Watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows Feel the trickle in your clothes, blow the dusk cake from your nose And hear the tractor’s steady roar, O you can’t stop now There’s a quarter section more or less to go
And it figures that the rain takes it’s own sweet time You can watch it come for miles, but you guess you’ve got a while Ease the throttle out a hair, every rod’s a gain There’s victory in every quarter mile
Bridge 1: Poor old Kuzyk down the road The heartache, hail and hoppers got him down He gave it up and went to town And Emmett Pierce, the other day took a heart attack and died at 42 You could see it comin’ on, ‘cuz he worked as hard as you
Well in an hour, maybe more, you’ll be wet clear through The air is cooler now, pull your hat brim further down And watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows Put another season’s promise in the ground
Bridge 2: And if the harvest’s any good, the money might just cover all the loans You’ve mortgaged all you own Buy the kids a winter coat, take the wife back east for Christmas if you can All summer she hangs on when you’re so tied to the land
For the good times come and go, but at least there’s rain So this won’t be barren ground when September comes around And watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows Put another season’s promise in the ground
"inspired by a pair of rusting decommissioned trawlers off Scrabster Harbour. The death of a boat is the first casualty in the decline of a fishing community. This song is dedicated to all of the hardy fisherfolk at sea and ashore."
Now it’s three long years since we made her pay (Sing “Haul away”, my laddie-o) And the owners say that she’d had her day (And sing “Haul away”, my laddie-o)
So heave away for the final trawl It’s an easy pull, for the catch is small
Then’s stow your gear, lads, and batten down And I’ll take the wheel, lads, and I’ll turn her ’round
And we’ll join the Venture and the Morning Star Riding high and empty towards the bar
For I’d rather beach her on the Skerry Rock Than to see her torched in the breaker’s dock
And when I die you can stow me down In her rusty hold, where the breakers pound
Then I’d make the haven of Fiddlers Green Where the grub is good and the bunks are clean
For I’ve fished a lifetime, boy and man And the final trawl scarcely makes a cran
“inspired by the well-known 70’s picture of the young hippy lass putting a flower into the muzzle of a soldier’s gun. Young ideals so often – unfortunately – get watered down as one grows older.”
Where are the flowers that we put into the muzzles of the guns? Dried up and pressed inside a frame, they never get a second glance. The love that we would banish war with, on bombed out streets now naked stands. Where are the flowers that we put into the muzzles of the guns? Where is the innocence of youth, the stars that once were in our eyes When did we learn to cover truth with our excuses and our lies? When did our ideals falter? Tell me, when did we change our plans? Where are the flowers that we put into the muzzles of the guns? Our lives from others we have learned to separate From evil we avert our eyes. More often war it is, and not love that we make And all the time we compromise. We used to turn the other cheek, but now we turn our face away. We were the blessed and the meek; our future brighter than the day. But we’ve forgotten Luther’s message; we never ask ourselves, not once: Where are the flowers that we put into the muzzles of the guns? But we’ve arrived, and as we pat each other’s backs Our principles we now betray And year on year as we progress and we advance, It’s not just hair that’s turning grey… Where are the flowers that we put into the muzzles of the guns? Where are the lessons we would pass on to our daughters and our sons? And did we ever make a difference? and did we ever stand a chance? Where are the flowers that we put into the muzzles of the guns?
"The original version of this song is entitled "The Warlike Lads of Russia", and is credited to British Folk artist Nic Jones. He has stated in album notes that he found some of the song's lyrics in an old English broadside (a publication of Victorian street songs), added fresh lyrics of his own, and wrote the associated tune."
Oh when Gregory Bovino to Minnesota went With all his troops and all his men their minds were fully bent For to break those northern cities oh they had been employed But the whole town rose against them and their spirits did destroy
Chorus: Oh the folks from Minnesota they fight all in one mind Making Bovino to run and leave his troops behind
When in two Sister Cities the common man did stand Old Bovino and all his men took anyone they’d get But in two Sister Cities the common man’d retreat They flooded all their sidewalks and they froze hard all their streets
Well it’s all across Twin Cities the common man held fast Against Bovino and all his men They marched and drove them back The action being so hot from right and left and front and rear “Well damn you all” said Bovino “I’ll stay no longer here”
Well away then went poor Bovino as fast as he could run Over snowy fields and ditches he left cars and plans and guns The carnage of his actions, the rage of neighbors too He left it all behind him for it’s all he knows to do
Said “It’s full 3,000 men of mine, their dignity you’ve taken Likewise you’ve robbed them of their sleep and nobody will feed them But never more to Minneapolis I dare advance For if I do I may be sure they’ll teach me how to dance”
So it’s to conclude and so to finish up our song Old Bovino can run from state to state but not for long For it’s each and every tyrant, and every cruel small man Must turn and face the music or else see his soul be Damned
There was an old woman who baked every day She made gingerbread men, piled them high on a tray She put some in the oven, and something went wrong When she opened up the door, one jumped out and sang this song
Chorus: He said run run run as fast as you can, you can’t catch me I’m the Gingerbread Man (x2)
He ran through the kitchen and out the front door Past the old man in the garden who was doing his chores The old man hollered Stop! You’re my lunch! You come back! But the Gingerbread Man would be nobody’s snack
Well he ran through the woods past some picnicking bears He smelled so scrumptious he just had to be theirs They got up to chase him ’cause he smelled so good and sweet But the Gingerbread Man would be nobody’s treat
Well he ran past a cow grazing in the hay The old cow said “don’t let him get away!” But the old cow was too slow to get up on that trail And anybody listening could hear that cookie wail
Well he ran past some mowers busy at their work They said “Did a cookie run by? Are we going berserk?” They put down their mowers to follow his sweet scent And anybody listening could hear him as he went
