Lyrics for Years of Spooner

yearsofspooner

The Noble Lord Hawkins
Traditional

Oh the noble Lord Hawkins one morning did ride,
A hawk and a hound and a sword at his side.
As he was a-riding he chanced for to see
A pretty young woman her name was Polly,
A pretty young woman her name was Polly.

O Polly, O Polly, your fortune shall be
To pour out me wine and to wait upon me.
To pour out me wine and to wait upon me,
O how would you like that, me pretty Polly?
O how would you like that me pretty Polly?

O noble Lord Hawkins now don't be so bold,
I never would wed you for silver and gold,
For I have a petticoat to my degree,
And I'll not wed a married man till his wife die.
I'll not we a married man till his wife die.

The Polly, O Polly, lend me your penknife
And I will go home and I'll kill me old wife,
I'll kill me old wife and me children three,
Then would you have me pretty Polly?
O then would you have me pretty Polly?

O noble Lord Hawkins now don't you say so.
Go home to your wife and let nobody know.
Go home to your wife and your children three
And seven long years I will tarry for thee.
Seven long years I will tarry for thee.

When seven long years they were over and passed,
His poor old wife she died at last.
The very same day that his old wife did die,
He went a-courting of pretty Polly.
Yes, he went a-courting of pretty Polly.

And now she's a nobleman's lady so high,
Along with bold Hawkins she do ride.
So all ye young maidens that's listened to me,
Take heed of the fortune of pretty Polly.
Take heed of the fortune of pretty Polly.

For six pretty maidens so neat and so trim,
Shall dance at her wedding on Monday morning,
Shall dance at her wedding on Monday morning.

Timothy Winters
Charles Causley

Timothy Winters comes to school
With eyes as wide as a football-pool,
Ears like bombs and teeth like splinters:
A blitz of a boy is Timothy Winters

His belly is white, and his neck is dark,
And his hair is an exclamation-mark.
His clothes are enough to scare a crow
And through his britches the blue winds blow.

When teacher talks he won't hear a word
But he shoots down dead the arithmetic-bird,
He licks the pattern off the plate
And he's never even heard of the Welfare State.

Timothy Winters has bloody feet
And he lives in a house on Suez Street,
He sleeps in a sack on the kitchen floor
And they say there aren't boys like him any more.

Old Man Winters likes his beer
And his missus ran off with a bombardier,
Grandma sleeps in the grate with a gin
And Timothy's dosed with an aspirin.

The Welfare Worker lies awake
But the law's as tricky as a ten-foot snake
So Timothy Winters drinks his cup
And slowly goes on growing up.

At Morning Prayers the Headmaster helves
For children less fortunate than ourselves,
And the loudest response in the room is when
Timothy Winters roars 'Amen!'

So come one angel, come on ten:
Timothy Winters says 'Amen.'
Amen, amen, amen, amen.
Timothy Winters, Lord,
Amen

The Battle of Alma
Traditional

September last on the eighteenth day
We landed safe at the big Crimay,
In spite of all the splashing spray
To cheers our hearts for Alma.

Chorus
Britain's sons may long remember
The glorious twentieth of September
We caused the Russians to surrender
Upon the heights of Alma.

That night we lay on the cold cold ground,
No tent nor shelter to be found;
And with the rain was almost drowned
Upon the heights of Alma.

Next morning the scorching sun did rise
Beneath those eastern cloudy skies;
Our noble chief Lord Raglan cries,
'Prepare to march for Alma.'

Oh, when the heights they hove in view,
The stoutest heart it did subdue
To see the Russian warlike crew
Upon the heights of Alma.

They were so strongly fortified,
With batteries on every side;
Our noble chief Lord Raglan, cried,
'We'll get hot work at Alma.'

Their shot it flew like falling rain
When we their batteries strove to gain;
And many the hero there was slain
Upon the heights of Alma.

Our Scottish lads in kilt and hose
Were not the last you may suppose
To daring face their daring foes,
And gain the heights of Alma.

To Sebastapol the Russians fled,
They left their wounded and their dead;
The rivers there they all ran red
From the blood was spilled at Alma.

There were fifteen hundred French they say
That fell upon that fatal day,
And eighteen hundred Russians lay
In their bloody gore at Alma.

From orphan's eyes the tears do roll,
And none the widows can console,
While parents mourn without control
For sons were lost at Alma.

And many a pretty a pretty maid does mourn
Her lover who will ne'er return;
By cruel wars he's from her torn,
His body lies at Alma.

Now France and Britain hand in hand,
What foe on earth could them withstand?
So let it run throughout the land,
The victory won at Alma

I Drew my Ship
Traditional

I drew my ship into the harbour,
I drew it close, where my love lay;
I drew it close beside her window,
To listen to what my love did say.

