Category: songs

trad 

 

Chorus: Gonna take my stool and sit in the shade I’m determined to be an old maid I ain’t gonna marry at all, at all I ain’t gonna marry at all I ain’t gonna marry a man that’s poor ‘Cause he’ll go begging from door to door I ain’t gonna marry at all, at all I ain’t gonna marry at all ?a man that’s rich, ’cause he’ll get drunk and fall in a ditch ?a man that’s old, with his wrinkled face and hands so cold ?a man that’s young, with his wandering eyes and his blathering tongue ?a preacher’s son, ’cause he won’t let me have my fun ?a farmer’s son, all he wants is a dog and a gun ?a man that’s fat, he’ll sit in the door and kick the cat ?a man that’s little, he won’t be able to play the big fiddle ?a morris man, ’cause all he wants is a cold beer can ?one man at all, I’ll take them all home and love them all

 

 

John Archbold 

 

Arrowsmith:Robb Trio: “Our Toronto friend John Archbold’s father and great uncle, both Tyneside men, were in the British Merchant Navy, whose flag, the Red Ensign, is referred to as the “red duster” by those who sail under it. Thanks to his union, John’s father narrowly avoided being assigned to the notoriously dangerous Arctic convoys supplying the Russian war effort in WWII, only to survive the sinking of the S.S. Lylepark by a German cruiser in the South Atlantic. The song’s chorus was inspired by John’s great uncle Norman, who clearly had little time for the “spit-polished boot” wearers of the Royal Navy.”

Now it’s many’s the day since I first sailed away With my new cap and jacket so clean No bacon and eggs ’til I got my sea legs ‘Twas my first trip, O Lord I was green. Chorus: Oh that Old Red Duster on a tramp or a liner There’ll be no ‘Pusser Navy’ for me You can keep your salutes and your spit polished boots, It’s the Old Red Duster for me. Now in many’s the ship I’ve made many’s the trip ‘Cross oceans and seas calm and wild And in ports near and far I’ve been flung from the bar And it’s many’s the young girl beguiled. I was pulled from the pool, I was nobody’s fool ‘Twas the jaunt to Murmansk for me. But The Union said, No, as a fourth he can’t go’ It’s The Union forever for me. Now you know this old tramp’s got a foc’sle that’s damp Her plates are half sprung and they leak The food’s always bad and the skipper’s gone mad And those bastards the owners are cheap. Well I’ve sweated and slaved at that engine I’ve raved Nursing this cripple along Her glands they’re a-weeping and her pumps they’re a creakin’ And at six knots she’s racing along. I’ve been down in the hole in the dust and the coal All day and all night as well. And when my end’s near I’ll go without fear For I know it’s been hotter than Hell! So now you all know why the true sailors go Merchant seamen to be And if you want any more like what’s come before You can bloody well sing it to me.

 

 

Ian Robb 1985

 

Ian Robb: The Old Rose and Crown

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KsM5nQv–4

Good friends, gather round and I’ll tell you a tale. It’s a story well known to all lovers of ale. For the old English pub, once a man’s second home Has been decked out by brewers in plastic and foam. Chorus What have they done to the old Rose and Crown? The Ship, the King’s Arms, and the World Upside Down. For oak, brass, and leather, and a pint of the best Fade away like the sun as it sinks in the west. And the old oaken bar where the pumps filled your glass Gives way to Formica and tanks full of gas. And the landlord behind, once a man of good cheer Just mumbles the price as he hands you your beer. And where are the friends who would meet for a jar, Or a good game of darts in the old public bar? The dartboard is gone, in its place is a thing Where you pull on the handle and lose all your tin. But the worst of it all’s what they’ve done to the beer. For their shandies and lagers that will make you feel queer. For an arm and a leg, they will fill up your glass With a half and half mixture of ullage and gas. So come all you good people who like to sup ale Here’s hope to a happier end to my tale For there’s nothing can fill up your heart with more cheer Than to sit in a pub with a pint of good beer.

