Category: songs

Jez Lowe 2020

Tribute to Louisa Jo Killen, who died in 2013. From the Telegraph obit: "Those who fondly recalled the bearded, beer-swilling figure lustily belting out sea shanties and telling bawdy stories were somewhat shocked when [she] quietly re-emerged as Louisa Jo Killen. But the reaction was generally positive and supportive and [Killen] continued to lecture on folk song and perform with great courage and dignity." Rewritten by Alex Ellis to turn bridge into 4th verse & fix pronouns.

Jez Lowe: https://jezlowe.bandcamp.com/track/louisas-choosing

That final spring I chanced to meet Louisa on St Nicholas Street,
My anxious smile and timid greeting she seemed to find amusing,
She swore a merry curse or two, much like she always used to do,
But she looked to me both queer and new, That was Louisa’s choosing

Chorus:
Louisa as the wild geese fly, Louisa said goodbye

Ballad singer, shanty man, husband, lover, fancy man,
Her songs and tunes they danced and sang with concertina squeezing,
Bold lad she was to sail away from River Tyne to Frisco Bay,
But the courage she would show one day It fair took some believing

And there she was now standing proud, as fearless as a flying cloud,
And fortune’s wheel never thinned the crowd of friends she once feared losing,
We parted, then it wasn’t long, ’til Benny called and said she’d gone,
St Nicholas Street will miss the songs That were Louisa’s choosing.

Some people asked if falling night still cast sufficient light,
Or if it’s really worth the fight, for life to start anew
But even at your final breath, the truth of who you were was best,
Your loving fans remained impressed At Louisa’s last debut 

trad 

from the Bodlian collection

The Teacups: https://haystackrecords.bandcamp.com/track/vignette-i-love-fain-did-try

Love fain did try to sever friendship’s chain
But as he broke the links, they joined again
Friendship with love united still remain 

trad 

Marina Russell sang it to Henry Hammond in 1907. Mick Hennessy wrote in 1972 "popular in the Napoleonic Wars and the Crimea, especially with the Connaught Rangers"

Down by the banks of sweet primroses,
Me and my love making posies,
There I hear the Colonel crying,
“March, my lads, with colours flying,”

Chorus:
Love, farewell! Darling, farewell!
We’re all for marching, Love, farewell!

Hark! my boys, how drums are beating,
March, my boys, there’s no retreating,
Every lad with his hair well powdered,
Every man with his firelock shouldered,

The Colonel cries out, “Boys, be ready,
Every boy both firm and steady,
Every lad both right and sober,
Every man with gut and powder,

“Colonel dear, oh dear, don’t wrong me,
Don’t you take my children from me.
If you do I will torment thee,
After death my ghost will haunt thee.”

Phil Ochs 1966 / Alex Sturbaum 2025

I voted for Kamala Harris, I still think that she should have won
She met all the MAGA folks halfway, she told us that she owned a gun
She even reached out to Liz Cheney, I don’t see what more she could have done

Chorus:
So love me, love me, love me, I’m a liberal

Of course I believe Black Lives Matter, for equality I’ll always fight
I cried when they killed Eric Garner, and wish the police would do right
So I voted to double their budget, now I can rest easy at night

I rail against ICE and their doings, we’ve clearly seen decency fall
I’ve seen them put children in cages, those images just make me bawl
At least when a Democrat does it, I don’t have to see it at all

There’s a rainbow decal on my profile, it’s clear the gays have my support
I watch Drag Race and Queer Eye each week and I sure love to see Mayor Pete holding court
But I’d never let my kid transition, I’m quite worried about women’s sports

I find Netenyahu distasteful, I think he does things that are wrong
And I think we should use stronger language when we send his next shipment of bombs
And I’d never support ethnic cleansing, I just wish all those Arabs were gone

Well once I was young and impulsive, I wore every conceivable pin
I went to the socialist meetings, and learned all the old union hymns
But I’ve grown older and wiser, and that’s why I’m turning you in

Sally Rogers 1980

Chorus:
Oh Agnes, won’t you go with me? We’ll be married in style
And we’ll cross Lake Michigan, so blue and so wild
We’ll cross over Lake Michigan ’til we come to the shore
And our orchards will blossom for our babies as they’re born

Oh, yes, I will go with you, leave Wisconsin behind
Though my parents think little of my life on a farm
Oh, to leave the gay city life to be buried on a farm
But I’ll watch the orchards bloom in spring, spend the winters warm in your arms

Three children he gave her: Curtis, Addie and Dee
And their fourth child, little Gussie, came ten years after these
And she raised them with loving hand and with firmness of mind
And she raised ’em through troubled times, Agnes strong-willed and kind

Now threescore years have gone and passed, like the fruit on the trees
And her children have children with babes on their knees
And they all join in the summertime, on the crystal lake shore
To greet lovely Agnes, now twelve years and four-score 

Nancy Kerr 2010

To James Fagan this song marks Kerr's move to more conceptual, William Blake-y songwriting. Kerr doesn't remember much about what she was thinking in its composition. It reminds her of a harmonium/church vibe.

