Category: songs

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Collected by Cecil Sharp from William ‘Farmer’ King in 1904.

The Watersons: Rosebuds in June

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVbAFVKURQM

Here the rosebuds in June and the violets are blowing, The small birds they warble on every green bough. Here’s the pink and the lily and the daffy-down-dilly To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June. Chorus (after each verse): If it weren’t for the plough, the fat ox would grow slow And the lads and the bonny lasses to the sheep-shearing go. Our shepherds rejoice in their fine heavy fleeces, And frisky young lambs which their flocks do increase. Each lad takes his lass all on the green grass To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June. Our clean milking pails, they are fouled with good ale; At the table, there’s plenty of cheer to be found. We’ll whistle and sing and we’ll dance in a ring To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June. Now sheep-shearing’s over and harvest do draw nigh, We’ll prepare for the fields, our strength for to try. We’ll reap and we’ll mow, we’ll plough and we’ll sow To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June.

 

 

Tim Laycock 1980

George Payne Rainsford James 1844

Laycock composed the tune and changed final line in chorus from “thou must not come tonight”

Clouds are upon the summer sky There’s thunder in the wind Pull on, pull on and homeward hie Nor give one look behind Chorus Row on, row on, another day May shine with brighter light Ply, ply the oars and pull away There’s dawn beyond the night Bear where thou goest the words of love Say all that words can say Changeless affection, strength to prove But speed upon the way Like yonder river would I glide To where my heart would be My barque should soon outsail the tide That hurries to the sea But yet a star shines constant still Through yonder cloudy sky And hope as bright my bosom fills From faith that cannot die Row on, row on, God speed the way Thou canst not linger here Storms hang about the closing day Tomorrow may be clear

 

 

Mark Knopfler 2000

 

First verse rewritten slightly by Alex Ellis

I am Jeremiah Dixon, I am a Geordie boy A glass of wine with you, sir, and your company I’ll enjoy All Durham and Northumberland is measured up by my own hand It was my fate from birth to make my mark upon the earth Chorus: We are sailing to Philadelphia, A world away from the coaly Tyne Sailing to Philadelphia, To draw the line: The Mason-Dixon Line He calls me Charlie Mason, a stargazer am I It seems that I was born to chart the evening sky They’d cut me out for baking bread, but I had other dreams instead This baker’s boy from the West Country would join the Royal Society Now you’re a good surveyor, Dixon, but I swear you’ll make me mad The West will kill us both, you gullible Geordie lad You talk of liberty; how can America be free A Geordie and a baker’s boy in the forests of the Iroquois Now hold your head up, Mason, see, America lies there The morning tide has raised the capes of Delaware Come up and feel the sun! A new morning has begun Another day will make it clear why your stars should guide us here

 

 

Stan Rogers 1982

 

Stan Rogers: Sailor’s Rest

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ShnH1lfEVGw

It’s acrimony down in the card room With winning hands thrown on the baize Forgotten cards wait on the end of debate On the good old days Captains and mates getting testy With memories not of the best And tempers are flying Down at the Sailor’s Rest Blue eyes in wrinkled Morocco Still search the horizon for squalls And Zeros in the sky and the watchkeeper’s eye And the pawn shop balls The spice in the wind off Java And the bars in Papity were best But the deck is too steady Down at the Sailor’s Rest And oh?how they talk of the day they arrived When after the years, all the storms and the tears Still very much alive And oh?how their lives were spilled out on the floor From the battered old seabags, the journals and logs And the keepsakes locked in the chests That were stowed in the attic sold at the auction Down at the Sailor’s Rest No rail on the mess room table And you’re dead if you spit on the floor No grog allowed, no singing too loud And no locks on the doors But there’s always a fire in the card room And the tucker is always the best And they’ll end it together Down at the Sailor’s Rest

 

 

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Originally “Jack Hall”, a broadside ballad printed circa 1833-1851. Hall was apparently a real person, executed on 17 December 1707. Peter Kennedy wrote in 1954: “Like many a child of that day, Hall was sold for a few shillings to a chimney sweep. The task of apprentice sweeps was to crawl through the twisting, dark tunnels of the chimneys, cleaning as they went. Often these poor lads were caught by falling soot or some obstruction in a dark chimney and suffocated or burned to death. It was not until 19th century writers exposed this scandal and a law was passed against this cruel exploitation of child labour.” Roberts & Barrand wrote in 1992: “Sam Hall is one of the classics of the early Music Hall, though it came to the stage from the folk tradition. W.G. Ross sang it to great acclaim in the 1850’s.”

Roberts & Barrand: https://johnroberts1.bandcamp.com/track/sam-hall

https://johnroberts1.bandcamp.com/track/sam-hall

Oh, my name it is Sam Hall chimney sweep (x2) Oh my name it is Sam Hall and I’ve robbed both great and small And now I pay for all, blast your eyes I killed a man, they said. So they said I killed a man, they said, I smashed in his head Withaÿ great big lump of lead, blast his eyes Then the sheriff he came too, he came too With his little boys in blue He said Sam, we’ll see you through, blast his eyes Then they took me took to the quad, to the quad Then they took me took to the quad, and they tied me to a log And they left me there by god, blast their eyes Now I goes up overhill in a cart I goes up overhill, at St. Gyles I takes my gill And at Tyburn makes me will Then the hangman he came too, he came too Then the hangman he came too, he said Sam, we’ll see you through But there’s bloody work to do, blast his eyes I see Molly in the crowd, in the crowd I see Molly in the crowd, and I shouted right out loud Molly, ain’t you proud, blast your eyes So it’s up the rope I go, up I go it’s up the rope I go, while you bastards down below Say Sam, we told you so. Blast your eyes! This is my funeral knell, funeral knell This is my funeral knell, but I’ll see you all in Hell And I hope you grizzled well, blast your eyes

 

 

Bob King 1976?