 

 

Larry Kaplan 1976

 

Capt. Zebulon Tilton, skippered the schooner Alice B. Wentworth out of Vineyard Haven. He retired at age 83; Rosie and Gertie were his daughters. The song appears on “Cap’n Hawkins’ Choice” (Winter Haven Records). Gordon Bok: “Zebulon Tilton was a famous skipper of the coasting schooner Alice S. Wentworth, hauling everything from brick to oysters around New York and New England. Larry Kaplan compiled these stories about Zeb into this song. I was mate in the Wentworth the last year she sailed.”

Larry Kaplan: Old Zeb

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96VQISWXQ6s

I’m not tired of the wind, I’m not weary of the sea, But she’s prob’ly had a bellyful of a damned old coot like me. I’m bound a-shore, she’s gone for better days, But I’ll see her topsail flyin’ when I come down off the way. Chorus: Rosie, get my Sunday shoes, Gertie get my walkin’ cane. We’ll take another walk to see Old Alice sail again. Wish I had a nickel for the men I used to know Who could load three cords of lumber in half an hour or so. Who could put on sail by hauling, ‘stead of donkeyin’ around. Then I’d be the poorest coasterman this side of Edgartown. Any fool can run an engine, it takes brains to work a sail, I’ve never seen no steamer make much good out of a gale. You can go and pay your taxes on the rationed gas you get; But at least to me, the wind is free, and they haven’t run out yet. If I ever get back to her, you know I’d treat her just the same: Drive her when I want to, I’d sail in freezing rain. Park old Alice on the beach, and go dancin’ in the town, Cause a man who’s fit for hangin’ prob’ly never will get drowned.

 

 

Mike Harding 1977

 

Mike Harding: On A Sunday(though the recording I learned it from was Arrowsmith:Robb Trio which isn’t available online)

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

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Said the brass faced man in the blood red suit, With the medal ribbons hanging at the shoulder, “It’s not my fault but you can’t stand here, ‘Cause it contravenes the by-laws and it’s against the regulations I don’t know why, I’ve just got a job to do.” Chorus: For there’s no smiling, no smiling on a Monday, No laughing, no laughing on a Tuesday, No singing on a Wednesday, no dancing on a Thursday, No breathing on a Friday, no living on a Saturday, And on Sunday, yes on Sunday, no loving at all. “Little boy, you can’t fish here” Said the plus four legs in the harris-tweed voice, To the small boy standing by the river, “Don’t you know that this river runs, By courtesy of Lord Muckybrass, and God, and all his angels, Don’t look like that, or I’ll confiscate your smile.” “I’m sorry but you can’t stay here,” Said the brick faced man with the cast iron hands, And the weight of plans and profits on his shoulders, “We’ve got to move you out of here, And tear down your dreams, and bulldoze your hopes, And leave your memories smouldering in the rubble.” “We can’t have lovers lying here” Said the clay faced man with the crow black eyes, And the shotgun nestled on his shoulder, “Get up, get dressed and get out of here, ‘Cause you’ll scandalise the crops, and you’ll frighten all the cows, And besides, it’s free, and no-one makes a profit.”

 

 

John Kirkpatrick 

Roy Bailey 

John Kirkpatrick: https://towerseyfestival.bandcamp.com/track/on-the-road-to-freedom

https://towerseyfestival.bandcamp.com/track/on-the-road-to-freedom

On the fifteenth day of August In Eighteen Hundred and Forty-Two The people are out a-march And you’d be marching too Marching into Hanley town To show we shan’t be beaten down Chase the masters round and round On the road to freedom Oh the police will not contain us (in 1842) No righteous soul will blame us For they’d be marching too The infantrymen are going to try We’ll leave them standing wondering why We can’t be stopped, we’re flying so high On the road to freedom Oh there’s more of us marching with every stride (in 1842) The masters’ doors we’ll fling them wide And all go marching through By Shelton Bridge we’ll carry along On to Stoke we’ll take our song And now we’re marching thousand strong On the road to freedom We who are the labouring poor (in 1842) Come hammering at the rich man’s door As we go marching through It’s time they gave a decent share Time they saw the load we bear Time we showed them how to care On the road to freedom Oh we’re marching away from slavery (in 1842) From hunger and from poverty And you’d be marching too We’ll smash the shackles that hold us down Smash the chains where we’ve been bound Smash the masters too the ground On the road to freedom On the fifteenth day of August (in 1842) The people are out a-marching And you’d be marching too The taste of victory in the air The soldiers only stand and stare On the road to Burslem Square On the road to freedom

