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Keith Marsden 1989

Marsden founded the West Yorkshire folk singing group Cockersdale. The "Rec." is the Recreation Ground and a "corky" is cricket ball which is hard cork covered in leather. Finest Kind: "Keith and his songs are remembered in a delightful tribute song book called Picking Sooty Blackberries (Fellsongs Music Publishing, Workington, Cumbria CA14 3EW), in which the whole story of Jack Ashton and his tall tales can be found."

Finest Kind: https://ianrobb1.bandcamp.com/track/jack-ashton

Oh the times were hard and mean and our childhood days were lean
In the land they said was fit for Flanders heroes
It was all a seaside show where poor folk couldn’t go
We just stood outside while others watched the pierrots
And we only had to spend what our friend Sam Clegg would lend
There was little of Lloyd George’s promised glories
But each evening down the street by the gaslamp we would meet
And we’d listen while Jack Ashton told his stories

Chorus:
Aye we sat there and listened with our mouths open wide
Though we knew in our hearts that the old devil lied
But we needed to believe in the magic he would weave
And we took a glass for old times’ sake the day Jack died

Now our all-wise parents said that he’d a screw loose in the head
And that we were daft to listen to his lies
But we saw their daily grind and heard the magic in his mind
And we knew who was daft and who was wise
Though he nearly broke our necks playing soccer on the Rec
And his bowling with a corky could be gory
As the evening sun went down by the lamp we’d gather round
And we’d listen while Jack Ashton told a story

Now that Jack’s been laid to rest if there’s any justice left
He’ll be telling yarns now to the Holy Ghost
And gathered round his knee open-mouthed as we would be
Sit saints and angels, all the heavenly host
And he’ll tell them how he saved old Moses from the waves
And slew Goliath with one mighty blow
While an all-forgiving Lord listens smiling at his words
As we did by the gas lamp long ago

Robert Burns 1794

Detailed analysis

Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a’ that?
The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, and a’ that, Our toils obscure and a’ that,
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, The man’s the gowd for a’ that.

What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, and a’ that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man’s a man for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that, Their tinsel shew, and a’ that,
The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor, Is king o’ men for a’ that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord, Wha struts and stares and a’ that;
Tho’ hundreds worship at his word, He’s but a coof for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that, His ribband, star, and a’ that,
The man o’ independent mind, He looks and laughs at a’ that.

A prince can make a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a’ that;
But an honest man’s aboon his might, Gude faith, he maunna fa’ that!
For a’ that, and a’ that, Their dignities and a’ that;
The pith o’ sense, and pride o’ worth, Are higher rank than a’ that.

Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will, for a’ that,
That sense and worth, o’er a’ the earth, May bear the gree, and a’ that!
For a’ that, and a’ that, It’s coming yet for a’ that,
That man to man, the warld o’er, Shall brothers be for a’ that. 

Phil Ochs 1966

Is there anybody here Who’d like to change his clothes into a uniform?
Is there anybody here Who thinks they’re only serving on a raging storm?
Is there anybody here with glory in their eyes
Loyal to the end, whose duty is to die?

Chorus:
I wanna see him,
I wanna wish him luck
I wanna shake his hand,
Wanna call his name
Put a medal on the man
Is there anybody here proud of the parade
Who’d like to give a cheer and show they’re not afraid?
I’d like like to ask him what he’s trying to defend
I’d like to ask him what he thinks he’s gonna win

Is there anybody here Who’d like to wrap a flag around an early grave?
Is there anybody here Who thinks they’re standing taller on a battle wave?
Is there anybody here who’d like to do his part
Soldier to the world and a hero to his heart?

Is there anybody here Who thinks that following the orders takes away the blame?
Is there anybody here Who wouldn’t mind a murder by another name?
Is there anybody here whose pride is on the line
With the honor of the brave and the courage of the blind? 

Leon Rosselson 1966

Rosselson adapted the text from Déjeuner du Matin, a verse by French poet Jacques Prévert. Kerr: "I will always associate this with the 1966 album Love Loneliness Laundry, its somehow dystopian guitar riff, and Val Bailey's wonderful vocals which are simultaneously stoic and enraged. Leon has observed that feminism 'declared the personal to be political which seems to me to be a very good idea as far as songwriting is concerned.'"

Nancy Kerr: https://nancykerr.bandcamp.com/track/invisible-married-breakfast-blues

Nobody looking at me
He puts the spoon in the sugar and the sugar in the tea
And he unfolds his paper methodically
And he stirs his tea and sips his tea
Without looking at me

He sips his tea without looking at me
With an automatic gesture he taps his knee
And he looks at his watch mechanically
And he smiles at me across an empty sea
Without looking at me

He smiles at me without looking at me
And his smile is as heavy as gravity
And it falls on the table and the cups of tea
And inevitably he kisses me
Without looking at me

He kisses me without looking at me
And he turns at the door as if to see
If there’s something he’s forgotten but it’s only me
And he looks at me across an empty sea
Without looking at me

Bridge:
Without looking at me, without looking at me
Alone with my own invisibility
And the tablecloth stained and staring at me
And the sugar bowl floating in an empty sea
And an empty cup where my heart ought to be
And nobody, nobody looking at me 

Julie Rhodes 2016

Julie Rhodes: https://julierhodes.bandcamp.com/track/in-your-garden

Chorus:
Go on and leave me like another weed in your garden
Nothing I can stay is gonna make you stay
Don’t call me when you know the flowers are gone and
Your skies are cloudy and gray