'Who is that knocks loud at my window?
Who knocks so loud, yet won't come in?'
'It is your true love, who loves you dearly,
Come down my love, and let me in.'

So slowly, slowly, got she up,
And slowly, slowly come she nigh,
But e'er she had the door unlocked,
Her own true love, was come and gone.

He's brisk and braw, he's noo awa',
Sae far across the raging main.
Where fishes dancing and bright eyes glancing,
Have made him quite forget his ain.

Limbo
Traditional

I am a young lad and me fortune is sad
And if e'er I get rich tis a wonder.
For I spent all me money on girls and strong beer,
And what riches I gained are all plundered.
Field after field to the market I sent,
Til me land was all gone and me money all spent,
But me heart was so hard that I ne'er could repent
And it's that which has led me to Limbo.

O, once I did run while the others did lie
And I'd strut like a crow in the gutter,
And the people all said as they saw me pass by,
'There goes Mr Fop in a flutter';
To the to t'gallant I hoisted me sails,
Wi' a fine cravat and a wig wi' three tails,
But now I am ready to bite me own nails
And drinks the cold water of Limbo.

I had an old Uncle who lived in the west
And he heard of me sad disaster.
After that, the poor soul, well he could get no rest
And his troubles came faster and faster.
He came to the jail for to view me sad case
And as soon as I saw him, I knew his old face,
He stood and he gazed just like one in amaze
And I wished meself, safe out of Limbo.

He said, 'Jack if I set you once more on your legs
And I put you in credit and fashion,
Will ye promise to leave off your cruel wicked ways
And try for to govern yer passion?'
‘Uncle' Says I,'If you do set me free,
I promise, I'll always be ruled by thee,
And I'll labor me bones for the good of me soul,
Aqnd I'll pay 'me, fer laying me in Limbo.

Then he pulled out apurse with three thousand in gold
And he counted it out in bright guineas,
And when I had got me the right side of jail
I went to see Kitty and Jeanie.
Well in me old rags they knew none of me gold,
So they threw me all out in the wet and the cold.
You'd a-laughed for to hear how those hussies did scold
And they jawed me for laying in Limbo.

But I'd only been there but a very short while
Till me pockets they soon fell to picking.
But I banged ‘me as long as me stick I could hold,
Till they started kicking and screaming.
Then one shouted 'Murder' the other did scold,
But I banged as long as me stick I could hold,
I banged their old bodies, for the good of their souls
And I paid ‘me for laying me in Limbo.

The Gaberlunzie Man
Traditional, Child Appendix
[Child 279, 280]

O a beggar, a beggar cam' ower yon lea,
And mony fine tales he hae telt tae me,
Sayin' guid wife fae ye'r charity
Will ye lodge a beggar man,
Lal lal tee too roo ree.

The nicht was cauld and the carl was wat,
And doon ahint the ingle he sat,
And ma daughters shoother he gang tae clap
And aye he ranted an sang
Lassie tae ma too roo ree.

O if I was black as I am white,
As the snaw that lies on yonder dyke,
I wad dress mysel' some beggar-like,
And awa wi' ye I'd gang
Laddie tae ma too roo ree.

O lassie, O lassie ye'r ower young
And ye haena get the cant o' the beggin' tongue,
No ye haena get the cant o' the beggin' tongue
And wi me ye canna gang,
Lassie tae ma too roo ree.

O I'll bend my back and I'll crook ma knee
And I'll pit a black patch ower ma e'e,
And a beggar's lassie they'll tak' me tae be,
Syne awa' wi ye I'll gang,
Laddie tae ma too roo ree.

Then atween the twa they made a plot
Tae rise twa hours afore the cock
And sae cannily they slippit the lock
And awa through the fields they ran,
Laddie tae ma too roo ree.

In the morning time the auld wife rose
And at her leisure pit on her claise;
Tae the servants bed she then did go
Tae spier for the silly puir man,
Lassie tae ma too roo ree.

She's gaen tay the bed where the beggar lay,
But the strae was cauld and he was away.
And she's clappit her hands crying 'Welladay,
Is there ony o' oor guid gear gane?'
Lassie tae ma too roo ree.

Some ran tae the coffer and some tae the kist,
But naethin' was awa' that could be missed,
And she danced her lane, crying, 'Praise be the blessed
I've lodged an honest auld man.'
Lassie tae ma too roo ree.

Ah some did rin and some did ride
Tae find the place fa' they did hide,
But they couldna find fa they did bide
As in the brae they lay.
Lassie tae ma too roo ree.

