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trad 

West was apparently a real boarding-house keeper in Liverpool who would "train" inexperienced farmers and mill-hands to be sailors pretty much as described in the song. Bert Lloyd wrote in 1957 that West was active in the "latter days of sail" and one source says 1870s.

Gallimaufry

As I went walkin’ down London Road, I come to Paddy West’s house,
He gave me a meal of American hash and he said it was Liverpool scouse,
He said, “There’s a ship, she’s wantin’ hands, and on her you must sign,
Oh, the mate’s a bastard, the bosun’s worse, but I think she’ll suit you fine.”

Chorus:
So take off your dungaree jacket, and give yourselves a rest,
And we’ll think on them cold nor’westers that we had at Paddy West’s.

And it’s when the meal was over, boys, the wind began to blow.
Paddy sends me to the attic, the main-royal for to stow,
But when I got to the attic, why, no main-royal could I find,
So I turned myself ’round to the window, boys, and I furled the window blind.

Now Paddy he calls all hands on deck, their stations for to man.
And his wife she stood in the doorway with a bucket in her hand;
Paddy sings out, “Now let ‘er rip!” and she flings the water our way,
Sayin’, “Clew in the fore t’gan’sl, boys, she’s takin’ in the spray!”

Now that seein’ we’re bound for the south’ard, boys, to Frisco we was bound;
Paddy he calls for a length of rope, and he lays it on the ground,
We all stepped over, and back again, and he says to me, “That’s fine,
Now if ever they ask were you ever at sea you can say you crossed the line.”

And there’s one more thing that you must do before you sail away,
Just step around the table, boys, where the bullock’s horn do lay.
And if ever they ask, “Was you ever at sea?”
you can say, “Ten times ’round the Horn.”

Alan Doyle & Séan McCann 1997

I’ve got a smile on my face, and I’ve got four walls around me
I’ve got the sun in the sky, all the water surround me, oh you know
Yeah, I’ll win now but sometimes I’ll lose
I’ve been battered, but I never bruise
It’s not so bad

Chorus:
And I say way-hey-hey, it’s just an ordinary day
And it’s all your state of mind
At the end of the day, you’ve just got to say It’s all right

Janie sings on the corner, what keeps her from dying?
Let them say what they want, she won’t stop trying, oh you know
She might stumble, if they push her ’round
She might fall, but she’ll never lie down
It’s not so bad

In this beautiful life, there’s always some sorrow
And it’s a double-edged knife, but there’s always tomorrow, oh you know
It’s up to you now if you sink or swim
Just keep the faith and your ship will come in
It’s not so bad 

Horatius Bonar 1860 & Ira Sankey 1891

Bonar was a Scottish pastor in Leith, and wrote many hymns. He wrote the poem that became this song as the ten-stanza "Everlasting Memorial". Sankey was an American hymn singer who worked with preacher Dwight Moody, and adapted three of Bonar's stanzas to music after meeting Bonar on a tour. John Tams wrote 3 new verses for multiple plays. Will Quale writes "Though the source of the song was Bonar and Sankey, without Tams's secular adaptations (and Coope, Boyes & Simpson's performances and recordings of Tams's adaptations), it would likely never have become the popular folk anthem it is today." Tams wrote "I trawled obsessively, the Moody and Sankey hymnbook seeking songs and anthems that might otherwise be overlooked. Right or wrong I edited out many of the "Godly" references and made new verses... I wasn't trying to de-Christianise them, just to reappraise them, put them back to be sung out loud by anyone who took something from them, Christians and Non-Christians alike." Verses 1,3, and 5 below are Sankey's; 4, 6, and 7 are Tams' (added in 2007, 2017, and 1990 respectively). Verse 2 is adapted by Alex Ellis from the only one of Bonar's stanzas not adapted by Sankey whose poetry rises above sepulchral tedium.

Fading away like the stars of the morning
Losing their light in the glorious sun
Thus would we pass from the earth and its toiling
Only remembered for what we have done.

Chorus:
Only remembered, only remembered
Only remembered by what we have done.
(last two lines of previous verse)

Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshness,
When the scent’s flowers are closed up and gone,
So would I be to this world’s weary dwellers,
Only remembered for what I have done.

Shall we be missed though by others succeeded
Reaping the fields we in springtime have sown?
No, for the sowers may pass from their labors
Only remembered for what they have done

Horses and men, plowshares and traces
The line on the land and the paths of the sun
Season by season we mark nature’s graces
Only remembered for what we have done.

Only the truth that in life we have spoken,
Only the seed that in life we have sown
These shall pass onwards when we are forgotten:
Only remembered for what we have done.

