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Leon Rosselson 1970-72

Chorus:
The man who puffs the big cigar Turns all he touches into stone
The cash flows in from near and far When he picks up the telephone

The value of his property increases daily No one knows
How much he owns and still he schemes The more he buys the more it seems
There is no limit to his dreams And as the market booms His empire grows

Susie: A stripper in a Soho Club She works long hours but not for love
And when men she her body they go crazy
But she just smiles in her heart And keeps herself a soul apart
In her room at night she dreams alone
For Susie loves the man who flies the high trapeze
He’s flying now a thousand miles away
But she knows one day she’ll meet him as she always used to do
By the statue of Eros On a bright summers day

Chorus

And Eros too belongs to him And all the land from miles around
He buys the men who clear the way Who draw the plans to make it pay
He has no time for yesterday His deals are shrewd and his invesments sound

Susie: The men who view her want her for themselves But Susie just ignores
Their looks She knows they can not buy this lady
She walks the world in a see-through dress Self contained self possessed
And in her heart a secret that is hers
A message from the man who flies the high trapeze
A message from a thousand miles away
Telling her to meet him as she always used to do
By the statue of Eros On mid summers day

Chorus

Now all round’ Eros towers rise And concrete slabs that black the sun
And carefully he calculates The profit he expects to make
From each square foot of his estate That’s a bumper crop when all is said and done

Susie: Why are you looking so afraid You know he’ll keep the vow he made
The time has come and gone It won’t be easy
To find him in this concrete maze Walls and railings bar the way
As if she’s lost in space she wanders on
Looking for the man who flies the high trapeze
But he could be a thousand miles away
And cut off by the traffic in the distance out of reach
The statue of Eros And its mid summers day

Chorus

His country mansion tutor style Has priceless pictures on the walls
And he picks up the phone And starts to turn the wheels A scheme to market
Instant cures for broken hearts That could yield handsome dividends for all 

Paddy Ryan 1938

Paddy Ryan was purportedly the stage name of a Dr. R.E.W. Fisher. In 1938 he was a medical student.

Chorus:
I am the man, the jovial man, that waters the workers’ beer (x2)
And what do I care if it makes them ill? For it makes their minds unclear
I’ve a car, a yacht, and an aeroplane, and I waters the workers’ beer

Now, when I waters the workers’ beer, I puts in strychinine
Some methylated spirits, and a can of kerosene
But since a brew so terribly strong would make them terribly queer
So I reaches my hand for the watering can and I waters the workers’ beer

Now, a drop of beer is good for a man who is thirsty and tired and hot
I sometimes have a glass myself from a very special pot
But a strong and healthy working class is the thing that I most fear
So I reaches my hand for the watering can and I waters the workers’ beer

Now, ladies fair, beyond compare, be you maiden or wife
Spare a thought for such a man who leads such a lonely life
For the water rates are frightfully high, and the meths is terribly dear
And there ain’t the profit there used to be in watering the workers’ beer

Now years roll on, and I find myself once again squarely on top
When workers try to shrug the yoke, I need not even call down the cops
But a war on my class feels ever more near and the blade feels close to my ear
So I reaches once more for the watering can and I waters the workers’ beer 

Bernie Parry 1977

The Teacups: https://haystackrecords.bandcamp.com/track/man-of-the-earth

Each day as I go through the old shantytown Where the sheds and allotments all stand
I see an old man on his land With a fork or a spade in his hand
And he’s there in all weather, in sunshine and rain And I hesitate as I walk past
Is he happy or sad with his task? Oh, I haven’t the time for to ask

Chorus:
A man of the Earth, a man of the soil
In his lonely allotment, he labors and toils
And he’s not much to do since he turned sixty-five
So he took to his garden to keep him alive
And I think it’s his joy and his pride

Fifty years in the ironworks broke his will And his back and his shoulders are round
There was no other work in the town So they had him both fettered and bound
Then all of a sudden, he turned sixty-five And the bosses said, “Thank you, my man”
And they stuck a gold watch in his hand And behind him the door quickly slammed