When years had passed some twa or three
That same beggar carl cam' ower the lea,
Saying 'Guid wife for ye'r charity
Will ye lodge a silly puir man?'
Lassie tae ma too roo ree.

O no, O no, I'll not lodge again
For I ance had a dochter ain o ma ain,
But awa' wi a beggin' man she's gane
And I dinna ken whence na whar.
Laddie tae ma too roo ree.

He said,'Yonder she's comin' ower yon lea
Wi mony a fine tale tae tell tae ye,
She's a baby donlin' at her knee
And another yen coming hame.
Lassie tae ma too roo ree.'

'O yonder she's comin' tae your bower,
In silk and satin and mony a flower.'
And the guid wife rose and she blessed the hour
She'd gane wi' the beggin' man.
Laddie tae ma too roo ree

Bridges
Erik Gooding

Chorus
If you're looking for fine bridges then on Teeside we've got two,
To show what local engineers and laborers can do,
There's one that lifts a stretch of road up out of shipping's way
And another shuffles back and forth a hundred times a day.

When I was just a student lad and working on a grant,
I got me sen a summer job in Dorman's Ackland Plant
Where conditions for the workers hadn't changed in fifty years
And the smell of smoke and manganese hung in the furnace glare.

The output of that plant it would be very hard to beat,
Wi' weary tykes a-toiling in the grim and bloody heat;
But a firm that mak's a better steel just find one if ye can
For that very furnace forged the steel for Sydney Harbour's span.

One day the foreman and me sen were walking to the mess.
We passed five hundred ton o' steel - I'm sure it were no less,
Says he to me, 'The job looks hard, of ingots there's a glut.'
And sure enough a twelve-month and that Ackland Plant were shut.

Now I'll tell ye lads of Brumagem what mak's us fancy cars
And fittings fine electrical and fruit and nut cake bars,
There's not a single one of ya that knows the way we feel
About our area up The North, where we mak' British steel.

The Hills of Isle au Haut
Gordon Bok

Away to the westward
Is the place a man should go,
Where the fishing's always easy
And there ain't no ice or snow.

CH I'll haul down the sail
Where the bays come together,
Bide away my days
On the hills of Isle au Haut.

Them Plymouth girls are fine,
Put their hearts in your hand;
And the Plymouth boys are able,
First-class sailors, every man.

Now the trouble with old Martir,
You don't try her in a trawler,
Them Bay of Biscay gales
Roll yer head off yer shoulder.

Now, the winters drive you crazy,
And the fishing's hard and slow;
You're a damned fool if you stay,
But there's no better place to go.

Blood Red Roses
Traditional

Me boots and clothes is all in pawn,
G'down ye blood red roses, g'down;
And it's flamin' drafty round Cape Horn,
G'down ye blood red roses, g'down

Oh ye pinks and poses,
G'down ye blood red roses, g'down

Around Cape Stiff we all must go,
Around Cape Stiff in the ice and snow.

It's growl ye may but go ye must,
Ye growl too ‘ard, yer ‘ead they'll bust.

'men up,' the mate do roar,
It's 'Lay aloft ye lazy whore.'

'Rock and shake her,' is the cry,
'The bleedin' mast sheave is dry.'

It's one more pull and that'll do,
For we're the boys to kick her through.

The Rabbit Trapper
Traditional

Now me traps is all a-jangle in an easy swinging tangle,
And I'm setting in a circle keeping round a fringe of tree;
Though I'm blood and gory spattered and me clothes is torn and tattered,
I'm as carefree as the bunnies, till they fall for one of these.

Well, I'm under no man's orders and I recognize no borders,
There's a welcome every where fer me and my old dungarees;
I am a rabbit trapper, a cunning bunny snapper,
And I whistle through the bushland like the birds up in the tree.

While you blokes is courting tabbies, I'm out among the rabbies,
I can hear ‘em buck and squealin', a dozen traps ahead,
And again while you are flirtin' at me last trap I'll be certain
To be baggin' up me bunnies, keeping tally as I tread.

So come on me old cobber, we'll get on some decent clobber
And we'll leave the bunnies playin' all around that fringe of trees;
We'll be at the station early, there's a shy and dinkum girlie
Lets me juggle with the cream cans while she writes out cheques for me.

The Flighty Tailor
Traditional

CH Ding dong de dilly um, blower and nailer. (x3)
My wife's gone away with a tailor.

Oh I can't mend a slan and I can't make a spade.
I feel my heart has been betrayed.
For the lovely girl that once was mine
Has gone with a fop without land or kine.

Where's the girl I love so well,
Where my strength and where's my skill?
I wear the horns upon my brow,
Since she's gone with the flighty tailor-o.

