Dubliners (David McDonagh)

Oh Dublin, you´re my city, I´m proud to call you mine,
devided by the Liffey´s greasy slime.
No matter who I love and woo at home or oversea,
my heart prefers those Dubliners like me.

Dublin is to Dubliners a dear old dirty town,
it´s getting dearer every year and hard to earn a pound.
And as for the Liffey that gash through the city
it´s thicker than treacle or chalk.
It´ll soon been so grim that instead of a swim,
they´ll be holding the Liffey walk.

Thugs and drugs and muggings are the order of the day,
the headline yell "We´ve gone to hell it´s time crime didn´t pay"
The gangs and the police meet nightly on Foley St.
Bleeding their way through the news,
It´s become quite the scene the new show on our screen,
will be Sean Mac Dermott Street Blues.

Even though we ve troubles, we can always find a smile,
a Dub will wear a certain air I think you´d call it style.
Those Guinness streaked faces from Phoenix Park races
cheer up the grey streets with their jibes,
though most landmarks are gone the rich pagent lives on
and Molly Malone still survives.

Nelson´s Farewell (Joe Dolan, 1966)

Poor old admiral Nelson is no longer in the air, toora-loora loora loo-ra loo.
On the eigth day of March in Dublin City fair, toora-loora loora loo-ra loo.
From his stand of stones and mortar, he fell crashing thru´ the quarter, where once he stood so stiff and proud and rude.
So let´s sing our celebration, it´s a service to the nation. So poor old Admiral Nelson toora-loo.

Oh fifty pounds of gelignite it sped him on his way, toora loora loora looraloo.
And the lad that laid the charge, we´re in debt to him today , toora loora loora looraloo.
In Trafalgar Square it might be fair to leave old Nelson standing there,
but no one tells the Irish what they´ll view.
Now the Dublin Corporation can stop deliberations,
for the boys of Ireland showed them what to do.

For a hundred and fifty seven years it stood up there in state, toora loora loora looraloo.
To mark old Nelson´s victory over the French and Spanish fleet, toora loora loora looraloo.
But one thirty in the morning, without a bit of warning,
old Nelson took a powder and he blew.
So at last the Irish nation has Parnell in higher station than poor old Nelson tooraloo.

Oh the Russians and the Yanks with lunar probes they play, toora loora loora looraloo.
And I hear the French are trying hard to make up lost headway, toora loora loora looraloo.
But now the Irish join the race we have an astronaut in space, Ireland, boys, is now a world power too.
So let´ sing our celebration, it´s a service to the nation, so poor old Admiral Nelson tooraloo.

Bloody Sunday

"We demand civil rights" the marchers did say,
fivethousand people assembled that day.
To free Derry corners, they came with a cheer,
and the march was peaceful, there was nothing to fear.

But the paratroop regiment came down the street,
five hundred men all over six feet.
They carried machine guns and big SLRs,
coming down William St. in their .. cars.

The orders were given in White Hall we know.
Open fire killed a few draw them out
No fire was returned as the world knows today,
thirteen innocent men with their lives had to pay.

At free Derry corner the firing began,
some people fell and some people ran.
Their civil rights banner was staying bloody red,
at the barricades there they shot three people dead.

The wounded lie bleeding a doctor is called,
the firing continued and another two fall.
The harvest they reaped with their bullets of lead,
bloody sunday in Derry and thirteen men dead.

Their tribunal mockery was soon carried out,
just doing their duty of that is no doubt.
On Englands proud history a crime added yet,
how can we forgive it, how can we forget ?

Thousands Are Sailing

You brave irish heroes, wherever you be,
I pray stand a moment and listen to me:
Your sons and fair daughters are now going away,
and thousands are sailing to Amerikay.

So good luck to those people and save may they land,
they´re leaving their country for a far distant strand.
They are leaving old Ireland, no longer can stay,
and thousands are sailing to Amerikay.

The night before leaving they are bidding goodbye,
and it´s early next morning their heart gives a sigh.
They do kiss their mothers and then they do say
farewell dearest father we must now go away.

