{"id":1413,"date":"2008-03-17T12:00:00","date_gmt":"2008-03-17T11:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/beerbellyband.com\/drinkings-oer-risky"},"modified":"2008-03-17T12:00:00","modified_gmt":"2008-03-17T11:00:00","slug":"drinkings-oer-risky","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/beerbellyband.com\/en\/drinkings-oer-risky\/","title":{"rendered":"DRINKINGS OER RISKY"},"content":{"rendered":"

Irish traditional song lyrics \u2014 collected by Beer Belly Band.<\/em><\/p>\n

Im the lad that likes the drink the truth Ill tell to you
\nBut times are hard I canna work Im signin on the brew
\nRikki too dum day too dum day rikki rikki too dum day<\/p>\n

One night I went into tae a pub some whiskey for tae buy
\nThere was a wee bird there sittin by the bar so I followed her by and by
\nRikki too dum day too dum day rikki rikki too dum day<\/p>\n

And as she came up tae her close she stopped to tie her shoe
\nIn a real nice way I said to her, Hello, miss, how are you?
\nRikki too dum day too dum day rikki rikki too dum day<\/p>\n

She took one look at me and screamed, I nearly died wi fear
\nAnd the neighbors that came runnin doon, said ye canna do that near here
\nRikki too dum day too dum day rikki rikki too dum day<\/p>\n

And then her faither he came doon and he was twenty stane
\nHe stood ma hied right aff the wall and the whiskey went doon the drain
\nRikki too dum day too dum day rikki rikki too dum day<\/p>\n

And then there cam a polisman, the lang arm o the law
\nHe ga me another clout that nearly broke ma jaw
\nRikki too dum day too dum day rikki rikki too dum day<\/p>\n

Now all you lads thats here the night, shun the beer and whiskey
\nOr else youll get your hied bashed in, for drinkings oer risky
\nRikki too dum day too dum day rikki rikki too dum day
\nRikki too dum day too dum day rikki rikki too dum day<\/p>\n

THE DUBLIN FUSILIERS
\nWell, you’ve heard about the Indians with their tommy-hawks and spears
\nAnd of the U.N. warriors the heroes of recent years
\nAlso I might mention the British Grenadiers
\nBut, none of them were in it with the Dublin Fusiliers
\nYou’ve heard about the Light Brigade and of the deeds they’ve done
\nAnd of the other regiments that many vic’tries won
\nBut the pride of all the armies, Dragoons and Carabineers
\nWas the noble band of warriorsThe Dublin Fusiliers<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nWith your left turn, right about face–this is the way we go
\nChargin’ with fixed bayonets, the terror of every foe
\nGlory to old Ireland’s proudest buccaneers
\nAnd a terror to creation areThe Dublin Fusiliers<\/p>\n

You’ve heard about the wars between the Russians and the Brits
\nThe Czar one day was readin’ an old copy of Tidbits
\nAnd when the General came to him and threw himself down in tears
\n“We’d better run back like blazes it’sThe Dublin Fusiliers
\nThe Czar commenced to tremble and bit his upper lip
\n“Begorrah boys!” Sez he, “I think we’d better take a tip.
\nThem devils come to Dublin and to judge from what I hear,
\nThey’re demons of militia menThe Dublin Fusiliers<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Well the sergeant cried, “Get ready lads, lay down each sword and gun,
\nTake off your shoes and stockings boys, and when I tell yous, run.”
\nThey didn’t stop but started and amidst three ringing cheers
\nCame a shower of bricks and bullets fromThe Dublin Fusiliers
\nThe time that Julius Caesar tried to land down at Ringsend
\nThe Coastguards couldn’t stop ’em, so for the Dublins they did send
\nAnd just as they were landing, lads, we heard three ringin’ cheers
\n“Get back to Rome like blazes it’sThe Dublin Fusiliers<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

DUBLIN IN MY TEARS
\nI traveled many lands, and I still can’t understand
\nHow sad you have become on my return
\nYour poor heart is filled with care, sad and though they left you there
\nYour once bright eyes with sorrow softly burn
\nI can even sense the change in the sound of children’s games
\nChildhood’s dreams and youth’s ambitions have all turned to doubts and fears
\nIt’s an age of wealth I’m told, but I never felt so old,
\nAs recall old Dublin in my tears<\/p>\n

All the faces that I meet as I rove each one way street
\nReflect the empty statements of the times
\nAnd the old cathedral bell can’t be heard above the swell
\nFor the years erase the message in her chimes
\nAll my childhood friends are gone like the streets where we were born
\nAnd the time that it has taken it doesn’t seem so many years
\nThey have faded in the gloom with sad Kelly of the Coome
\nJust a ghost of dear old Dublin in my tears<\/p>\n

