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The Duke of Fife’s Welcome to Deeside
Four Whiskies in One Hour
The Irish Rover
In the year of our Lord eighteenhundred and six
we set sail from the coal quay of Cork.
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
for the grand City Hall in New York.
We’d an elegant craft, it was rigged fore and aft‘,
and how the trade winds drove her!
She had twenty-three masts, and she stood sev’ral blasts,
and they called her the Irish Rover.
There was Barney Magee, from the banks of the Lee,
there was Hogan from County Tyrone,
there was Johnny McGurk, who was scared stiff of work,
and a chap from Westmeath named Malone.
There was Slugger O’Toole, who was drunk as a rule,
and fighting Bill Tracy from Dover;
and our man Mick McCann, from the banks of the Bann,
was the skipper on the Irish Rover.
We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags,
we had two million barrels of bone;
we had three million bales of old nanny goat’s tails,
we had four million barrels of stone.
We had five million hogs and six million dogs,
and seven million barrels of porter;
we had eight million sides of old blind horses‘ hides
in the hold of the Irish Rover.
We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out,
and our ship lost her way in a fog.
And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two;
t’was myself and the captain’s old dog.
Then the ship struck a rock – O Lord, what a shock! –
and nearly tumbled over;
turned nine times around, then the poor old dog was drowned.
I’m the last of the Irish Rover.
Harvest Home / Kitty’s Wedding
As down the glen came McAlpine’s men with their shovels slung behind them
‚Twas in the pub that they drank their sup or down in the spikes you will find them.
They sweated blood and they washed down mud with quarts and pints of beer
And now we’re on the road again with McAlpine’s Fusileers.
I stripped to the skin with Darky Finn down upon the Isle of Grain,
With Horseface Toole I learned the rule, no money if you stop for rain.
For McAlpine’s god is a well filled hod with your shoulders cut to bits and scared,
And woe to he, who looks for tea with McAlpine’s Fusileers.
I remember the day that Bear O’Shea fell into a concrete stair.
What Horseface said when he saw him dead, well it wasn’t what the rich call prayers.
„I’m a navvy short,“ was his one retort that reached into my ears.
When the going is rough, well you must be tough with McAlpine’s Fusileers.
I’ve worked till the sweat near had me beat with Russian, Czech and Pole,
At shuttering jams up in the hydro dams or underneath the Thames in a hole.
I grafted hard and I got me cards and many a ganger’s fist across me ears.
If you pride your life, don’t join, by Christ, with McAlpine’s Fusileers.
Bráighe Loch Iall / The Lads of Laois
South Australia (Sea Shanty)
In South Australia I was born Heave away, haul away
South Australia round Cape Horn We’re bound for South Australia
Heave away, you rolling king Heave away, haul away
Heave away, oh hear me sing We’re bound for South Australia
There ain’t but one thing grieves my mind
To leave Miss Nancy Blair behind
I rung her all night I rung her all day
I rung her before we sailed away.
Oh when I sailed across the sea
My girl said she’d be true to me
And now I’m on some foreign strand
With a bottle of whiskey in my hand
And as we wallop around Cape Horn
You wish to God you’d never been born
I wish I was on Australia’s strand
In South Australia my native land
The Primrose Lasses / The Man of the House
Cock of the North
Cock of the north with a dream in your hand
my love has come home to this beautiful land.
and he burst through the door with his eyes like the sun
and his kit bag’s all full with the treasures he’s won.
A borrowed old broom and a tall orange tail,
And a bell and a clam and the jaws of a whale.
And my kitchen is full of the smells of the sea
and all the fine things, my love brings to me.
Come gather all your treasures by garden and room
and bring them along to our sweet little bloom.
With the sun in the morning a-blaze on your chest.
My love has come home from the north by north-west.
And here in our beds we will lie and we’ll sleep,
and we’ll lie and we’ll listen to the sound of the deep.
And as warm as the summer, we’ll sleep winter long:
My love has come home like King Solomon’s son.
The Morpeth Rant / The Rabbit Chase / Saut de Lapin
Farewell to Tarwathie (George Scroggie)
Fareweel Tae Tarwathie, adieu Mormond Hill
And the dear land o’ Crimmond, I bid ye fareweel.
I’m bound out for Greenland, and ready to sail
In the hope to find riches in hunting the whale.
Oor ship she’s well rigged and she’s ready to sail
And the crew are all anxious for to follow the whale
Where the icebergs do float and the stormy winds blaw
And the land and the ocean are covered wi’ snaw.
Fareweel tae the fair one who fair won me hairt,
Likewise my dear darling, from ye I must pairt.
For the cold ice of Greenland will not my heart chill
And the longer my absence, more loving you’ll feel.
This cold Ice of Greenland’s so barren and bare
No seed-time, no harvest is ever seen there.
But the birds here sing sweetly o’er mountain and dale
But there isnae a birdie tae sing fo’ the whale.
There is no habitation for a man tae live there
And the king of that country’s the fierce Greenland bear;
And there’ll be nae temptation tae tarry lang there
Wi‘ oor ship bumper full we will homeward repair.
A Winter’s Day
‚Twas friday morn when we set sail
and we were not far from the land.
When the captain he spied a meremaid so fair
With a comb and a glass in her hand.
And the ocean waves do roll, and the stormy winds do blow.
But we poor sailors go skipping on the top,
While the land lubbers lie down below, below, below,
While the land lubbers lie down below.
Then up spoke the captain of our gallant ship
And a well spoken man was he.
„I married me a wife in Salem town,
And tonight a widow she will be.“
Then up spoke the cook of our gallant ship
And a red hot cook was he.
„I care much more for my kettles and my pots
Than I do for the bottom of the sea.
Then up spoke the cabin-boy of our gallant ship
And a dirty little rat was he.
„There’s narry a soul in Salem town
Who gives a darn about me.“
Then three times ‚round spun our gallant ship
And three times ‚round spun she.
Then three times ‚round spun our gallant ship
And she sank to the bottom of the sea.
The Top of Cork Road / Dennis Murphy’s / Merrily kissed the Quaker’s Wife
The South Wind / All the Tunes in the World
Lay down the borrowed guitar
Lay down the fiddle and bow
You’d like one more drink at the bar
But the manager says you must go
All the tunes in the world
Are dancing around in your head
But the clock on the gantry says playtime is over
You’ll just have to sing them instead
Lay down the jig and the reel
Lay down the planxty and slide
Everyone knows how you feel
But there’s no time to take one more ride.
The barmaid has put on her coat
The barman has emptied the slops
The manager’s pals are afraid
That the music might bring in the cops
Everyone here feels the same
Yes, you deserve one more tune
But you know the rules of the game
It’s time to go howl at the moon