Explanatory notes to Poems, Parodies & Songs by John
Keogh.
For the benefit of those of you who were
unfortunate enough to receive a copy of my book, I felt it would be helpful to
explain a few things that you may not be familiar with.
Many of the songs that I parodied are Irish folk songs, but some are
popular songs of their time.
Also, there will be certain words &
phrases from Irish that need translating such as “Jarvey,” “Leprechaun” etc.
Then there are references to certain people or organisations
of which you may not know. For example, a few times I have mentioned
McAlpine, Wimpey or Murphy. These are all civil engineering contractors, who can
be found all over England, digging up the roads & holding up the traffic.
Most of their workforces, known as navvies are made up of
Irishmen.
Praties potatoes.
A leprechaun
(Irish: leipreachán)
is a type of fairy
in Irish
folklore, usually taking the
form of an old man, no taller than a small child, clad in a red or green coat,
who enjoys partaking in mischief. The leprechauns spend all their time busily
making shoes, and store away all their coins in a hidden pot of
gold at the end of the rainbow. If ever captured by a human, the leprechaun has the magical power to
grant three wishes in exchange for their release.
A jarvey
is a coachman or driver of a jaunting car. A jaunting-car is a
light two-wheeled carriage
for a single horse, in its most common form with seats for two or four persons
placed back to back, with the foot-boards projecting over the wheels. It was the
typical conveyance for persons in Irelandat one time.
Emerald Isle Ireland.
THE JARVEY WAS A
LEPRECHAUN
A half a dozen tourists stood outside a Lim'rick bar,
And thought they'd like to take a trip by Irish jaunting car,
They jumped up on the side seats and it started down the street,
But they never saw the character upon the driver's seat.
The Jarvey was a leprechaun and had some magic power,
He toured them thro' the Em'rald Isle at a thousand miles an
hour,
A phantom horse was in the shafts and no one was surprised,
For the Jarvey was a leprechaun and he had them hypnotised.
He showed them Connemara on the way to Ireland's eye,
They heard him say that Galway Bay was frozen in July,
He had them kiss the Blarney Stone on Ballybunion Strand,
And a football team from Donegal was Macnamara's band.
The Jarvey was a leprechaun and really took them round,
They went thro'' Tipperary town at twice the speed of sound,
He told them it was Mullingar when passing by Clonmel,
For the Jarvey was a leprechaun and the truth he couldn't tell!
He told them it was Cromwell lost the battle of Clontarf
He said the famous Finn Mac'coul was nothing but a dwarf,
He swore the Giant's Causeway had been up in Phoenix Park,
And it was by Killarney's lakes that Noah built the ark!
The Jarvey was a leprechaun and did the trip so fast,
Although the horse had sprouted wings the pace it couldn't last,
He drove them up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen,
And the Jarvey and the passengers were never seen again.
(There is a reference to this song in my Crazy Mixed Up Song, and
in the first line of The Irish Working
Man)
Home
on The Range My parody, Home
Down In Oz.
& The Gnome.
Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam
Where the deer and the antelope play,
Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day.
Home, home on the Range;
Where the deer and the antelope play;
Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word,
And the skies are not cloudy all day.
Where the air is so pure and the zephyrs so free
And the breezes so balmy and light
That I would not exchange my home on the range
For all of their cities so bright
Home,
home on the range,etc.
How often at night when the heavens are bright
With the light of the glittering stars
I stand there amazed and I ask as I gaze
Does their glory exceed that of ours?
Home, home on the range, etc.
The next three songs, “The Craic”,“Are Ye Right
There, Martin?” & “The Versatile Musicians” are about Martin Dardis, an
Irish singer & the outfit he plays in, The Fingal
Brigade.
Martin has a website where he has kindly published my songs. One day, I
asked him to give me some background info. about himself & his band mates.
He told me the
details which I included in “The Craic.”
("Craic" or "crack" is a term variously meaning news, gossip, fun, entertainment, and
enjoyable conversation found in Northern
England, Scotland,
and Ireland,
where it is particularly prominent. It is often used with the definite
article – the craic. He also told me what his fellow band
members used to work at. Eugene worked at the airport, Pasty was a chef & Joe
used to work as a roofer.
Crubeens (from Irish: crúibíní)[1] are an Irish food
made of boiled pigs' feet. They are traditionally eaten by
hand.
Are ye right there, Martin. I needed a word to rhyme with taxi & the only one I could think
of was maxi, so I put it into the search engine on the internet. It came up with
a singer called Irene McCoubrey, whose nickname was Maxi, (from the first part
of her surname McC) I had never heard of her despite the first line of my song.
And guess what? She comes from Dublin! How cool is that?
Jackeen = a Dublin man.
Liffey Water =
Guinness
Colcannon
(Irish:
cál ceannann, meaning
"white-headed cabbage") is a traditional Irish
dish mainly consisting of mashed potatoes with kale
or cabbage. It is also the name of a song about the
dish.
Bruitin is an Irish dish, made by combining mashed potatoes and chopped scallions ("spring onions") with butter and milk, and optionally, salt and pepper it is similar to another Irish dish, colcannon, which uses kale or cabbage in place of scallions.
The bodhrán is an
Irishframe drum ranging from 25
to 65 cm (10" to 26") in
diameter.
Are Ye Right There Michael is a song by the 19th-century and early 20th-century
Irish composer and musician, Percy French,
parodying the state of the West Clare Railway system in rural County Clare.
Because of a slow train and the decision of the driver to stop for
no apparent reason while en route, French, though having left Sligo in
the early morning, arrived so late for an 8 PM recital, which he was due to
give, that the audience had left. The ballad caused considerable embarrassment
for the rail company, who were mocked in music halls throughout Ireland and
Britain because of the song. It led to an unsuccessful libel action against
French.It is said that French arrived late for the libel hearing at the court,
and when questioned by the judge on his lateness, he responded "Your honour, I
travelled by the West Clare Railway", resulting in the case being thrown out.
“Are Ye Right There Michael" by
Percy French (1902)
My parody, “Are Ye Right There,
Martin?”
You may talk of Columbus's sailing across the Atlantical sea
But he never tried to go railing from Ennis as far as Kilkee.
You run for the train in the morning, the excursion train starting at eight.
You're there when the guard gives the warning, and there for an hour you will wait.
And while you're waiting in the train, you'll hear the guard sing this refrain:
Are ye right there, Michael, are ye right? Do ye think that we'll be home before the night?
