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John Pole 1973

In the house where I was born, first home I knew
There’s corrugated iron blinding all the windows
In the garden Dad made round the lawn Where green grass grew
There’s muck and rubble and mud, half bricks and cinders
For the developers have come to town
And soon I’ll see it, see it come down
See it come down

My old mum they moved her to a high rise flat
Where she misses her mates and hopes we’ll see her Sunday
She lives alone with a lovely view and a clean doormat
Afraid that death will catch her napping some day
The lady with meals on wheels, the one friend she’s found
Though she cries for the old place, she won’t see it come down
See it come down

Cloud of dust like smoke round a demolition site where I drive my crane
Swinging the big steel ball that smashes walls in
Winch it back careful, get the cable right, let it swing again
There’s a little more no-man’s-land as each brick falls in
A car park and an office block when I’ve cleared the ground
They’ve paid me to see it, and now I’ve seen it come down
Seen it come down

We was all one where we lived, wish we were now
We had debts and dole and kids but we did have neighbours
Where the street was they want to build a tombstone tower
Like a monster concrete moneybox for strangers
Every last square foot of it worth a hundred pounds
Some day we’ll see that come tumbling down
See it come down 

Lal & Mike Waterson 1971

As I walked out one summer’s morn,
I saw a scarecrow tied to a pole in a field of corn.
His coat was black, his head was bare,
And as the wind shook him the crows took into the air.

Chorus 1:
Ah, but you’d lay me down and love me,
Ah, but you’d lay me down and love me if you could.
He’s only a bag of rags in an overall
That the wind sways so the crows fly away and the corn can grow tall.

As I walked out one winter’s day,
I saw an old man tied to a pole in a field of clay.
His coat was gone, his head hung low,
Until the wind flung it up to look, wrung its neck and let it go.

Chorus 2:
How could you lay me down and love me?
How could you lay me down and love me now?
For you’re only a bag of rags in an overall
That the wind blows and the kids throw stones at the thing on the pole.

As I walked out one fine spring day,
I saw twelve jolly dons dressed up in blue and gold so gay.
And to a pole they tied a man new born,
And then the all sang, and the bells rung, as they sowed the corn.

Chorus 3:
Now you can lay me down and love me,
Now you can lay me down and love me if you will.
You’re only a bag of rags in an overall
But the wind blew and the sun shone too and you in the corn stood tall. 

trad 

Mainly Norfolk quotes Kenneth Goldstein in relation to the Ewan MacColl & Peggy Seeger recording in 1957 saying "Early forms of the ballad, dating from the last half of the 17th century, have an elfin knight pose the impossible tasks". I prefer the tune Martin Carthy sings on the 2018 album "Anchor" and on the 2025 "Transform Me Then Into A Fish".

Are you going to Scarborough Fair (Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme)
Remember me to a lass who lives there (For once she was a true love of mine)

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt / Without any seam and no needlework

Tell him to find me an acre of land / Between the sea and the salt sea strand

Tell him to plow it with a lamb’s horn / And to sow it all over with one peppercorn

Tell him to reap it with sickle of leather / And to thrash it all out with a peacock’s feather

When you have done and you’ve finished your work / You can come to me for your cambric shirt 

Edith Gawler & Bennett Konesni

Say little girl won’t you marry me We’ll get married neath the old oak tree (Say darlin’ say)
In the old oak tree we’ll build our home Never more this world to roam (Say darlin’ say)

Hush little darling don’t say a word Poppa’s gonna buy you a mocking bird
If that mocking bird don’t sing Poppa gonna buy you a diamond ring
If that diamond ring is brass I’m gonna buy you a looking glass
If that looking glass gets broke Poppa gonna buy you a billy goat
If that billy goat won’t pull Poppa’s gonna buy you a cart and bull
If that cart and bull falls down You’re still the sweetest thing in town

Say little darlin if you were mine All I’d do is starch and iron
Starch and iron would be our trade We’d get drunk and lay in the shade

