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trad 

"The king was the wren. The wren was the king of the birds. In ancient religions the king was sacrificed every seven years for the fertility and good of the tribe. In some places (Ireland) the queen was royal and married new consorts to be sacrificed. The consort was treated well for seven years (or one year) and then sacrificed by the new consort. A wren was killed and dressed up in ribbons, etc. and carried around the village. This is from Pembrokeshire in South Wales, commemorating the wren-killing on St Stephen's Day, 26 December. "Old Christmas", still celebrated rather than 25 December is Twelfth Night."

Joy, health, love, and peace be all here in this place
By your leave we will sing concerning our king

Our king is well dressed in the silks of the best
In ribbons so rare, no king can compare

We have travelled many miles over hedges and stiles
In search of our king, unto you we bring

We have powder and shot to conquer the lot
We have cannon and ball to conquer them all

Old Christmas is past, Twelfth Night is the last,
And we bid you adieu, great joy to the new 

trad

Never seen the like since I been born,
An Arkansas farmer with his sea boots on
Johnny come down to Hilo, poor old man

Chorus:
Wake her, shake her
Wake that gal with the blue dress on
Johnny come down to Hilo, poor old man

Who’s been here since I been gone,
that pretty little gal with the blue dress on

She’s a downeast gal with a downeast style,
for a dollar a time and it’s all worthwhile

Downeast gals they dress so fine,
they ain’t got Jesus on their mind

I don’t care where in the world I go,
I can’t get away from the calico

My wife she died in Tennessee
And they sent her jawbone back to me

I hung that jawbone on the fence
And I ain’t heard nothing but the jawbone since

So hand me down my riding cane
I’m off to see Ms. Sarah Jane 

trad 

The first known printed version was as a broadside in 1620 which was described as "a pleasant new ballad about the murther of John Barleycorn"

Finest Kind: https://ianrobb1.bandcamp.com/track/john-barleycorn

There were three men came out of the west, their fortunes for to try
And these three men made a solemn vow John Barleycorn must die
They’ve plowed, they’ve sown, they’ve harrowed him in, threw clods upon his head
And these three men made a solemn vow John Barleycorn was dead.

They’ve let him lie for a very long time, ’til the rains from heaven did fall
And little Sir John sprung up his head and so amazed them all
They’ve let him stand ’til midsummer’s day ’til he looked both pale and wan
And little Sir John’s grown a long long beard and so become a man.

They’ve hired men with their scythes so sharp to cut him off at the knee
They’ve rolled him and tied him by the way, serving him most barbarously
They’ve hired men with their sharp pitchforks who’ve pricked him to the heart
And the loader he has served him worse than that for he’s bound him to the cart.

They’ve wheeled him around and around a field ’til they came onto a barn
And there they made a solemn oath on poor John Barleycorn
They’ve hired men with their crabtree sticks to cut him skin from bone
And the miller he has served him worse than that for he’s ground him between two stones.

And little Sir John and the nut brown bowl and his brandy in the glass
And little Sir John and the nut brown bowl proved the strongest man at last
The huntsman he can’t hunt the fox nor so loudly to blow his horn
And the tinker he can’t mend kettle nor pots without a little barleycorn. 

Sydney Carter 1981

Ball lived in the mid-14th century during the Plague and the Hundred Years' War. Most accounts from the time of his are written derisively by his opponents so much of the popular understanding is reconstructed or imagined, but he did emphasize social equity.

Melrose Quartet: https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/john-ball

Who will be the lady, who will be the lord,
When we are ruled by the love of another?
Who will be the lady, who will be the lord,
In the light that is coming in the morning.

Chorus:
Sing, John Ball, and tell it to them all
Long live the day that is dawning!
I’ll crow like a cock, I’ll carol like a lark,
For the light that is coming in the morning.

Eve is the lady, Adam is the lord,
When we are ruled by the love of another,
Eve is the lady, Adam is the lord,
In the light that is coming in the morning.

All shall be ruled by fellowship I say,
All shall be ruled by the love of one another,
All shall be ruled by fellowship I say,
In the light that is coming in the morning.

Labour and spin for fellowship I say,
Labour and spin for the love of one another.
Labour and spin for fellowship I say,
In the light that is coming in the morning. 

trad 

John Connolly wrote in 2004: "This comes from Alfred Williams' collection of traditional song lyrics Folk-Songs of the Upper Thames-the splendid tune was written by ace fiddler Paul Bellamy". Williams calls it "A very old song. Obtained by David Sawyer."

The Davenport Family: https://gavinandamydavenport.bandcamp.com/track/joke-and-push-about-the-pitcher

The silver moon that shines so bright
I swear with reason is my teacher
And, if my midnight glass runs right
There’s time to drink another pitcher

Chorus:
It’s not yet day. It’s not yet day.
Why should we forsake good liquor?
‘Til the sunbeams round us play
Let’s joke and push about the pitcher.