Ye've been so long in startin', that ye couldn't say for certain'
Still ye might now, Michael, So ye might!
They find out where the engine's been hiding,
And it drags you to sweet Corofin;
Says the guard: Back her down on the siding,
There's a goods from Kilrush comin' in.
Perhaps it comes in two hours,
Perhaps it breaks down on the way;
If it does, says the guard, be the powers,
We're here for the rest of the day!
And while you sit and curse your luck,
The train backs down into a truck.
Are ye right there, Michael, are ye right?
Have ye got the parcel there for Mrs. White?
Ye haven't, oh begorra,
Say it's comin' down tomorra -
And well it might now, Michael, So it might!
At Lahinch the sea shines like a jewel,
With joy you are ready to shout,
When the stoker cries out: There's no fuel,
And the fire is teetotally out.
But hand me up that ould bit of a log there -
I'll soon have ye out of the fix;
There's fine clamp of turf in the bog there.
And the rest can go gatherin' sticks
And while you're breakin' bits off trees,
You hear some wise remarks like these:
Are ye right there, Michael? Are ye right?
Do ye think that ye can get the fire to light?
Oh, an hour you'll require,
For the turf it might be drier,
Well it might now, Michael, So it might!
Kilkee! Oh, ye'll never get near it,
You're in luck if the train brings you back.
For the permanent way is so queer, it
Spends most of its time off the track.
Uphill the oul' engine is climbing,
As the passengers push with a will.
You're in luck when you reach Ennistimon,
For all the way home is downhill.
And as you're wobbling through the dark,
You'll hear someone make this remark:
Are ye right there, Michael? Are ye right?
Do ye think that we'll be there before it's light?
Oh, it's all depending whether,
The oul' engine holds together,
But it might now, Michael, so it might!
"Slattery's Mounted Foot" Also known as "Slattery's Light Dragoons
My Parody: The Day They Chose A Mascot
For Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
by Percy French
(1889)
You've heard of Julius Ceasar and the great
Napolean too,
And how the Cork militia beat the Turks at
Waterloo;
But there's a page of glory that as yet
remains uncut,
And that's the warlike story of old
Slattery's Mounted Fut.
This gallant corps was organised by Slattery
and his son,
A noble-hearted poacher with a
double-breasted gun.
And many a head was broken, aye, and many an
eye was shut,
When practising maneuvers in the Slattery's
Mounted Fut.
Chorus
And down from the mountains came the squadrons and
platoons,
Four-and-twenty fighting men and a couple of
stout gossoons*,
When going into action held each musket by the
butt,
We sang this song and marched along, the Slattery's mounted
Fut.
Well, first we reconnoitered 'round
O'Sullivan's Shebeen
It used to be a chop house but we called it
the canteen;
And there we saw a notice which the bravest
heart unnerved:
"All liquor must be settled for before the
drink is served."
So on we marched, but soon again each
warrior's heart grew pale,
For rising high in front of us we saw the
county jail;
And when the army faced about, 'twas just in
time to find,
A couple of stout policemen had surrounded us
behind.
Chorus
"We'll cross the ditch," our leader cried,
"and take the forward flank;"
But yells of consternation here arose from
every rank;
For posted high upon a tree we very plainly
saw:
"Trespassers prosecuted, in accordance with
the law."
"We're foiled!" exclaimed bold Slattery,
"here ends our grand campaign,
'Tis merely throwing life away to face that
raging drain;
I'm not as bold as lions but I'm braver than
a hen,
And he that fights and runs away will live to
fight again."
Chorus
So back to the mountains went the squadrons and
platoons,
Four-and-twenty fighting men and a couple of stout
gossoons.
Etc.
We reached the mountains safely, though all
stiff and sore with cramp.
Each took a whet of whiskey straight to
dissipate the damp;
And when they loaded all their pipes, bold
Slattery up and said:
Today's immortal fight will be remembered by
the dead."
"I never shall forget," said he, "while this
brave heart shall beat,
The eager way you followed when I headed the
retreat.
Ye preferred the soldier's maxim, when
desisting from the strife:
'Best be a coward for five minutes than a
dead man all your life.'"
*gossoonn Irisha boy, esp a servant boy [from Old French
garçon]
Delaney's
Donkey
Now Delaney had a donkey that everyone admired,
Tempo'rily lazy and permanently tired
A leg at ev'ry corner balancing his head,
And a tail to let you know which end he wanted to be
fed
Riley slyly said "We've underrated it, why not train it?" then he took
a rag
They rubbed it, scrubbed it, they oiled and embrocated it,
Got it to the post and when the starter dropped his
flag
There was Riley pushing it, shoving it, shushing
it
Hogan, Logan and ev'ryone in town
Lined up attacking it and shoving it and smacking
it
They might as well have tried to push the Town Hall
down
The donkey was eyeing them, openly defying
them
Winking, blinking and twisting out of
place
Riley reversing it, ev'rybody cursing
it
The day Delaney's donkey ran the halfmile
race
The muscles of the mighty never known to
flinch,
They couldn't budge the donkey a quarter of an
inch
Delaney lay exhausted, hanging round its throat
With a grip just like a Scotsman on a five pound
note
Starter, Carter, he lined it with the rest of 'em.
When it saw them, it was willing then
It raced up, braced up, ready for the best of 'em.
The crowd began to cheer it but it changed its mind
again
There was Riley pushing it, shoving it and shushing
it
Hogan, Logan and Mary Ann Macgraw,
She started poking it, grabbing it and choking
it
It kicked her in the bustle and it laughed "Hee -
Haw!"
The Whigs, the Conservatives, Radical
Superlatives
Lib'rals and Tories, they hurried to the
place
Stood there in unity, helping the
community
The day Delaney's donkey ran the halfmile
race
The crowd began to cheer it. Then Rafferty, the judge
Came to assist them, but still it wouldn't
budge
The jockey who was riding, little John MacGee,
Was so thoroughly disgusted that he went to have his
tea
Hagan, Fagan was students of psychology,
Swore they'd shift it with some dynamite
They bought it, brought it, then without apology
The donkey gave a sneeze and blew the whole lot out of
sight
There was Riley pushing it, shoving it and shushing
it
Hogan, Logan and all the bally crew,
P'lice, and auxil'ary, the Garrison
Artillery
The Second Enniskillens and the Life Guards
too
They seized it and harried it, they picked it up and carried
it
Cheered it, steered it to the winning
place
Then
the Bookmakers drew aside, and all commited
suicide
The day Delaney's donkey won the halfmile
race
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
There is a reference to this song in The
Crazy Mixed-up Song
& in The Day They Chose A Mascot For
Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
The
Green Fields Of France Lyrics
By
EricBogle
My
Response To This Song Is:
From
The Green Fields Of France To Paradise.