Wandering girl with the snow-white breast,
Far better come home and take your rest
With your honest smith forever and aye.
Don't roam with a tailor beneath the sky

The Rambler from Clare
Traditional

Now the first of my fortunes that ever was known,
I straight took my way to the Country Tyrone
Where among the pretty fair maids they used me well there,
And they called me the stranger and the Rambler from Clare.

And that's when I ‘listed in the town of Fermoy,
But with so many masters I could not comply;
I deserted next morning, the truth I declare,
And for Limerick Town went the Rambler from Clare.

I then took my way to the town of Tralee
Where I fell to courting sweet Sally McGee;
I first won her favour, then I left her there.
Now they too are searching for the Rambler from Clare.

But like a deserter my case I bewail.
I was captured and take in the town of Rathkail,
Then to army headquarters I had to repair,
And in the black-hole lay the Rambler from Clare.

I took off my cap and I made a low bow
In hopes that my colonel would pardon me now.
But the pardon he gave me ‘twas harsh and severe,
Twas 'Bind him, confine him, he's the Rambler from Clare.'

My poor aged mother the tears filled her eyes
And likewise my brothers, their shouts reached the skies;
But 'Brave boys,' said my father, 'Your arms now prepare
And bring home my darlin' the Rambler from Clare.'

They assembled together a harmonious throng
With their guns on their shoulders determined and strong.
Then their firing began, and the truth I declare,
They burst the jail doors and freed the Rambler from Clare.

We then marched along to the Barony of Forth
Where some of our heroes had camped long before;
We prepared to do battle, and the truth I declare,
Their chief commander was the Rambler from Clare.

But now I've the title of a United Man
So I cannot stay here in my own native land;
So off to Americay I must repair
And leave all my friends in the sweet County Clare.

Farewell to my comrades wherever ye be,
Likewise to my darlin' sweet Sally McGee;
Our ship she is ready, the wind it blows fair.
'Oh, he's gone, joy be with him, he's the Rambler from Clare.

Destitution Road
Alistair Hulett

In the year o' the sheep and the burning time
They cut our young men in their prime,
And the old Scots ways were a hanging crime
For the Gaels of Caledonia.
There's a den for the fox and a set for the hare,
A nest in the tree for the birds of the air;
But in old Scotland there's no place there
For the Gaels of Caledonia.

Chorus
But there's no use getting frantic
It's time to hump your load
Across the wild Atlantic
On the Destitution Road.

Well the bailiffs came wi' a writ and a'
And the gallant lads o' the Forty Twa;
And they drove ye oot in the sleet and snaw,
The Gaels o' Caledonia.
When they burned your hame
And ye'r crops as well,
Ye stood and wept in the blackened shell,
And the winter moor was a living hell
For the Gaels o' Caledonia.

The plague and the famine they dragged you down
As you made your way to Glasgow Town,
You'd heard o' a ship that was sailing soon
For the shores o' Nova Scotia.
So you sold your gear and you paid your fare
Wi your head held high, though your heart was sair.
And ye bid farewell for evermair
To the glens o' Caledonia.

The land was cleared and a deal was made,
Now an English lord in a tartan plaid
Struts and stares as the memories fade
Of the Gaels o' Caledonia.
And he hunts the deer in the lonely glen
That once was home to a thousand men,
And the wind on the moor sings a sad refrain
For the Gaels o' Caledonia

Wish I could write a love-song
Chas Hodges & Dave Peacock

I wish that I could write a love-song to show the way I feel,
But perhaps I just ain't got it, perhaps I never will.
Wish that I could write down words, that I want you to see,
Wish I could write a love-song, just to you from me.
I write the words down, then change ‘em all around ,'cos I ain't too sure,
It always comes out wrong, it's just another song,
And it's all bin done before, and it's gotta mean much more.
Wish that I could write a love-song, to show the way I feel,
But perhaps I just ain't got it, perhaps I never will.

Rock and roll songs so easy, rock and roll songs, dead easy.
Is it simply that I love you more than words can say?

Is that I feel silly when I let my feelings show
Or am I afraid to say too much, in case some day you go;
If I give in to my emotions, then I might get hurt,
If some day you run away, wiv my uncle Bert.
But I'm making fun again, trust me to make a joke, out of anything.
Wish I could make up lines wish I could make up rhymes,
Ain't good for anyfin' good to sing.
Wish I could write a love-song, to show the way I feel,
But I guess I just ain't got it, guess I never will.

Rock and roll songs so easy, rock and roll songs, dead easy.

Is it simply that I love you, more than words can say?
Think I'll write a love-song, just for you today.


Garry Gillard | New: 6 May, 2008 | Now: 15 February, 2018