Each Saturday evening he’s down at the pub And he sits by himself at the bar
Slowly sipping the solitary jar Oh, a pension won’t go very far
So he sells a few things to his neighbors and friends Some things from his garden he grows
But he’s got to watch out how he goes Or they’ll stop all his pension, he knows

Each day as I go through the old shantytown Where the sheds and allotments all stand
I see an old man on his land With a fork or a spade in his hand
But I cannot linger, no I must be gone For I work at the ironworks too
I started there five years ago Only forty-five more to go 

trad 

Recorded by The Full English 2013 to a tune by Scan Tester (1886-1972), words collected as early as 1858

When a bumper is filled, it is vexing, no doubt,
To find when you rise that the wine has run out;
And sure it’s an equally unpleasant thing
To be asked for a song when you’ve naught left to sing.
I could sing something old, if an old one would do,
But the world it is craving to have something new.
But what to select for the words or the tune?
I, in fact, know no more than the Man in the Moon.

Chorus:
The Man in the Moon a new light on us throws,
He’s a man we all talk of but nobody knows.
And though a high subject, I’m getting in tune,
I’ll just sing a song for the Man in the Moon.

Tis said that some people are moonstruck, we find,
But the Man in the Moon must be out of his mind.
But it can’t be for love for he’s quite on his own,
No ladies to meet him by moonlight alone.
It can’t be ambition, for rivals he’s none,
At least he is only eclipsed by the sun,
But when drinking, I say, he is seldom surpassed,
For he always looks best when he’s seen through a glass.

The Man in the Moon he must lead a queer life,
With no one around him, not even a wife,
No friends to console him, no children to kiss,
No chance of his joining a party like this.
But he’s used to high life, for each all circles agree,
That none move in such a high circle as he,
And though nobles go up in their royal balloon,
They’re not introduced to the Man in the Moon. 

Jess Arrowsmith 

"This song was written by Jess in celebration of the people who make song, dance and music events happen, and in particular for good friends Jen Wilson & Martyn Harvey. She set her words to the wonderful tune "Mr Isaac's Maggot" (published in Playford's 9th edition of The Dancing Master, 1695)."

Melrose Quartet: https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/make-the-world-anew

Sing, sing, let’s bring good friends together
Leave our cares aside, hope for better weather
Sing, sing, join in our song, forever
Searching for a way to make the world anew

Chorus:
Every note a spark, driving off the dark,
Fan the flames up bright, bring the day more light
Sing, let it ring as we dance to enhance all the evening’s pleasure
Play, if we may, come and stay in your hearts and your memories forever
Sing, dance, play, treasuring every day
The friends along the way who make the world anew

Dance, dance, what chance a finer meeting
Leave our cares aside, join our hands in greeting
Dance, dance, advance in time so fleeting
Forwards on our way to make the world anew

Play, play, this day our tunes we’re sharing
Leave our cares aside, worries they are sparing
Play, play, and say your challenge, daring
All to find a way to make the world anew 

Fields Ward

Chorus:
Make me a pallet on your floor, darlin’ baby
Make me a pallet on your floor
I’m going to my long lonesome home

Who’ll rock the cradle when I’m gone, darlin’ baby
Who’ll rock the cradle when I’m gone
I’m going to my long lonesome road

Who’ll spoon your gravy when I’m gone

Leave me the roses while I’m here darlin’ baby

I won’t need no roses when I’m gone

I’m going where the chilly winds don’t blow

Lester Simpson 1995

Growing up in hard times on the wrong side of the tracks
Means you’re often taking short cuts and you’re always looking back
But though you’re running barefoot chasing dreams down dead end streets
You remember what your mama said about the way to make ends meet

Chorus:
You gotta make it, mend it, wear it out, make it do or do without (x2)

Now when my old man learned his trade they made things that would last
They would temper future vision with a knowledge of the past
If something broke or wore out, well you know they’d feel no shame
For they took pride in using skills to make it good again