Well
how do you do young Willy Mc Bride
Do
you mind if I sit here down by your graveside
And
rest for a while in the warm summer sun
I've
been walking all day and I'm nearly done
I
see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When
you joined the great falling in nineteen fifteen
Well
I hope you died well and I hope you died clean
Or
young Willy Mc Bride was it slow and obscene?
[Chorus]
Did
they beat the drum slowly, did they sound the fifes
lowly?
Did
they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did
the band play the last post and chorus?
Did
the pipes play the flowers of the forest?
Did
you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind?
In
some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And
though you died back in nineteen fifteen
In
some faithful heart are you forever nineteen?
Or
are you a stranger without even a name
Enshrined
forever behind a glass frame?
In
an old photograph torn battered and stained
And
fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?
[Repeat
Chorus]
Well
the sun now it shines on the green fields of France
There's
a warm summer breeze it makes the red poppies dance
And
look how the sun shines from under the clouds
There's
no gas no barbed wire, there's no gun firing now.
But
here in this graveyard it's still no mans land
The
countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
To
man's blind indifference to his fellow man
To
a whole generation that were butchered and dammed
[Repeat
Chorus]
Well
Willy Mc Bride I cant help wonder why
Do
those that lie here know why did they die
And
did they believe when they answered the call
Did
they really believe that this war would end war
Well
the sorrow the suffering the glory the pain
The
killing the dying was all done in vain
For
young Willy Mc Bride it all happened again
And
again,and again,and again,and again
I sent a copy of my response
to Eric Bogle & he said it was good & agreed with the sentiments
expressed therein.
The Owl and the
Pussycat.
My Parody Is: Sorry, Mr
Lear
The Owl and the Pussycat went to
sea
In a beautiful pea-green
boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of
money,
Wrapped up in a five pound
note.
The Owl looked up to the stars
above,
And sang to a small
guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my
love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are, you are, you
are,
What a beautiful Pussy you
are."
Pussy said to the Owl "You elegant fowl,
How charmingly sweet you
sing.
O let us be married, too long we have
tarried;
But what shall we do for a
ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a
day,
To the land where the Bong-tree
grows,
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig
stood
With a ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his
nose,
With a ring at the end of his
nose.
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one
shilling your ring?"
Said the Piggy, "I
will"
So they took it away, and were married next
day
By the Turkey who lives on the
hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of
quince,
Which they ate with a runcible
spoon.
And hand in hand, on the edge of the
sand.
They danced by the light of the moon, the moon,
the moon,
They danced by the light of the
moon.
Isle
of Capri
My
Parody Is: “The Pile Of Debris”
`Twas
on the Isle of Capri that I found her
Beneath the shade of an old walnut
tree
Oh, I can still see the flow'rs bloomin' round her
Where we met on
the Isle of Capri
She was as sweet as a rose at the dawning
But
somehow fate hadn't meant her for me
And though I sailed with the tide in the
morning
Still my heart's on the Isle of Capri
Summertime was nearly
over
Blue Italian sky above
I said "Lady, I'm only a rover,
Won’t you
spare me a sweet word o'love?"
She whispered softly "It's best not to linger"
And then as I kissed her
hand I could see
She wore a plain golden ring on her finger
'Twas goodbye
to the Isle of Capri
Another
ballad sung to the tune of "The Wearing
of the Green" is the song "The
Rising of the Moon",written by John Keegan 'Leo' Casey (1846-70), who is
also known as the poet of the Fenian movement.
Both songs commemorate the
1798 uprising against the British rule. The lyrics refer to the outbreak of the
rebellion in county Kildare as United Irish rebels convey the order to rise. The
air of hope and optimism associated with the ultimately doomed rebellion was
intended to provide inspiration for rebels "Who would follow in their footsteps"
preparing to take to the field in another doomed venture, the Fenian rebellion
of 1867.
The song is still widely recognised in Ireland today, since it
is often taught in schools, played regularly at official and sporting events and
has been covered by a wide variety of musicians.
Same as many other
rebel songs, it is written in English, but uses single words in Irish language,
here 'bhuachaill', which means Lad or Boy.
The Rising of the
Moon My
Parody Is “The New Motorway”
O then, tell me Sean O'Farrell, tell
me why you hurry so?
"Hush a bhuachaill, hush and listen", and his cheeks
were all aglow,
"I bear orders from the captain:- get you ready quick and
soon
For the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon"
By the
rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon,
For the pikes must be together
at the rising of the moon
"O then tell me Sean O'Farrell where the
gath'rin is to be?"
"In the old spot by the river, right well known to you
and me.
One more word for signal token:- whistle up a marchin' tune,
With
your pike upon your shoulder, by the rising of the moon."
By the rising of
the moon, by the rising of the moon
With your pike upon your shoulder, by the
rising of the moon.
Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching
through the night,
Many a manly heart was beatin, for the coming morning
light.
Murmurs ran along the valleys to the banshee's lonely croon
And a
thousand pikes were flashing at the rising of the moon.
At the rising of the
moon, at the rising of the moon.
And a thousand pikes were flashing at the
rising of the moon.
All along that singing river that black mass of men were
seen,
High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green.
"Death to every foe and traitor! Forward! Strike the marching tune."
And
hurrah my boys for freedom; 'tis the rising of the moon".
Tis the rising of
the moon, tis the rising of the moon
And hurrah my boy for freedom; 'Tis the
rising of the moon".
Well they fought for poor old Ireland, and full
bitter was their fate,
Oh what glorious pride and sorrow, fills the name of
ninety-eight!
Yet, thank God, e'en still are beating hearts in manhood
burning noon,
Who would follow in their footsteps, at the risin' of the
moon
By the rising of the moon, By the rising of the moon
Who would follow
in their footsteps, at the risin' of the moon.
The
Wearing of The Green
My Parodies Are: “McDonalds” &
“The
Navvy’s Anthem.”
The
latter of which got missed out of the book,
so
I’ve included it below.
1.
Oh! Paddy, dear, and did you hear
The news that's going round,
The
shamrock is forbid by law
To grow on Irish ground.
Saint Patrick's Day
no more we'll keep
His color can't be seen
For there's a cruel law agin'
The wearing of the green.