Where are they running? Why are they falling?
Fewer still fewer than what was begun
Ghosts in the morning mist voicelessly calling
Only remembered for what we have done. 

Who’ll sing the anthems and who’ll tell the story
Will the line hold? Will it scatter and run?
Shall we at last be united in glory?
Only remembered for what we have done

Benedict Gagliardi 2016

melody 'Awake, Arise Good Christians' trad. Sheffield carol

The Vox Hunters: https://thevoxhunters.bandcamp.com/track/one-species-are-we

Of three domains of all life, eukaryotes are we
Inside each cell within us, a nucleus there be
Bacteria, Archaea, unfortunate are they
They have no membrane bound around their strands of DNA

Chorus:
Linnaeus! Linnaeus! Here’s to your hierarchy
And let it not betray us! One species are we!

Come all you motile metazoans and listen to my song
The kingdom Animalia is where we all belong
The plants may have their chlorophyll to photosynthesize
But animals are heterotrophs and so are the Fungi

Our backbone gives us structure, our backbone gives us strength
So with the other chordates, we find our phylum rank
But let our boney ego never be unfurled
For the spineless worms and insects, they truly rule the world

By the milk our mothers gave us, by the hair upon our skin
It’s clear that we are mammals, class Mammalia we’re in
Most have a placenta, but this class has strange extremes
Like the milky-pouched marsupials and egg-laying monotremes

So let’s put things in order, now that we’ve been to class
With monkeys, apes, prosimians, we, the primates, do amass
We all can be distinguished by our well-filled craniums
And the envy of all other life: two fine opposable thumbs

Welcome to our family, all Great Apes are we
Orangutan, gorilla and our cousin chimpanzee
But if you believe bonobos just evolved into man
It seems you treat your own brain just like a garbage can

Homo is the genus of the African bipeds
Who stood erect, and picked up tools, and learned to use their heads
Our cousins are extinct now, leaving only us
But thanks to our bad habits, we may join them soon enough

So we are Homo sapiens but let us not forget
The reason we were given our specific epithet
We earned it for our wisdom, we earned it for our brain
Let fear and hatred never trump our consciousness again

trad 

Collected from John Short by Cecil Sharp in 1914. There is disagreement among other sources what kind of work the shanty was for, and whether it was for a return home or an outward bound trip.

Gawler Family: https://thegawlerfamily.bandcamp.com/track/one-more-day

Don’t you hear the old man growling (one more day)
And don’t you hear the mate a howling (one more day)
Don’t you hear the capstan pawling (one more day)
And don’t you hear the pilot bawling (one more day)

Chorus:
It’s only one more day, me Johnnies, one more day
Come rock and roll me over, one more day

It’s only one more day a-howling
And can’t you hear the gals a-calling
It’s only one more day a-furling
And only one more day a-cursing

Heave and sight the anchor, me Johnny
We’re close aboard to port, me Johnny
Put out your long-tail blue, me Johnny
The trip is nearly through, Johnny

There’s only one more day a-pumping
There’s only one more day a-bracing
Well we’re homeward bound today, Johnny
Well we’ll leave her without sorrow, Johnny 

John Krumm 1985

Rise Again: "Onawa Pardini was the young daughter of a square dance caller & fiddler who loved singing & dancing. After a car crash she entered a coma. This round was written to be sung each evening while awaiting her return to consciousness, which sadly never happened."

Part 1: I’ve been waiting all the day long to see the stars in your eyes

Part 2: My love come dance with me now, see how the evening flies

Part 3: And as you sleep my dear, know that I’ll be near to hold you when you arise 

John Kirkpatrick

John Kirkpatrick: https://towerseyfestival.bandcamp.com/track/on-the-road-to-freedom

On the fifteenth day of August (In Eighteen Hundred and Forty-Two)
The people are out a-marching And you’d be marching too
Marching into Hanley town To show we shan’t be beaten down
Chase the masters round and round

Refrain:
On the road to freedom

Oh the police will not contain us (in 1842)
No righteous soul will blame us For they’d be marching too
The infantrymen are going to try We’ll leave them standing wondering why
We can’t be stopped, we’re flying so high

Oh there’s more of us marching with every stride (in 1842)
The masters’ doors we’ll fling them wide And all go marching through
By Shelton Bridge we’ll carry along On to Stoke we’ll take our song
And now we’re marching thousand strong

We who are the labouring poor (in 1842)
Come hammering at the rich man’s door As we go marching through
It’s time they gave a decent share Time they saw the load we bear
Time we showed them how to care

