of 2019, there was only one remaining permanent resident.

From: https://unionsong.com/u484.html

Date: 1991

By: Alistair Hulett (1951-2010)

Thursday, 6 August 2020

Beautiful Dreamer by Stephen Collins Foster

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lull’d by the moonlight have all pass’d away!

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life’s busy throng,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea,
Mermaids are chanting the wild lorelei;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E’en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

From: https://literarydevices.net/beautiful-dreamer/

Date: c1862

By: Stephen Collins Foster (1826-1864)

Friday, 7 September 2018

For Lack of Gold by Adam Austin

For lack of gold she’s left me, O,
And of all that’s dear bereft me, O;
She me forsook for Athole’s duke,
And to endless woe she has left me, O.
A star and garter have more art
Than youth, a true and faithful heart;
For empty titles we must part,
And for glittering show she’s left me, O.

No cruel fair shall ever move
My injured heart again to love;
Through distant climates I must rove,
Since Jeanie she has left me, O.
Ye powers above, I to your care
Give up my faithless, lovely fair;
Your choicest blessings be her share,
Though she’s for ever left me, O!

From: Eyre-Todd, George (ed.), Scottish Poetry of the Eighteenth Century, Volume II, 1896, William Hodge & Co: Glasgow, p. 78.
(https://archive.org/details/scottishpoetryof02eyreuoft)

Date: 1749

By: Adam Austin (1726-1774)

Friday, 24 August 2018

Wooed and Married and A’ by Alexander Ross

The bride cam’ out o’ the byre,
And O, as she dighted1 her cheeks,
‘Sirs, I’m to be married the-night,
And ha’e neither blankets nor sheets–
Ha’e neither blankets nor sheets,
Nor scarce a coverlet too;
The bride that has a’ thing to borrow,
Has e’en right meikle2 ado!’

Wooed and married and a’!
Married and wooed and a’!
And was she na very weel aff
That was wooed and married and a’?

Out spake the bride’s father
As he cam’ in frae the pleugh,
‘O haud your tongue, my dochter,
And ye’se3 get gear4 eneugh.
The stirk5 stands i’ the tether,
And our braw bawsint yade6
Will carry hame your corn:—
What wad ye be at, ye jade?’

Out spake the bride’s mither:
‘What, deil, needs a’ this pride?
I hadna a plack7 in my pouch
That night I was a bride.
My gown was linsey-wolsey,
And ne’er a sark8 ava;
And ye ha’e ribbons and buskin’s9
  Mae10 than ane or twa.’

Out spake the bride’s brither
As he cam’ in wi’ the kye:11
‘Puir Willie wad ne’er ha’e ta’en ye
Had he kent ye as weel as I.
For ye’re baith proud and saucy,
And no for a puir man’s wife;
Gin12 I canna get a better
I’se ne’er tak’ ane i’ my life!’

Out spake the bride’s sister
As she cam’ in frae the byre;
‘Oh, gin I were but married,
It’s a’ that I desire!
But we puir folk maun live,
And do the best we can;
I dinna ken what I should want
If I could get but a man!’

Notes:
1. Wiped.
2. Much.
3. You shall.
4. Property.
5. Steer.
6. Fine white-faced mare.
7. Four-pence Scots.
8. Chemise.
9. Ornaments.
10. More.
11. Cows.
12. If.

From: https://www.bartleby.com/41/337.html

Date: 1768

By: Alexander Ross (1699-1784)

Friday, 20 April 2018

Can a Maid That is Well Bred by Martin Peerson

Can a maid that is well bred,
Hath a blush so lovely red,
Modest looks, wise, mild, discreet,
And a nature passing sweet,
Break her promise, untrue prove,
On a sudden change her love,
Or be won e’er to neglect
Him to whom she vow’d respect?

Such a maid, alas, I know.
Oh that weeds ‘mongst corn should grow,
Or a rose should prickles have,
Wounding where she ought to save!
I that did her parts extol,
Will my lavish tongue control.
Outward parts do blind the eyes,
Gall in golden pills oft lies.

Reason wake, and sleep no more,
Land upon some safer shore;
Think on her and be afraid
Of a faithless fickle maid.
Of a faithless flckle maid
Thus true love is still betray’d.
Yet it is some ease to sing
That a maid is light of wing.

From: https://tspace.library.utoronto.ca/html/1807/4350/poem1577.html

Date: 1620

By: Martin Peerson (?1571-1650)

Wednesday, 21 February 2018

John Peel by John Woodcock Graves

D’ye ken John Peel, with his coat so gay?
D’ye ken John Peel at the break of the day?
D’ye ken John Peel, when he’s far far away,
With his hounds and his horn in the morning.

Chorus:
For the sound of his horn brought me from my bed.
And the cry of the hounds which he oft times led,
Peel’s view hol-loo would awaken the dead,
Or his fox from his lair in the morning.

Yes, I ken John Peel, and Ruby too,
Ranter and Ringwood, Bell-man and True,
From a find to a check, from a check to a view.
From a view to a death in the morning.

Chorus.

Then here’s to John Peel, from my heart and soul.
Let’s drink to his health let’s finish the bowl,
We’ll follow John Peel thro’ fair thro’ foul.
If we want a good hunt in the morning.

Chorus.

D’ye ken John Peel, with his coat so gay,
He lived at Trout-beck once on a day,
Now he has gone far far away,
We shall ne’er hear his voice in the morning.

Chorus.

From: https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Canadian_Soldiers%27_Song_Book/John_Peel

Date: 1824

By: John Woodcock Graves (1795-1886)

Sunday, 11 February 2018

Abide with Me by Henry Francis Lyte

“Abide with us: for it is toward evening; and the day is far spent.” — St. Luke xxiv. 29

Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me!

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away:
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou, who changest not, abide with me!

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word,
But as Thou dwell’st with Thy disciples, Lord,
Familiar, condescending, patient, free,
Come, not to sojourn, but abide, with me!

Come not in terrors, as the King of kings;
But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings:
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea.
Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me!

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile,
And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile,
Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee.
On to the close, O Lord, abide with me!

I need Thy presence every passing hour.
What but Thy grace can foil the Tempter’s power?
Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me!

I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless:
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death’s sting? where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes:
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies:
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee.
In life and death, O Lord, abide with me!

Berryhead, September 1847.

From: Lyte, Henry Francis, Miscellaneous Poems, 1868, Rivingtons: London, Oxford, and Cambridge, pp. 297-299.
(https://archive.org/details/miscellaneouspo00lyte)

Date: 1847

By: Henry Francis Lyte (1793-1847)