There were times when jobs were few, there were hungry days we knew
\nSome days so bad their memory I’ve cursed
\nAnd the prayer I said to God there on board the Prince’s MOD
\nThat our children would restore the pride we lost
\nBut the past they all forsake and they’re dancing at your wake
\nWhile the heart of Dublin’s dying and nobody really cares
\nAnd the fools as they pass by, laugh to see an old man cry
\nBut I can’t forget old Dublin in my tears<\/p>\n

Gather round brave men and true, though our numbers they be few
\nWe’ll drink one toast before I cross the foam
\nFor soon in London’s dark domain, I recall how I became
\nNo more a stranger there than here at home
\nNow the Liffey flows along as I listen for her song
\nWhile the voice of young James Larkin seems to echo in my ear
\nBut it’s just the rafter ring, to their requiem I sing
\nFarewell to dear old Dublin in my tears
\nFarewell to dear old Dublin in my tears<\/p>\n

DUBLIN IN THE RARE OULD TIMES
\nRaised on songs and stories, heroes of renowned
\nThe passing tales and glories that once was Dublin Town
\nThe hallowed halls and houses, the haunting children’s rhymes
\nThat once was Dublin City, in the rare ould times<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nRing-a-ring-a-rosie as the light declines
\nI remember Dublin City in the rare ould times<\/p>\n

Oh, my name it is Sean Dempsey, as Dublin as can be
\nBorn hard and late in Pimlico in a house that ceased to be
\nBy trade I was a cooper, lost out to redundancy
\nLike me house that fell to progress, my trade to memory<\/p>\n

I courted Peggy Diegnan, as pretty as you please
\nOh, a rogue and a child of Mary from the rebel Liberties
\nI lost her to a student chap, with skin as black as coal
\nWhen he took her off to Birmingham, she took away my soul<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

The years have made me bitter, the gargle dims my brain
\nFor Dublin keeps on changin’ and nothing stays the same
\nThe Pillar and the Met are gone, the Royal long since pulled
\nAs this gray unyielding concrete makes a city of our town<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Fare thee well sweet Anna Liffey, I can no longer stay
\nAnd watch the new glass cages that spring up along the Quay
\nMy mind’s too full of memories, too old to hear new chimes
\nI’m part of what was Dublin, in the rare ould times<\/p>\n

Chorus
\nChorus<\/p>\n

THE DUBLIN MINSTREL
\nFrom Dublin streets and roads and down the years
\nCame great musicians and balladeers
\nThere was a special one, a red haired minstrel boy
\nAnd when he passed away, a city mourned its favorite son<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nAll round the markets and down the quays
\nThe sad news it spread to the Liberties
\nThe minstrel boy is gone, he’ll sing no more
\nAnd Luke somehow we know, we’ll never see your likes again<\/p>\n

He liked to laugh and sing he loved a jar
\nAnd his songs rang out in many city bars
\nI walk by the old canal near which he used to live
\nDown Raglan Road I’m sad, as he’d so much left to give<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Now the show is over, the curtain’s down
\nA flame no longer burns in Dublin Town
\nWhile the Liffey flows beneath the Ha’penny Bridge
\nYou’ll be remembered Luke for all your songs and all you did<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

THE DUBLIN RAMBLER
\nChorus:
\nOh, I come from around by Beggar’s Bush and they call me the Dublin rambler
\nCause I’m never round for very long, sure, I’m always on the go
\nBut there’s one thing that I love all right, is a pint with lads on a Sunday night
\nI once spent awhile in London, but soon came back to Dublin
\nSang around the pubs in Liverpool, I wanted to come home<\/p>\n

Did you ever stroll down Capel Street late on a summer’s morning
\nDrop into Slatt’s for a pint of stout, then on down to Quay
\nA carry-out to Kilmainham and back by the new Royal Hospital
\nWhile the T.D.’s in their new suits are often to be seen<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Have ever been to Dollymount and gazed out to the Ocean
\nWhere the Bailey and the Hill of Hope are a wondrous sight to see
\nTake a ramble through St. Dan’s Estate and by fair _______ Gate
\nWatch the young lads playing football and climbing in the tree<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Well I often go to Stephens Green for a walk among the gardens
\nOr to kill an hour or two I’ll stop for a tune down Merrion Row
\nAnd the evening out on the town it’s the chipper for the one on one
\nWith the T.D.’s in their evening suits, it’s not the place to go<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

DUBLIN – TAKE ME
\nIf you’re goin’ back to Dublin, take me
\nOn a night like this there’s nowhere else I ‘d rather be
\nJust pick me up and carry me, across the Irish Sea
\nIf you’re goin’ back to Dublin, take me<\/p>\n

