Song Lyrics - January 27, 2007
Lyrics to Wake the Bard’s new album, “At It Again”
Hills of Connemara This rollicking old Irish tune is about making moonshine, poteen, or “mountain tay” and trying to escape the revenuer, or “excise man.”
Gather up the pots and the old tin can
The mash, the corn, the barley and the bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney
Keep your eyes well peeled today
The excise men are on their way
Searching for that mountain tay
In the hills of Connemara
A gallon for the butcher, a quart for John,
A bottle for poor old Father Tom
To help the poor old dear along
In the hills of Connemara
Swing to the left and swing to the right
The excise men will dance all night
Drinking up the tay till the broad daylight
In the hills of Connemara
Stand your ground and don’t you fall
The excise men are at the wall
Glory be to Paddy but they’re drinking it all
In the hills of Connemara
Óró ‘Sé Do is a wonderful Irish folk song in the Irish language. It is about a female Irish pirate who used to plunder the ships of Queen Elizabeth I in the 16th and 17th centuries.
‘Sé do bheatha bhean ba léanmhar
Ba é ár gcreach tu bheith i ngéibheann
Do dhúiche bhreá i seilibh méirleach
‘Stú díolta leis na Galla
chorus: Óró ‘sé do bheatha ‘Bhaile -- 3x
‘Nois ar theacht an tsamhraidh
Tá Gráinne Mhaol ag teacht thar sáile
Oglaigh armtha léi mar gharda
Gaeil iad féin is ní Gaill ná Spáinnigh
Is cuirfidh siad ruaig ar Ghallaibh
A bhuí le Rí na bhfeart go bhfeiceann
Muna mbíonn beo ina dheoidh ach seachtain
Gráinne Mhaol is míle gaiscíoch
Ag fogairt fain ar Ghallaibh
Mrs. McGrath This is an anti-war song that was used to convince the Irish not to become conscripts in the English army, for “you’ll come back without any legs.”
“Oh, Mrs. McGrath,” the sergeant said,
“Would you like a soldier of your son Ted?
With a scarlet coat and a big cocked hat
Now Mrs. McGrath, wouldn’t you like that?”
Chorus:
With your Too – ri – ay, fol – diddle –dee– ay
Too – ri – oo – ri – oo – ri – ay,
With your Too – ri – ay, fol – diddle –dee– ay
Too – ri – oo – ri – oo – ri – ay.
Now Mrs. McGrath lived on the shore
And after seven years or more
She spied a ship come into the bay
With her son from far away
“Oh, captain dear, where have ye been?
Were you sailing the Med-it-ter-ran-e-an?
Have you news of my son Ted?
Is he livin’ or is he dead?”
Up came Ted without any legs
And in their place two wooden pegs
She kissed him a dozen times or two
And said, “My God, Ted, is it you?
“Now were ye drunk or were ye blind
When ye left yer two fine legs behind?
Or was it walking upon the sea
That wore yer two fine legs away?”
“Now I wasn’t drunk and I wasn’t blind
When I left my two fine legs behind
A cannonball on the fifth of May
Tore my two fine legs away.”
“Oh Teddy me boy,” the widow cried,
Yer two fine legs were yer mother’s pride
Them stumps of a tree won’t do at all
Why didn’t ye run from the cannon ball?”
“All foreign wars I do proclaim
Live on blood and a mother’s pain
Be-Jay-sus I’ll make them rue the day
They took my fine young boy away”
Finnegan’s Wake
Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street
A gentle Irishman, mighty odd
He’d a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet
And to rise in the world he carried a hod
Now Tim had a sort of tipplin' way
With a love of whiskey he was born
And to help him on with his work each day
He'd a "drop of the cray-thur" every morn.
chorus: Whack fol the dan O dance to your partner
Wipe the floor your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake
One mornin' Tim was rather full
His head felt heavy which made him shake
He fell from the ladder and broke his skull
And they carried him home, his corpse to wake
They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet
And laid him out upon the bed
A gallon of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his head
His friends assembled at the wake
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch,
First they brought in tay and cake
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch.
Biddy O'Brien began to cry
Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see
O Tim, mavourneen, why did you die
Arragh, hold your gob said Paddy McGhee
Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job
O Biddy says she you're wrong, I'm sure
Biddy she gave her a belt in the gob
And left her sprawlin' on the floor
And then the war did soon engage
'Twas woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh law was all the rage
And a row and a ruction soon began
Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head
When a noggin of whiskey flew at him
It missed, and falling on the bed
The liquor scattered over Tim
The corpse revives! See how he rises
Timothy rising from the bed
Sayin’ whirl your whiskey around like blazes?
