Song Lyrics
SILLY SLANG SONG
(Eric Bogle)
Do you remember the day that if you said that you were gay
It meant with joy that you could sing and shout
A fairy was enchanting and dressing up and camping
Was something you did with the scouts
That care free age when an urgent case of aids
Was powdered milk we sent to the Sahara
A fruit was something nice to eat a poof was something for your feet
And a queen was an old tart in a tiara
Chorus:
Ah look what we've done to the old mother tongue
It's a crime the way we've misused it
It's been totally tis woggled, crumb and blonged and golly woggled
And we've strangled, mangled frangled and abused it
Ah those far off times when a bong meant a chime
And a buzz was a noise insecticidal
And joint was something between bones and getting really stoned
Only happened to bad people in the Bible
When if you had a bad trip it meant you fell and broke your hip
Cold turkey just meant Christmas at Aunt Dottie's
Coke was something that you burned; a smack was something that you earned
From your mumzie wumzie when you had been naughty
Chorus
The years have gone I'm afraid when only eggs got laid
And only the rhinoceros got horny
Only kangaroos jumped and only camels humped
Getting stuffed meant a little taxidermy
Swing was for trapezes and Tarzan's chimpanzees
Tossing off was something Scotland did with cabers
Now it means something quite obscene
And heavy ugly scene is any movie starring Arnold Schwarzenegger
Chorus
Chorus
CODA:
They're only words and words are what we use
When we got sod all to say
SING, IRISHMAN, SING
I dream of a beautiful picture,
No more need we think of the past
They're singing and dancing in Ireland
And the people are happy at last.
Chorus:
Sing, Irishman, sing
So the sound of your voices will ring
And let the world know, it really is so
Sing, Irishman, sing.
There's laughter in Belfast and Derry
The music rings over the land
In Cavan, Kilkenny and Kerry.
Oh, boys, I can tell you, it's grand.
Chorus
No more need little ones suffer
The rifles will bring no more pain
They're singing and dancing in Ireland
And the people are happy again.
Chorus
I know that it's only a dream now
But my hopes will always remain
To see the sun shine over Ireland
And the people are happy again.
Chorus
SKIBBEREEN
O, Father dear, I ofttimes heard you talk of Erin's Isle,
Her valleys green, her lofty scene, her mountains rude and wild;
You said it was a pleasant place wherein a prince might dwell,
Why have you then forsaken her, the reason to me tell?
My son, I loved our native land with energy and pride
Until a blight fell on the land and sheep and cattle died,
The rents and taxes were to pay, I could not them redeem,
And that's the cruel reason why I left Old Skibbereen.
Its well I do remember on a bleak November's day,
The landlord and his agent came to drive us all away;
He set my house on fire with his demon yellow spleen
And that's another reason why I left Old Skibbereen.
Your mother, too, God rest her soul; lay on the snowy ground,
She fainted in her anguish of the desolation round.
She never rose, but went her way from life to death's long dream,
And found a quiet grave, my boy, in lovely Skibbereen.
It's well I do remember the year of forty-eight,
When we arose with Erin's boys to fight against our fate;
I was hunted through the mountains as a traitor to the Queen,
And that's another reason that I left Old Skibbereen.
Oh father dear, the day will come when vengeance loud will call
And we'll arise with Erin's boys and rally one and all,
I'll be the man to lead the van, beneath our flag of green,
And loud and high we'll raise the cry," Revenge for Skibbereen!"
THE SKYE BOAT SONG
Speed bonnie boat like a bird on a wing, onward the sailors cry.
Carry the lad that's born to be King, over the sea to Skye!
Loud the winds howl, Loud the waves roar, thunder claps rend the air
Baffled our foes stand by the shore, follow they will not dare.
Through the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep; ocean's a royal bed;
Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep watch by your weary hea
Speed bonnie boat like a bird on a wing, onward the sailors cry.
Carry the lad that's born to be King, over the sea to Skye!
Many's the lad fought on that day, well the claymore could wield
When the night came, silently lay dead on Culloden's field
Speed bonnie boat like a bird on a wing, onward the sailors cry.
Carry the lad that's born to be King, over the sea to Skye!
Burned are our homes, exile and death scatter the loyal men:
Yet, o'er the sword cool in the sheath, Charlie will come again.