I met with Napper Tandy*
And he took me
by the hand
And he said "How's poor old Ireland?
And how does she
stand?"
She's the most distressful country
That ever you have seen,
They're hanging men and women there
For wearing of the green.
2.
Then since the color we must wear
Is England's cruel red
Sure Ireland's
sons will n'er forget
The blood that they have shed.
You may take the
shamrock from your hat
And cast it on the sod,
But 'twill take root and
flourish still
Tho' underfoot 'tis trod.
When the law can stop the
blades of grass
From growing as they grow,
And when the leaves in summer
time
Their verdure dare not show,
Then I will change the color
I
wear in my caubeen*,
But till that day I'll stick for aye
To wearing of
the green.
3.
But if at last our color should
Be torn from Ireland's heart,
Her sons
with shame and sorrow
From the dear old sod will part.
I've heard a
whisper of a country
That lies beyond the sea,
Where rich and poor stand
equal
In the light of freedom's day.
Oh, Erin! Must we leave you,
Driven by the tyrant's hand?
Must we ask a mother's welcome
From a
strange but happy land?
Where the cruel cross of England's thralldom
Never shall be seen
And where in peace we'll live and die
A-wearing of
the green.
Historical Background:
"The Wearing of the
Green" is an anonymous Irish street ballad dating from the Irish uprising
against the British rule in 1798. The colour green and the shamrock were used as
symbols of sympathy for Irish independence, and the British actually started
executing persons found wearing anything of the colour green after the
suppression of the 1798 uprising.
*Napper Tandy, who is mentioned in the
song, was in fact a shopkeeper in Dublin who, after having been identified by
the British as a freedom fighter, had to flee to France, from where he tried to
organise support for the Irish independence movement.
*caubeen = A
hat
The
Navvy’s Anthem.
A
Parody of “The Wearing Of The Green”
Oh
Mary dear, and did ye hear the news that’s goin’ ‘round?
Wimpey and McAlpine
are still diggin’ up the ground.
Ye’ll see lots o’ gangs o’ fellers here
called Paddy, Sean and Mick,
And ev’ry one is kitted out with his shovel and
his pick.
Murphy too is diggin’ trenches for gas, electricity and phones.
And now and then they come across a load of ancient bones.
Some o’ these, I
have to say it’s very sad to tell,
Are the remains of Irish navvies who lay
there where they fell.
Now d’ye know what W.I.M.P.E.Y stands for Mary
dear,
It simply means that We Import More Paddies Every Year!
Now,
Seamus swung his pick one day, which through a cable went,
And blacked out
half of England from Derbyshire to Kent!
But then Murphy came along and
grinnin’ like an ape,
Said, “I’ll soon fix that with a roll o’
Sellotape!”
So soon, the lights they came back on, in restaurant and pub,
And off they went to the nearest bar, to drink away their sub.
McAlpine and
his Fusiliers and Ryan, Mick and Pete,
Will soon have England’s green and
pleasant land buried in concrete!
John Keogh,Ard
File na hEireann,
17th
May 2011
Mull
of Kintyre
My
Parody Is: “Four Worn-Out Tyres”
Mull
of Kintyre
Oh
mist rolling in from the sea,
My desire is always to be here
Oh Mull of
Kintyre
Far
have I traveled and much have I seen
Dark distant mountains with valleys of
green.
Past painted deserts the sunsets on fire
As he carries me home to
the mull of kintyre.
Mull of Kintyre, etc.
Sweep
through the heather like deer in the glen
Carry me back to the days I knew
then.
Nights when we sang like a heavenly choir
Of the life and the time
of the Mull of Kintyre.
Mull of Kintyre, etc.
Smiles
in the sunshine
And tears in the rain
Still take me back to where my
memories remain
Flickering embers growing higher and higher
As they carry
me back to the Mull of Kintyre
Mull of Kintyre, etc. (repeat)
Rhythm Of The
Rain
My Parody Is: Rhythm Of The
Train
Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain
Telling me
just what a fool I've been
I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain
And let me be alone again
The only girl I care about has gone away
Looking for a
brand new start
But little does she know
That when she left that day
Along with her she took my heart
Rain please tell me now does that seem fair
For her to
steal my heart away when she don't care
I can't love another when my hearts
somewhere far away
The only girl I care about has gone away
Looking for a
brand new start
But little does she know that when she left that day
Along
with her she took my heart
Rain won't you tell her that I love her so
Please ask
the sun to set her heart aglow
Rain in her heart and let the love we knew
start to grow
Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain
Telling me
just what a fool I've been
I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain
And let me be alone again
Oh, listen to the falling rain
Pitter patter, pitter
patter
Oh, oh, oh, listen to the falling rain
Pitter patter, pitter
patter.
Road Tae The Isles
My Parody Is: “Road Tae The
Gaols”
A far croonin' is pullin' me awa’
As take I wi' my
cromack tae the road.
The
far Cuilins are puttin' love on me
As
step I wi' the sunlight for my load.
Chorus
Sure by Tummel and
Loch Rannoch and Lochaber I will go
By
heather tracks wi' heaven in their wiles.
If
it's thinkin' in your inner heart the braggart's in my step
You've never smelled the tangle o' the
Isles.
Oh the far Cuilins
are puttin' love on me
As
step I wi' my cromack to the Isles.
It's by Shiel water the track is to the west
By Aillort and by
Morar to the sea
The cool
cresses I am thinkin' of for pluck
And
bracken for a wink on Mother knee.
The blue islands are pullin' me away
Their laughter puts
the leap upon the lame
The
blue islands from the Skerries to the Lewis
Wi'
heather honey taste upon each name.
Hometown
on the
Foyle
My
Parody Is: “My old Tin Kettle’s On The
Boil”
As the
train pulls out today from Derry city,
A thousand
memories linger in my
mind,
Why do I need to go it's such a pity,
And all
the dear old
friends I leave behind.
As I gaze beyond the harbour I'm
recalling,
Familiar names like Doherty and Coyle,
Through misty eyes I
feel the teardrops falling,
Goodbye to my old hometown on the
Foyle.
The spire of St Eugene's seems to vanish,
In the distance
oh the city seems
so high,
My childhood dreams I never want to
banish,
When I wondered if it
reached up to the sky.
Many thousand miles I'll travel on my journey,
To a new home on the wild
Australian soil,
But never could I hope to lose
the yearning,
To return to my old hometown on the Foyle.
But never
could I hope to
lose the yearning,
To return to my old hometown on the Foyle.