Thanum an Dhul do you think I'm dead !!!!
Black is the Color
Black is the color of my true love’s hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
The sweetest smile, the gentlest hands
I love the ground where on she stands
I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground where on she goes
I hope the day will one day come
When she and I will be as one
I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep
For satisfied I never can be
I write her letters, just a few short lines
And suffer death a thousand times
Lanigan’s Ball
In the town of Athy one Jeremy Lanigan
Battered away till he hadn´t a pound
And his father died and made him a man again,
Left him a farm and ten acres of ground
He gave a grand party to friends and relations
Who did not forget him when come to the will
If you´d only listen, I´ll make your eyes glisten
At the rows and ructions of Lanigan´s ball
Myself to be sure got free invitations
For all the nice girls and boys I might ask
In less than a minute both friends and relations
Were dancing as merry as bees round a cask
chorus:
Six long months I spent in Dublin
Six long months doing nothing at all
Six long months I spent in Dublin
Learning to dance for Lanigan´s ball
And I stepped out - and I stepped in again
I stepped out - and I stepped in again
I stepped out - and I stepped in again
Learning to dance for Lanigan´s ball
Lashing of punch and wine for the ladies
Potatoes and cakes, there was bacon and tea
There were the Nolans, Dolans, O´Grady´s
Courting the girls and dancing away
While songs went round as plenty as water
The harps that are sounded through Tara's old hall
Biddie Gray and the rat catcher’s daughter
All singing together at Lanigan’s ball
They were doing all kinds of nonsensical polkas
Round the room in a whirly gig
But Julia and I soon banished their nonsense
And tipped them a twist of a real Irish jig
Oh how the girls got really mad at me
Danced til you´d think the ceiling would fall
For I spent three weeks at Brooks Academy
Learning to dance for Lanigan´s ball
The boys were as merry, the girls all hearty
Dancing around in couples and groups
Till an accident happened, young Terence McCarthy
He put his right leg through Miss Finerty´s hoops
The poor creature she fainted & cried Meelia Murther
And called for her brothers and gathered them all
Carmody swore that he´d go no further,
Till he had satisfaction at Lanigan´s ball
Boys, oh boys, ´tis there was ructions
Myself got a kick from big Phelim McHugh
And I soon replied to his kind introduction
And kicked him a terrible hullabaloo
Casey the piper was nearly being strangled
They squeezed up his pipes, bellows, chanters and all
And the girls in their ribbons they all got entangled
And that put an end to Lanigan´s ball
Star of the County Down
Near Bambridge town in the County Down
One morning last July
Down the Boreen Green came a sweet colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by
She looked so sweet from her two bare feet
To the sheen of her nut brown hair
Such a winsome elf that I pinched myself
For to see I was really there
chorus:
From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
And from Galway to Dublin town
No maid I’ve seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down
As she homeward sped, sure I shook my head
And I gazed with a feeling rare
And I said, says I, to a passerby,
“Who’s the maid with the nut brown hair?”
He smiled at me and he said to me,
“That’s the gem of Ireland’s crown.
She’s Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann.
She’s the star of the County Down.”
At the harvest fair, I’ll surely be there
And I’ll dress in my Sunday clothes
With my shoes shined bright and my hat cocked right
For a smile from the nut brown rose
No pipe I’ll smoke, no horse I’ll yoke
Till my plow is a rusty brown
Till a smiling bride at my own fireside
Is the star of the County Down
Cruisceen Lan (“The Little Full Jug”)
Let the farmer praise his grounds,
Let the huntsman praise his hounds,
Let the shepherd praise his dewy-scented lawn
But I more wise than they,
Spend each happy night and day
With my darlin’ little cruiscin lan, lan, lan
My darlin’ little cruiscin lan
chorus:
O Gra mo chroi mo chruiscin
Slainte geal mo mhuirnin
Gra mo chroi mo chruiscin lan, lan, lan
O Gra mo chroi mo chruiscin, lan
Immortal and divine, great Bacchus, god of wine
Create me by adoption your own son
In hopes that you’ll comply
That my glass shall ne’er run dry
Nor by darlin’ little cruiscin lan, lan, lan
My darlin’ little cruiscin lan
And when grim death appears
In a few but happy years
He’ll say, Oh, won’t you come along with me
I’ll say, Begone, ye knave
For king Bacchus gave me leave
To take another cruiscin lan, lan, lan
To take another cruiscin lan
Then fill your glasses high
Let’s not part when lips are dry
For the lark now proclaims it is dawn
And since we can’t remain
May we shortly meet again
To fill another cruiscin lan, lan, lan
To fill another cruiscin lan
Hills of Connemara This rollicking old Irish tune is about making moonshine, poteen, or “mountain tay” and trying to escape the revenuer, or “excise man.”