Farewell friends and relations and neighbours also.
When the trunks are all packed off, all ready to go,
the tears from their eyes they fall down like the rain,
and the horses are prancing, going off for the train.

So good luck ...

When they do reach the station you will hear the last cry
with handkerchiefs waving and bidding goodbye.
Their hearts will be breaking on leaving the shore,
farewell dear old Ireland, we will never see you more.

So I pitty the mother who raised up the child
and likewise the father, who labours and toils,
to try to support them, he will work night and day,
and when they are elder, they will go away.

Rock On Rockall

To people familiar with the name, Rockall is usually associated with the BBC Shipping Forecast. Described by Encyclopedia Brittanica as "an uninhabited Islet, Rockall Bank, North Atlantic, 200 miles (354km) west of the Outer Hebrides," it is little more than a large rock, often swept by huge seas and North Atlantic gales. It is the westernmost of all the British Isles and is claimed by both Ireland and the United Kingdom for its oil and fishing rights. A wild and contentious place"

Oh! the empire is finished no foreign lands to seize
so the greedy eyes of England are looking towards the seas.
Two hundred miles from donegal, there’s a place that's called rock all
and the groping hands of whitehall are grabbing at its walls.

Oh! rock on rock all, you'll never fall, to Britain's greedy hands
- or you'll meet the same resistance that you did in many lands
may the seagulls rise and pluck your eyes and the water crush your shell,
and the natural gas will burn your ass and blow yis all to hell.

now the seas will not be silent, while Britannia grabs the waves
and remember that the Irish will no longer be your slaves,
and remember that Britannia, well, - she rules the waves no more
so keep your hands off rockall - it's irish to the core.

Seven Deadly Sins

Some say that kissing's a sin; But tell me how can that be true;
For kissing has been in this world; Since the very first day there was two

And if it was illegal then the lawyers they would sue;
And the prisons would be full of folk who had a kiss (curse,bet,smoke,drink) or two;
And if they didn't like it, then away the girls would run;
And if it wasn't plenty then the poor folk would have none;

Some say that gambling's a sin; But I bet you thousand to one;
That gambling has been in this world; Since horses and greyhounds could run

Some say that smoking's a sin; But a pipe now and then is enough;
For smoking has been in this world; Since Adam thought Eve how to puff

Some say that drinking's a sin; But a dram is the blessing of men;
For drinking has been in this world; For ever and ever - Amen!

The Jolly Beggarman

I saw the jolly beggar-man came tripping o´er the plain.
He came on to a farmer´s door a lodging for to gain.
The farmer´s daughter she came down and viewed him cheek and chin
she sais he is a handsome man I pray you take him in.

We´ll go no more a roving a roving in the night.
We´ll go no more a roving lad, the moon shines so bright
We´ll go no more a roving

The farmer´s daughter she got up to bolt the kitchen door
and there she saw the beggar standing naked on the floor.
He took the daughter in his arms and to the bed he ran.
"Kind Sir", she sais, "be easy now, you´re waking our good man!"

"Now you are no beggar, you are some gentleman,
for you have stolen my maidenhand and I am quite undone."
"I am no Lord, I am no Squire, of beggars I be one,
and beggars they be robbers, so you be quite undone."

She took the bed in both her hands and threw it at the wall,
sais "Go you with the beggar-man, my maidenhand and all !"

The Foggy Dew

As down the glen one Easter morn, to a city fair rode I
The armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound it’s loud tattoo
But the Angelus bell o’er the Liffey swell,
Rang out through the foggy dew.

Right proudly high in Dublin town they hung out the flag of war.
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Sulva or Sud el Bar;
And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through,
While Britannia's Huns, with their great big guns,
Sailed in through the foggy dew.

'Twas England bade our Wild Geese go, that small nations might be free,
But their long graves are by Suvla's waves on the fringes of the great North Sea,
Oh had they died by Pearse's side or had they fought with Cathal Burgha
Their names we keep, where the Fenians sleep,
'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

But the bravest fell and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clear,
For those who died that Easter tide, in the springtime of the year:
While the world did gaze with deep amaze, at those fearless men but few,
Who bore that fight, that freedom's light
might shine through the foggy dew.
While the world did gaze with deep amaze, at those fearless men but few,
Who bore that fight, that freedom's light
might shine through the foggy dew.

