Category: songs

Brian Pearson 

 

Recorded by Ian Robb 2021. Rewritten by Alex Ellis to be a little less enthusiastic about death.

Ian Robb: https://ianrobb1.bandcamp.com/track/dead-funny

https://ianrobb1.bandcamp.com/track/dead-funny

There’s a lot that’s been said about ending up dead There’s many that fear what they’re in for But one thing’s for sure, your woes will be yore, Courtesy of the grim reaper. No more customer service, no spills from your thermos No sitting in traffic long-distance For you won’t be there, or indeed anywhere, Unaware of your own non-existence Chorus: So rattle your bones, and join in the chorus, Death’s round the corner and he’s coming for us. Eat drink and be merry, while you’re alive, ‘cos we’ve all got a date with the guy with the scythe. You’ll just vanish your way through organic decay; There’s really no reason to cry a tear; It’s all part of the game; you go back whence you came, Your remains reabsorbed by the biosphere. So new life can rely on your carbon and iron, Your calcium and sulphur and phosphorus; You’ll be part of the trees, and the birds, and the bees, From the high Arctic seas to the Bosphorus. It’s true, I once read that an elder once said, “Relax folks, for everything passes”, And that’s sure to be true, for me and for you, So cheer up and fill up your glasses. For we come and we go, with the ebb and the flow Of the tides of the earth and her story; Bright creatures of chance, briefly part of the dance, And there’s still time to share in life’s glory.

 

 

trad 

 

Texas Gladden: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NicqYRmPe10

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NicqYRmPe10

O you must answer my questions nine Sing ninety-nine and ninety, Or you ‘re not God’s, you’re one of mine And you were the weaver’s bonny. What is whiter than the milk? Sing ninety-nine and ninety, And what is softer than the silk? And you were the weaver’s bonny. Snow is whiter than the milk Sing ninety-nine and ninety, And down is softer than the silk, And I am the weaver’s bonny. O what is higher than a tree? Sing ninety-nine and ninety And what is deeper than the sea? And you were the weaver’s bonny. Heaven’s higher than a tree Sing ninety-nine and ninety, And Hell is deeper than the sea And I am the weaver’s bonny. What is louder than a horn? Sing ninety-nine and ninety, And what is sharper than a thorn? And you were the weaver’s bonny. Thunder’s louder than a horn Sing ninety-nine and ninety, And death is sharper than a thorn And I am the weaver’s bonny. What ‘s more innocent than a lamb? Sing ninety-nine and ninety, And what is meaner than woman-kind? And you were the weaver’s bonny. A babe’s more innocent than a lamb Sing ninety-nine and ninety, And the devil is meaner than woman-kind And I am the weaver’s bonny. Oh you have answered my questions nine Sing ninety-nine and ninety, And you were God’s, you’re none of mine And you were the weaver’s bonny.

 

 

trad 

 

Collected in Yorkshire, can be traced back to the seventeenth century. Earliest remaining printed version from 1888, but recorded as early as 1685. Apparently the Duke of Buckingham who died in 1685 loved hunting and spent his last days in Helmsley in North Yorkshire, and numerous locations in this vicinity are mentioned in a longer version of this song. “Bendigo” is apparently a corruption of “Spandigo” which is a corruption of “Spanker”.

As I was a-walking one morning last autumn I’ve overheard some noble foxhunting, Between two noblemen and the Duke of Buckingham, Right early before the day was dawning. Chorus There was Dido, Bendigo, Gentry he was there-o, Traveller, he never looked behind him; There was Countess, Rover, Bonny Lass and Jover, These were the hounds that could find him. Now the first fox being young and his trial’s just beginning, He’s made straight away for the cover; He’s gone up yon highest hill and gone down yon lowest gill, Thinking that he’d find his freedom there for ever. Now the next fox being ould and his trial’s fast a-dawning, He’s made straight away for the river; Why the fox he has jumped in, but the hound jumped after him, It was Traveller a-striding in for ever. Now the fox went ower the plain but he soon returned again, The fox nor the hounds never failing; It’s been just twelve month today since I heard the squire say, “Hark forrard then, me brave hounds, for ever.”

 

 

trad <1780 Leon Rosselson 2019? A popular German song since the early 1800s protesting political repression and censorship, it was important to anti-Nazi resistance movements in Germany. A translation by Arthur Kevess was published in Sing Out! Magazine in 1950 and Pete Seeger recorded it in 1966 on Dangerous Songs!? Rosselson rewrote it to focus on the Israeli occupation of Palestine.