If I can’t make it, please take my regards
\nTo Sweeny O’Donagh, my good friend down in Rathgar
\nKeep a clean nose for the customs man, and a big smile for the guards
\nIf I can’t make it, please take me regards<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nSunny days in the Wicklow Mountains, and music on Merrion Row
\nRainy nights in the Gresham Hotel, oh Lord, I gotta, I gotta go<\/p>\n

I’ll meet you under the arch in Trinity around about eight
\nAnd if it don’t rain I” be waiting outside of the gate
\nWe can go to O’Neill’s and talk all night and tomorrow when heaven can wait
\nI’ll meet you under the arch in Trinity around about eight<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

If you’re goin’ back to Dublin, take me
\nOn a night like this there’s nowhere else I ‘d rather be
\nJust pick me up and carry me, across the Irish Sea
\nIf you’re goin’ back to Dublin, take me<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

If you’re goin’ back to Dublin, I said, if you’re goin’ back to Dublin
\nIf you’re goin’ back to Dublin, take me, take me, take me<\/p>\n

DUBLIN TOWN
\nMemories coming back to me of Dublin boyhood dreams
\nThe friendly names and faces that I know
\nNow I’m high above the ocean in an emerald colored dream
\nReliving all the days of long ago<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nSo fly me home sweet wings of morning
\nFly me home where my soul will ever be
\nIn my heart I hear you calling
\nIn my mind it’s my Dublin town I see<\/p>\n

Me first communion money was a pocket full of dreams
\nIn me brand new longers spent just like a man
\nThen my school boy days were over I was goin’ on thirteen
\nWhen I turned to stealing kisses in the Green<\/p>\n

And I fished for the silver perch by lochs at Sally’s Bridge
\nWhere the lazy dapple horses pulled the barge
\nPlayed relive-e-o and I boxed the fox and the darlin’ kick the can
\nThey made the boy that makes the dream a man<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nSo fly me home sweet wings of morning
\nFly me home where my soul will ever be
\nIn my heart I hear you calling
\nIn my mind it’s my Dublin town I see<\/p>\n

I’ll take a walk down Merchant’s Quay say a prayer for friends long gone
\nAt the Brazen Head black porter prompts a song
\nOld melodies and ageless rhymes that echo o’er the swell
\nIn harmony the lonely Angelus Bell<\/p>\n

The happy sound of things I knew unchanging and unchanged
\nDublin’s past and present in my soul
\nSimple dreams and gentle times that loving memory span
\nThey made the boy that makes the dream a man<\/p>\n

Chorus
\nChorus<\/p>\n

DUBLIN YOU LIVE IN MY HEART
\nI was havin’ a jar in O’Donoghue’s Bar
\nWhen it came to my mind I’d be better by far
\nIf I’d something to do, so I signed on the brew
\nThe roads o’er the water are waiting for tar<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nAnd it’s Dublin you’re breakin’ my heart
\nIt’s the leavin’ that tears me apart
\nIt’s good-bye to the Mot and the dear family too
\nTo the lads that I ran with and fought as I grew
\nAnd the craic in the bars and the cronies I knew
\nDublin you’re breakin’ my heart<\/p>\n

I went down to the Quay and I boarded the boat
\nAnd I waved to the crowd with a lump in my throat
\nWith no work in my trade, I’d to take up the spade
\nI’ve a living to make so I shouldered my coat<\/p>\n

Chorus
\nI’ve toiled for the English and for Scots too
\nTook any old job that I though I could do
\nAnd each week from me pay, a few quid for the rain
\nAnd a few bob sent home just to help them get through<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Now the good days are over, the work is all done
\nThere’s a lady in charge with a heart like a stone
\nWhen I ask for a start they say, ‘Can’t, have a heart’
\n‘There’s no work for our own, you’d be better at home’<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

DUCKS OF MAGHERALIN
\nOh it’s just a year ago today I went to see the Queen
\nShe dressed me up in satin and its colour it was green
\nShe decked me out in medals and they were all made of tin
\nAh go home sez she you crooker yer the mayor of Magheralin<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nOh it is the finest city in the real old fashion style
\nA credit to the County Down the pride of the Emerald Isle
\nIt has the finest harbour for the bread carts to sail in
\nAnd if ever to sail to Ireland you’ll sail by Magheralin<\/p>\n

Oh you’ve all heard of Napoleon, Napoleon Bonaparte
\nHe conquered half of Europe but left the other part
\nHe tired to conquer Ireland but they would not give in
\nAnd he died in St. Helena when he thought of Magheralin<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Oh you’ve heard of Cleopatra the treasure of the Nile
\nAnd how she conquered Tony with one alluring smile
\nShe tired to conquer Ireland but they would not give in
\nAnd they beat her out with cabbage leaves in the town of Magheralin<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Oh you’ve heard of good King William, King William crossed the Boyne
\nWith a hundred thousand balls of wax and a thousand balls of twine
\nAnd then he gave the orders for the cobblers to begin
\nFor to make a hundred pairs of boots for the ducks of Magheralin<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Oh you’ve heard of Mussolini that great Italian bum
\nAnd how his troops in Africa were always on the run
\nYou’ve heard of Winston Churchill he always wore a grin
\nFor he knew the Ulster rifles were all born in Magheralin<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