Phil Ochs 

And the crabs are crazy, they scuttle back and forth, The sand is burning
And the fish take flight and scatter from the sight, Their course is turning
As the seagulls rest on the cold cannon nest, The sea is churning
The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo

The fishermen sweat, they’re pausing at their nets The day’s a-burning
As the warships sway and thunder in the bay Loud in the morning
But the boy on the shore is throwing pebbles no more He runs a-warning
That the Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo

The streets are still, there’s silence in the hills The town is sleeping
And the farmers yawn in the grey silver dawn The fields they’re keeping
As the first troops land and step into the sand The flags are weeping
The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo

The unsmiling sun is shining down upon The singing soldiers
In the cloud dust whirl they whistle at the girls They’re getting bolder
Ah, the old women sigh, think of memories gone by They shrug their shoulders
The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo

Ready for the tricks, their bayonets are fixed Now they are rolling
And the tanks make tracks past the trembling shacks Where fear is unfolding
All the young wives afraid, turn their backs to the parade With babes they’re holding
The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo

A bullet cracks the sound, the army hit the ground The sniper’s calling
So they open their guns, a thousand to one No sense in stalling
He clutches at his head and totters on the edge Look now, he’s falling
The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo

In the red plaza square, the crowds come to stare The heat is leaning
And the eyes of the dead are turning every head To the widow’s screaming
But the soldiers make a bid, giving candy to the kids Their teeth are gleaming
The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo

Up and down the coast, the generals drink a toast The wheel is spinning
And the cowards and the whores are peeking through the doors To see who’s winning
But the traitors will pretend that it’s getting near the end When it’s beginning
The Marines have landed on the shores of Santo Domingo 

Nancy Kerr 2013

Melrose Quartet: https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/santa-georgia

Well I was not bound for Eden and my bag became a burden
So here I made my garden where the banks of burdocks grow
And there was no gold or silver where the foundry meets the river
In the land of Santa Georgia where the banks of burdocks grow

Chorus:
Where old panes are broken and a thousand tongues are spoken
And new saints awaken where the banks of burdocks grow
So farewell cold winter, we will all shine out together
In the land of Santa Georgia where the banks of burdocks grow

Well there is no peace nor plenty in the land of Old Brigante
And the rain falls down so gently where the banks of burdocks grow
And a fond lover’s sweetness is a lantern in the darkness
Is a grand and burning furnace where the banks of burdocks grow

Well the king he sent his armies from the land of Old Brigante
And the soldiers they grew weary where the banks of burdocks grow
And they stormed the Temple Quarter and the glass fell down like water
In the land of Santa Georgia where the banks of burdocks grow

On the road to Old Brigando where the factory meets the meadow
There’s a candle in my window where the banks of burdocks grow
And a thousand trees are planted in the land of Old Brigante
In the land of Santa Georgia where the banks of burdocks grow 

Bob King 1976?

King lives in Winnipeg and Wikipedia lists one 1990 album of children's music from him.

Chorus:
Sandwiches are beautiful, sandwiches are fine.
I like sandwiches, I eat them all the time;
I eat them for my supper and I eat them for my lunch;
If I had a hundred sandwiches, I’d eat them all at once.

I’m a roaming and a rambling And a wandering all along,
And if you care to listen, I will sing a happy song.
I will not ask a favor And I will not ask a fee,
But if you have a sandwich Won’t you give a bite to me?

Once I went to England, I visited the Queen,
I swear she was the grandest lady That I’ve ever seen.
I told her she was beautiful And could not ask for more,
She handed me a sandwich And she threw me out the door.