Speed bonnie boat like a bird on a wing, onward the sailors cry.
Carry the lad that's born to be King, over the sea to Skye!
THE SLIMY MAN
Oh I'm the man the slimy man that listens at your door
For I belong to R.U.C. and that's what I'm paid for If
You're singing songs of protest or against the third world war
I'll put me name in your book
And by hook Or by crook I'll say that you're done for
If you're Red, Pink or Republican or belong to the P.D.
I'll terrorize your parents to save Democracy
I'll tell your boss to sack and never shed a tear
For I like my job at the Special Branch at ten thousand pounds a year
Oh the craving and the cowardly they can not be absolved
They do the job of a Special Branch and say they're not involved
At Buchenvald, and Belson they said they weren't to blame
But at the court of Nuremberg they were sentenced just the same
Oh the Belfast life is changing and changing very fast
The youth are moving forward and learning from the past
When Ireland is united and the workers have control
They're will be no need for the Special Branch
So we'll make them shovel coal
SLIP JIGS AND REELS
(Steve Tilson)
He was barely a man, in his grandfather's coat
And sewn in the lining was a ten shilling note
Goodbye to the family, goodbye to the shore
Until I taste a fortune, I will see you no more
Then a boat on the ocean tossed about like a cork
Until one fine morning they sighted New York
And he stood on the gangplank and he breathed in the air
Hello Land of Plenty - I have come for my share
Chorus:
And he did like the ladies and rise and the fall
Of their ankles and their dresses down in the dancehall
And a-rolling the dice, and a-spinning the wheel
But he took most delight in the slip jigs and reels
Now there's talk of a pistol and maybe a knife
But all are agreed there was somebody's wife
Some kind of commotion, a terrible fight
And he left one man dead and ran into the night
Next a train to St. Louis, just one jump ahead
He slept one eye open, with a gun 'neath his head
But he dreamed of the green fields and the mountains of home
While crossing the plains where the buffaloes roam
So they called him the Kid and by twenty one
All he had learned was the power of the gun
And by twenty three he had shot five men down
Who had got in his way as he rambled around
But a bad reputation is a hard thing to bear
For mothers pour scorn and young children do stare
But he found consolation in flash company
And life ain't so bad with a girl on your knee
There are bones on the desert there are buzzards that fly
In high lazy circles just hoping you'll die
But in matters of cruelty it must be said
That a landlord will skin your bones long ere you're dead
It was wild Mesqualeros I have heard people say
In the deadliest ambush near old Santa Fe
A young buck was taken, togged up in a coat
And sewn in the lining was a ten shilling note
SMITH OF BRISTOL
Smith was a Bristol man and a rare old sort was he
With his cutlass and his pistols, heave-ya ho
He'd a noble crew of cut-throats who used to scour the sea
A plunderin' and a robbin', high and low
He swore 'twas no concern', he didn't give a herrin'
Bout right or wrong or any holy show
He swore that grabbin' booty was Britain's foremost duty
Wherever she could get it, heave-ya ho
Chorus:
Heave-ya ho, Heave-ya ho,
He swore that grabbin' booty was Britain's foremost duty
Wherever she could get it, heave-ya ho
Smith had a noble soul and lofty was his pride
With his cutlass and his pistols, heave-ya ho
He'd watch his beaten foe-men jump out into the tide
Call ye beggars who had no where else to go
And hanging from his lanyards swung Portuguese and Spaniards
And beaten Frenchmen jumping to and fro
Right along the blazin' glory, shall illumine in England's glory
Pirate Smith of Bristol, heave-ya ho
Chorus
But accidents they happen even to heroes such as he
With his cutlass and his pistols, heave-ya ho
He was standing on his capstan as happy as could be
Hoping soon to have another prize in tow
When a whistling Spanish bullet came and caught him in his gullet
And very sad to say it laid him low
He was only ninety-seven, but his soul has gone to heaven
To rest on Nelson's bosom, heave-ya ho
Chorus
Chorus
SMOKE AND STRONG WHISKEY
(Christy Moore)
Kids wear white garters, and smell like their mothers
Whose husbands and fathers alike
Drink black beer in the same public houses
Smelling of smoke and strong whiskey.
Mammies and daddies, skipping ropes
Lectures from priests, living in hope
That they've not mistaken the brand of their coats
They've paid for by spiritual teachings.
