Category: songs

trad 

The first known printed version was as a broadside in 1620 which was described as "a pleasant new ballad about the murther of John Barleycorn"

Finest Kind: https://ianrobb1.bandcamp.com/track/john-barleycorn

There were three men came out of the west, their fortunes for to try
And these three men made a solemn vow John Barleycorn must die
They’ve plowed, they’ve sown, they’ve harrowed him in, threw clods upon his head
And these three men made a solemn vow John Barleycorn was dead.

They’ve let him lie for a very long time, ’til the rains from heaven did fall
And little Sir John sprung up his head and so amazed them all
They’ve let him stand ’til midsummer’s day ’til he looked both pale and wan
And little Sir John’s grown a long long beard and so become a man.

They’ve hired men with their scythes so sharp to cut him off at the knee
They’ve rolled him and tied him by the way, serving him most barbarously
They’ve hired men with their sharp pitchforks who’ve pricked him to the heart
And the loader he has served him worse than that for he’s bound him to the cart.

They’ve wheeled him around and around a field ’til they came onto a barn
And there they made a solemn oath on poor John Barleycorn
They’ve hired men with their crabtree sticks to cut him skin from bone
And the miller he has served him worse than that for he’s ground him between two stones.

And little Sir John and the nut brown bowl and his brandy in the glass
And little Sir John and the nut brown bowl proved the strongest man at last
The huntsman he can’t hunt the fox nor so loudly to blow his horn
And the tinker he can’t mend kettle nor pots without a little barleycorn. 

trad

Never seen the like since I been born,
An Arkansas farmer with his sea boots on
Johnny come down to Hilo, poor old man

Chorus:
Wake her, shake her
Wake that gal with the blue dress on
Johnny come down to Hilo, poor old man

Who’s been here since I been gone,
that pretty little gal with the blue dress on

She’s a downeast gal with a downeast style,
for a dollar a time and it’s all worthwhile

Downeast gals they dress so fine,
they ain’t got Jesus on their mind

I don’t care where in the world I go,
I can’t get away from the calico

My wife she died in Tennessee
And they sent her jawbone back to me

I hung that jawbone on the fence
And I ain’t heard nothing but the jawbone since

So hand me down my riding cane
I’m off to see Ms. Sarah Jane 

trad 

John Connolly wrote in 2004: "This comes from Alfred Williams' collection of traditional song lyrics Folk-Songs of the Upper Thames-the splendid tune was written by ace fiddler Paul Bellamy". Williams calls it "A very old song. Obtained by David Sawyer."

The Davenport Family: https://gavinandamydavenport.bandcamp.com/track/joke-and-push-about-the-pitcher

The silver moon that shines so bright
I swear with reason is my teacher
And, if my midnight glass runs right
There’s time to drink another pitcher

Chorus:
It’s not yet day. It’s not yet day.
Why should we forsake good liquor?
‘Til the sunbeams round us play
Let’s joke and push about the pitcher.

I dearly love a hearty man
No sniggering milk-sop Jimmy Twitcher
That loves a lass, and loves a glass
And loudly calls for another pitcher

They say that we must work all day
And sleep at night to wake much richer
But what is all the world I say
Compared to mirth, my friend, and pitcher

Though one may boast a handsome wife
Yet still strange vagaries may bewitch her
Unvexed I’ll lead a cheerful life
And boldly call for another pitcher

trad 

"The king was the wren. The wren was the king of the birds. In ancient religions the king was sacrificed every seven years for the fertility and good of the tribe. In some places (Ireland) the queen was royal and married new consorts to be sacrificed. The consort was treated well for seven years (or one year) and then sacrificed by the new consort. A wren was killed and dressed up in ribbons, etc. and carried around the village. This is from Pembrokeshire in South Wales, commemorating the wren-killing on St Stephen's Day, 26 December. "Old Christmas", still celebrated rather than 25 December is Twelfth Night."