DUMBARTONS DRUMS
\nChorus:
\nDumbartons drums they sound sae bonnnie
\nWhen they remind me of my Jeannie
\nSuch fond delight can steal upon me
\nWhen Jeannie kneels and sings tae me<\/p>\n

Across the hills o burnin heather
\nDumbarton tolls the hour o pleasure
\nA song of love that has no measure
\nWhen Jeanne kneels and sings tae me<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nDumbartons drums they sound sae bonnnie
\nWhen they remind me of my Jeannie
\nSuch fond delight can steal upon me
\nWhen Jeannie kneels and sings tae me<\/p>\n

Its she alone who can delight me
\nAs gracefully she doth invite me
\nAnd when her tender arms enfold me
\nThe blackest night can turn and flee<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nDumbartons drums they sound sae bonnnie
\nWhen they remind me of my Jeannie
\nSuch fond delight can steal upon me
\nWhen Jeannie kneels and sings tae me
\nWhen Jeanne kneels and sings tae me
\nWhen Jeanne kneels and kisses me<\/p>\n

THE DUNDEE GHOST
\nNow a deid men seldom walks they very seldom talk
\nIt’s no very often you see them runnin aroon
\nBut I am a refugee frae a graveyard in Dundee
\nAnd I’ve come tae haunt Some hooses in Glesca toon<\/p>\n

Noo the reason I arose was tae get masel some clothes
\nFur it really gets hell o’ a cold below the grun (ground)<\/p>\n

But then I whispered tae ma sel’ I think I might as well
\nHang aroon fur a while and have some fun<\/p>\n

A man put out his light on a cold and wintery night
\nI showed him one o’ ma ees (eyes) and a slapped his heid
\nHe said Oh and I said Boo He said who the hell are you
\nA said don’t be feared am only a man that’s deid<\/p>\n

Noo the fella knelt and prayed and this is what he said
\nWhy in the name o’ God have you picked on me
\nSo I pulled away his rug and slapped him wan on the lug
\nThe reason fur that I’ll very soon let you see<\/p>\n

When he brought the polis in I battered him wan on the chin
\nThe polis turned aroon and he blamed ma fren (friend)<\/p>\n

He marched him tae the jail, he’ll be in there quite a while
\nBut I’ll see naboby steals his single end (a wee house)<\/p>\n

The polis thought him daft and a lot o’ people laughed
\nWhen the fella said a ghost wis in his hoose
\nBut whit the fella said wis true and a might be visiting you
\nFur don’t forget that I’m still on the lose<\/p>\n

THE DURHAM LOCK-OUT
\nIn our Durham County I am sorry for to say,
\nThat hunger and starvation is increasing every day;
\nFor the want of food and coals we know not what to do,
\nBut with your kind assistance we will stand the struggle through.<\/p>\n

I need not state the reason why we have been brought so low,
\nThe masters have behaved unkind, as everyone will know;
\nBecause we won’t lie down and let them treat us as they like,
\nTo punish us they’ve stopt their pits and caused the present strike.<\/p>\n

The pully wheels have ceased to move, which went so swift around,
\nThe horses and the ponies too are brought from underground;
\nOur work is taken from us now, they care not if we die,
\nFor they can eat the best of food and drink the best when dry.<\/p>\n

The miner and his marra too, each morning have to roam,
\nTo seek for bread to feed the hungry little ones at home;
\nthe flour barrel is empty now, their true and faithful friend,
\nWhich makes the thousands whish today the strike was at an end.<\/p>\n

We have done our very best as honest working men,
\nTo let the pits commence again we’ve offered to them ten.
\nthe offer they will not accept, they firmly do demand
\nThirteen and a half per cent, or let the collieries stand.<\/p>\n

Let them stand or let them lie, to do with them as they choose,
\nTo give them thirteen and a half, we ever shall refuse,
\nThey’re always willing to receive, but never inclined to give.
\nVery soon they won’t allow a working man to live.<\/p>\n

(With tyranny and capital they never seem content,
\nUnless they are endeavoring to take from us per cent.
\nIf it was due, what they request, we willingly would grant,
\nWe know its not, therefore we cannot give them what they want)<\/p>\n

The miners of Northumberland we shall for ever praise,
\nFor being so kind in helping us those tyrannizing days;
\nWe thank the other counties too, that have been doing the same,
\nFor every man who hears this song will know we’re not to blame
\n.
\n–Tommy Armstrong, Source: Tommy Armstrong of Tyneside.,<\/p>\n