A sandwich may be egg or cheese Or even peanut butter
But they all taste so good to me, It doesn’t even matter
Jam or ham or cucumber, Any kind will do.
I like sandwiches, How about you? 

trad 

Originally "Jack Hall", a broadside ballad printed circa 1833-1851. Hall was apparently a real person, executed on 17 December 1707. Peter Kennedy wrote in 1954: "Like many a child of that day, Hall was sold for a few shillings to a chimney sweep. The task of apprentice sweeps was to crawl through the twisting, dark tunnels of the chimneys, cleaning as they went. Often these poor lads were caught by falling soot or some obstruction in a dark chimney and suffocated or burned to death. It was not until 19th century writers exposed this scandal and a law was passed against this cruel exploitation of child labour." Roberts & Barrand wrote in 1992: "Sam Hall is one of the classics of the early Music Hall, though it came to the stage from the folk tradition. W.G. Ross sang it to great acclaim in the 1850's."

Roberts & Barrand: https://johnroberts1.bandcamp.com/track/sam-hall

Oh, my name it is Sam Hall chimney sweep (x2)
Oh my name it is Sam Hall and I’ve robbed both great and small
And now I pay for all, blast your eyes

I killed a man, they said. So they said
I killed a man, they said, I smashed in his head
With a great big lump of lead, blast his eyes

Then the sheriff he came too, he came too
With his little boys in blue
He said Sam, we’ll see you through, blast his eyes

Then they took me took to the quad, to the quad
Then they took me took to the quad, and they tied me to a log
And they left me there by god, blast their eyes

Now I goes up overhill in a cart
I goes up overhill, at St. Gyles I takes my gill
And at Tyburn makes me will, blast your eyes

Then the hangman he came too, he came too
Then the hangman he came too, he said Sam, we’ll see you through
But there’s bloody work to do, blast his eyes

I see Molly in the crowd, in the crowd
I see Molly in the crowd, and I shouted right out loud
Molly, ain’t you proud, blast your eyes

So it’s up the rope I go, up I go
it’s up the rope I go, while you bastards down below
Say Sam, we told you so. Blast your eyes!

This is my funeral knell, funeral knell
This is my funeral knell, but I’ll see you all in Hell
And I hope you grizzled well, blast your eyes 

Stan Rogers 1982

It’s acrimony down in the card room
With winning hands thrown on the baize
Forgotten cards wait on the end of debate
On the good old days
Captains and mates getting testy
With memories not of the best
And tempers are flying Down at the Sailor’s Rest

Blue eyes in wrinkled Morocco
Still search the horizon for squalls
And Zeros in the sky and the watchkeeper’s eye
And the pawn shop balls
The spice in the wind off Java
And the bars in Papity were best
But the deck is too steady Down at the Sailor’s Rest

Chorus:
And oh, how they talk of the day they arrived
When after the years, all the storms and the tears
Still very much alive
And oh, how their lives were spilled out on the floor
From the battered old seabags, the journals and logs
And the keepsakes locked in the chests
That were stowed in the attic sold at the auction Down at the Sailor’s Rest

No rail on the mess room table
And you’re dead if you spit on the floor
No grog allowed, no singing too loud
And no locks on the doors
But there’s always a fire in the card room
And the tucker is always the best
And they’ll end it together Down at the Sailor’s Rest 

Mark Knopfler 2000

First verse rewritten slightly by Alex Ellis

I am Jeremiah Dixon, I am a Geordie boy
A glass of wine with you, sir, and your company I’ll enjoy
All Durham and Northumberland is measured up by my own hand
It was my fate from birth to make my mark upon the earth

Chorus:
We are sailing to Philadelphia, A world away from the coaly Tyne
Sailing to Philadelphia, To draw the line: The Mason-Dixon Line

He calls me Charlie Mason, a stargazer am I
It seems that I was born to chart the evening sky
They’d cut me out for baking bread, but I had other dreams instead
This baker’s boy from the West Country would join the Royal Society

Now you’re a good surveyor, Dixon, but I swear you’ll make me mad
The West will kill us both, you gullible Geordie lad
You talk of liberty; how can America be free
A Geordie and a baker’s boy in the forests of the Iroquois

Now hold your head up, Mason, see, America lies there
The morning tide has raised the capes of Delaware
Come up and feel the sun! A new morning has begun
Another day will make it clear why your stars should guide us here