Well he ran over mountains and valleys and rocks Til he came to a river and a hungry fox The fox was so sly, he devised a wicked plan For the crunchy demise of the Gingerbread Man
He said do you need some help to get to the other side? Hop on my back, I will take you for a ride So he hopped onto his back, onto his neck, onto his nose The fox slipped him in his mouth and that’s the way our story goes
Bridge: All of the others gathered round to get a crumb And anybody listening could hear his tummy hum
Chorus: So goodnight my friends, as the dawn comes pale And the eastern wind brings the threat of gales Keep a hold on hope through the darkest vale And we’ll meet further on down the road
I have travelled far from this island strand From the icy waste to the burning sand Ploughed the raging sea, seen the verdant land Been at home in a place far away
Many differences but much the same Though the ways are strange and have different names But a friendly face breaks a thousand chains And a smile breaks the lock on the door
We have joined in song, laughed a night away Swapped our tales of woe, kept the clouds at bay In the morning clear we’ll be on our way But we’ll meet further on down the road
So lets drink a health to good times gone by When our spirits soared and we touched the sky And we’ll bid farewell but not goodbye And we’ll meet further on down the road
Chorus: They hang the man and flog the woman Who steals the goose from off the common But leave the greater villain loose Who steals the common from off the goose
The law demands that we atone When we take things we do not own But leaves the lords and ladies fine Who take things that are yours and mine
The poor and wretched don’t escape If they conspire the law to break This must be so but they endure Those who conspire to make the law
The law condemns the man or woman Who steals the goose from off the common And geese will still a common lack Until they go, and steal it back
John Faulkner wrote in 1969: "Almost without exception, the popular ballads about Napoleon Bonaparte display a marked degree of sympathy towards him. This is particularly significant in view of the fact that the barrage of anti-Bonaparte propaganda had reached an hysterical peak in the period that this song comes from. It is possible however, that the British commoner, shackled with Poor Laws and subjected to the oppressive onslaught of the Industrial Revolution, viewed Old Boney as a potential liberator."
It was over that wild beaten track a friend of that bold, bold Bonaparte Did pace the sands and the lofty rocks of St Helena’s shore, The wind blew in a hurricane, the lightning flash around did dart, Seagulls were a-shrieking and the waves around did roar. Ah hush, rude winds, the stranger cried, while I range the spot Where alas the gallant hero did his weary eyelids close. But while his valiant limbs do rest, his name will never be forgot. This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.
Oh England he cried why did you persecute that hero bold? Much better had you slain him on the plains of Waterloo. Napoleon he was a friend to heroes all, both young and old, He caused the money for to fly wherever he did go. Plans were arranging night and day, this bold commander to betray, He said, I’ll go to Moscow and there I’ll ease my woes. And if fortune shine without delay, then all the world shall me obey, This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.
As the thousands then did rise to conquer Moscow by surprise, He led his troops across the Alps oppressed by frost and snow, And being near the Russian land, he then began to open his eyes, For Moscow was a-blazing and the men drove to and fro. Napoleon dauntless viewed the plain he wept in anguish at the same, He cried, Retreat me gallant men, our time it swiftly goes. Ah thousands died in that retreat, some were forced their horses forced to eat. This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.
At Waterloo his men they fought, commanded by this Bonaparte, Attended by Field Marshall Ney, and he was bribed by gold. When Blcher led the Prussians in, it nearly broke Napoleon’s heart. He cried, my thirty thousand men are slain, and I am sold. He viewed the plains and cried, tis lost, twas then his favourite charger crossed, The plains were in confusion with blood and dying woes. The bunch of roses did advance and boldly entered into France. This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.
Oh, this Bonaparte was plann’d to be a prisoner across the sea, The rocks of St Helena, oh, it was his final spot. And as a prisoner there to be till death did end his misery. His son soon followed to the tomb: it was an awful plot. And long enough have they been dead, the blast of war is ’round us spread, And may our shipping float again to face the daring foes. And now my boys when honour calls we’ll boldly mount those wooden walls. This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.
Gullane is longtime songwriter of the Tannahill Weavers.
In the city of Glasgow ’twas long in the cards If you lived near the river you’d work in the yards The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes Were the muckle great cranes that reached up to the skies
Chorus: Where we built the great ships of iron and steel The Lizzies, the Mary, we built them right here We built the great ships, the pride of the sea But now there is nae work for me And who would believe that we built the great ships?
At the end of the forties apprenticed was I To the cream of the welders by the name of MacKay “You’ve two ears and one mouth so listen, don’t lip And I’ll show you young lads how we build the great ships.”
At the end of the sixties, the whole thing just died We had marches and work-ins, my god how we tried There was no need for highly skilled craftsmen like me They build ships for damn all in Japan and Koree
There’s scarcely a ship now and blessed few men As the river runs silent through Silicon Glen For an old clapped out welder you’ll not get much thanks Now there’s fish in the river and chips on its banks
Chorus: Don’t turn to look on the green hills of Antrim Fermanagh’s behind you, it’s time to move on Look onwards tae Glasgow and all your tomorrows The future lies there and it’s waiting for you As the green crosses over to meet with the blue
And what was the sense when the wee ones were cryin’ The cries of the hungry no sense to remain No prayer could recover a sister, a brother So farewell to Fermanagh the prayin’ is done
The land that you leave has had too many martyrs And too many lives that have perished in vain And too many boats slipping out from its harbours With cargoes that never came homewards again
If the wings of the eagle could carry you over To the land of the prairie then surely you’d fly But an ocean so wide and a far distant country So far from your own land is no place to die