 

 

John Krumm 1985

 

Rise Again: “Onawa Pardini was the young daughter of a square dance caller & fiddler who loved singing & dancing. After a car crash she entered a coma. This round was written to be sung each evening while awaiting her return to consciousness, which sadly never happened.”

John Krumm: Onawa’s Waltz

https://youtu.be/ajzxc-ft0JM

Part 1: I’ve been waiting all the day long to see the stars in your eyes Part 2: My love come dance with me now, see how the evening flies Part 3: And as you sleep my dear, know that I’ll be near to hold you when you arise

 

 

trad 

 

Collected from John Short by Cecil Sharp in 1914. There is disagreement among other sources what kind of work the shanty was for, and whether it was for a return home or an outward bound trip.

Gawler Family: https://thegawlerfamily.bandcamp.com/track/one-more-day

https://thegawlerfamily.bandcamp.com/track/one-more-day

Don’t you hear the old man growling And don’t you hear the mate a howling Don’t you hear the capstan pawling And don’t you hear the pilot bawling Chorus: There’s only one more day, me Johnnies, one more day Come rock and roll me over, one more day It’s only one more day a-howling And can’t you hear the gals a-calling It’s only one more day a-furling And only one more day a-cursing Heave and sight the anchor, me Johnny We’re close aboard to port, me Johnny Put out your long-tail blue, me Johnny The trip is nearly through, Johnny There’s only one more day a-pumping There’s only one more day a-bracing Well we’re homeward bound today, Johnny Well we’ll leave her without sorrow, Johnny

 

 

Benedict Gagliardi 2016

 

melody ‘Awake, Arise Good Christians’ trad. Sheffield carol

The Vox Hunters: https://thevoxhunters.bandcamp.com/track/one-species-are-we

https://thevoxhunters.bandcamp.com/track/one-species-are-we

Of three domains of all life, eukaryotes are weÿ Inside each cell within us, a nucleus there be Bacteria, Archaea, unfortunate are theyÿ They have no membrane bound around their strands of DNAÿ Chorus: Linnaeus! Linnaeus! Here’s to your hierarchyÿ And let it not betray us! One species are we! Come all you motile metazoans and listen to my songÿ The kingdom Animalia is where we all belongÿ The plants may have their chlorophyll to photosynthesizeÿ But animals are heterotrophs and so are the Fungiÿ Our backbone gives us structure, our backbone gives us strengthÿ So with the other chordates, we find our phylum rankÿ But let our boney ego never be unfurledÿ For the spineless worms and insects, they truly rule the worldÿ By the milk our mothers gave us, by the hair upon our skinÿ It’s clear that we are mammals, class Mammalia we’re inÿ Most have a placenta, but this class has strange extremesÿ Like the milky-pouched marsupials and egg-laying monotremes So let’s put things in order, now that we’ve been to classÿ With monkeys, apes, prosimians, we, the primates, do amassÿ We all can be distinguished by our well-filled craniumsÿ And the envy of all other life: two fine opposable thumbsÿ Welcome to our family, all Great Apes are weÿ Orangutan, gorilla and our cousin chimpanzeeÿ But if you believe bonobos just evolved into manÿ It seems you treat your own brain just like a garbage canÿ Homo is the genus of the African bipedsÿ Who stood erect, and picked up tools, and learned to use their headsÿ Our cousins are extinct now, leaving only usÿ But thanks to our bad habits, we may join them soon enoughÿ So we are Homo sapiens but let us not forget The reason we were given our specific epithetÿ We earned it for our wisdom, we earned it for our brainÿ Let fear and hatred … never trump … our consciousness againÿ

