Category: songs

Stan Rogers 1981

Now it’s just my luck to have the watch, with nothing left to do
But watch the deadly waters glide as we roll north to the Soo,
And wonder when they’ll turn again and pitch us to the rail
And whirl off one more youngster in the gale.

The kid was so damned eager. It was all so big and new.
You never had to tell him twice, or find him work to do.
And evenings on the mess deck he was always first to sing,
And show us pictures of the girl he’d wed in spring.

Chorus:
But I told that kid a hundred times “Don’t take the Lakes for granted.
They go from calm to a hundred knots so fast they seem enchanted.”
But tonight some red-eyed Wiarton girl lies staring at the wall,
And her lover’s gone into a white squall.

Now it’s a thing that us old-timers know. In a sultry summer calm
There comes a blow from nowhere, and it goes off like a bomb.
And a fifteen thousand tonne’r can be thrown upon her beam
While the gale takes all before it with a scream.

The kid was on the hatches, lying staring at the sky.
From where I stood I swear I could see tears fall from his eyes.
So I hadn’t the heart to tell him that he should be on a line,
Even on a night so warm and fine.

When it struck, he sat up with a start. I roared to him, “Get down!”
But for all that he could hear, I could as well not made a sound.
So, I clung there to the stanchions, and I felt my face go pale,
As he crawled hand over hand along the rail.

I could feel her keeling over with the fury of the blow.
I watched the rail go under then, so terrible and slow.
Then, like some great dog she shook herself and roared upright again.
Far over-side. I heard him call my name.

So it’s just my luck to have the watch, with nothing left to do
But watch the deadly waters glide as we roll north to the Soo,
And wonder when they’ll turn again and pitch us to the rail
And whirl off one more youngster in the gale.

Final Chorus:
But I tell these kids a hundred times “Don’t take the Lakes for granted.
They go from calm to a hundred knots so fast they seem enchanted.”
But tonight some red-eyed Wiarton girl lies staring at the wall,
And her lover’s gone into a white squall.

Lou & Peter Barryman 1988

Holes in the ozone the size of Brazil
Barges of trash in the chewable breeze
Pools of industrial wasteland pate’
Sulfur dioxide dissolving the trees
Pretty soon it will all end with a boom
Why am I painting the living room?

I have the whole day off
Cause it’s a Saturday
There is a bluegrass band
Somewhere along the bay
Look at the lilacs bloom
Why am I painting the living room?

A pinhead evangelist pays for his sin
With a five dollar fine for a black collar crime
Kingpins of industry knowingly nod
Just like lake Erie they’re 12% slime
They wink at the president too I assume
And here I am painting the living room

I hear the bluebird sing
Don’t let the day go by
Look at the blossoms blow
Over the blue blue sky
All with a wild perfume
And here I am painting the living room

Chorus: Why am I painting the living room? (x4)

Ah yes I can see how my tombstone will read
Here lies someone of exceptional worth
Though she did not do a lot for her kind
Or help hold together this crumbling earth
Here lies a woman they’re saying of whom
Sure had a good-looking living room…

Leon Rosselson 1968

"A children's song, the first of many, written for my older daughter, Daniela, when she reached the obstreperous age of about five."

Chorus: Why does it have to be me?
Why can’t they just let me be
Why do I have to do things I don’t want to do
Why does it have to be me?

Each morning I lie in my bed
Slippery dreams in my head
I live in a fine fairy castle of stone,
All on my own, no-one to moan
Then a voice shouts get up and it isn’t a dream
Hurry-up you’re late for school and wash your face and brush your teeth and are your fingers clean
And it goes on and on ’till I’m ready to scream
Why does it have to be me?

Why do I have to eat greens
Cabbage and spinach and beans
I don’t mind potatoes,
I’ll even have meat
Though I’d much rather eat
Ice-cream and sweets
They say greens are good for me, maybe they’re right
But sometimes I think that they do it for spite
And I’ve never seen them eating what they don’t like
So why does it have to be me

Now why can’t I play my own games
Somebody always complains
Whenever I’m playing at monsters or bears
Jumping off chairs,
falling down stairs
It’s don’t be so noisy, or go out and play
Or look for a book if you’re going to stay
But the problem is they always get in my way
So why does it have to be me?

Robert Tannahill 1812

Mainly Norfolk: "The lyrics and melody are a variant of the song The Braes of Balquhither by Scottish poet Robert Tannahill (1774-1810) and Scottish composer Robert Archibald Smith (1780-1829), but were adapted by Belfast musician Francis McPeake (1885-1971) into Wild Mountain Thyme and first recorded by his family in the 1950s." "Like Burns, Tannahill collected and adapted traditional songs, and this one may have been based on the traditional song "The Braes O' Bowhether" though there is much more similarity between McPeake's words and Tannahill's words than between Tannahill's and the trad song. According to Wikisource, the first known publication of Tannahill's poem was in 1812, but it was better known from Smith's publication in 1821-4. Below is a mashup of McPeake's more familiar words and Tannahill's words. Jim Malcolm in band Keltik Elektrik: Wild Mountain Thyme

The summer time is coming
And the trees are sweetly blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme
A’ the moorlands perfuming.

Chorus:
Will you go, lassie, go?
And we’ll all go together
To pull wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather,
Will you go, lassie, go?

I will build my love a bower
By yon clear crystal fountain.
And on it I will build
All the flowers of the mountain.