Leon Rosselson: Truth Cannot Be Silenced

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ym0Ef_a3O4w

Die gedanken sind frei, my thoughts freely flower It’s everyone’s right to speak truth to power Truth cannot be silenced by threats or by violence No-one can deny, die gedanken sind frei. It’s my right to agitate for Palestine’s liberation And the Zionist state is a cruel aberration And if Zionist critics cry antisemitic I say that they lie. Die gedanken sind frei. The Zionist lobby they smear and they libel Care nothing for justice, their values are tribal Concocting excuses for Israel’s abuses Free speech they decry but die gedanken sind frei. I say Israel’s crimes are not in my name It steals land, it steals water, no conscience, no shame. It murders, it tortures, yet Israel’s supporters Just turn a blind eye. Die gedanken sind frei. Die gedanken sind frei, my thoughts freely flower It’s everyone’s right to speak truth to power Truth must not be silenced by threats or by violence No-one can deny, die gedanken sind frei.

 

 

Steve Knightley 1998

 

A true story about the Fairmile Road Protests in 1997. The camps staged in the path of the highway existed as communes for two years before they were cleared.

Show of Hands: https://showofhands.bandcamp.com/track/digging-down

https://showofhands.bandcamp.com/track/digging-down

Come listen to me and I’ll sing you a song, thought it might offend you it wont take me long. It’s of the bold diggers at fairmile camp, deep underground in the cold and the damp. Chorus: Digging down down down, digging down. There’s Ian, and Animal, Pete and Welsh John, and Swampy of fame I’ll include in my song. Theres no finer diggers in Devon it’s true, and the poor under-sheriff don’t know what to do. Swampy said this new road is a terrible thing, just think of the damage and ruin you’ll bring. We’ve only one planet or have you forgot, would the cameras be here without us? I think not. So the bailifs they dug and they shored up with planks, while hundreds of policemen they stood by in ranks. They thought they had reached them but soon felt quite sick, when they found a steel door that was 5 inches thick. So here’s to the fine moles of old Fairmile copse, they’ll be there in spirit until the road stops. Lift up your voices and raise up your glass, they gave the road builders a kick up the arse!

 

 

Elsie Gawler 2020

 

Elsie Gawler: https://elsiegawler.bandcamp.com/track/dip-and-sway

https://elsiegawler.bandcamp.com/track/dip-and-sway

darling dip and sway, across the ocean today and feel the water soak in your skin i hear you next to me, in perfect harmony let’s let the time slip away and darling sing, along with me and let your voice blow away in the breeze feel the rhythm in your soul, there’s not a thing i could want more than to be in this moment, moment in time breathe in the salty air, and close your eyes my dear just let the waves move us along and darling sing, along with me and let your voice blow away in the breeze and lift up your voice in song, we’ll carry each other along our hearts they beat, they beat as one so darling dip and sway, we dance with the ocean today and feel the motion move in you so darling sing, along with me and let your voice blow away in the breeze just let your voice blow away in the breeze

 

 

Ewan MacColl 1949

 

Ewan MacColl wrote Dirty Old Town about Salford, Lancashire, England, the city where he was born and brought up. It was originally composed for an interlude to cover an awkward scene change in his 1949 play Landscape With Chimneys, set in a North of England industrial town, but many people now erroneously regard it as a traditional song.

I found my love on the gasworks croft, Dreamed a dream by the old canal; Kissed my girl by the factory wall, Dirty old town, dirty old town. Heard a siren from the docks, Saw a train set the night on fire; Smelt the spring on the smoky wind, Dirty old town, dirty old town. Clouds a-rolling across the sky, Cats a-prowling upon their beat; Spring’s a girl in the street at night, Dirty old town, dirty old town. I’m going to make a good sharp axe, Shining steel tempered in the fire; We’ll chop you down like an old dead tree, Dirty old town, dirty old town.

 

 

trad 

 

Collected by Ewan MacColl and Peggy Seeger from Sam Larner, probably from American music hall tradition due in part to reference to the Knickerbocker Line, which was in Boston.

The Teacups: https://haystackrecords.bandcamp.com/track/dogger-bank

https://haystackrecords.bandcamp.com/track/dogger-bank

Sailing over the Dogger Bank Oh, wasn’t it a treat? The wind a-blowing ’bout east north east, We had to give our sheet. You should to see us rally, The wind a-blowing free, A passage from the Dogger Bank To Great Grimsby. Chorus: So watch her, twig her, She’s a proper juber-ju. Give her the sheet and let her rip, We’re the boys to see her through. You should to see us rally, The wind a-blowing free, A passage from the Dogger Bank To Great Grimsby. Now the captain he’s a shangaroosh And he loves a drop of good ale, The mate he is a road-stone inspector, He’s been seen in many a jail. The third hand he’s a bush ranger, He comes from the African Isle, And take a look at the poor old cook, He gets the bugger wild. Now, we are the boys to make a noise When we come home from sea, We get right drunk, we roll on the floor, We have a jubilee; We get right drunk and full of beer We roll all over the floor, And when the rent it is all spent, We’ll go to sea for more. So it’s watch her, twig her, It’s down the street she came; With high heels and painted toes Good Jinnie is on the game She is one of them flash girls, Can’t she cut a shine? She can do a double shuffle On the Knickerbocker Line.