Now the watchword is disposable and plastics rule the day
And if something now gets broken, you can only throw it away
But when the wells all dry up and the mines are all worked out
Well you’ll see this house start falling, hear the poor and hungry shout

Now politicians tell you they’re both green and left or right
They can see the problem clearly, they can understand our plight
But if greed’s the only motive, a chance for all to fill their purse
How can things expand forever, you know that bubble’s got to burst 

Ed McGraw 

Recorded by Moon Mullican in 1960. Third verse by Alex Ellis, Fourth verse by Armand Aromin

Chorus:
Make friends, make friends, make friends, try to make friends
While traveling through this world, try to make friends
Wear a smile, not a frown, don’t you put your neighbor down
While traveling through this world, try to make friends

Make friends with the rich, make friends with the poor
Make friends with the high, make friends with the low
Even the little child, you oughta greet him with a smile
While traveling through this world, try to make friends

Sometimes you may be weak, sometimes you may be strong
Sometimes talked about, and sometimes treated wrong
But you just can’t miss, if you just remember this
While traveling through this world, try to make friends

Some say you gotta work, some say you gotta pray
Some say you gotta save, and wait for that rainy day
But you’ll always come up dry just as long as you don’t try
And while traveling through this world, try to make friends

Make friends to the left, make friends to the right
Make friends in between and those on the outside
There’s no day but today so when you greet your neighbor say
While traveling through this world, try to make friends

Stan Rogers 1975

"In 1974 and 1975 I made several visits to Bill and Bev Howell in Halifax. One weekend they left me alone in their house with a stack of Bill's excellent poetry for inspiration, and I wrote 5 songs. This was one of them and I believe the first song for the inshore fishermen that I ever wrote, though hardly the last."

How still lies the bay, in the light western airs
Which blow from the crimson horizon
Once more we tack home, with a dry empty hold
Saving gas with the breezes so fair
She’s a kindly cape islander, old but still sound
But so lost in the long liner’s shadow
Make and Break and make do, but the fish are so few
That she won’t be replaced should she founder

Now its so hard to not think of before the big war
When the cod went so cheap, but so plenty
Foreign trawlers go by now with long seeking eyes
Taking all where we seldom take any
And the young folk don’t stay with the fisherman’s ways
Long ago they all moved to the cities
And the ones left behind old and tired and blind
Won’t work for a pound, for a penny

Chorus:
In Make and Break Harbour the boats are so few
Too many are pulled up and rotten
Most houses stand empty, old nets hung to dry
Are blown away lost and forgotten

Now I can see the big draggers have stirred up the bay
Leaving lobster traps smashed on the bottom
Can they think it don’t pay to respect the old ways
That make and break men have not forgotten
For we still keep our time to the turn of the tide
In this boat that I built with my father
Still lifts to the sky, the “one lunger” and I
Still talk like old friends on the water 

Stan Rogers 1983

Lieutenant Colonel John Macdonell of Greenfield (19 April 1785 - 14 October 1812) was an aide-de-camp to British Major General Sir Isaac Brock during the War of 1812, dying in the Battle of Queenston Heights.

Too thin the line that charged the Heights And scrambled in the clay
Too thin the Eastern Township Scot Who showed them all the way
And perhaps had you not fallen You might be what Brock became
But not one in ten thousand knows your name

To say the name, MacDonnell It would bring no bugle call
But the Redcoats stayed beside you When they saw the General fall
Twas MacDonnell raised the banner then And set the Heights aflame
But not one in ten thousand knows your name

Chorus:
You brought the field all standing With your courage and your luck
But unknown to most, you’re lying there Beside old General Brock
So you know what it is to scale the Heights And fall just short of fame
And have not one in ten thousand know your name

At Queenston now, the General on his tower stands alone
And there’s lichen on ‘MacDonnell’ carved upon that weathered stone
In a corner of the monument to glory you could claim
But not one in ten thousand knows your name