High on a hill There’s a sweet bird calling All come together Are you in or are you out? He sings of a time When the sky was falling All come together And be in no doubt
Chorus: Oh, darling, let’s go over Now the devil’s here Oh, darling, let’s go over Now the devil’s here And oh, darling, oh my darling Be strong and be proud Oh, darling, then you’ll see The devil will go round Round, round
High on a hill And way up yonder All come together Are you in or are you out? The eleventh day was hell But the heart grows stronger All come together And be in no doubt
Over the fields Where the water’s falling All come together Are you in or are you out? There’s a bird on the hill And he’s sweetly calling All come together And be in no doubt
"About Vermont's hills; the words were written in 1935 by Arthur Guiterman, who became Poet Laureate of Vermont, and set more recently to music by Vermonter Pete Sutherland."
I never loved your plains! Your gentle valleys, Your drowsy country lanes And pleached alleys. I want my hills! The trail That scorns the hollow. Up, up the ragged shale Where few will follow,
Up, over wooded crest And mossy bowlder With strong thigh, heaving chest, And swinging shoulder, So let me hold my way, By nothing halted, Until, at close of day, I stand, exalted,
High on my hills of dream– Dear hills that know me! And then, how fair will seem The lands below me, How pure, at vesper-time, The far bells chiming! God, give me hills to climb, And strength for climbing!
Oh the glad lives, sometimes sad lives, north east the clouds are streaming Over joy and over heartache To a place that glads the heart Over working days and idle To the land that gives you meaning Back to the friends and family That were never meant to part
Chorus: All the way, spinning back where touchstone houses drive your fears away All the way, though circumstance and fortune make you roam All the way, where familiar sights and smells will dry your tears away Oh, the sky goes all the way home
So you worked to build a life As you watch your children growing Each new generation Just trying to prove its worth And where your parents toiled The river ever flowing Past the farm and factory Through the land that gave you birth
The rain that shapes the gritstone Runs down to the river Wheels turn in dark water As it rolls down to the foam And the pausing man looks seaward Where the elemental giver Burns the waters up to heaven And the clouds are riding home
19th century; tune is "Napoleon Crossing the Alps". Popularized by Luke Kelly of the Dubliners in 1960s. Possibly references 1798 rebellion. Minor tweaks by Alex Ellis to remove gendered words.
Good evening all my jolly friends. I’m glad to find you well, If you’ll gather all round me now the story I will tell, For I’ve got a situation and begorra and begob, I can say that I’ve a weekly wage of nineteen bob. ‘Tis twelve months come October since I left my native home, After working in Killarney, boys, to bring the harvest home, But now I wear a Gansey and around my waist a belt, I’m the gaffer of the squad that makes the hot ash-felt.
Chorus: We laid it in the hollows and we laid it in the flat. And if it doesn’t last forever, well, I’ll surely eat my hat. But now I wear a Gansey and around my waist a belt, I’m the gaffer of the squad that makes the hot ash-felt.
The other night a policeman comes and he says to me “McGuire, Would you kindly let me light me pipe down at your boiler fire?” Well, he planks himself right down in front with coattails up so neat, Well, says I “Me decent man, you’d better go and mind your beat.” He ups and yells “I’m down on you! I’m up to all your pranks! I know you for a traitor from the Tipperary ranks!” I hit right from the shoulder, and I gave him such a belt, That he fell into the boiler full of hot asphalt.
We quickly pulled him out again and put him in the tub, And with soap and boiler water we began to rub and scrub. But never the devil the tar came off it turned as hard as stone, And with every other rub sure you could hear the copper groan. Twixt the rubbing and the scrubbing sure he caught his death of cold, And for scientific purposes his body it was sold. In the Kelvingrove Museum, now, he’s hanging in his pelt, As a monument to the Irish making hot asphalt
"Brian felt compelled to write this song after a few short years of restoration work on Washington's creeks and rivers provided a dismaying number of examples for the narrative."
