Chorus: The Rock Island Line is a mighty good road The Rock Island Line is the road to ride The Rock Island Line is a mighty good road If you want to ride you gotta ride it like you find it Get your ticket at the station for the Rock Island Line
Well I may be right and I may be wrong I know you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone
ABC double XYZ Cat’s in the cupboard but you don’t need me
Pretty Emelina, sitting in the shade Thinking ’bout the money that I ain’t made
Someone on Mudcat wrote: "The song was in books of spirituals by the 1880s. First published sailor-related mention I have in my notes is 1903, in a review of one of Basil Lubbock's books. The song turns up in the collecting work, amongst sailors, of Gordon and Carpenter in the 1920s. One of Carpenter's men had "If the devil's in the way we will roll it over him." Spiritual lyrics. In Wood's 1927 Oxford Song Book a Walter Raby, said it was 'a windlass shanty popular about forty years ago [i.e. 1880s] in Lancashire vessels.'" It seems that the verses below are from Stan Hugill's 1961 Shanties from the Seven Seas.
We’d be all right if the wind was in our sails (3x) (And we’ll all hang on behind )
Chorus: So we’ll roll the old chariot along And we’ll roll the old chariot along So we’ll roll the old chariot along And we’ll all hang on behind
We’d be all right if we’d make it ’round the horn (3x)
Oh, a night on the town wouldn’t do us any harm (3x)
Oh, a drop of Nelson’s blood wouldn’t do us any harm, (3x)
Oh, a plate of Irish stew wouldn’t do us any harm, (3x)
If the devil’s in the way, well we’ll roll it over him, (3x)
The Confederate sloop-of-war CSS Alabama was built by William and John Laird & Co. in Birkenhead, United Kingdom, in 1862. Alabama served as a commerce raider, attacking Union merchant and naval ships over the course of her two-year career, during which she never laid anchor in a Southern port. She was sunk on 19 June 1864 off the coast of Cherbourg by USS Kearsarge. The lyrics of the shanty Roll, Alabama, Roll are attributed to the Confederate sailor Frank Townsend who served on the ship. One of the crew of the Kearsarge who sank the Alabama is buried in the cemetery behind Armand Aromin & Ben Gagliardi's house in East Providence.
When the Alabama’s keel was laid (Roll, Alabama, roll!) It was laid in the yard of Jonathan Laird (Oh, roll, Alabama, roll!)
It was laid in the yard of Jonathan Laird It was laid in the town of Birkenhead
Across the Mersey river she sailed then And Liverpool fitted her with guns and men
From the Western Isles she sailed forth To destroy all commerce of the North
Down to Cherbourg came she straight one day For to take her toll in prize money
There many a sailor lad met his doom When the ship Kearsarge hove in view
And a shot from the forward pivot that day It shot the Alabama’s stern away
In the three-mile limit, in sixty-four She sank to the bottom of the ocean floor
Written for a BBC radio ballad, Wind Over Tilbury, about the switch from the old labour-intensive London docks to mechanised container ports and the upheaval it caused. Additional verses by Becky Wright & Miriam Attia
I once was a rigger and I worked like Hell (Rollin’ up, rollin’ down) But now I’m a sailor with the OCL (Rollin’ down the river)
Chorus: Rollin’ up, rollin’ down We’ll all get drunk in Tilbury town In twenty-four hours we’ll turn around and go Rollin’ down the river.
The cargo comes in TEUs / That’s a twenty-foot box, boys, full of booze.
When first I saw a TEU / I wondered where they put the crew.
There’s a Tilbury girl called Kettle Jane / First she’s on the boil then she’s off again.
She’s got a friend called Teapot Anne / And when she wants she’ll take a man
But at the dockyard gate when it’s time to rest / You can pick ’em up if they say yes
From the 1850s when whaling vessels would hunt near Kamchatka in the summer and in the south Pacific in the winter. The fourth verse here is arguably bad to sing, but a more obviously genocidal verse is omitted both by Stan Rogers’ well-known version and here.
It’s a damn tough life full of toil and strife we whalemen undergo, We don’t give a damn when the gale is done how hard the winds did blow. We’re homeward bound, from the Arctic with a good ship taut and free, We don’t give a damn when we drink our rum with the girls of old Maui.
Chorus: Rolling down to old Maui, my boys Rolling down to old Maui We’re homeward bound from the Arctic ground Rolling down to old Maui
Once more we sail with a Northerly gale through the ice, and wind, and rain, Them coconut fronds and them tropical lands we soon shall see again. Six hellish months have passed away in the cold Kamchatka sea But now we’re bound from the Arctic ground rolling down to old Maui.