Four Green Fields

What did I have, said the fine old woman.
What did I have, this proud old woman did say.
I had four green fields, each one was a jewel.
But strangers came and tried to take them from me.
But my fine strong sons
They fought to save my jewels.
They fought and they died
And that was my grief, said she.

Long time ago, said the fine old woman.
Long time ago, this proud old woman did say
There was war and death, plundering and pillage.
My children starved by mountain, valley and stream.
And their wailing cries
They reached the very heavens.
And my four green fields
run red with their blood, said she.

What have I now, said the fine old woman.
What have I now, this proud old woman did say.
I have four green fields, one of them’s in bondage.
In strangers hands, that try to take it from me.
But my sons have sons
As brave as were their fathers.
And my four green fields
will bloom once again, said she.
And my four green fields
will bloom once again, said she.

From Clare To Here

There's four of us who share the room, we work hard for the crack,
But getting up late on Sunday, I never get to mass.

It's a long, long way from Clare to here
Oh, it's a long, long way from Clare to here,
Oh, it's a long, long way, It gets further day by day,
It's a long, long way from Clare to here.

And the only time I feel all right is when I'm only into drinking
It eases off the pain a bit and levels out my thinking

And it almost breaks my heart when I think of Josephine
I promised I'd be coming back with pockets full of green

I dream I hear a piper play or maybe it's emotion
I dream I see white horses dance on that other ocean

The Galway Races

With me whack, fol the do, fol the did-de-ley, i-dle-ay

There were passengers from Limerick and passengers from Nenagh
The boys from Connemara and the Clare unmarried maidens
And the people from Cork city who were loyal, true and faithful
That brought home Fenian prisoners from dying in foreign nations.

It’s there you’ll see confectioners with sugarsticks and dainties
The lozenges, the oranges, the lemonade and raisins
And gingerbread and spices to accommodate the ladies
And a big crubeen for three pence to be picking while you're able.

It’s there you’ll see the fiddlers and pipers competing
The nimble-footed dancers and they tripping on the daisies
And others crying "Cigars and lights and bills of all the races
With the colours of the jockeys and the prize and horses ages".

It's there you'd see the jockeys and they mounted so stately,
The pinks, the blues, the Irisher green, the emblem of our nation
When the bell was rung for starting all the horses seemed impatient
I thought they'd never stood on ground, their speed was so amazing.

There was half a million people there of all denominations
The Catholic, The Protestant, the Jew and Presbyterian
There was yet no animosity, no matter what persuasion
But sport and hospitality including fresh acquaintance.

The Garden Song

Inch by inch and row by row, oh to make this garden grow.
All it takes is a rake and a hoe, and a piece of fertile ground.
Inch by inch and row by row, summer bless these seeds I sow,
summer warm them from below 'til the rain comes tumb(e)ling down.

Plant your rows straight and long, tend to them with care and song,
Mother Nature will make you strong, if you give her loving care.
An ‘ol crow watches hungrily, from his perch in yonder tree,
well in my garden I'm as free as that feathered thief up there.

The Irish Rover

On the 4th of July 1806
We set sail from the sweet cobh of Cork,
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks,
For the Grand City Hall in New York,
‘Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore and aft,
Oh how the wild winds drove her,
She stood several blasts, she had twenty-seven masts,
And they called her The Irish Rover.

We had 1 million bags of the best Sligo rags,
We had 2 million barrels of stone,
We had 3 million sides of the bold blind horses hides,
We had 4 million barrels of bones,
We had 5 million hogs and 6 million dogs,
And 7 million barrels of porter,
We had 8 million bales of old nanny goats tails,
In the hold of the Irish Rover.

There was ould Mickey Coote who played hard upon his flute,
When the ladies lined up for a set,
He was tootled with skill for each sparkling quadrill,
‘Till the dancers were fluttered and bet,
With his smart witty talk he was cock of the walk,
And he rowled the dames under and over,
They all knew at a glance when he took up his stance,
That he sailed in the Irish Rover.