 

King lives in Winnipeg and Wikipedia lists one 1990 album of children’s music from him.

Chorus Sandwiches are beautiful, sandwiches are fine. I like sandwiches, I eat them all the time; I eat them for my supper and I eat them for my lunch; If I had a hundred sandwiches, I’d eat them all at once. I’m a roaming and a rambling And a wandering all along, And if you care to listen, I will sing a happy song. I will not ask a favor And I will not ask a fee, But if you have a sandwich Won’t you give a bite to me? Once I went to England, I visited the Queen, I swear she was the grandest lady That I’ve ever seen. I told her she was beautiful And could not ask for more, She handed me a sandwich And she threw me out the door. A sandwich may be egg or cheese Or even peanut butter But they all taste so good to me, It doesn’t even matter Jam or ham or cucumber, Any kind will do. I like sandwiches, How about you?

 

 

Nancy Kerr 2013

 

Melrose Quartet: https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/santa-georgia

https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/santa-georgia

Well I was not bound for Eden and my bag became a burden So here I made my garden where the banks of burdocks grow And there was no gold or silver where the foundry meets the river In the land of Santa Georgia where the banks of burdocks grow Chorus Where old panes are broken and a thousand tongues are spoken And new saints awaken where the banks of burdocks grow So farewell cold winter, we will all shine out together In the land of Santa Georgia where the banks of burdocks grow Well there is no peace nor plenty in the land of Old Brigante And the rain falls down so gently where the banks of burdocks grow And a fond lover’s sweetness is a lantern in the darkness Is a grand and burning furnace where the banks of burdocks grow Well the king he sent his armies from the land of Old Brigante And the soldiers they grew weary where the banks of burdocks grow And they stormed the Temple Quarter and the glass fell down like water In the land of Santa Georgia where the banks of burdocks grow On the road to Old Brigando where the factory meets the meadow There’s a candle in my window where the banks of burdocks grow And a thousand trees are planted in the land of Old Brigante In the land of Santa Georgia where the banks of burdocks grow

 

 

Phil Ochs 

 

Phil Ochs: Santo Domingo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jC2m5NhRang

And the crabs are crazy, they scuttle back and forth, The sand is burning And the fish take flight and scatter from the sight, Their course is turning As the seagulls rest on the cold cannon nest, The sea is churning The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo The fishermen sweat, they’re pausing at their nets The day’s a-burning As the warships sway and thunder in the bay Loud in the morning But the boy on the shore is throwing pebbles no more He runs a-warning That the Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo The streets are still, there’s silence in the hills The town is sleeping And the farmers yawn in the grey silver dawn The fields they’re keeping As the first troops land and step into the sand The flags are weeping The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo The unsmiling sun is shining down upon The singing soldiers In the cloud dust whirl they whistle at the girls They’re getting bolder Ah, the old women sigh, think of memories gone by They shrug their shoulders The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo Ready for the tricks, their bayonets are fixed Now they are rolling And the tanks make tracks past the trembling shacks Where fear is unfolding All the young wives afraid, turn their backs to the parade With babes they’re holding The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo A bullet cracks the sound, the army hit the ground The sniper’s calling So they open their guns, a thousand to one No sense in stalling He clutches at his head and totters on the edge Look now, he’s falling The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo In the red plaza square, the crowds come to stare The heat is leaning And the eyes of the dead are turning every head To the widow’s screaming But the soldiers make a bid, giving candy to the kids Their teeth are gleaming The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo Up and down the coast, the generals drink a toast The wheel is spinning And the cowards and the whores are peeking through the doors To see who’s winning But the traitors will pretend that it’s getting near the end When it’s beginning The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo

 

 

 

 

Edith Gawler & Bennett Konesni

http://ellisnasqc.quickconnect.to/as/sharing/w8B3S30x/L011c2ljL0VkaXRoICYgQmVubmV0dC9FZGl0aCAmIEJlbm5ldHQvMDUgU2F5IERhcmxpbicgU2F5Lm1wMw==

Say little girl won’t you marry me We’ll get married neath the old oak tree Say darlin say In the old oak tree we’ll build our home Never more this world to roam Say darlin say Hush little darling don’t say a word Poppa’s gonna buy you a mocking bird Say darlin say If that mocking bird don’t sing Poppa gonna buy you a diamond ring Say darlin say If that diamond ring is brass I’m gonna buy you a looking glass Say darlin say If that looking glass gets broke Poppa gonna buy you a billy goat Say darlin say If that billy goat won’t pull Poppa’s gonna buy you a cart and bull Say darlin say If that cart and bull falls down You’re still the sweetest thing in town Say darlin say Say little darlin if you were mine All I’d do is starch and iron Say darlin say Starch and iron would be our trade We’d get drunk and lay in the shade Say darlin say

 

 

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Mainly Norfolk quotes Kenneth Goldstein in relation to the Ewan MacColl & Peggy Seeger recording in 1957 saying “Early forms of the ballad, dating from the last half of the 17th century, have an elfin knight pose the impossible tasks”. I prefer the tune Martin Carthy sings on the 2018 album “Anchor”.

Martin Carthy: Scarborough Fair – Norma Waterson & Eliza Carthy with the Gift Band

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EkZVKUNp8uI

Are you going to Scarborough Fair Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme Remember me to a lass who lives there For once she was a true love of mine Tell her to make me a cambric shirt / Without any seam and no needlework Tell him to find me an acre of land / Between the sea and the salt sea strand Tell him to plow it with a lamb’s horn / And to sow it all over with one peppercorn Tell him to reap it with sickle of leather / And to thrash it all out with a peacock’s feather When you have done and you’ve finished your work / You can come to me for your cambric shirt