Once more we sail with the Northerly gale towards our Island home, Our mainmast sprung, our whaling done and we ain’t got far to roam. Our stuns’l booms is carried away, what care we for that sound, A living gale is after us, thank God we’re homeward bound
How soft the breeze from the island trees now the ice is far astern, Them island maids, them tropical glades is awaiting our return. Even now their big, black eyes look out hoping some fine day to see, Our baggy sails running ‘fore the gales rolling down to old Maui.
Mackay's original poem, written on board a ship, has "dear old England" in the chorus and the final four verses here, which are not as much sung as the top four. The first recording Mainly Norfolk lists is Bob Roberts in 1981 who says he learned it on a boat.
Call all hands to man the capstan, see the cable running clear Heave around and with the wheel boys, for our homeland we must steer
Chorus: Rolling home, rolling home, rolling home across the sea Rolling home to old New England, rolling home dear land to thee
From the pines of California and by Chile’s endless strand We have sailed the world twice over, every boat and every land
And to all you blagard pirates who would chase us from the waves Heed ye well that those who’ve tried us soon have found their watery graves
We were boarded in Jamaica where the Jolly Roger flew But our swords were hardly drawn boys e’er they took a rosy hue
We return with precious cargo and with bounty, coined and gold And our sweethearts will rejoice boys, for they love their sailors bold
Up aloft amid the rigging, Swiftly blows the favoring gale, Strong as springtime in its blossom, Filling out each bending sail.
And the waves we leave behind us, Seem to murmur as they rise, We have tarried here to bear you, To the land you dearly prize.
Full ten thousand miles behind us, And a thousand miles before, Ancient ocean waves to waft us To the well-remembered shore.
Newborn breezes swell to send us To our childhood’s welcome skies, To the glow of friendly faces And the glance of loving eyes.
Chorus: Rollin’ in my sweet baby’s arms Rollin’ in my sweet baby’s arms Lay around the shack ’til the mail train comes back Rolling in my sweet baby’s arms
I ain’t gonna work on the railroad no more I ain’t gonna work on the farm Gonna lay around the shack ’til the mail train comes back Rolling in my sweet baby’s arms
Well they say that your parents don’t like me And they drove me away from your door If I had my life to live over I wouldn’t go there anymore Rolling in my sweet baby’s arms
Well my mother’s a gingerbread maker Sister can weave and spin Well, my daddy’s got an interest in that old cotton mill Watch that money flow in
Sometimes there’s a change in the ocean Sometimes there’s a change in the sea Sometimes there’s a change in my own true love But there ain’t no never change in me
Sandy Paton learned from Bustin at Pinewoods: "Re: tempo. When Dillon presented it at a workshop at Pinewoods, the first time we heard it, he sang it unaccompanied and "briskly." Later that evening, in a most generous private session with us, he did it with what we call "lazy river" banjo accompaniment, and it was much more leisurely paced. We feel "leisurely" is the appropriate tempo, considering the text."
Chorus: I’m rolling, flowing, around these hills I must take a rest, but this river never will Rolling, flowing, to Cairo Town Just give me time to lay me down
Boat’s up the river, she won’t come down I believe it in my soul, she is water-bound Back her, slack her, bring her round Give me time to lay me down
Come, Rosianna, the boat is lying low On a sandy bar, out in the Ohio Roustabouts are pulling, pulling mighty slow To give me time to lay me down
I work these steamboats. a dollar bill a day I buy a dress for Rosianne, drink the rest away Captain, he just told me to call lead line today Lord, I got no time to lay me down
All of the rich folks out on the promenade Twirl their parasols, drink their lemonade I got hot steam to drink, I got smokestack for my shade And I got no time to lay me down
I load all of this freight by bale and by sack I slowly cross the plank, I quickly walk it back A hundred eighty pounds a bale, a hundred ninety pounds a sack Two hundred pounds’d break your back
Collected by Cecil Sharp from William 'Farmer' King in 1904.
Here the rosebuds in June and the violets are blowing, The small birds they warble on every green bough. Here’s the pink and the lily and the daffy-down-dilly To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June.
Chorus: If it weren’t for the plough, the fat ox would grow slow And the lads and the bonny lasses to the sheep-shearing go.
Our shepherds rejoice in their fine heavy fleeces, And frisky young lambs which their flocks do increase. Each lad takes his lass all on the green grass To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June.
Our clean milking pails, they are fouled with good ale; At the table, there’s plenty of cheer to be found. We’ll whistle and sing and we’ll dance in a ring To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June.
Now sheep-shearing’s over and harvest do draw nigh, We’ll prepare for the fields, our strength for to try. We’ll reap and we’ll mow, we’ll plough and we’ll sow To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June.
