Category: songs

Leon Rosselson 1991

Nancy Kerr: "'Nannerl' is Maria Anna Mozart (1751-1829) and I'd always heard this as an 'ignored woman genius' biography. Deeper listening also uncovers the speaker's subtle disdain not just for the wayward brother but for art itself. 'In the end, what good did all that music do?' Of course, this should really be played on the clavier, but I decided to use viola - the ignored genius of the string section." Rosselson: "The bicentenary of Mozart's death in 1991 seemed to me to be worth a small song. Nannerl, like her younger brother, was a wonder child on the clavier. Both were paraded round Europe by their proud father for the entertainment and amusement of the aristocracy."

Nancy Kerr: https://nancykerr.bandcamp.com/track/whatever-happened-to-nannerl

Chorus:
Whatever happened to Nannerl, Nannerl?
She showed such promise as a girl
With her nimble little fingers
Racing up and down the keyboard
Why do we never hear her name, her name?
And we thought she was bound for fame.

Sitting playing duets at the harpsichord
What a pretty pair they made
She was so demure she hardly said a word
He was such a show-off, always on parade
Expecting to be worshipped like a god
He was a cocky little sod

She showed no resentment that her father lavished
All of his attention on the boy
Spoiled him so that if he felt he wasn’t loved
Tears would be the girlish weapon he’d employ
While she was always smiling, being good
Behaving as a daughter should

(talent as a girl)

Trouble was he didn’t understand the times
Never learned to bend of knew his place
Always telling smutty jokes and playing games
Mocking his superiors, such a disgrace
To say that the Archbishop was a prick
The man was definitely sick

(talent as a girl)

Nannerl married well and was her pa’s support
Settled down to lead a useful life
Her brother went his own way, broke his father’s heart
With his wilful ways and foolish choice of wife
Lived it up as if he was a lord
You don’t spend what you can’t afford

(promise, for a girl)

Arrogance, in my view, was what brought him low
Thought that he could make it on his own
And in the end what good did all that music do
Spent his last days scrounging, begging for a loan
You must obey the rules, work hard and save
Or end up in a pauper’s grave

(talent, for a girl) 

trad 1850-52

Appears with very similar text in 3 broadsides. Epic dating of the song on Mudcat based on the historical references.

Come all you true sons of Erin; attend to these few simple lines:
I’ll sing you a song about spinning. It was a good trade in old times.
Some they spun worsted and yarn, and others they spun flax and tow.
By experience, my friends, you may learn how the wheels of the world they do go.

Chorus:
So these are the wheels of the world, my friends, you must all understand.
For three hundred years, they’ve been spinning destruction all over the land.

Lord Nelson he was a good spinner on board of the ship Victory.
He was counted the greatest of spinners that ever set sail on the sea.
His shipmen were all famous spinners. For Nelson they spun very well,
But the French spun a ball in Trafalgar, and on the ship deck Nelson fell.

Napoleon he was a good spinner, for freedom did always advance.
Over deserts and great lofty mountains, he led on the brave sons of France.
Old Wellington he went a-spinning. His wheels they were at Waterloo;
But if Grouchy had never been bribed, the French would have split him in two.

The factory masters are spinning. Their wheels they are turning away,
And now they are wanting their hands for to work thirteen hours a day.
They don’t care a fig for the poor. They heed not their sighs nor their moans.
They don’t care a pin if you work till you spin all the flesh off your bones.

The rich they are all famous spinners, and you are very well sure
They are always contriving a scheme to crush down the rights of the poor.
So if you’re compelled to go spinning, let each of your spindles be steel.
Let “Liberty” then be your motto, and glory will turn your wheel. 

trad

When first I came to Caledonia And I got loading at number three,
And I got lodging with Donald Norman, He had a daughter could make good tea.

And it was me and my brother Charlie, Two bigger shavers you ne’er did see,
We’re spearing eels in the month of April And starving slaves out on Scatarie.

I went to Norman to buy some brochan, A cake of soap and a pound of tea.
But Norman said that I could not have them Till fish got plenty on Scatarie.

So I went over to the big harbour, I only went for to see the spray.
I saw a maid from Boularderie over, She looked to me like the Queen of May.

If I had pen from Pennsylvania, And I had paper so snowy white,
And I had ink of rosy morning, A true love letter to you I’d write.

I put my foot on the deepest ocean As far from land as once I could be,
A-sailing over the deepest water A woman’s love’d never bother me.

I set my head to a cask of brandy And it’s a dandy I do declare,
For when I’m drinking I’m sad and thinking How I could gain that young lady fair? 

trad 

Oscar Brand translated it in 1957 from a Pennsylvania Dutch song.