Gather up the pots and the old tin can
The mash, the corn, the barley and the bran
Run like the devil from the excise man
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney
Keep your eyes well peeled today
The excise men are on their way
Searching for that mountain tay
In the hills of Connemara
A gallon for the butcher, a quart for John,
A bottle for poor old Father Tom
To help the poor old dear along
In the hills of Connemara
Swing to the left and swing to the right
The excise men will dance all night
Drinking up the tay till the broad daylight
In the hills of Connemara
Stand your ground and don’t you fall
The excise men are at the wall
Glory be to Paddy but they’re drinking it all
In the hills of Connemara
Óró ‘Sé Do is a wonderful Irish folk song in the Irish language. It is about a female Irish pirate who used to plunder the ships of Queen Elizabeth I in the 16th and 17th centuries.
‘Sé do bheatha bhean ba léanmhar
Ba é ár gcreach tu bheith i ngéibheann
Do dhúiche bhreá i seilibh méirleach
‘Stú díolta leis na Galla
chorus: Óró ‘sé do bheatha ‘Bhaile -- 3x
‘Nois ar theacht an tsamhraidh
Tá Gráinne Mhaol ag teacht thar sáile
Oglaigh armtha léi mar gharda
Gaeil iad féin is ní Gaill ná Spáinnigh
Is cuirfidh siad ruaig ar Ghallaibh
A bhuí le Rí na bhfeart go bhfeiceann
Muna mbíonn beo ina dheoidh ach seachtain
Gráinne Mhaol is míle gaiscíoch
Ag fogairt fain ar Ghallaibh
Mrs. McGrath This is an anti-war song that was used to convince the Irish not to become conscripts in the English army, for “you’ll come back without any legs.”
“Oh, Mrs. McGrath,” the sergeant said,
“Would you like a soldier of your son Ted?
With a scarlet coat and a big cocked hat
Now Mrs. McGrath, wouldn’t you like that?”
Chorus:
With your Too – ri – ay, fol – diddle –dee– ay
Too – ri – oo – ri – oo – ri – ay,
With your Too – ri – ay, fol – diddle –dee– ay
Too – ri – oo – ri – oo – ri – ay.
Now Mrs. McGrath lived on the shore
And after seven years or more
She spied a ship come into the bay
With her son from far away
“Oh, captain dear, where have ye been?
Were you sailing the Med-it-ter-ran-e-an?
Have you news of my son Ted?
Is he livin’ or is he dead?”
Up came Ted without any legs
And in their place two wooden pegs
She kissed him a dozen times or two
And said, “My God, Ted, is it you?
“Now were ye drunk or were ye blind
When ye left yer two fine legs behind?
Or was it walking upon the sea
That wore yer two fine legs away?”
“Now I wasn’t drunk and I wasn’t blind
When I left my two fine legs behind
A cannonball on the fifth of May
Tore my two fine legs away.”
“Oh Teddy me boy,” the widow cried,
Yer two fine legs were yer mother’s pride
Them stumps of a tree won’t do at all
Why didn’t ye run from the cannon ball?”
“All foreign wars I do proclaim
Live on blood and a mother’s pain
Be-Jay-sus I’ll make them rue the day
They took my fine young boy away”
Finnegan’s Wake
Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street
A gentle Irishman, mighty odd
He’d a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet
And to rise in the world he carried a hod
Now Tim had a sort of tipplin' way
With a love of whiskey he was born
And to help him on with his work each day
He'd a "drop of the cray-thur" every morn.
chorus: Whack fol the dan O dance to your partner
Wipe the floor your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake
One mornin' Tim was rather full
His head felt heavy which made him shake
He fell from the ladder and broke his skull
And they carried him home, his corpse to wake
They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet
And laid him out upon the bed
A gallon of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his head
His friends assembled at the wake
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch,
First they brought in tay and cake
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch.
Biddy O'Brien began to cry
Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see
O Tim, mavourneen, why did you die
Arragh, hold your gob said Paddy McGhee
Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job
O Biddy says she you're wrong, I'm sure
Biddy she gave her a belt in the gob
And left her sprawlin' on the floor
And then the war did soon engage
'Twas woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh law was all the rage
And a row and a ruction soon began
Then Mickey Maloney ducked his head
When a noggin of whiskey flew at him
It missed, and falling on the bed
The liquor scattered over Tim
The corpse revives! See how he rises
Timothy rising from the bed
Sayin’ whirl your whiskey around like blazes?