Keogh.
For the benefit of those of you who were
unfortunate enough to receive a copy of my book, I felt it would be helpful to
explain a few things that you may not be familiar with.
Many of the songs that I parodied are Irish folk songs, but some are
popular songs of their time.
Also, there will be certain words &
phrases from Irish that need translating such as “Jarvey,” “Leprechaun” etc.
Then there are references to certain people or organisations
of which you may not know. For example, a few times I have mentioned
McAlpine, Wimpey or Murphy. These are all civil engineering contractors, who can
be found all over England, digging up the roads & holding up the traffic.
Most of their workforces, known as navvies are made up of
Irishmen.
Praties potatoes.
A leprechaun
(Irish: leipreachán)
is a type of fairy
in Irish
folklore, usually taking the
form of an old man, no taller than a small child, clad in a red or green coat,
who enjoys partaking in mischief. The leprechauns spend all their time busily
making shoes, and store away all their coins in a hidden pot of
gold at the end of the rainbow. If ever captured by a human, the leprechaun has the magical power to
grant three wishes in exchange for their release.
A jarvey
is a coachman or driver of a jaunting car. A jaunting-car is a
light two-wheeled carriage
for a single horse, in its most common form with seats for two or four persons
placed back to back, with the foot-boards projecting over the wheels. It was the
typical conveyance for persons in Irelandat one time.
Emerald Isle Ireland.
THE JARVEY WAS A
LEPRECHAUN
A half a dozen tourists stood outside a Lim'rick bar,
And thought they'd like to take a trip by Irish jaunting car,
They jumped up on the side seats and it started down the street,
But they never saw the character upon the driver's seat.
The Jarvey was a leprechaun and had some magic power,
He toured them thro' the Em'rald Isle at a thousand miles an
hour,
A phantom horse was in the shafts and no one was surprised,
For the Jarvey was a leprechaun and he had them hypnotised.
He showed them Connemara on the way to Ireland's eye,
They heard him say that Galway Bay was frozen in July,
He had them kiss the Blarney Stone on Ballybunion Strand,
And a football team from Donegal was Macnamara's band.
The Jarvey was a leprechaun and really took them round,
They went thro'' Tipperary town at twice the speed of sound,
He told them it was Mullingar when passing by Clonmel,
For the Jarvey was a leprechaun and the truth he couldn't tell!
He told them it was Cromwell lost the battle of Clontarf
He said the famous Finn Mac'coul was nothing but a dwarf,
He swore the Giant's Causeway had been up in Phoenix Park,
And it was by Killarney's lakes that Noah built the ark!
The Jarvey was a leprechaun and did the trip so fast,
Although the horse had sprouted wings the pace it couldn't last,
He drove them up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen,
And the Jarvey and the passengers were never seen again.
(There is a reference to this song in my Crazy Mixed Up Song, and
in the first line of The Irish Working
Man)
Home
on The Range My parody, Home
Down In Oz.
& The Gnome.
Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam
Where the deer and the antelope play,
Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day.
Home, home on the Range;
Where the deer and the antelope play;
Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word,
And the skies are not cloudy all day.
Where the air is so pure and the zephyrs so free
And the breezes so balmy and light
That I would not exchange my home on the range
For all of their cities so bright
Home,
home on the range,etc.
How often at night when the heavens are bright
With the light of the glittering stars
I stand there amazed and I ask as I gaze
Does their glory exceed that of ours?
Home, home on the range, etc.
The next three songs, “The Craic”,“Are Ye Right
There, Martin?” & “The Versatile Musicians” are about Martin Dardis, an
Irish singer & the outfit he plays in, The Fingal
Brigade.
Martin has a website where he has kindly published my songs. One day, I
asked him to give me some background info. about himself & his band mates.
He told me the
details which I included in “The Craic.”
("Craic" or "crack" is a term variously meaning news, gossip, fun, entertainment, and
enjoyable conversation found in Northern
England, Scotland,
and Ireland,
where it is particularly prominent. It is often used with the definite
article – the craic. He also told me what his fellow band
members used to work at. Eugene worked at the airport, Pasty was a chef & Joe
used to work as a roofer.
Crubeens (from Irish: crúibíní)[1] are an Irish food
made of boiled pigs' feet. They are traditionally eaten by
hand.
Are ye right there, Martin. I needed a word to rhyme with taxi & the only one I could think
of was maxi, so I put it into the search engine on the internet. It came up with
a singer called Irene McCoubrey, whose nickname was Maxi, (from the first part
of her surname McC) I had never heard of her despite the first line of my song.
And guess what? She comes from Dublin! How cool is that?
Jackeen = a Dublin man.
Liffey Water =
Guinness
Colcannon
(Irish:
cál ceannann, meaning
"white-headed cabbage") is a traditional Irish
dish mainly consisting of mashed potatoes with kale
or cabbage. It is also the name of a song about the
dish.
Bruitin is an Irish dish, made by combining mashed potatoes and chopped scallions ("spring onions") with butter and milk, and optionally, salt and pepper it is similar to another Irish dish, colcannon, which uses kale or cabbage in place of scallions.
The bodhrán is an
Irishframe drum ranging from 25
to 65 cm (10" to 26") in
diameter.
Are Ye Right There Michael is a song by the 19th-century and early 20th-century
Irish composer and musician, Percy French,
parodying the state of the West Clare Railway system in rural County Clare.
Because of a slow train and the decision of the driver to stop for
no apparent reason while en route, French, though having left Sligo in
the early morning, arrived so late for an 8 PM recital, which he was due to
give, that the audience had left. The ballad caused considerable embarrassment
for the rail company, who were mocked in music halls throughout Ireland and
Britain because of the song. It led to an unsuccessful libel action against
French.It is said that French arrived late for the libel hearing at the court,
and when questioned by the judge on his lateness, he responded "Your honour, I
travelled by the West Clare Railway", resulting in the case being thrown out.
“Are Ye Right There Michael" by
Percy French (1902)
My parody, “Are Ye Right There,
Martin?”
You may talk of Columbus's sailing across the Atlantical sea
But he never tried to go railing from Ennis as far as Kilkee.
You run for the train in the morning, the excursion train starting at eight.
You're there when the guard gives the warning, and there for an hour you will wait.
And while you're waiting in the train, you'll hear the guard sing this refrain:
Are ye right there, Michael, are ye right? Do ye think that we'll be home before the night?
Ye've been so long in startin', that ye couldn't say for certain'
Still ye might now, Michael, So ye might!