It ain’t wrong to want a little more sunshine
I ain’t ashamed to want a little more rain
I ain’t gonna beg no I ain’t gonna plead no more
You ain’t never given one good thing to thank for

I’m so tired of all your messin’ ’round
Nothing’s gonna grow between you and I
I gotta go, honey, and leave this town
Find someplace where my roots grow right

It’s a long way from here to New York City
It’s a long way from here to Shanghai
I don’t care anymore, I’ve heard it all before
Everything you say is a lie, lie, lie 

Robert W. Service 

Set to music by David Parry 1993. Poem date unknown; Service was actively writing 1905-1955; published in Later Collected Verses 1965 so probably written later in his life

Finest Kind: https://ianrobb1.bandcamp.com/track/in-praise-of-alcohol

Of vintage wine I am a lover;
To drink deep would be my delight;
If ’twere not for the bleak hangover
I’d get me loaded every night;
I’d whoop it up with song and laughter
If ’twere not for the morning after.

For though to soberness
I’m given It is a thought I’ve often thunk:
The nearest that is Earth to Heaven
Is to get sublimely drunk;
Is to achieve divine elation
By means of generous libation.

Alas, the wine-cups claim their payment
And as the price if often pain,
If we could sense what morning grey meant
We never would get soused again;
Rather than buy a hob-nailed liver
I’m sure that we’d abstain for ever.

Yet how I love the glow of liquor,
As joyfully I drink it up!
Hoping that unto life’s last flicker
With praise I’ll raise the ruby cup;
And let me like a jolly monk
Proceed to get sublimely drunk. 

trad 

Wikipedia: "considered the official anthem of Yorkshire. It is sung to the hymn tune 'Cranbrook', composed by Thomas Clark in 1805; while according to Andrew Gant, the words were composed by members of Halifax [12 miles away] Church Choir 'some 50 years after Clark wrote his melody', on an outing to Ilkley Moor."

Where hast thou been since I saw thee (I saw thee)
On Ilkla Moor baht ‘at?
Where hast thou been since I saw thee (Where hast thou been since I saw thee)
Where hast thou been since I saw thee (Without thy trousers on)

Chorus:
On Ilkla Moor baht ‘at? (x3)

Thou’s been a courting Mary Jane

Thou’s bound to catch thy death of cold

Then we shall have to bury thee

Then worms’ll come and eat thee up

Then ducks’ll come and eat up worms

Then we shall go and eat up ducks

Then we shall all have eaten thee

Tom Chapin 1994

If only, if only fair were everywhere
We’d breathe it in like air
And everyone would share.
If only, if only fair were everywhere.

If only, if only we’d learn to share our bread
The whole world could be fed,
There’s plenty here to spare,
If only, if only fair were everywhere.

Bridge 1:
Plenty of food, not enough share.
Plenty of hurt, not enough care.
Plenty of you, plenty of me,
Not enough we. No, not enough we.

If only, if only life was like a game
And the rules were just the same
For maid or millionaire,
If only, if only fair were everywhere.

Bridge 2:
The world is so big, we’re pretty small.
Hard to imagine changing it all.
But let us begin; let us agree:
I’ll do unto you. You’ll do unto me.

And someday, some someday
Fair will be everywhere.
We’ll breathe it in like air
And everyone will share
Oh, someday, some someday
When fair is everywhere, fair is everywhere. 

Lyle Lovett 1987

Chorus:
And if I had a boat I’d go out on the ocean
And if I had a pony I’d ride him on my boat
And we could all together Go out on the ocean
I said me upon my pony on my boat

If I were Roy Rogers I’d sure enough be single
I couldn’t bring myself to marrying an old Dale
Well, it’d just be me and Trigger We’d go riding through them movies
Then we’d buy a boat and on the sea we’d sail

The mystery masked man was smart He got himself a Tonto
‘Cause Tonto did the dirty work for free
But Tonto he was smarter And one day said kemo sabe
Well, kiss my ass, I bought a boat I’m going out to sea

And if I were like lightning I wouldn’t need no sneakers
I’d come and go wherever I would please
And I’d scare ’em by the shade tree And I’d scare ’em by the light pole
But I would not scare my pony on my boat out on the sea 

Stan Rogers 1981

I often take these night shift walks When the foreman’s not around
I turn my back on the cooling stacks And make for open ground
Far out beyond the tank-farm fence Where the gas flare makes no sound
I forget the stink and I always think Back to that Eastern town

I remember back six years ago This western life I chose
And every day the news would say Some factory’s going to close
Well, I could have stayed to take the dole But I’m not one of those
I take nothing free, and that makes me An idiot, I suppose.

Chorus 1:
So I bid farewell to the Eastern town I never more will see
But work I must so I eat this dust And breathe refinery
Oh I miss the green and the woods and streams And I don’t like cowboy clothes
But I like being free and that makes me An idiot, I suppose.

So come all you fine young fellows Who’ve been beaten to the ground
This western life’s no paradise, But it’s better than lying down.
Oh the streets aren’t clean, and there’s nothing green, And the hills are dirty brown,
But the government dole will rot your soul Back there in your home town.

Chorus 2:
So bid farewell to the Eastern town You never more will see.
There’s self-respect and a steady cheque In this refinery.
You will miss the green and the woods and streams And the dust will fill your nose.
But you’ll be free, and just like me, An idiot, I suppose.