Oh we’re marching away from slavery (in 1842)
From hunger and from poverty And you’d be marching too
We’ll smash the shackles that hold us down Smash the chains where we’ve been bound
Smash the masters too the ground

On the fifteenth day of August (in 1842)
The people are out a-marching And you’d be marching too
The taste of victory in the air The soldiers only stand and stare
On the road to Burslem Square

Mike Harding 1977

I learned this from the Arrowsmith:Robb Trio album All the Salt, which is not available online.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”
Said the brass faced man in the blood red suit,
With the medal ribbons hanging at the shoulder,
“It’s not my fault but you can’t stand here,
‘Cause it contravenes the by-laws and it’s against the regulations
I don’t know why, I’ve just got a job to do.”

Chorus:
For there’s no smiling, no smiling on a Monday,
No laughing, no laughing on a Tuesday,
No singing on a Wednesday, no dancing on a Thursday,
No breathing on a Friday, no living on a Saturday,
And on Sunday, yes on Sunday, no loving at all.

“Little boy, you can’t fish here”
Said the plus four legs in the harris-tweed voice,
To the small boy standing by the river,
“Don’t you know that this river runs,
By courtesy of Lord Muckybrass, and God, and all his angels,
Don’t look like that, or I’ll confiscate your smile.”

“I’m sorry but you can’t stay here,”
Said the brick faced man with the cast iron hands,
And the weight of plans and profits on his shoulders,
“We’ve got to move you out of here,
And tear down your dreams, and bulldoze your hopes,
And leave your memories smouldering in the rubble.”

“We can’t have lovers lying here”
Said the clay faced man with the crow black eyes,
And the shotgun nestled on his shoulder,
“Get up, get dressed and get out of here,
‘Cause you’ll scandalise the crops, and you’ll frighten all the cows,
And besides, it’s free, and no-one makes a profit.” 

Larry Kaplan 1976

Capt. Zebulon Tilton, skippered the schooner Alice B. Wentworth out of Vineyard Haven. He retired at age 83; Rosie and Gertie were his daughters. The song appears on "Cap'n Hawkins' Choice" (Winter Haven Records). Gordon Bok: "Zebulon Tilton was a famous skipper of the coasting schooner Alice S. Wentworth, hauling everything from brick to oysters around New York and New England. Larry Kaplan compiled these stories about Zeb into this song. I was mate in the Wentworth the last year she sailed."

I’m not tired of the wind, I’m not weary of the sea,
But she’s prob’ly had a bellyful of a damned old coot like me.
I’m bound a-shore, she’s gone for better days,
But I’ll see her topsail flyin’ when I come down off the way.

Chorus:
Rosie, get my Sunday shoes, Gertie get my walkin’ cane.
We’ll take another walk to see Old Alice sail again.

Wish I had a nickel for the men I used to know
Who could load three cords of lumber in half an hour or so.
Who could put on sail by hauling, ‘stead of donkeyin’ around.
Then I’d be the poorest coasterman this side of Edgartown.

Any fool can run an engine, it takes brains to work a sail,
I’ve never seen no steamer make much good out of a gale.
You can go and pay your taxes on the rationed gas you get;
But at least to me, the wind is free, and they haven’t run out yet.

If I ever get back to her, you know I’d treat her just the same:
Drive her when I want to, I’d sail in freezing rain.
Park old Alice on the beach, and go dancin’ in the town,
Cause a man who’s fit for hangin’ prob’ly never will get drowned. 

Ian Robb 1985

Good friends, gather round and I’ll tell you a tale.
It’s a story well known to all lovers of ale.
For the old English pub, once a man’s second home
Has been decked out by brewers in plastic and foam.

Chorus:
What have they done to the old Rose and Crown?
The Ship, the King’s Arms, and the World Upside Down.
For oak, brass, and leather, and a pint of the best
Fade away like the sun as it sinks in the west.

And the old oaken bar where the pumps filled your glass
Gives way to Formica and tanks full of gas.
And the landlord behind, once a man of good cheer
Just mumbles the price as he hands you your beer.

And where are the friends who would meet for a jar,
Or a good game of darts in the old public bar?
The dartboard is gone, in its place is a thing
Where you pull on the handle and lose all your tin.

But the worst of it all’s what they’ve done to the beer.
For their shandies and lagers that will make you feel queer.
For an arm and a leg, they will fill up your glass
With a half and half mixture of ullage and gas.

So come all you good people who like to sup ale
Here’s hope to a happier end to my tale
For there’s nothing can fill up your heart with more cheer
Than to sit in a pub with a pint of good beer.