To our dear native scenes
Let us journey together,
Where glad Innocence reigns
‘Mang the braes o’ Balquhither.

So merrily we’ll sing,
As the storm rattles o’er us,
Till the dear sheiling ring
Wi’ the light lilting chorus.

Si Kahn 1982

If I had my life to live, I’d sure live it over.
Only walk in brand new shoes and just lay down in clover.
Only work on Christmas Day. All the rest go sportin’.
Spend my days down at the creek, and ev’ry night go courtin’.

Chorus:
Honey from the honey comb, water from the fountain.
Sugar from the sugar cane and my wild rose of the mountain.

When I think of home sweet home, it makes my eyes grow misty.
Poppa singing gospel songs and Momma sippin’ whiskey.
Whiskey from a white oak barrel sure does make good liquor.
Makes the nights seem twice as bright and the days go by much quicker.

If I had a pickup truck, I’d fill it up with water.
Paint a catfish on the side and make believe I’d caught her.
Drive it slowly down the road, try to keep from bumpin’.
Park it down beside the creek and watch those fish come jumpin’.

If I had a new-made quilt, I’d fill it up with feathers.
Take my Rosie by the hand and lay down there together.
Oh, the days that I was young! Thoughts that keep returning
Drive the winter night away just like a log fire burning.

Lui Collins 1980

Too many times I’ve fallen for a bold flirtatious smile
My emotions had a way of breaking loose and running wild
Till recently I reined them in behind a casual front
I’m older now and wiser, not so quick to fall in love

Chorus:
Why did I waken this morning with a song inside my head?
And why the smile upon my lips, the lift in every step?
And why when I walked among summer wildflowers of widest range of hue
Were all the colors brightened by the memory of you?

Love for all its newborn joy may later take its toll
For expectations not quite met may finally come to boil
For all the pleasures gained in love, I’ve been too often burned
I’ve sworn to live alone and keep the distance I have learned

Last night you warmed my kitchen with the crinkle of your eye
You brought my home a comfort it has missed for a long time
And though I’m scared of letting down the barriers inside
Already you have touched my heart to melt away the ice

Final Chorus:
And so I woke this morning with a song inside my head
And with a smile upon my lips, a lift in every step
And then when I walked among summer wildflowers of widest range of hue
The colors all grew brighter with the memory of you.

trad 

Fay Hield performed it in 2013, after she found it in the Lucy Broadwood Broadside Collection which largely contains songs compiled 1898-1928 when Broadwood helped found EFDSS. Final verse by Alex Ellis.

Chorus:
O meet me in the willow glen, When the silvery moon is gleaming;
Songs of love I’ll sing you then, When the world is still in dreaming,
If you’ll meet me in the willow glen.

No prying eye will come, my love, No stranger foot be seen;
And all the village hum, my love, Will echo on the wind
If you’ll meet me in the willow glen.

To melodious mandolins, My song I’ll softly blend, love,
While to thee my melody A soothing balm will lend
If you’ll meet me in the willow glen.

So come if you’ll consent my love I’ll bring a merry bottle
And all night long we’ll share in song Til silvery moon descends
If you’ll meet me in the willow glen

Alan Bell 1971

In days gone by, when the world was much younger
Men harnessed the wind to work for mankind
Seamen built tall ships to sail on the ocean
While landsmen built wheels the corn for to grind

Chorus:
And around and around and around went the big sail
Turning the shaft and the great wooden wheel
Creaking and groaning, the millstones kept turning
Grinding to flour the good corn from the field

In Flanders and Spain and the lowlands of Holland
And the kingdoms of England and Scotland and Wales
Windmills sprang up all along the wild coastline
Ships of the land with their high canvas sails

The Lancashire lads worked hard with the good earth
Ploughing and sowing as the seasons declare
Waiting to reap all the rich, golden harvest
While the miller is idle, his mill to repair

Windmills so old, of wood blacked by weather
Windmills of stone, glaring white in the sun
Windmills like giants, ready for tilting
Windmills that died in the gales and are gone

Garrison Keillor <1988  

Cast of Prairie Home Companion

Now is the start of winter, when animals get thinner
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la
The fat ones and the flabby get awfully thin and crabby
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la

They burn up calories against the winter breeze
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la
And so I recommend we have some lunch my friend
Fa la la la la la la la la, fa la la la la la la

When storm storms are forecast-a, got to use some pasta
The cold winds should persuade us to eat some mashed potatoes

And meat and gravy too so we will not turn blue
Remember until March, to make the servings large

Sugar is essential to keep away the windchill
Before we take a walk, let us sit and eat some chocolate

Let’s eat another course, it’s awful cold outdoors
It’s colder than a witch, why not go in the fridge

Tom Gala 1997?

Recorded by Priscilla Herdman in 1997. Gala worked as an arborist in Philadelphia and recorded the song in 2011.

https://beckyandnicole.bandcamp.com/track/witch-hazel

Chorus:
I am looking at a witch hazel blooming in a garden
Bright, yellow flowers in the middle of wintertime
And I tell my heart be strong like the witch hazel flower
And you will not be injured by this dark and troubled time

I take myself alone to a place I know in winter
And I look at that south sloping bank covered with ice
And I tell my heart it all will melt and run down to the ocean
And you will not be injured by this dark and troubled time

We must say goodbye to the ones we love, we must say goodbye to many
And we must say goodbye in way too short a time
And I tell my heart be strong like the witch hazel flower
And you will not be injured by this dark and troubled time