There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee,
There was Hogan from County Tyrone,
There was Jimmy McQuirk who was scared stiff of work,
And a man from Westmeath called Malone,
There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule,
And fightin' Bill Tracey from Dover,
And your man Mick McCann from the banks of the
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover.

For a sailor it's always a bother in life,
It’s so lonesome by night and by day,
When he longs for the shore and a charming young, whore,
Who will melt all his troubles away,
All the noise and the rout swillin' poteen and stout,
For him soon is done and over,
Of the love of a maid he is never afraid,
That ould salt from the Irish Rover.

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out,
And the ship lost its way in the fog,
Then that whale of a crew was reduced down to two,
Just meself and the captain's ould dog,
Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord what a shock,
The boat it was turned right over,
Turned nine times around and the poor ould dog was drowned,
I’m the last of the Irish Rover.

The Rising of the Moon

And come 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 order from the captain, get you ready quick and soon,
For the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon.

At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon,
For the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon.

And come tell me Sean O'Farrell, where the gathering is to be,
At the old spot on the river quite well known to you and me,
One more word for signal token, whistle out the marching tune,
With your pikes upon your shoulder at the rising of the moon.

At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon,
With your pikes upon your shoulder at the rising of the moon.

Out of many a mud walled cabin eyes were watching through the night,
Many a manly heart was beating for the blessed morning’s light.
Murmurs ran along the valley to this banshee's lonely croon,
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon.

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon,
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon.

All along that singing river, that black mass of men was seen,
High above their shining weapons flow their own beloved green,
Death to ev'ry foe and traitor, whistle out the marching tune,
And hurrah me boys for freedom 'tis the rising of the moon.

'Tis the rising of the moon, 'tis the rising of the moon,
And hurrah me boys for freedom 'tis the rising of the moon.

Botany Bay

Farewell to your bricks and mortar,
Farewell to your dirty lies.
Farewell to your gangways and your gang planks,
And to hell with your overtime,
For the good ship Ragamuffin is lying at the quay,
For to take out Pat with a shovel on his back
to the shores of Botany Bay.

Well the boss came up this morning, and he said Well Pat you know,
If you didn't get those navvys out I’m afraid you'll have to go
So I asked him for my wages and demanded all my pay,
And I told him straight, we would all emigrate to the shores of Botany Bay.

And when I reach Australia I’ll go and search for gold,
There’s plenty there for digging up, or so I have been told,
Or else I'll go back to my trade and a hundred bricks I'll lay,
Because I live for an eight hour shift on the shores of Botany Bay.

Young Ned of the Hill (Woods/Kavana)

Have you ever walked the lonesome hills
And heard the curlews cry
Or seen the raven black as night
Upon a windswept sky
To wlk the purple heather
And hear the westwind cry
To know that´s where the rapparee must die

Since Oliver Cromwell pushed us westward
To live our lowly lives
There´s some of us have deemed to fight
From Tipperary mountains high
Noble men with wills of iron
Who are not afraid to die
Who´ll fight with gaelic honour held on high

A curse upon you Oliver Cromwell
You who raped our Motherland
I hope you´re rotting down in hell
For the horrors that you sent
To our misfortunate forefathers
Whom you robbed of their birthright
"To hell or Connaught" may you burn in hell tonight

Of one such man I´d like to speak
A rapparee by name and deed
His family dispossessed and slaughtered
They put a price upon his head
His name is known in song and story
His deeds are legend still
And murdered for blood money
Was young Ned of the hill

You have robbed our homes and fortunes
Even drove us from our land
You tried to break our spirit
But you´ll never understand
The love of dear old Ireland
That will forge an iron will
As long as there are gallant men
Like young Ned of the hill

Life of the Rover

The old ways are changing, you cannot deny,
the day of the traveller’s over.
There’s nowhere to go and there’s nowhere to bide,
so farewell to the life of the Rover.

Farewell to the tent and the old caravan
to the tinker, the gypsy, the travelling man.
Farewell to the life of the Rover.

Farewell to the cant and the travelling tongue,
Farewell to the Romany talking.
The buying and selling, the old fortune-telling,
the knock at the door and the hawking.