Joy, health, love, and peace be all here in this place
By your leave we will sing concerning our king

Our king is well dressed in the silks of the best
In ribbons so rare, no king can compare

We have travelled many miles over hedges and stiles
In search of our king, unto you we bring

We have powder and shot to conquer the lot
We have cannon and ball to conquer them all

Old Christmas is past, Twelfth Night is the last,
And we bid you adieu, great joy to the new 

trad 

The Johnson Girls, on a sleeve note, give the following origin: "the text we use is Barry Finn's, who heard the song from a Polish chantey singer, Mareck Schakowsky, in the summer of 1992 during the tall ships visit to Boston. Mareck got it from Roy Harris. Roy found the tune and a fragmentary text on a recording in the Robert W. Gordon collection at the Library of Congress. Just as Roy and Barry have provided verses today, so did the sailors and collectors in their day."

Chorus (x2)
Juliana, Juliana where do you go? (Ah ha, me London Julie)

Well she swore she’d prove true to me
She spent all my money fast and free

Well we went for a loving walk
And we had a long loving talk

She took me to her favorite park
And we stayed there til after dark

And then as I put out to sea
A soldier took her on his knee

Up aloft, up aloft this spar must go
Up aloft, up aloft from down below

Around Cape Horn there’s ice and snow
But around Cape Horn we’ve got to go

The mate is a-bawlin’ down below
So heave away, let’s stamp and go 

trad 

Sandy Paton 1959: "Eloise Linscott first published it in 'Folk Songs of Old New England' in 1939... Linscott had the song from Lucy Allen of West Newton, MA. Its text seems to be made of fragments from other songs." including the Scottish Lea-boy's/Lichtbob's Lassie. Lucy Allen appears to have been an educator who attended Smith College and lived the last 25 years of her life with her companion Ruby Keefer. There may be an 1899 collection of songs sung by the Allen family that Lucy published. The lyrics Wikipedia gives as in Linscott are close to those heard today. Karen Dalton's 1971 version seems influential.

When I first came to town, They called me the roving jewel
Now they’ve changed their tune, They call me Katy Cruel,
Oh, diddle, lully day, Oh, de little lioday.

Chorus:
Oh that I was where I would be, Then would I be where I am not
Here I am where I must be, Where I would be, I can not go?
Oh, diddle, lully day, Oh, de little lioday.

When I first came to town, They brought me the bottles plenty;
Now they’ve changed their tune, They bring me the bottles empty,

I know who I love, And I know who does love me;
I know where I’m going, And I know who’s going with me,

Eyes as black as coal, Lips as bright as cherry,
And ’tis her delight To make the young girls merry,

I’ll dye my petticoats red, Face them with the yellow,
And I’ll tell all the lads My own heart I will follow.

When I first came to town They called me the roving jewel
Now they’ve changed their tune They call me Katy Cruel 

trad

Come aw ye Kincardine lads And tak a dram wi me
We’ll gang doun tae Sandy’s still And tak the barley bree

Chorus:
Hye dum a dou dum a daddie-o (x4)

Sandy rade his auld gray mare He rode tae break o day
Sayin, “Laddie, laddie, gaun yersel The gaugers are on thair way.”

The gaugers, thay came tae the hoose Thay went richt up the stair
Thay searched the room, aw richt aroon’ But thay fund nae bottles thare

Thay poued the blankets aff the bed Thay threw them on the flair
Maggie, she cam runnin ben Sayin, “Ye beggars, get oot’n the door.”

Sandy Callum made the still He made it tae a plan
So it would stand away oot there And mak the doubles strang

 

 

John McCutcheon 1988

When I was a little kid not so long ago
I had to learn a lot of stuff I didn’t even know
How to dress myself, tie my shoes, how to jump a rope
How to smile for a picture without looking like a dope
But of all the things I learned my favorite of them all
Was a little poem hanging on the kindergarten wall

Chorus:
Of all you learn here remember this the best:
Don’t hurt each other and clean up your mess
Take a nap everyday, wash before you eat
Hold hands, stick together, look before you cross the street
And remember the seed in the little paper cup:
First the root goes down and then the plant grows up!