DUSTIN’S HIACE VAN
\nNineteen hundred and eighty nine was the year it all began
\nDustin Hoffman, builder, bought a second-hand Hiace van
\nWith the front seat as me saddle, and oil at my command
\nI set off like a cowboy in Dustin’s Hiace van<\/p>\n

It might need a new gear box, it got broke along the way
\nYou know on that new road, the one that leads to Bray
\nI can’t see out the winda, but I’m sure the view is very nice
\nCause me vision is impaired by me big red furry dice<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nShe’s got tires like Kojack’s head, me diesel’s always red
\nThe steering’s gone, the brakes don’t work at all
\nBut north, south, east and west I know I drive the best
\nGet off the road it’s Dustin’s Hiace van
\nGet off the road it’s Dustin’s Hiace van<\/p>\n

On my way up to Galway, I got lost along the way
\nI ended up in Letrim, in a B&B I had to stay
\nThe payment was in barter, ‘Can ye pay?’, I sez’, ‘I can’
\nI gave her a bit of the carpet from the back of me Hiace van<\/p>\n

Now the Lone Ranger had his Silver, Sean Kelly had his bike
\nTisach had his chopper, they can all have what they like
\nFrom Terrmafeca to Maynooth, horse and jockey to Forban
\nYou’ll hear them shout, ‘Get off the road, it’s Dustin’s Hiace Van’<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nShe’s got tires like Kojack’s head, me diesel’s always red
\nThe steering’s gone, the brakes don’t work at all
\nBut north, south, east and west I know I drive the best
\nGet off the road it’s Dustin’s Hiace van
\nGet off the road it’s Dustin’s Hiace van<\/p>\n

THE DUTCHMAN
\nThe Dutchman’s not the kind of man, to keep his thumb jammed in the dam
\nThat holds his dreams in, but that’s the secret only Margaret knows
\nWhen Amsterdam is golden in the morning Margaret brings him breakfast
\nShe believes him, he thinks the tulips bloom beneath the snow
\nHe’s mad as he can be, but Margaret only sees that sometimes
\nSometimes she sees her unborn children in his eyes<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nLet us go to the banks of ocean,
\nWhere the walls rise above the Zuider Zee
\nLong ago I used to be a young man,
\nAnd dear Margaret remembers that for me<\/p>\n

The Dutchman still wears wooden shoes, his cap and coat are patched with love
\nThat Margaret sowed in, sometimes he thinks he’s still in Rotterdam
\nHe watches tugboats down canals and calls out to them,
\nWhen he thinks he knows the Captain
\nTill Margaret comes to take him home again, through unforgiving streets
\nThat trip him though she holds his arm
\nSometimes he thinks that he’s alone and calls her name<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

The windmills whirl the winter in, she winds his muffler tighter
\nThey sit in the kitchen, some tea with whiskey keeps away the dew
\nHe sees her for a moment, calls her name she makes his bed up
\nHumming some old love song, she learned when the tune was very new
\nHe hums a line or two, they hum together in the night
\nThe Dutchman falls asleep and Margaret blows the candle out<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

DANNY FARRELL
\nI knew Danny Farrell when his football was a can
\nWith his hand-me-downs and welliers and his sandwiches of bran
\nBut now that pavement peasant is a full-grown bitter man
\nWith all the trials and troubles of his traveling people’s clan<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nHe’s a loser, a boozer, a me and you user
\nA raider, a trader, a people, police hater
\nSo lonely and only, what you’d call a gurrier
\nStill now, Danny Farrell, he’s a man<\/p>\n

I knew Danny Farrell when he joined the National School
\nHe was lousy and a Gaelic, they’d call him amad\u00e1n and fool
\nHe was brilliant in the toss school by trading objects in the Pawn
\nBy the time he was an adult all his charming ways had gone<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

I knew Danny Farrell when we queued up for the dole
\nAnd he tried to hide the loss of pride that eats away the soul
\nBut mending pots and kettles is a trade lost in the past
\n“There’s no hand-out here for tinkers” was the answer when he asked<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

Oh, I still know Danny Farrell, saw him just there yesterday
\nTaking mentholated spirits with some wino’s on the Quay
\nOh, he’s forty going on eighty, with his eyes of hope bereft
\nAnd he told me this for certain, there’s not many of us left<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

DARBY O’LEARY
\nOne evening of late as I happened to stray
\nTo the County Tipperary I straight took my way
\nTo dig the potatoes and work by the day
\nFor a farmer called Darby O’Leary.
\nI asked him how far we were bound for to go
\nThe night being dark and the cold wind did blow
\nI was hungry and tired and my spirits were low for
\nI got neither whiskey nor water.<\/p>\n