You’ve got to move fast to keep up with the times,
for these days a man cannot dander.
There’s a by-law to say you must be on your way.
And another to say you can’t wander.

Farewell to the beesums of heather and broom,
farewell to the creel and the basket.
The folks of today they would far sooner pay
for a thing that’s been out of plastic.

Farewell to the pony, the cob and the mare.
The reigns and the harness are idle.
You don’t need a strap when your breaking up scrap.
So farewell to the bit and the bridle.

O’Connel’s Steam Engine

Oh people of heart I pray pay attention,
Listen to what I’m about to relate,
Concerning a couple I overheard talking,
As I was returning late home from a wake,
As I rode along sure I saw an old woman,
Who sat in a gap she was milking a cow,
She was jigging that tune called Make haste to the wedding,
Or some other ditty I can’t tell you now.

Ah the next came along, it was a bould tinker,
Who happened by chance to be passing that way,
The day being fine they sat down together,
That news of that man, the old woman did say,
There’s no news at all Ma´m, replied the bould tinker,
But the people all wish that he never had been,
He’s a damnable rogue of a Daniel O’Connell,
And he’s now making babies in Dublin by steam.

Ah, the children are ruined replied the old woman,
Or has the quare fellow gone crazy at last,
Or is it the sign of a war or rebellion,
Or what is the reason he wants them so fast,
It’s not that at all Mam replied the bould tinker,
The children of Ireland are getting to small,
It’s O’Connell’s petition to the new Lord Lieutenant,
That he won’t let us make them the old way at all.

By his pipe in me mouth, replied the old woman,
And that’s a strong oath on me soul for to say,
But I am an old woman and if I was near him,
I bet you me life that he’d rue the day,
For the people of Ireland they’re very well known,
They gave him their earnings when needing them bad,
And now that he is recompensing them for it,
By taking the only diversion they have.

Ah light to your coach Mam replied the bould tinker,
Long may you live now with youth on your side,
If all the young girls in Ireland were like you,
O’Connell could throw his steam engine aside,
If I had the young men of Ireland around me,
And girls making babies as fast as they can,
And whenever Her Majesty wanted an army,
We’d be able to send her as many as Dan.

The Patriot Game

Come all you young rebels, and list while I sing,
For love of ones country is a terrible thing,
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame,
And makes us all part of the patriot game.

My name is O’Hanlon, I’m just gone sixteen,
My home is in Monoghan just there I was weaned,
I learned all my life cruel England to blame,
And so I’m a part of the patriot game.

It’s barely a year since I wandered away
With the local battalions of the bold IRA
I read of our heroes and wanted the same
To play up my part in the patriot game.

They told me how Connoly was shot in a chair
His wounds from the fighting all bleeding and bare,
His fine body twisted all battered and lame,
They soon made me part of the patriot game.

This Ireland of ours has for long been half-free,
Six counties are under John Bull’s monarchy,
But still DeValera is greatly to blame,
For shirking his part in the patriot game.

I don’t mind a bit if I shoot down police,
They are lackeys for war never guardians of peace,
And yet at deserters I’m never let aim,
The rebels who sold out the patriot game.

v And now as I lie with my body all holes,
I think of those traitors who bargained and sold.
I’m sorry my rifle has not done the same
For the cowards who sold out the patriot game.

The Town I Loved So Well

In my memory, I will always see
The town that I have loved so well,
Where our school played ball by the gasyard wall
And we laughed through the smoke and the smell
Going home in the rain, running up the dark lane,
Past the jail and down behind the fountain
Those were happy days, in so many, many ways,
In the town I loved so well.

In the early morning the shirt factory horn
Called women from Creggan, the Moor and the Bog
While the men on the dole played a mother’s role
Fed the children and then walked the dogs.
And though times were tough, there was just about enough
And they saw it through without complaining
For deep inside was a burning pride
In the town I loved so well.

There was music there in the Derry air
Like a language that we could all understand
I remember the day that I earned my first pay
When I played in a small pick up band.
There I spent my youth and to tell you the truth
I was sad to leave it all behind me
For I learned about life and I’d found a wife
In the town I loved so well.