They find out where the engine's been hiding,
And it drags you to sweet Corofin;
Says the guard: Back her down on the siding,
There's a goods from Kilrush comin' in.
Perhaps it comes in two hours,
Perhaps it breaks down on the way;
If it does, says the guard, be the powers,
We're here for the rest of the day!
And while you sit and curse your luck,
The train backs down into a truck.
Are ye right there, Michael, are ye right?
Have ye got the parcel there for Mrs. White?
Ye haven't, oh begorra,
Say it's comin' down tomorra -
And well it might now, Michael, So it might!
At Lahinch the sea shines like a jewel,
With joy you are ready to shout,
When the stoker cries out: There's no fuel,
And the fire is teetotally out.
But hand me up that ould bit of a log there -
I'll soon have ye out of the fix;
There's fine clamp of turf in the bog there.
And the rest can go gatherin' sticks
And while you're breakin' bits off trees,
You hear some wise remarks like these:
Are ye right there, Michael? Are ye right?
Do ye think that ye can get the fire to light?
Oh, an hour you'll require,
For the turf it might be drier,
Well it might now, Michael, So it might!
Kilkee! Oh, ye'll never get near it,
You're in luck if the train brings you back.
For the permanent way is so queer, it
Spends most of its time off the track.
Uphill the oul' engine is climbing,
As the passengers push with a will.
You're in luck when you reach Ennistimon,
For all the way home is downhill.
And as you're wobbling through the dark,
You'll hear someone make this remark:
Are ye right there, Michael? Are ye right?
Do ye think that we'll be there before it's light?
Oh, it's all depending whether,
The oul' engine holds together,
But it might now, Michael, so it might!
"Slattery's Mounted Foot" Also known as "Slattery's Light Dragoons
My Parody: The Day They Chose A Mascot
For Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
by Percy French
(1889)
You've heard of Julius Ceasar and the great
Napolean too,
And how the Cork militia beat the Turks at
Waterloo;
But there's a page of glory that as yet
remains uncut,
And that's the warlike story of old
Slattery's Mounted Fut.
This gallant corps was organised by Slattery
and his son,
A noble-hearted poacher with a
double-breasted gun.
And many a head was broken, aye, and many an
eye was shut,
When practising maneuvers in the Slattery's
Mounted Fut.
Chorus
And down from the mountains came the squadrons and
platoons,
Four-and-twenty fighting men and a couple of
stout gossoons*,
When going into action held each musket by the
butt,
We sang this song and marched along, the Slattery's mounted
Fut.
Well, first we reconnoitered 'round
O'Sullivan's Shebeen
It used to be a chop house but we called it
the canteen;
And there we saw a notice which the bravest
heart unnerved:
"All liquor must be settled for before the
drink is served."
So on we marched, but soon again each
warrior's heart grew pale,
For rising high in front of us we saw the
county jail;
And when the army faced about, 'twas just in
time to find,
A couple of stout policemen had surrounded us
behind.
Chorus
"We'll cross the ditch," our leader cried,
"and take the forward flank;"
But yells of consternation here arose from
every rank;
For posted high upon a tree we very plainly
saw:
"Trespassers prosecuted, in accordance with
the law."
"We're foiled!" exclaimed bold Slattery,
"here ends our grand campaign,
'Tis merely throwing life away to face that
raging drain;
I'm not as bold as lions but I'm braver than
a hen,
And he that fights and runs away will live to
fight again."
Chorus
So back to the mountains went the squadrons and
platoons,
Four-and-twenty fighting men and a couple of stout
gossoons.
Etc.
We reached the mountains safely, though all
stiff and sore with cramp.
Each took a whet of whiskey straight to
dissipate the damp;
And when they loaded all their pipes, bold
Slattery up and said:
Today's immortal fight will be remembered by
the dead."
"I never shall forget," said he, "while this
brave heart shall beat,
The eager way you followed when I headed the
retreat.
Ye preferred the soldier's maxim, when
desisting from the strife:
'Best be a coward for five minutes than a
dead man all your life.'"
*gossoonn Irisha boy, esp a servant boy [from Old French
garçon]
Delaney's
Donkey
Now Delaney had a donkey that everyone admired,
Tempo'rily lazy and permanently tired
A leg at ev'ry corner balancing his head,
And a tail to let you know which end he wanted to be
fed
Riley slyly said "We've underrated it, why not train it?" then he took
a rag
They rubbed it, scrubbed it, they oiled and embrocated it,
Got it to the post and when the starter dropped his
flag
There was Riley pushing it, shoving it, shushing
it
Hogan, Logan and ev'ryone in town
Lined up attacking it and shoving it and smacking
it
They might as well have tried to push the Town Hall
down
The donkey was eyeing them, openly defying
them
Winking, blinking and twisting out of
place
Riley reversing it, ev'rybody cursing
it
The day Delaney's donkey ran the halfmile
race
The muscles of the mighty never known to
flinch,
They couldn't budge the donkey a quarter of an
inch
Delaney lay exhausted, hanging round its throat
With a grip just like a Scotsman on a five pound
note
Starter, Carter, he lined it with the rest of 'em.
When it saw them, it was willing then
It raced up, braced up, ready for the best of 'em.
The crowd began to cheer it but it changed its mind
again
There was Riley pushing it, shoving it and shushing
it
Hogan, Logan and Mary Ann Macgraw,
She started poking it, grabbing it and choking
it
It kicked her in the bustle and it laughed "Hee -
Haw!"
The Whigs, the Conservatives, Radical
Superlatives
Lib'rals and Tories, they hurried to the
place
Stood there in unity, helping the
community
The day Delaney's donkey ran the halfmile
race
The crowd began to cheer it. Then Rafferty, the judge
Came to assist them, but still it wouldn't
budge
The jockey who was riding, little John MacGee,
Was so thoroughly disgusted that he went to have his
tea
Hagan, Fagan was students of psychology,
Swore they'd shift it with some dynamite
They bought it, brought it, then without apology
The donkey gave a sneeze and blew the whole lot out of
sight
There was Riley pushing it, shoving it and shushing
it
Hogan, Logan and all the bally crew,
P'lice, and auxil'ary, the Garrison
Artillery
The Second Enniskillens and the Life Guards
too
They seized it and harried it, they picked it up and carried
it
Cheered it, steered it to the winning
place
Then
the Bookmakers drew aside, and all commited
suicide
The day Delaney's donkey won the halfmile
race
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
There is a reference to this song in The
Crazy Mixed-up Song
& in The Day They Chose A Mascot For
Slattery’s Light Dragoons.