 

 

trad 1649

 

Martin Carthy wrote in 1988 “It was written in 1649 by an anonymous pamphleteer and with the removal of verses or lines particular to that time becomes a reflection of the propaganda lie currently being touted for all it’s worth (again) that violence or the threat of it will get you nowhere. The tune is adapted from a Breton pipe tune called Ar Ch’akouz (The Leper).” The Melrose Quartet added in 2017 “Martin added verses 3 and 5 in the 1980s and encouraged us to add our own for this revisiting.”

The Melrose Quartet: https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/dominion-of-the-sword

https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/dominion-of-the-sword

Lay by your pleading, law lies a-bleeding Burn all your studies down, and throw away your reading Small power the word has, and can afford us Not half so much privilege as the sword does It’ll the foster the master, plaster disaster This’ll make a servant quickly greater than the master Ventures, enters, seeks and it centres Ever the upper hand, never the dissenter Kruger, Krugerrand-a, whither do you wander? Gone to the suborning of Hastings Banda Kruger Krugerrand-a, tear you all asunder Beira to Luanda, Gaborone to Nyanga Talks of small things, it sets up all things This’ll master money, though money masters all things It is not season to talk of reason Never call it loyal when the sword says treason Balm for the whaler, balm for the the furrier This’ll get the measure of an eco warrior Incognito, come and sink a Rainbow President will never know, I should bloody coco Build a drone, fly it, governments will buy it Devils in the desert sand give us a chance to try it Don’t need their ident, propaganda strident Blow them up remotely with a Hellfire or a Trident. Subtle deceiver turns calm to fever See the pilgrim flay the unbeliever It’ll make a lay man preach and to pray man It’ll make a Lord of him that was but a drayman Conquers the crown too, grave and the gown too Set you up a province but it’ll pull it down too No gospel can guide it, no law decide it In church or state, till the sword sanctified it Take books, rent ’em, who can invent ’em? When that the sword says there’ll be no argumentum Blood that is spilt, sir, has gained all the guilt, sir Thus have you seen me run my sword up to the hilt, sir

 

 

trad 

 

Appears in James Hogg’s 1819 “Jacobite Relics”. Silly Wizard: “Donald MacGillavry was captain in charge of a section of the Highland army during the Jacobite Rebellion of 1715. In this song, however, his name is used to represent the entire Jacobite force.”

Silly Wizard: Silly Wizard Live – Donald McGillavry

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=appBtXoxfb8

Donald’s gane up the hill hard and hungry, Donald comes down the hill wild and angry; Donald will clear the gouk’s nest cleverly, Here’s to the king and Donald Macgillavry. ÿÿÿÿCome like a weighbauk, Donald Macgillavry, ÿÿÿÿCome like a weighbauk, Donald Macgillavry, ÿÿÿÿBalance them fair, and balance them cleverly: ÿÿÿÿOff wi’ the counterfeit, Donald Macgillavry. Donald’s run o’er the hill but his tether, man, As he were wud, or stang’d wi’ an ether, man; When he comes back, there’s some will look merrily: Here’s to King James and Donald Macgillavry. ÿÿÿÿCome like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry, ÿÿÿÿCome like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry, ÿÿÿÿPack on your back, and elwand sae cleverly; ÿÿÿÿGie them full measure, my Donald Macgillavry. Donald has foughten wi’ rief and roguery; Donald has dinner’d wi’ banes and beggary, Better it were for Whigs and Whiggery Meeting the devil than Donald Macgillavry. ÿÿÿÿCome like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry, ÿÿÿÿCome like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry, ÿÿÿÿPush about, in and out, thimble them cleverly, ÿÿÿÿHere’s to King James and Donald Macgillavry. Donald’s the callan that brooks nae tangleness; Whigging and prigging and a’newfangleness, They maun be gane: he winna be baukit, man: He maun hae justice, or faith he’ll tak it, man. ÿÿÿÿCome like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry, ÿÿÿÿCome like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry; ÿÿÿÿBeat them, and bore them, and lingel them cleverly, ÿÿÿÿUp wi’ King James and Donald Macgillavry. Donald was mumpit wi’ mirds and mockery; Donald was blinded wi’ blads o’ property; Arles ran high, but makings were naething, man, Lord, how Donald is flyting and fretting, man. ÿÿÿÿCome like the devil, Donald Macgillavry, ÿÿÿÿCome like the devil, Donald Macgillavry; ÿÿÿÿSkelp them and scaud them that proved sae unbritherly, ÿÿÿÿUp wi’ King James and Donald Macgillavry!