Category: songs

trad 

Nicole Singer & Becky Wright: https://beckyandnicole.bandcamp.com/track/the-old-churchyard

Come, come with me out to the old churchyard,
I well know those paths ‘neath the soft green sward.
Friends slumber in there that we want to regard;
We will trace out the names in the old churchyard.

Mourn not for them, their trials are o’er,
And why weep for those who will weep no more?
For sweet is that sleep, though cold and hard
Their pillows may be in the old churchyard.

I know that it’s vain when our friends depart
To breathe kind words to a broken heart;
And I know that the joy of life is marred
When we follow lost friends to the old churchyard.

But were I at rest ‘neath yonder tree,
Oh, why would you weep, my friends, for me?
I’m so weary, so wayworn, why would you retard
The peace I seek in the old churchyard?

Why weep for me, for I’m anxious to go
To that haven of rest where no tears ever flow;
And I fear not to enter that dark lonely tomb
Where our saviour has lain an’ he conquered the gloom.

I rest in the hope that one bright day
Sunshine will burst through these prisons of clay,
And old Gabriel’s trumpet and the voice of the Lord
Will wake up the dead in the old churchyard. 

Barrie Temple 2001

The Wilderness Yet: https://thewildernessyet.bandcamp.com/track/old-jacky-frost-2

Chorus:
Old Jacky Frost is knockin’ at the door (Don’t let him in, no way sir)
Old Jacky Frost, been here before (Don’t let him in, no way sir)
Whether you’re rich or whether you’re poor
He’ll come knockin’ all around your door
Give him a chance, he’ll be in for sure (Don’t let him in, no way sir)

Summer’s lost and the winter’s come (Don’t let him in, no way sir)
Days are short and the nights are long (Don’t let him in, no way sir)
Hear him knocking, don’t complain
See his star on the window pane
Comes the winter, come what may (Don’t let him in, no way sir)

See the sheep in the winter snow
All forlorn, nowhere to go
Coats so thick, the sun don’t shine
Oh how I wish that coat were mine
To glad the heart so warm and fine

See his breath freeze in the air
Older, colder everywhere
Head bowed down, he’ll make you pray
For the warmth and pleasure of a summer’s day
Old Jacky Frost, he’ll be far away

Spring will come and rise again
Jack in the Green will bring his friends
Fight the fight, defy the foe
Old Jacky Frost, he will have to go
He’ll be back sooner than you know

John Kirkpatrick 1994

Under the ground lay Old King Coal, he lay most peacefully
He ruled in might and splendor, there was none so grand as he
But men came along to tunnel him out and topple him from his throne
They tore him down to steal his crown for the power in the old black stone

Chorus:
There’s fire in the heart of Old King Coal
There’s the strength of centuries in his soul
There’s a power that grows where his black blood flows
So here’s to Old King Coal

So they scratched him, hacked him, and harried him out, they ripped him from his bed
And they blast his bones asunder, they’d sworn to seen him dead
They they carried him out to the sun’s bright light which blinded him in the eye
And the blood did drain from every vein until they’d drained him dry

Then they cracked his bones on the grinding stones, how gleefully they did grind
Oh how they pulverized him, turned him to dust so fine
Then they sprayed him into the furnace fire and burned him in the air
With a mighty blast, they burned him fast, as he prayed his final prayer

And his soul cried out with a final song as he reached his final hour
And his heart it burst with singing, so mighty was the power
And he sang the water into steam and the steam made the wheels fly round
And the song ran on both pure and strong til the wires hummed with its sound

Out of the darkness there comes light, out of the earth comes fire
Out of the cold comes comfort, as his bones go blazing higher
And his soul flies out through the air we breathe and down on the earth we tread
That humankind may not forget that Old King Coal is dead 

Ian Robb 1985

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."

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

I learned this from the Arrowsmith:Robb Trio album All the Salt, which is not available online.

“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.” 

trad 

Wikipedia: "considered the official anthem of Yorkshire. It is sung to the hymn tune 'Cranbrook', composed by Thomas Clark in 1805; while according to Andrew Gant, the words were composed by members of Halifax [12 miles away] Church Choir 'some 50 years after Clark wrote his melody', on an outing to Ilkley Moor."

Where hast thou been since I saw thee (I saw thee)
On Ilkla Moor baht ‘at?
Where hast thou been since I saw thee (Where hast thou been since I saw thee)
Where hast thou been since I saw thee (Without thy trousers on)

Chorus:
On Ilkla Moor baht ‘at? (x3)

Thou’s been a courting Mary Jane

Thou’s bound to catch thy death of cold

Then we shall have to bury thee

Then worms’ll come and eat thee up

Then ducks’ll come and eat up worms

Then we shall go and eat up ducks

Then we shall all have eaten thee

John Kirkpatrick

John Kirkpatrick: 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-marching And you’d be marching too
Marching into Hanley town To show we shan’t be beaten down
Chase the masters round and round

Refrain:
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

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

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

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 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

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."

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

Don’t you hear the old man growling (one more day)
And don’t you hear the mate a howling (one more day)
Don’t you hear the capstan pawling (one more day)
And don’t you hear the pilot bawling (one more day)

Chorus:
It’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