The
Green Fields Of France Lyrics
By
EricBogle
My
Response To This Song Is:
From
The Green Fields Of France To Paradise.
Well
how do you do young Willy Mc Bride
Do
you mind if I sit here down by your graveside
And
rest for a while in the warm summer sun
I've
been walking all day and I'm nearly done
I
see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When
you joined the great falling in nineteen fifteen
Well
I hope you died well and I hope you died clean
Or
young Willy Mc Bride was it slow and obscene?
[Chorus]
Did
they beat the drum slowly, did they sound the fifes
lowly?
Did
they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did
the band play the last post and chorus?
Did
the pipes play the flowers of the forest?
Did
you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind?
In
some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And
though you died back in nineteen fifteen
In
some faithful heart are you forever nineteen?
Or
are you a stranger without even a name
Enshrined
forever behind a glass frame?
In
an old photograph torn battered and stained
And
fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?
[Repeat
Chorus]
Well
the sun now it shines on the green fields of France
There's
a warm summer breeze it makes the red poppies dance
And
look how the sun shines from under the clouds
There's
no gas no barbed wire, there's no gun firing now.
But
here in this graveyard it's still no mans land
The
countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
To
man's blind indifference to his fellow man
To
a whole generation that were butchered and dammed
[Repeat
Chorus]
Well
Willy Mc Bride I cant help wonder why
Do
those that lie here know why did they die
And
did they believe when they answered the call
Did
they really believe that this war would end war
Well
the sorrow the suffering the glory the pain
The
killing the dying was all done in vain
For
young Willy Mc Bride it all happened again
And
again,and again,and again,and again
I sent a copy of my response
to Eric Bogle & he said it was good & agreed with the sentiments
expressed therein.
The Owl and the
Pussycat.
My Parody Is: Sorry, Mr
Lear
The Owl and the Pussycat went to
sea
In a beautiful pea-green
boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of
money,
Wrapped up in a five pound
note.
The Owl looked up to the stars
above,
And sang to a small
guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my
love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are, you are, you
are,
What a beautiful Pussy you
are."
Pussy said to the Owl "You elegant fowl,
How charmingly sweet you
sing.
O let us be married, too long we have
tarried;
But what shall we do for a
ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a
day,
To the land where the Bong-tree
grows,
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig
stood
With a ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his
nose,
With a ring at the end of his
nose.
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one
shilling your ring?"
Said the Piggy, "I
will"
So they took it away, and were married next
day
By the Turkey who lives on the
hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of
quince,
Which they ate with a runcible
spoon.
And hand in hand, on the edge of the
sand.
They danced by the light of the moon, the moon,
the moon,
They danced by the light of the
moon.
Isle
of Capri
My
Parody Is: “The Pile Of Debris”
`Twas
on the Isle of Capri that I found her
Beneath the shade of an old walnut
tree
Oh, I can still see the flow'rs bloomin' round her
Where we met on
the Isle of Capri
She was as sweet as a rose at the dawning
But
somehow fate hadn't meant her for me
And though I sailed with the tide in the
morning
Still my heart's on the Isle of Capri
Summertime was nearly
over
Blue Italian sky above
I said "Lady, I'm only a rover,
Won’t you
spare me a sweet word o'love?"
She whispered softly "It's best not to linger"
And then as I kissed her
hand I could see
She wore a plain golden ring on her finger
'Twas goodbye
to the Isle of Capri
Another
ballad sung to the tune of "The Wearing
of the Green" is the song "The
Rising of the Moon",written by John Keegan 'Leo' Casey (1846-70), who is
also known as the poet of the Fenian movement.
Both songs commemorate the
1798 uprising against the British rule. The lyrics refer to the outbreak of the
rebellion in county Kildare as United Irish rebels convey the order to rise. The
air of hope and optimism associated with the ultimately doomed rebellion was
intended to provide inspiration for rebels "Who would follow in their footsteps"
preparing to take to the field in another doomed venture, the Fenian rebellion
of 1867.
The song is still widely recognised in Ireland today, since it
is often taught in schools, played regularly at official and sporting events and
has been covered by a wide variety of musicians.
Same as many other
rebel songs, it is written in English, but uses single words in Irish language,
here 'bhuachaill', which means Lad or Boy.
The Rising of the
Moon My
Parody Is “The New Motorway”
O then, tell me Sean O'Farrell, tell
me why you hurry so?
"Hush a bhuachaill, hush and listen", and his cheeks
were all aglow,
"I bear orders from the captain:- get you ready quick and
soon
For the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon"
By the
rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon,
For the pikes must be together
at the rising of the moon
"O then tell me Sean O'Farrell where the
gath'rin is to be?"
"In the old spot by the river, right well known to you
and me.
One more word for signal token:- whistle up a marchin' tune,
With
your pike upon your shoulder, by the rising of the moon."
By the rising of
the moon, by the rising of the moon
With your pike upon your shoulder, by the
rising of the moon.
Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching
through the night,
Many a manly heart was beatin, for the coming morning
light.
Murmurs ran along the valleys to the banshee's lonely croon
And a
thousand pikes were flashing at the rising of the moon.
At the rising of the
moon, at the rising of the moon.
And a thousand pikes were flashing at the
rising of the moon.
All along that singing river that black mass of men were
seen,
High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green.
"Death to every foe and traitor! Forward! Strike the marching tune."
And
hurrah my boys for freedom; 'tis the rising of the moon".
Tis the rising of
the moon, tis the rising of the moon
And hurrah my boy for freedom; 'Tis the
rising of the moon".
Well they fought for poor old Ireland, and full
bitter was their fate,
Oh what glorious pride and sorrow, fills the name of
ninety-eight!
Yet, thank God, e'en still are beating hearts in manhood
burning noon,
Who would follow in their footsteps, at the risin' of the
moon
By the rising of the moon, By the rising of the moon
Who would follow
in their footsteps, at the risin' of the moon.
The
Wearing of The Green
My Parodies Are: “McDonalds” &
“The
Navvy’s Anthem.”
The
latter of which got missed out of the book,
so
I’ve included it below.
1.
Oh! Paddy, dear, and did you hear
The news that's going round,
The
shamrock is forbid by law
To grow on Irish ground.
Saint Patrick's Day
no more we'll keep
His color can't be seen
For there's a cruel law agin'
The wearing of the green.