Well, it was first, second, third grade, fourth grade, too
Where I had to learn the big things the big kids do
To add, subtract, and multiply, read and write and play
How to sit in a little uncomfortable desk for nearly half a day
But of all they taught me my favorite of them all
Was the little poem hanging on the kindergarten wall

But lately I’ve been worried as I look around and see
An awful lot of grown-ups acting foolish as can be
Now I know there’s lots of things to know I haven’t mastered yet
But it seems there’s real important stuff that grown-ups soon forget
So I’m sure we’d all be better off if we would just recall
That little poem hanging on the kindergarten wall 

trad 

Mashup of the versions by Anna & Elizabeth and Malinky. After the tune was thought to be lost, it was collected from John Stickle of Baltasound, Unst, Shetland in 1947 by Patrick Shuldham-Shaw, but it's much older. Retelling of Orpheus myth translated from maybe medieval Middle Danish? 

There lived a lady in yon hall (Green the wood grows early)
Her name was Lady Liza Bell (Where the hart runs yearly)

Her king he had a hunting gone / He left their bed before the dawn

A cunning Fairy with his dart / Pierced that lady to the heart

When the king came home at noon / He looked for Lady Liza Bell

His nobles unto him did say / Your lady was wounded, now she’s dead

Though they’ve ta’en her life from me / But her corpse they’ll never hae

The king he called his nobles all / To waltz her corpse intae the hall

But when the lords were fallen asleep / Out of the hall her corpse did creep

The king away to the woods he’s gone / And there he’s sat upon a stone

He sat there for seven years / Til a company ’round him nears

Some did ride and some did run / He saw his lady, them among

And after them the king has gone / But when he came, ’twas a grey stone

Now he’s sat him down full well / And he’s ta’en out his pipes to play

First he played the notes o’ noy / Then he played the notes o’ joy

Then he played a merry reel / That would make a sick heart heal

There came a boy from out the hall / You’re bidden to play amongst us all

The King of Fairy then did say / What will you have for all your play?

For my play I will ye tell / I’ll have my Lady Liza Bell

You take your lady and go home / And she’ll be queen of all you own

He took his lady and went home / And she was queen of all her own 

Brian McNeill, 1980

The first song McNeill wrote for Battlefield Band. The Falkirk Tryst was one of the biggest cattle markets in Europe; it started in the 1770s, hit its peak in the 1840s, and the advent of railways led to its steady decline until closing around 1900. Wars in Germany that the UK was involved in during that time occurred in 1792-1797, 1806-1815, and 1848. The American Civil War disrupted the cotton supply for the Scottish weaving economy, and adoption of tractors in the UK began in the mid-1800s but weren't widespread until the mid-20th century.

Come bonnie lass, lie near me, An let the brandy cheer ye
For the road frae Fife tae Falkirk’s lang An cauld an wet an weary
My trade it is the weavin’ In the bonnie toun o Leven
An we’ll drink a health tae the farmers’ dames Wha’ll buy our claith the morn.

Chorus:
You can see them aa, the lads o the fair Lads frae the Forth an the Carron water
Workin lads an lads wi gear Lads wha’d sell ye the provost’s dochter
Sodjers back frae the German wars Peddlers up frae the border
An lassies wi an eye for mair than the kye At the trysting fair at Falkirk.

Come, Geordie, haud the pony, For the path is steep an stony
An its three lang weeks frae the Isle o’ Skye An the beasts are thin an bony
We’ll tak the last o the siller An buy oursels a gill or two
An drink to the lads wha’ll buy our kye In Falkirk toun the morn

Staun hear an I’ll show ye There’s the toun below ye
But we’d best bide here in the barn the nicht For the nightwatch dinna know ye
My brother, he’s a ploughman An I’m for the feeing now, man
An we’ll drink tae the price o the hairvest corn In Falkirk toun the morn.

The wark o the weaver’s over Likewise the days o the drover
An the ploughboy sits on a tractor nou Too high to see the clover
The warkin’s no sae steady, But the lads are aye still ready
Tae drink a health tae the working man In Falkirk toun the morn.