The Melrose Quartet: https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/when-i-first-came-to-this-land

When I first came to this land, I was not a wealthy man
So I got myself a shack And I did what I could
And I called my shack “break my back”
For the land was sweet and good, and I did what I could

So I got myself a cow…And I called my cow “no milk now”
And I called my shack “break my back”

So I got myself a hen…And I called my hen “now and then”
…cow…shack

So I got myself a duck…And I called my duck “out of luck”
…hen…cow…shack

So I got myself a wife…And I called my wife “love of my life”
…duck…hen…cow…shack

So I got myself a son…And I called my son “my work’s done”
…wife…duck…hen…cow…shack 

Phil Ochs 1966

There’s no place in this world where I’ll belong when I’m gone
And I won’t know the right from the wrong when I’m gone
And you won’t find me singin’ on this song when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here

And I won’t feel the flowing of the time when I’m gone
All the pleasures of love will not be mine when I’m gone
My pen won’t pour a lyric line when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here

And I won’t breathe the brandy air when I’m gone
And I can’t even worry ’bout my cares when I’m gone
Won’t be asked to do my share when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here

And I won’t be running from the rain when I’m gone
And I can’t even suffer from the pain when I’m gone
Can’t say who’s to praise and who’s to blame when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here

Won’t see the golden of the sun when I’m gone
And the evenings and the mornings will be one when I’m gone
Can’t be singin’ louder than the guns while I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here

All my days won’t be dances of delight when I’m gone
And the sands will be shifting from my sight when I’m gone
Can’t add my name into the fight while I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here

And I won’t be laughin’ at the lies when I’m gone
And I can’t question how or when or why when I’m gone
Can’t live proud enough to die when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here 

trad

When Spring comes on then the birds do sing, The lambs do skip and the bells do ring
While we enjoy their glorious charm
so noble and so gay.

Chorus:
The primrose blooms, the cowslips too,
The violets in their sweet retire, the roses shining through the briar,
And the daffodown-dillies which we admire will die and fade away.

Young men and maidens they will be seen On mountains high and meadows green,
They will talk of love and sport and play While them young lambs do skip away.
At night they homeward wend their way
When evening stars appear.

The dairymaid to milking goes, her blooming cheeks as red as a rose,
And she carries her pail all on her arm
so cheerful and so gay,

Chorus tune:
She milks, she sings, and the valleys ring.
The small birds on the branches there sit listening to this lovely fair
For she is her master’s trust and care, she is the ploughman’s joy. 

trad 

Bright Wings Chorus: https://brendantaaffe.bandcamp.com/track/when-the-world-comes-to-an-end

Oh the stars they will be falling
Yes the stars they will be falling
Oh the stars they will be falling
When this world comes to an end

Oh, sisters do get ready…For the time is drawing near

Chorus:
Oh there’ll be signs and wonders
Yes, there’ll be signs and wonders
Oh, there’ll be signs and wonders
When this world comes to an end

Oh the sun she will be darkened…When this world comes to an end

Oh the moon she will be bleeding…When this world comes to an end

Oh the stars they will be falling…When this world comes to an end

 

 

Penka Jane Čulevski 2020

I’ll drink my whiskey neat again
Sing in chorus with my friends
Wish well to Johnny, our dear bartend
When they reopen all the bars

Chorus:
When they reopen all the bars (x2)
We’ll all shake hands and all link arms
When they reopen all the bars

I’ll give a hug to sweet Colleen
And hear her whistle bright and keen
When all of us may reconvene
When they reopen all the bars

We’ll sit together knee to knee
Sharing tunes and converse free
Passing hours cheerfully
When they reopen all the bars

We’ll gayly greet old Jackie Tar
Hunt the bucks of Orenmore
Banish misfortune when frost’s all ‘or
When they reopen all the bars

We’ll raise a glass, fear to dispel
And one for those who made us well
We’ll raise one more for those that fell
When they reopen all the bars

We’ll gather then, long overdue
All our friendships to renew
I’ll kiss my love there in full view
When they reopen all the bars 

John Tams 1987

Tams wrote a number of songs for plays he was involved with and this was one of them.

‘Round goes the wheel of fortune, don’t be afraid to ride,
There’s a land of milk and honey waits on the other side;
There’ll be peace and there’ll be plenty, you’ll never need to roam,
When we go rolling home, when we go rolling home.

Chorus:
Rolling home, (when we go) rolling home, (when we go);
Rolling, rolling, when we go rolling home.

The gentry in its fine array do prosper night and morn,
While we unto the fields must go to plow and sow the corn;
The rich may steal the power, but the glory is our own,

The summer of resentment, the winter of despair,
The journey to contentment is set with trap and snare;
Stand true and stand together, your labour is your own,

The frost is on the hedgerow, the icy winds do blow,
While we poor weary labourers strive through the sleet and snow;
Our hopes fly up to glory, up where the larks do go,

So pass the bottle ’round, and let the toasts go free,
It’s a health to every labourer, wherever he may be;
Fair wages now and ever, let’s reap what we have sown,

‘Round goes the wheel of fortune, don’t be afraid to ride,
There’s a land of milk and honey, waits on the other side;
There’ll be peace and there’ll be plenty, you’ll never need to roam, 

Stephen J. Lawrence & Shelly Miller 1972

When we grow up, will I be pretty? Will I be big and strong?
Will I wear dresses that show off my knees? Will I wear trousers twice as long?

Chorus:
Well, I don’t care if I’m pretty at all
And I don’t care if I never get tall
I like what you look like and you’re nice small
We don’t have to change at all.

When we grow up, will I be a lady? Will I be on the moon?
Well, it might be alright to dance by its light But I’m gonna get up there soon

When I grow up, I’m gonna be happy. And do what I like to do.
Like making noise! And making faces! And making friends like you.

Final chorus:
And when we grow up, do you think we’ll see
That I’m still like you and you’re still like me?
I might be pretty. I might grow tall
But we don’t have to change at all.