 

 

Horatius Bonar 1860

Ira Sankey 1891

Bonar was a Scottish pastor in Leith, and wrote many hymns. He wrote the poem that became this song as the ten-stanza “Everlasting Memorial”. Sankey was an American hymn singer who worked with preacher Dwight Moody, and adapted three of Bonar’s stanzas to music after meeting Bonar on a tour. John Tams wrote 3 new verses for multiple plays. Will Quale writes “Though the source of the song was Bonar and Sankey, without Tams’s secular adaptations (and Coope, Boyes & Simpson’s performances and recordings of Tams’s adaptations), it would likely never have become the popular folk anthem it is today.” Tams wrote “I trawled obsessively, the Moody and Sankey hymnbook seeking songs and anthems that might otherwise be overlooked. Right or wrong I edited out many of the “Godly” references and made new verses… I wasn’t trying to de-Christianise them, just to reappraise them, put them back to be sung out loud by anyone who took something from them, Christians and Non-Christians alike.” Orange below are Sankey’s verses, purple are Tams’. Coope, Boyes, and Simpson: Coope, Boyes and Simpson at the Ram – ‘Only Remembered’

http://www.towncommonsongs.org/notes/onlyrememberednotes.pdf https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQvV4lOdOnQ

Fading away like the stars of the morning, (Up and away, like the dew of the morning) — Losing their light in the glorious sun- (Soaring from earth to its home in the sun,) Thus would we pass from the earth and its toiling, (So let me steal away, gently and lovingly,) Only remembered by what we have done. My name and my place and my tomb, all forgotten, The brief race of time well and patiently run, So let me pass away, peacefully, silently, Only remembered by what I have done. Gladly away from this toil would I hasten, Up to the crown that for me has been won ; Unthought of by man in rewards or in praises,– Only remembered by what I have done. Up and away, like the odors of sunset, That sweeten the twilight as darkness comes on,– So be my life,–a thing felt but not noticed, And I but remembered by what I have done. Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshness, When the flowers that it came from are closed up and gone,– So would I be to this world’s weary dwellers, Only remembered by what I have done. Needs there the praise of the love-written record, The name and the epitaph graved on the stone ? The things we have lived for,–let them be our story, We ourselves but remembered by what we have done. Shall we be miss’d though by others succeeded, (I need not be missed, if my life has been bearing) Reaping the fields we in springtime have sown? (As its summer and autumn moved silently on) No, for the sowers may pass from their labors, (The bloom, and the fruit, and the seed of its season;) Only remembered by what they have done. (I shall still be remembered by what I have done.) Only the truth that in life we have spoken, (I need not be missed, if another succeed me,) Only the seed that on earth we have sown; (To reap down those fields which in spring I have sown;) These shall pass onward when we are forgotten, (He who ploughed and who sowed is not missed by the reaper,) Fruits of the harvest and what we have done. (He is only remembered by what he has done.) Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken, Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown, Shall pass on to ages,–all about me forgotten, Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done. So let my living be, so be my dying, So let my name lie, unblazoned, unknown ; Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered ; Yes,–but remembered by what I have done. Oh, when the Saviour shall make up His jewels, When the bright crowns of rejoicing are won, Then shall His weary and faithful disciples, All be remembered by what they have done. Fading away like the stars in the morning Losing their light in the glorious sun Thus shall we pass from this earth and its toiling Only remembered for what we have done Who’ll sing the anthems and who’ll tell the story Will the line hold? Will it scatter and run? Shall we at last be united in glory? Only remembered for what we have done Only the truth that in the life we have spoken, Only the seed that in life we have sown: (Only the deeds when our journey is run) These shall pass onwards when we are forgotten: Only remembered for what we have done. Where are they running? Why are they falling? Fewer still fewer than what was begun Ghosts in the morning mist voicelessly calling Only remembered for what we have done.