The dirty old miser he mounted his steed
\nTo the Galbally mountains he rode in great speed
\nI followed behind ’til my poor feet did bleed when
\nWe stopped when his old horse was weary.
\nWhen we came to his cottage I entered it first
\nIt seemed like a kennel or a ruined old church
\nSays I to myself I am left in the lurch
\nIn the house of old Darby O’Leary<\/p>\n

I well recollect it was Michalmass night
\nTo a hearty supper he did me invite
\nA cup of sour milk that was more green than white
\nAnd it gave me the trotting disorder
\nThe wet old potatoes would poison the cats
\nAnd the barn where my bed was swarming with rats
\nThe fleas would have frightened the fearless St. Pat
\nWho banished the snakes o’er the border.<\/p>\n

He worked me by day and he worked me by night,
\nWhile he held an old candle to give me some light
\nI wished his potatoes would die of the blight
\nOr himself would go off with the fairies.
\nIt was on this old miser I looked with a frown
\nWhen the straw was brought in for to make my shakedown
\nAnd I wished I had never seen him nor his town
\nNor the sky above Darby O’Leary.<\/p>\n

I’ve worked in Kilconnel, I’ve worked in Killmore
\nI worked in Knoockannie and Shamballamore
\nIn Kalisanaker and Sollahed Moore
\nWith farmers so decent and cheery.
\nI’ve worked in Tipperary, the Rag and Ross Green
\nAt the mount of Killfegal, the Bridge of Orleans
\nBut such woeful starvation I never yet seen
\nAs I got from old Darby O’Leary<\/p>\n

DARK LOCHNAGAR
\nAway, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses,
\nIn you let the minions of luxury rove,
\nRestore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes,
\nThough still they are sacred to freedom and love.<\/p>\n

Yet Caledonia, belov’d are thy mountains,
\nRound their white summits the elements war
\nThough cataracts foam ‘stead of smooth-flowing fountains,
\nI sigh for the valley of dark Lochnagar.<\/p>\n

Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander’d,
\nMy cap was the bonnet, my cloak was my plaid.
\nOn chieftains long perish’d my memory ponder’d
\nAs daily I strode thro’ the pine cover’d glade.<\/p>\n

I sought not my home till the day’s dying glory
\nGave place to the rays of the bright Polar star.
\nFor fancy was cheer’d by traditional story,
\nDisclos’d by the natives of dark Lochnagar!<\/p>\n

Years have roll’d on, Lochnagar, since I left you!
\nYears must elapse ere I tread you again.
\nThough nature of verdure and flow’rs has bereft you,
\nYet still are you dearer than Albion’s plain.<\/p>\n

England, thy beauties are tame and domestic
\nTo one who has roamed over mountains afar
\nOh! for the crags that are wild and majestic,
\nThe steep frowning glories of dark Lochnagar.<\/p>\n

THE D-DAY DODGERS
\nWe’re the D-Day Dodgers, way out in Italy
\nAlways on the vino, always on the spree;
\nEighth Army scroungers and their tanks,
\nWe live in Rome, among the Yanks.
\nWe are the D-Day Dodgers, way out in Italy;
\nWe are the D-Day Dodgers, way out in Italy.<\/p>\n

We landed in Salerno, a holiday with pay,
\nThe Jerries brought the bands out to greet us on the way.
\nShowed us the sights and gave us tea,
\nWe all sang songs, the beer was free
\nTo welcome D-Day Dodgers to sunny Italy.
\nTo welcome D-Day Dodgers to sunny Italy.<\/p>\n

Naples and Casino were taken in our stride,
\nWe didn’t go to fight there, we went just for the ride.
\nAnzio and Sangro were just names,
\nWe only went to look for dames
\nThe artful D-Day Dodgers, way out in Italy.
\nThe artful D-Day Dodgers, way out in Italy.<\/p>\n

Dear Lady Astor, you think you’re mighty hot,
\nStanding on the platform, talking tommyrot.
\nYou’re England’s sweetheart and her pride
\nWe think your mouth’s too bleeding wide.
\nWe are the D-Day Dodgers, in sunny Italy.
\nWe are the D-Day Dodgers, in sunny Italy.<\/p>\n

Look around the mountains, in the mud and rain,
\nYou’ll find the scattered crosses, some that have no name.
\nHeartbreak and toil and suffering gone,
\nThe boys beneath them slumber on.
\nThey are the D-Day Dodgers who stay in Italy.
\nThey are the D-Day Dodgers who stay in Italy.<\/p>\n

THE DEATH OF THE BEAR
\nThe balalaika rings silent from Minsk to Red Square the cortege assembles to bury the bear
\nNadia Rostropovich looks on in despair with Irina, Katrina, and Olga
\nAnd quietly remembering her brother Ivan shot in the back in Afghanistan
\nThe Stalinist purges, the snowy white grave that claimed Boris, Dimitri and Igor<\/p>\n