Late last fall when the rain came around I saw a house submerged from the windows down The owner was there but he didn’t even frown, said I’ve seen it worse before
Chorus: Why, why would you build your house where the waters flow free to the north and south Why, why would you build your house right on the banks of the river
The excavator creeks and groans as it dumps its load of riprap stone, To shore up the bank and protect your home, but why was it there at all?
Daddy sends the kids to the yard to play, says close to the water’s edge don’t you stray We’re losing a foot of lawn a day and we can’t seem to tame the river
Those northwest floods in the spring and the fall should come as no surprise to us all They’re likely to be your own downfall if you gamble with the river
So to souls who are hurt by floods these days, my tears I’ll shed, my glass I’ll raise But to permitters and builders, remember this phrase, don’t build more homes on the river
Well the boys and the girls went a huckleberry hunting (Way-hay-hay-ah!) Well the boys and the girls went a huckleberry hunting (And sing hi-lo, my ran-zo-ray)
Then a little girl ran off, And the boy he ran after,
He said, “I’ll be your beau If you’ll have me for a feller,”
In 1930 Douglas Kennedy states that the song was collected by Dr C.H. Moody of Ripon, North Yorkshire in 1925 and forms part of a sword-dance play performed around Christmas.
Chorus: Make us room for we are a-coming All for to make you understand, Just where and what we have been a-doing Since we left yon foreign land.
The first to come in it is Lord Nelson, He is the hero of the isle. ‘Twas he that has gained a garland of victory At the Battle of the Nile.
The next to come in is the Duke of Wellington, He who fought his battle through. ‘Twas he that has gained a garland of victory On the plains of Waterloo.
The next to come in is the Highland laddie, He’s got ships all on the main, Merchandise of every description, Now he’s returning home again.
The next to come in is Tom the tinker, All your kettles he will mend, And if you please do let him but venture Tom will treat you as a friend.
The next to come in is Dick the cobbler, He’s got little else to lose, Except for a patched and ragged waistcoat And a pair of worn-out shoes.
Ochs said of the song that it "borders between pacifism and treason, combining the best qualities of both." He also wrote "the fact that you won't be hearing this song on the radio is more than enough justification for the writing of it." In August 1968, Ochs performed it during the protests outside the Democratic National Convention, inspiring hundreds of young men to burn their draft cards, which Ochs described as the highlight of his career. Second verse tweaked by Alex Ellis
Oh, I marched to the Battle of New Orleans At the end of the early British wars A young land started growing The young blood started flowing But I ain’t a-marching anymore
For I’ve fought my Native neighbors in a thousand different fights I was there at the Little Big Horn I heard many men a-lying I saw many more a-dying But I ain’t a-marching anymore
Chorus: It’s always the old to lead us to the wars Always the young to fall Now look at all we’ve won with the saber and the gun Tell me is it worth it all?
For I stole California from the Mexican land Fought in the bloody Civil War Yes, I even killed my brothers And so many others But I ain’t a-marching anymore
For I marched to the battles of the German trench In a war that was bound to end all wars Oh, I must have killed a million men And now they want me back again But I ain’t a-marching anymore
For I flew the final mission in the Japanese skies Set off the mighty mushroom roar When I saw the cities burning I knew that I was learning That I ain’t a-marching anymore
Now the labor leader’s screamin’ when they close the missile plants United Fruit screams at the Cuban shore Call it peace or call it treason Call it love or call it reason But I ain’t a-marching anymore
Written mostly while in Australia, Kerr initially was intending to sing it herself but upon hearing it in James Fagan's voice she begrudgingly acknowledged it worked well as a "James song"
Chorus: I am the fox and I’ll tell you true What your hounds do think of me and I of you When lavish scraps fall no longer from your knee He will slip his rope and we will brothers be
You masters all in fine sheets at night Dreaming of your dinners rich and pennies bright When you awake, raging naked to the air You will find your coffers stripped and cupboards bare
Then comes a day when the trumpet sounds And the hunter hears no howl from fox or hound Then he who owns every army in the land Will have to go with bowl a-begging in his hand
On yonder vale where the snow lies bare Winter winds will hide our scent from hart and hare Then fox and hound, bound no more by slavery Will bare their fangs and bite the hand of poverty