I met with Napper Tandy*
And he took me
by the hand
And he said "How's poor old Ireland?
And how does she
stand?"
She's the most distressful country
That ever you have seen,
They're hanging men and women there
For wearing of the green.
2.
Then since the color we must wear
Is England's cruel red
Sure Ireland's
sons will n'er forget
The blood that they have shed.
You may take the
shamrock from your hat
And cast it on the sod,
But 'twill take root and
flourish still
Tho' underfoot 'tis trod.
When the law can stop the
blades of grass
From growing as they grow,
And when the leaves in summer
time
Their verdure dare not show,
Then I will change the color
I
wear in my caubeen*,
But till that day I'll stick for aye
To wearing of
the green.
3.
But if at last our color should
Be torn from Ireland's heart,
Her sons
with shame and sorrow
From the dear old sod will part.
I've heard a
whisper of a country
That lies beyond the sea,
Where rich and poor stand
equal
In the light of freedom's day.
Oh, Erin! Must we leave you,
Driven by the tyrant's hand?
Must we ask a mother's welcome
From a
strange but happy land?
Where the cruel cross of England's thralldom
Never shall be seen
And where in peace we'll live and die
A-wearing of
the green.
Historical Background:
"The Wearing of the
Green" is an anonymous Irish street ballad dating from the Irish uprising
against the British rule in 1798. The colour green and the shamrock were used as
symbols of sympathy for Irish independence, and the British actually started
executing persons found wearing anything of the colour green after the
suppression of the 1798 uprising.
*Napper Tandy, who is mentioned in the
song, was in fact a shopkeeper in Dublin who, after having been identified by
the British as a freedom fighter, had to flee to France, from where he tried to
organise support for the Irish independence movement.
*caubeen = A
hat
The
Navvy’s Anthem.
A
Parody of “The Wearing Of The Green”
Oh
Mary dear, and did ye hear the news that’s goin’ ‘round?
Wimpey and McAlpine
are still diggin’ up the ground.
Ye’ll see lots o’ gangs o’ fellers here
called Paddy, Sean and Mick,
And ev’ry one is kitted out with his shovel and
his pick.
Murphy too is diggin’ trenches for gas, electricity and phones.
And now and then they come across a load of ancient bones.
Some o’ these, I
have to say it’s very sad to tell,
Are the remains of Irish navvies who lay
there where they fell.
Now d’ye know what W.I.M.P.E.Y stands for Mary
dear,
It simply means that We Import More Paddies Every Year!
Now,
Seamus swung his pick one day, which through a cable went,
And blacked out
half of England from Derbyshire to Kent!
But then Murphy came along and
grinnin’ like an ape,
Said, “I’ll soon fix that with a roll o’
Sellotape!”
So soon, the lights they came back on, in restaurant and pub,
And off they went to the nearest bar, to drink away their sub.
McAlpine and
his Fusiliers and Ryan, Mick and Pete,
Will soon have England’s green and
pleasant land buried in concrete!
John Keogh,Ard
File na hEireann,
17th
May 2011
Mull
of Kintyre
My
Parody Is: “Four Worn-Out Tyres”
Mull
of Kintyre
Oh
mist rolling in from the sea,
My desire is always to be here
Oh Mull of
Kintyre
Far
have I traveled and much have I seen
Dark distant mountains with valleys of
green.
Past painted deserts the sunsets on fire
As he carries me home to
the mull of kintyre.
Mull of Kintyre, etc.
Sweep
through the heather like deer in the glen
Carry me back to the days I knew
then.
Nights when we sang like a heavenly choir
Of the life and the time
of the Mull of Kintyre.
Mull of Kintyre, etc.
Smiles
in the sunshine
And tears in the rain
Still take me back to where my
memories remain
Flickering embers growing higher and higher
As they carry
me back to the Mull of Kintyre
Mull of Kintyre, etc. (repeat)
Rhythm Of The
Rain
My Parody Is: Rhythm Of The
Train
Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain
Telling me
just what a fool I've been
I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain
And let me be alone again
The only girl I care about has gone away
Looking for a
brand new start
But little does she know
That when she left that day
Along with her she took my heart
Rain please tell me now does that seem fair
For her to
steal my heart away when she don't care
I can't love another when my hearts
somewhere far away
The only girl I care about has gone away
Looking for a
brand new start
But little does she know that when she left that day
Along
with her she took my heart
Rain won't you tell her that I love her so
Please ask
the sun to set her heart aglow
Rain in her heart and let the love we knew
start to grow
Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain
Telling me
just what a fool I've been
I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain
And let me be alone again
Oh, listen to the falling rain
Pitter patter, pitter
patter
Oh, oh, oh, listen to the falling rain
Pitter patter, pitter
patter.
Road Tae The Isles
My Parody Is: “Road Tae The
Gaols”
A far croonin' is pullin' me awa’
As take I wi' my
cromack tae the road.
The
far Cuilins are puttin' love on me
As
step I wi' the sunlight for my load.
Chorus
Sure by Tummel and
Loch Rannoch and Lochaber I will go
By
heather tracks wi' heaven in their wiles.
If
it's thinkin' in your inner heart the braggart's in my step
You've never smelled the tangle o' the
Isles.
Oh the far Cuilins
are puttin' love on me
As
step I wi' my cromack to the Isles.
It's by Shiel water the track is to the west
By Aillort and by
Morar to the sea
The cool
cresses I am thinkin' of for pluck
And
bracken for a wink on Mother knee.
The blue islands are pullin' me away
Their laughter puts
the leap upon the lame
The
blue islands from the Skerries to the Lewis
Wi'
heather honey taste upon each name.
Hometown
on the
Foyle
My
Parody Is: “My old Tin Kettle’s On The
Boil”
As the
train pulls out today from Derry city,
A thousand
memories linger in my
mind,
Why do I need to go it's such a pity,
And all
the dear old
friends I leave behind.
As I gaze beyond the harbour I'm
recalling,
Familiar names like Doherty and Coyle,
Through misty eyes I
feel the teardrops falling,
Goodbye to my old hometown on the
Foyle.
The spire of St Eugene's seems to vanish,
In the distance
oh the city seems
so high,
My childhood dreams I never want to
banish,
When I wondered if it
reached up to the sky.
Many thousand miles I'll travel on my journey,
To a new home on the wild
Australian soil,
But never could I hope to lose
the yearning,
To return to my old hometown on the Foyle.
But never
could I hope to
lose the yearning,
To return to my old hometown on the Foyle.