She remembered how proud she cheered with the crowd when Juri Gagarin sailed over the clouds
\nNadja and Ivan shouted aloud we’ve put the first man in space
\nBut that was before the feared KGB put a question mark over her own loyalty
\nTo keep an eye on her comrades, one, two and three, Irina, Katrina and Olga<\/p>\n

And poor uncle Vlad whom the doc declared mad for refusing to leave his beloved Leningrad
\nShe stood in the doorway tearful and sad when they frog marched him off to the gulag
\nHe took a last look at his own native hills where grew the red dogwood and wild daffodils
\nThe look on his face is haunting her still Comrade Nadia Rostropovich<\/p>\n

Sometimes alone she’d think of the west the ladies with opals adorning their breast
\nPark Avenue posers who behave like the czar with silver coke spoons for their caviar
\nShe’d reflect back to when she’d just turned ten and fatefully subscribed to fair play for all men
\nBut seventy odd years of Bolshevik dreams had worn down her pride and left her no means
\nTo cope with her own disillusions<\/p>\n

If Trotsky and Engels saw the Dachau’s and Zills the Politburo boys with their hands in the till
\nThe bear was long dead before he got ill was it the cure or was it the fever?
\nNo more Reds under beds to freak out the Feds a defunct superpower in tatters and shreds
\nThe marks left by Karl leaves them queuing for bread in the Caucasus, Baltics and Urals<\/p>\n

DEATH COME EASY
\nDeath come easy if you come before your time
\nDeath come easy to a young man in his prime
\nThey put a gun in my hand
\nSaid, Fight for the freedom of your land
\nDeath come easy to a young man in his prime<\/p>\n

Life was easy I could want for nothing more
\nLife was easy then there came the call for war
\nI left my family left my home
\nWith the army I was forced to roam
\nLife was easy then there came the call for war<\/p>\n

Love was easy with my lady I would stay
\nLove was easy then the war took me away
\nForget your love war is right
\nSo they taught me how to kill and fight
\nLove was easy then the war took me away<\/p>\n

Killing’s easy with a weapon in your hand
\nKilling’s easy and they say that war is grand
\nWith their music and their drums
\nThey don’t see the slaughter of the guns
\nKilling’s easy and they say that war is grand<\/p>\n

Death come easy if you come before your time
\nDeath come easy to a young man in his prime
\nThey put a gun in my hand
\nSaid, Fight for the freedom of your land
\nDeath come easy to a young man in his prime<\/p>\n

DEID FISH AND DIESEL
\nFor years upon the mainland I was working like a dog
\nTill I took a sudden notion for the peat reek and the bog
\nI put my finest trousers on, a brand new pair of shoes
\nAnd with my mate, Big Sandy Tait, we headed north for Lewis<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nDeid fish and diesel it’ll take your breath away
\nYou can tell yersel by the fine like smell you’re back in Stornoway
\nThe bus from Inversnecky was a wonderful affair
\nThe driver wore dark glasses with a white stick by his chair
\nHe had a little microphone to tell us where we’d been
\nAnd he took us by a shortcut through Kintail and Achnasheen<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

We wander round the Highlands for seven days or more
\nUntil by chance we came upon the junction at Braemore
\nBig Sandy grab the driver, he said, “Here’s the golden rule,
\nTurn right tonight if you want a fight, but it’s left for Ullapool.”<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

We safetly reached the ferry with little time to spare
\nYou could sense that old familiar feeling hanging in the air
\nThe purser checked the day release we got from Creag Dunain
\nAnd we headed off across the Minch as captives of of MacBrayne<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

It wasn’t long before we hit the pier at Stornoway
\nThe same old seagull sitting there as when we went away
\nThe grass upon the rooftops and a prayer to save your soul
\nAnd the BICC overdraft to keep you on the dole<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

DELIRIUM TREMENS (THE D.T.’S)
\nChorus:
\nGood-bye to the port and brandy, to Vodka and the Stag
\nThe Smittick and the Harpick, the bottle draught and keg
\nAs I sat looking up at the Guinness ad I could never figure out
\nHow you man stayed up on the surfboard after fourteen pints of stout<\/p>\n

I dreamt a dream the other night, I couldn’t sleep a wink
\nThe rats were trying to count sheep, I was trying to get off of the drink
\nThere was footsteps in the parlor and voices on the stairs
\nI was moving round walls and climbing up the chairs
\nSuddenly it dawned on me I was getting the old D.T.’s
\nWhen the child of Prague began to dance around the mantel piece<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

I swore upon the bible, I’d never touch a drop,
\nMe heart was palpitating, I was sure I was goin’ to stop
\nI fell into an awful nightmare and I got a dreadful shock
\nWhen I dreamt there was no duty free at the airport down in Knock
\nIan Paisley was sayin’ the rosary, S.P.U.C. were on the pill
\nFrank Patterson was gargled and singin’ Spancil Hill<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