Thanum an Dhul do you think I'm dead !!!!
Black is the Color
Black is the color of my true love’s hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
The sweetest smile, the gentlest hands
I love the ground where on she stands
I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground where on she goes
I hope the day will one day come
When she and I will be as one
I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep
For satisfied I never can be
I write her letters, just a few short lines
And suffer death a thousand times
Lanigan’s Ball
In the town of Athy one Jeremy Lanigan
Battered away till he hadn´t a pound
And his father died and made him a man again,
Left him a farm and ten acres of ground
He gave a grand party to friends and relations
Who did not forget him when come to the will
If you´d only listen, I´ll make your eyes glisten
At the rows and ructions of Lanigan´s ball
Myself to be sure got free invitations
For all the nice girls and boys I might ask
In less than a minute both friends and relations
Were dancing as merry as bees round a cask
chorus:
Six long months I spent in Dublin
Six long months doing nothing at all
Six long months I spent in Dublin
Learning to dance for Lanigan´s ball
And I stepped out - and I stepped in again
I stepped out - and I stepped in again
I stepped out - and I stepped in again
Learning to dance for Lanigan´s ball
Lashing of punch and wine for the ladies
Potatoes and cakes, there was bacon and tea
There were the Nolans, Dolans, O´Grady´s
Courting the girls and dancing away
While songs went round as plenty as water
The harps that are sounded through Tara's old hall
Biddie Gray and the rat catcher’s daughter
All singing together at Lanigan’s ball
They were doing all kinds of nonsensical polkas
Round the room in a whirly gig
But Julia and I soon banished their nonsense
And tipped them a twist of a real Irish jig
Oh how the girls got really mad at me
Danced til you´d think the ceiling would fall
For I spent three weeks at Brooks Academy
Learning to dance for Lanigan´s ball
The boys were as merry, the girls all hearty
Dancing around in couples and groups
Till an accident happened, young Terence McCarthy
He put his right leg through Miss Finerty´s hoops
The poor creature she fainted & cried Meelia Murther
And called for her brothers and gathered them all
Carmody swore that he´d go no further,
Till he had satisfaction at Lanigan´s ball
Boys, oh boys, ´tis there was ructions
Myself got a kick from big Phelim McHugh
And I soon replied to his kind introduction
And kicked him a terrible hullabaloo
Casey the piper was nearly being strangled
They squeezed up his pipes, bellows, chanters and all
And the girls in their ribbons they all got entangled
And that put an end to Lanigan´s ball
Star of the County Down
Near Bambridge town in the County Down
One morning last July
Down the Boreen Green came a sweet colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by
She looked so sweet from her two bare feet
To the sheen of her nut brown hair
Such a winsome elf that I pinched myself
For to see I was really there
chorus:
From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
And from Galway to Dublin town
No maid I’ve seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down
As she homeward sped, sure I shook my head
And I gazed with a feeling rare
And I said, says I, to a passerby,
“Who’s the maid with the nut brown hair?”
He smiled at me and he said to me,
“That’s the gem of Ireland’s crown.
She’s Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann.
She’s the star of the County Down.”
At the harvest fair, I’ll surely be there
And I’ll dress in my Sunday clothes
With my shoes shined bright and my hat cocked right
For a smile from the nut brown rose
No pipe I’ll smoke, no horse I’ll yoke
Till my plow is a rusty brown
Till a smiling bride at my own fireside
Is the star of the County Down
Cruisceen Lan (“The Little Full Jug”)
Let the farmer praise his grounds,
Let the huntsman praise his hounds,
Let the shepherd praise his dewy-scented lawn
But I more wise than they,
Spend each happy night and day
With my darlin’ little cruiscin lan, lan, lan
My darlin’ little cruiscin lan
chorus:
O Gra mo chroi mo chruiscin
Slainte geal mo mhuirnin
Gra mo chroi mo chruiscin lan, lan, lan
O Gra mo chroi mo chruiscin, lan
Immortal and divine, great Bacchus, god of wine
Create me by adoption your own son
In hopes that you’ll comply
That my glass shall ne’er run dry
Nor by darlin’ little cruiscin lan, lan, lan
My darlin’ little cruiscin lan
And when grim death appears
In a few but happy years
He’ll say, Oh, won’t you come along with me
I’ll say, Begone, ye knave
For king Bacchus gave me leave
To take another cruiscin lan, lan, lan
To take another cruiscin lan
Then fill your glasses high
Let’s not part when lips are dry
For the lark now proclaims it is dawn
And since we can’t remain
May we shortly meet again
To fill another cruiscin lan, lan, lan
To fill another cruiscin lan