I dearly love a hearty man
No sniggering milk-sop Jimmy Twitcher
That loves a lass, and loves a glass
And loudly calls for another pitcher

They say that we must work all day
And sleep at night to wake much richer
But what is all the world I say
Compared to mirth, my friend, and pitcher

Though one may boast a handsome wife
Yet still strange vagaries may bewitch her
Unvexed I’ll lead a cheerful life
And boldly call for another pitcher

trad 

Archie Fisher recorded in 1976 on The Man With a Rhyme, where he wrote: "An Irish narrative ballad that has been shortened to an Aberdeenshire drinking song. Though I've searched the map of Eire in vain for a 'River Kildare' and changed verse three so that the dog doesn't get shot, the song is essentially still Jeannie Robertson's version heard many years ago and reinspired by the singing of her daughter, Lizzie Higgins."

Now, my name is Jock Stewart,
I’m a canny gaun man,
And a roving young fellow I’ve been.

Chorus:
So be easy and free
When you’re drinkin wi’ me.
I’m a man you don’t meet every day.

I have acres of land,
I have men at command;
I have always a shilling to spare.

Now, I took out my gun,
With my dog I did shoot
All down by the River Kildare.

So, come fill up your glasses
Of brandy and wine,
And whatever the cost, I will pay. 

Julie Matthews 1995

We are a proud land, we stand for freedom
We’ve got the franchise on how to lead them
We’ve got the history and books to prove it
Give us a mountain and we will move it
We rule the waves and the seven seas
We bring the mighty to their knees
We offer hope and inspiration
A fine example to lesser nations
We are Britannia, the jewel in the crown

We brought a system to the masses
Divide the nation into classes
It’s in our breeding and on our faces
At least we’re all born knowing our places
We stay within our social borders
We only take what our class affords us
It doesn’t matter that it’s not even
This is the nature of the demon
We are Britannia, the jewel in the crown

Chorus:
We are Britannia We crowned an empire
We came and conquered We tore their borders down
We need no conscience God is on our side
We are Britannia The jewel in the crown

We are your friendly liberators
We’ll free your country from your dictators
For a small slice of your oil wells
We’ll send our boys in with their gun shells
We are a refuge for the needy
Always caring, never greedy
Whatever gesture could be finer?
We’ve given Hong Kong back to China
We are Britannia, the jewel in the crown 

Dave Goulder 1970

The January man, he walks the road in woollen coat and boots of leather.
The February man still wipes the snow from off his hair and blows his hands.
The man of March he sees the spring and wonders what the year will bring
And hopes for better weather.

Through April rain the man goes down to watch the birds come in to share the summer.
The man of May stands very still watching the children dance away the day.
In June the man inside the man is young and wants to lend a hand
And grins at each newcomer.

And in July the man in cotton shirt, he sits and thinks on being idle.
The August man in thousands takes the road to watch the sea and find the sun.
September man is standing near to saddle up and lead the year
And Autumn is his bridle.

And the man of new October takes the reins and early frost is on his shoulder.
The poor November man sees fire and wind and mist and rain and Winter air.
December man looks through the snow to let eleven brothers know
They’re all a little older.

And the January man comes round again in woollen coat and boots of leather
To take another turn and walk along the icy road he knows so well.
The January man is here for starting each and every year
Along the way for ever. 

Robb Johnson 2025

Everybody likes to talk about their cat
It’s curled up in their heart, makes their home complete
Jana likes to think asleep inside her cat
There beats a tigers heart that is not hers to keep

Chorus:
Jana is sixteen (x2)

I usually start each day in conversation with my cat
She likes it when the sun shines, blames me when it rains
But when she stood outside past midnight in the rain
I call her by her name. Jana does the same

Jana is sixteen, it’s midnight in Jenin.
December the 11th, there’s soldiers everywhere
Calling for her cat, Jana climbs the stairs
A soldier shoots her twice in the face, twice in the chest (x3) 

Fred Small 1991

In the emerald cathedral
In the valley of clouds
In the span of the branches
Two eyes keep the watch
Where the hummingbird dances
And the snake hesitates
With the calm of command
The jaguar waits
The chain saw is whining the bulldozer roars
Monkeys are screeching in flight
The spires of the Arawak cut down at one blow

Chorus:
Where will the jaguar go? (x2)

Under the hammer of hunger
On the anvil of fear
The poor of São Paulo
Stream to the frontier
With the promise of farmland
Honest work honest pay
Till the rains unrelenting
Sweep the topsoil away
The captains of cattle take the land cheap
New York and Osaka crave beef
Hooves crush the dirt into dust below

Bridge:
When the circle is broken When the crystal is cracked
When the thread of creation is torn
We slip through the veil into terrors unknown
Where will the jaguar go?

In the canyons of commerce
In convoys of light
The armies of loneliness
Drive into the night
Trading plastic for plastic
Making fashion of trash
We are dreaming of love
As love turns to ash
The fires of Prometheus flare to the sky
The seas of the prophets boil dry
This gutted globe was a garden I’m told