Nancy Kerr & James Fagan: https://kerrfagan.bandcamp.com/track/lovers-hymn

You’d be a pilgrim heading on through every weather
Just loving idols silent in stone
You sing your anthem, stepping nimble to each measure
Only to stumble on your way home

Chorus:
Let there be a winding road, a question mark untwisting
And on your lover’s lips a drifting whisper
Let there be a lighter load, a quiet sky on Canaan
And in his hand a home and all its meaning

Don’t fear an omen, like a virgin’s eyes upon you
Black clouds above you, preaching of storms
Let fall adorn us, Put a threadbare robe around you
Their flame inside you, keeping you warm

The light is dying in the windows of the temple
While on the mountain morning takes hold
In our communion there are no gilded fountains
Just fraying remnants of crimson and gold 

Seán Mone 1970s?

Battles and wars leave deep wounds and scars.
Deep wounds are long in the mending.
While reflecting upon all that has gone,
Life rushes on to its ending.
Though sorrow and pain in our memories remain,
And by memories lifetimes are measured,
Still the times that we spend among lovers and friends
Are times we’ll remember with pleasure.

Chorus:
So fill up your glass that future and past
In harmony be determined,
For there’s more friendship poured out in one bottle of stout
Than you’ll find in statute or sermon.

I’ve heard all the old songs, all the rights, all the wrongs,
Heard prophets of doom and destruction,
Street corner messiahs and moral pariahs,
Dealers in bribes and corruption.
From the holy and wise, denials and lies,
When innocent youth was forsaken,
Yet I’ve watched the night end among lovers and friends,
And been sorry to see the dawn breaking.

And there are those who are certain that drinking and courtin’
Are the sure way to hell and damnation,
But if that is to be, it would seem clear to me
That their god has no sense of occasion.
To help his great plan, both woman and man
Bring forth each new generation,
And a wee drop of stout and the odd bit of a holt
Can greatly assist procreation.

To the brashest and proudest and those who shout loudest,
It would seem that power has been given
To berate us, deride us, separate and divide us
In the hope of their version of heaven;
But mountains and rivers will by far outlive us,
And when our bones into dust they have withered,
There’ll be lovers and friends who will still comprehend
The true reason we’re all here together. 

Nancy Kerr 2019

On the nature of consent in contemporary relationships, according to a review.

Nancy Kerr & James Fagan: https://kerrfagan.bandcamp.com/track/lovers-of-us-all

When the moon is full what happens to starlight
Does it flicker and fade in the brightness of the being
Love is a seed, strong as a birthright
Love is the deepest ocean when I bleed

Chorus 1:
And what would it take for us to be lovers
And when you wake up will you see heaven
Whatever denial was ever so fanciful
That’ll make lovers of us all

Between hair and brow as between land and sea
In the light as it falls upon his jawline
I put out my hand like a poor refugee
To the sands of some fine and foreign shore

So I put out my hand like a poor refugee
To the sands of that fine and foreign shoreline
Love is my need for disillusion
Love is the deepest ocean when I bleed

And what would it take for us to live freely
For we are wrapped in the skins of those before us
I put out my hand against retribution
To the sands of that fine and foreign shore

Chorus 2:
And what would it take for us to be lovers
For you to create instead of destruction
Of everything beautiful, instead of the bombs that fall
What’ll make lovers of us all 

trad 

From the east coast of Newfoundland. There is a tradition in the Newfoundland town of Wesleyville that Lukey's Boat was written and composed by Virtue Kean (n‚e Hann), the wife of Captain Job Kean. She is said to have written the song to tease local Wesleyville resident Lukey Gaulton during a community event at the Methodist Church Hall. Supposedly, Gaulton then retaliated by adding a verse making light of Kean's hypochondria.

Well Lukey’s boat is painted green (Ha, me boys!)
Lukey’s boat is painted green
The prettiest boat that you’ve ever seen (A-ha, me boys a-riddle-i-day!)

Well oh, Lukey’s boat’s got a fine fore cutty…And every seam is chinked with putty

Well I says “Lukey the blinds are down”…”Me wife is dead and she’s underground”

Well I says Lukey “I don’t care”…”I’ll get me another in the spring of the year”

Well old Lukey’s rolling out his grub…One split pea in a ten pound tub

Well, Lukey’s boat’s got high-topped sails…The sheet was planched with copper nails 

Rosie Hood 2023

Rosie Hood Band: https://rosiehood.bandcamp.com/track/lyddie-shears

Chorus:
The hares fly before me, we dart across the downs
Like Lepus from Orion, we’ll keep from the hounds
No hunter will snare me, nor drive me from my form
I’m Lyddie Shears, and this land is my own

In Winterslow Wood is where I made my home
Through the fields and the meadows, I often have roamed
With brock, fox and coney, at the dawning of each day
I wanted for nothing, lived my own way

I hear the men talk of the witch in the wood
Who can will the crops to fail, with a thought or a look
She knows the ways of nature, each root, leaf, and bone
They tremble as they think of the wicked old crone

At dusk in the meadow the drove set out to graze
Serene there among them in the gloaming of the day
Then hounds burst from the hedgerow, each hare fled in fright
A shot rang out, I stumbled, was lost to the night

In Winterslow Wood in my own likeness now
I lie upon the bed with one final vow
Though a bullet of silver’s lodged deep in my heart
Forever with the hares across the downs I will dart