A busy year this, streets running red
How many sent to their nuptial bed
How many sent home to a winter of grave
How many wait in for the slaughter.
It's Easter again, and we cannot forget
Our brothers and sisters and all that was said
So practice your pipes, stand proud in the wet.
For the eyes of the world are upon you.
Chorus:
Oh, oh, the holy ground, Cead mile failte,
There's saints and there's scholars to see
Oh, oh, the holy ground,
Far away hills ain't as green as they once used to be
Seventeen years, Kelly is a man
Who stands on the street with a gun in his hand
He's protecting the pipers that play in the band
While the enemy waits with an army
God in his mercy has given us men
To lead us to peace but they can't bring an end
To the profits that pay off the lease on the land
We're still sending them over the water
Dia le h Eireann, suckle the empire.
Dia le h Eireann, suffer the loss.
Of the green and the blue while the media feeds
On the blood and the pain and the hatred.
Father walks home on a colourless nigh
The organization has blinded his sight
His wife and his kids are sleeping tonight
In the arms of sweet Jesus and Mary.
SODOM AND BEGORRA
(Christy Moore)
There's Bethlehem and Cheltenham, Lourdes and Limerick Junction
Medjugorje or a rub of the extreme unction
Good people climb Croagh Patrick with serenity on their faces
But I found my salvation, below at the Galway Races
Clergymen dressed up like men and models home from London
Whallup and How's she cuttin' John? Begod sure only middlin'
Gamblers with big wads of notes going mad to gamble
Na boys isteach as Inverin, there just to take a ramble
Helen Lucy smells the mattress and reviews the hairy bacon
Says Mickey Finn to Galligan, hey Peter what are you takin'?
Shish kebabs, Kinvara crabs as people stuff their faces
Others couldn't eat to save their lives below at the Galway Races
It's there you'll see gentility and sheep dressed up like mutton
Double barreled names with more airs than old melodeons
The talk is all of tillage and of silage and con acre
I tell you scraws and bottoms would be closer to the mark sir
Sir John Muck Savidge-Smythe is there with Smurfits and O'Reillys
Owners and trainers, stable boys and jockeys
With silk around their arses getting up on rich men's horses
Not to mention wives and daughters and marriages and divorces
There's pontoon, twenty five and there's savage games of poker
There's them would lay their lives on two flies walking up the wall sure
There's wise men from the east making eyes at go-go dancers
And ministers of state accepting drink from terrible chancers
Salthill after dark is like Sodom and Gomorra
There's people doing things tonight that they'll forget tomorrow
There's folk and trad, they're disco mad, karaoke and set dances
And people who've seen better days looking to take their chances
They're under starters orders and Michael O'Hehir is waiting
Lester's up on the favorite and she'll surely take some beating
Necks are craned and eyes are strained there's fear upon their faces
There's agony and ecstasy below at the Galway Races
Bethlehem and Cheltenham, Lourdes and Limerick Junction
Medjugorje or a rub of the extreme unction
Good people climb Croagh Patrick with serenity on their faces
But I found my salvation, below at the Galway Races
SONG FOR IRELAND
(Phil and June Colclough)
Walking all the day, near tall towers where falcons build their nests
Silver-winged they fly; they know the call of freedom in their breasts
Saw Black Head against the sky where twisted rocks they run to the sea
Living on your western shore, saw summer sunsets, asked for more
I stood by your Atlantic Sea and sang a song for Ireland
Drinking all the day, in old pubs where fiddlers love to play
Saw one touch the bow, he played a reel which seemed so grand and gay
Stood on Dingle Beach and cast in wild foam we found Atlantic bass
Living on your western shore, saw summer sunsets, asked for more
I stood by your Atlantic Sea and sang a song for Ireland
Talking all the day, with true friends who try to make you stay
Telling jokes and news, singing songs to pass the time away
Watched the Galway salmon run, like silver dancing, darting in the sun
Living on your western shore, saw summer sunsets, asked for more
I stood by your Atlantic Sea and sang a song for Ireland
Dreaming in the night I saw a land where no one had to fight
Waking in your dawn I saw you crying in the morning light
Sleeping where the falcons fly, they twist and turn all in your air-blue sky
Living on your western shore, saw summer sunsets, asked for more
I stood by your Atlantic Sea and sang a song for Ireland