But when I returned how my eyes were burned
To see how a town could be brought to its knees
By the armoured cars and the bombed out bars
And the gas that hangs on to every breeze
Now the army’s installed by that old gasyard wall
And that damned barbed wire gets high and higher
With their tanks and guns oh my god what have they done
To the town I loved so well.

Now the music’s gone but they carry on
For their spirit’s been bruised, never broken
They will not forget, but their hearts are set
On tomorrow and peace once again
And what’s done is done and what’s won is won
And what’s lost is lost and gone forever
I can only pray, for a bright, brand new day
In the town I loved so well.

Oro! Se Do Bheatha Bhaile (Padraig Pearse)

Written by Padraig Pearse, one of the leaders of the Irish Rebellion of 1916. "Oh, welcome home" was written as an invitation to all the Irishmen who were fighting for the British Empire and the freedom of small nations to come home and tackle the ancient foe on their own little island.
English translation by Cliff McGann

Óró! Sé do bheatha bhaile! Óró! Sé do bheatha bhaile! Óró! Sé do bheatha bhaile! Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh.	Oh! You are welcome home! Oh! You are welcome home! Oh! You are welcome home! Now that summer is coming.
Sé do bheatha! A, bhean ba léanmhar! B'é ár greach tú bheith i ngéibheann, Do chuiche bhreá i seilibh méirleach, 'S tú díolta leis na Gallaibh.	Welcome, oh woman, who was so afflicted, it was our ruin that you were in bondage. Our fine land in the posession of theive, Sold to the foreigners.
Tá Gráinne Mhaol ag teacht thar sáile, Óglaigh armtha léi mar gharda, Gaeil iad féin 's ni Gaill na Spáinnigh, 'S cuirfid ruaig ar Ghallaibh.	Ireland is coming over the sea, Armed warriors along with her as guard. They are Irish themselves, not foreigners nor spaniards, And they will beat the foreigners.
A bhuí le Rí na bhFeart go bhfeiceam, Muna mbeam beo' na dhiaidh ach seachtain, Grainne Mhaol, agus míle gaiscíoch, Ag fógairt fáin Gallaibh.	Please the great god that we may see, Although we only live a week after it. Ireland and a thousand warriors, dispersing the foreigners.

Master McGrath

Possibly, says Ronnie Drew, the only victory the Irish ever won on English soil.

On the twelfth of November, that day of renown,
McGrath and his keeper they left Lurgan town.
A gale in the channel, it soon drove them o'er,
On the thirteenth they landed on England's fair shore.

Oh well when they arrived there in big London Town,
Those great English sportsmen they all gathered round.
And one of those gentlemen standing nearby
Said, "Is that the great dog you call Master McGrath ?"

Oh well one of those gentlemen standing around
Says:"I don't care a damn for your Irish greyhound"
And another he sneered with a scornful "Ha! Ha!
We'll soon humble the pride of your Master McGrath."

Then Lord Lurgan came forward and said:"Gentlemen,
If there's any amongst you has money to spend,
For your grand English nobles I don't care a straw -
Here's five thousand to one upon Master McGrath."

Oh McGrath he looked up and he wagged his old tail.
Informing his lordship, "Sure I know what you mane,
Don't fear, noble Brownlow, don't fear them agra,
We'll soon tarnish their laurels," says Master McGrath.

Oh well Rose stood uncovered, the great English pride,
Her master and keeper were close by her side;
They let them away and the crowd cried "Hurrah"
For the pride of all England - and Master McGrath.

Oh well Rose and the Master they both ran along.
"I wonder" says Rose, "what took you from your home.
You should have stayed there in your Irish domain,
And not come to gain laurels on Albion's plain."

"Well I know," says the Master, "we have wild heather bogs
But bedad, in old Ireland there's good men and dogs.
Lead on, bold Britannia, give none of your jaw,
Stuff that up your nostrils, " says Master McGrath.

Well the hare she led on just as swift as the wind
He was sometimes before er and sometimes behind,
He jumped on her back and held up his ould paw -
"Long live the Republic," says Master McGrath.

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