I dreamt of original sins and venial sins and mortal sins by score
\nThen I tied barbed wire to my underpants and flagellated myself on the floor
\nThen I dreamed I was in the confession and the oul’ Bishop he says to me,
\n‘Any impure thoughts my son,’ The barbed wire was killin’ me<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

I dreamt of Nell McCafferty and Mary Kenny, too
\nThe things that we got up to, but I’m not goin’ to tell you
\nI dreamt I was in a Jacuzzi with that oul’ whore from number ten
\nThen I knew I’d never, ever, ever drink again<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

THE DEPTH OF MY EGO
\nChorus:
\nDeep in my heart and deep mind, deep in the depth of my ego
\nDeep in my breast, lies a treasure chest, a world that only I can know<\/p>\n

You may criticize me, try to analyze me, put me in your little pigeon hole
\nI’ll still hold the key to place where I am free a world that only I control<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nDeep in my heart and deep mind, deep in the depth of my ego
\nDeep in my breast, lies a treasure chest, a world that only I can know<\/p>\n

I can love you dearly I can love you true
\nI can love you long and love you well
\nBut I must have my own song only I can sing
\nMy own tale that only I can tell<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nDeep in my heart and deep mind, deep in the depth of my ego
\nDeep in my breast, lies a treasure chest, a world that only I can know<\/p>\n

Place me in your prison put me in your cell
\nLock me up and throw away the key
\nI will only wander wander all around
\nThis big world that’s inside me<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nDeep in my heart and deep mind, deep in the depth of my ego
\nDeep in my breast, lies a treasure chest, a world that only I can know<\/p>\n

DESTINATION O’DONOGHUE’S
\nI’ve a tener in my pocket, it’s nearly half past five,
\nDown the Naven Road and hop upon the bus
\nInto City Centre and go from pub to pub.
\nIt’s Friday night in Dublin once again
\nWe’ll start off at Capel Street, some pints at Slattery’s,
\nThen move down to the Cooper’s for a jar
\nCross the River Liffey and around by Trinity.
\nAre you certain that this next round is on me<\/p>\n

Chorus:
\nRing-a-ring-rosie and Too-ra-loo-ra loo Destination O’Donoghue’s
\nRing-a-ring-rosie and Too-ra-loo-ra loo will we ever reach O’Donoghue’s<\/p>\n

Now we’ve hit Grafton Street, we’re headin’ for Keogh’s,
\nRenowned for the women and the crack
\nAnd if the saints are with us, courage compliments of Guinness
\nIn the arms of some young one, or by barred
\nWell the crack it was mighty, but the barman threw us out
\nSo it’s just around the corner to McDaids
\nThe favorite spot of Brendan Behan, so down the road a singin’
\nThe Ould Triangle and Biddy Mulligan<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

McDaids was quiet and the drink was very dear
\nSo just one pint and then we’re on our way
\nBut Martin met these girls, these Tipperary girls
\nNow we’re buying gin and tonics for the lot
\nWe’re on the scared mission get the holy water in ’em
\nGet them paralytic drunk till they can’t stand
\nHold the tonic, double gins, by the time the evening ends
\nWe’ll be indulging in the seven deadly sins<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/p>\n

They’re lashin’ back the liquor, our money’s goin’ quicker
\nTill every pound between us it is spent
\nOur last quid right out the door, Martin’s past out on the floor
\nNow they’re chattin’ up some brothers from Mayo
\nNo money in my pocket, it’s nearly half past twelve
\nIn the freezin’ cold I’ve got a long, long walk
\nBack to the Naven Road, for a week I’ll take it slow
\nTill it’s Friday night in Dublin once again.<\/p>\n

Final Chorus:
\nRing-a-ring-rosie and Too-ra-loo-ra loo Destination O’Donoghue’s
\nRing-a-ring-rosie and Too-ra-loo-ra loo, we never reached O’Donoghue’s
\nBut next week we’ll make O’Donoghue’s<\/p>\n

Danny Boy
\nOh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
\nFrom glen to glen, and down the mountain side
\nThe summer’s gone, and all the flowers are dying
\n’tis you, ’tis you must go and I must bide.<\/p>\n

But come you back when summer’s in the meadow
\nOr when the valley’s hushed and white with snow
\n’tis I’ll be there in sunshine or in shadow
\nOh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.<\/p>\n

And if you come, when all the flowers are dying
\nAnd I am dead, as dead I well may be
\nYou’ll come and find the place where I am lying
\nAnd kneel and say an “Ave” there for me.<\/p>\n

And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me
\nAnd all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
\nIf you’ll not fail to tell me that you love me
\nI simply sleep in peace until you come to me.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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