American Pie
Away with Rum
Banana Boat Song
Blowin' in the Wind
Born Free
Camptown Races
Clementine
Cockles and Mussels
Cotton Fields
Danny Boy
Drunken Sailor
Early One Morning
Feeling Groovy
Food Glorious Food
Frog Went A-Courtin'
Georgy Girl
Get Me To The Church On Time
Green, Green
Green Grow the Rushes O
Hey Jude
Homeward Bound
House of the Rising Sun
Island In The Sun
Jamaica Farewell
John Brown?s Body
King Caractacus
King of the Road
Kumbayah
Land of Fern and Kauri
Let It Be
Little Brown Jug
Lily The Pink
Loch Lomond
Men of Harlech
Michael Finnigan
Michelle
Morningtown Ride
National Song of the Ancient Britons
Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da
Old Smokey
On Ilka Moor Baht'at
Penny Lane
Pokare Kare
Pub With No Beer
Puff the Magic Dragon
Seven Drunken Nights
Sounds of Silence
Swing Low Sweet Chariot
Ten Guitars
There is a Tavern in the Town
Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport
Tom Dooley
The Unicorn
We Shall Overcome
Wild Colonial Boy
Worried Man Blues
Yesterday
Joihnny has to fight,
I want to be with him
From morning to night.
I want to be with him
It grieves my heart so,
Won't you let me go with you
No, my love, no.
Tomorrow is Sunday,
Monday is the day
That your Captain will call you
And you must obey.
Your Captain will call you
It grieves my heart so,
Won't you let me go with you
No, my love, no.
I'll tie back my hair
Men's clothing I'll put on
I'll pass as your comrade
As we march along.
I'll pass as your comrade
No-one will ever know
Won't you let me go with you
No, my love, no.
Oh Johnny, oh Johnny,
I fear you are unkind,
I love you far beter
Than all of mankind.
I love you far better
Than words can e'er express,
Won't you let me go with you
Yes, my love, yes.
Do you hear that rushing billow,
Wave on wave that surging, follow
Battle's distant sound.
Loose the folds asunder,
Flag we conquer under;
Placid skies that hear our cries
Shall launch their bolts in thunder;
Onward 'tis our country needs us
He is bravest, he who leads us.
Honour's self now proudly heads us.
Freedom, God and Right.
'Tis the sound of Saxon foemen,
Saxon spearmen, Saxon bowmen;
Be they knight, or hinds or yoemen,
They shall bite the ground.
Tune: Men of Harlech
Vests and pants and boots with laces,
Spats or hats you buy in places
Down in Brompton Road.
What's the use of shirts of cotton
Studs that always get forgotten?
These affairs are simply rotten,
Better far is Woad.
Woad's the stuff to show men
Woad to scare your foemen:
Boil it to a brilliant blue
And rub it on your back and abdomen,
Ancient Briton ne'er did hit on
Anything as good as Woad to fit on
Necks or knees or where you sit on,
Tailors, you be blowed!
Romans come across the channel,
All wrapped up in tin and flannel:
Half a pint of Woad per man'll
Dress us more than these.
Saxon you can waste your stitches
Building beds for bugs in breeches:
We have Woad to clothe us
Which is not a nest for fleas.
Romans, keep your armours;
Saxons your pyjamas;
Hairy coats were meant for goats
Gorillas, yaks, retriever dogs and llamas,
Tramp up Snowdon with our Woad on,
Never mind if we get rained or snowed on,
Never want a button sewed on -
Go it, Ancient Brits!