1. |
Oats and Beans
01:30
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Chorus:
Oats and beans and barley grows
As vou and I and everyone knows;
Oats and beans and barley grows
As you and I and everyone knows.
Waiting for a partner.
First, the farmer sows his seed;
Then he stands and takes his ease,
Stamps his foot and claps his hand
And turns around to view the land.
Waiting for a partner.
Now you're married you must obey,
Must be true in all you say,
Must be kind and must be good
And help your wife to chop the wood.
Waiting for a partner.
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2. |
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3. |
The Keltie Clippie
03:26
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I've travelled o'er this country, from shore to shining shore,
From the slums of dear old Glasgow to Rothesay by the shore
But in all these far-flung places, there's none that can compare
Wi my lily o'Glenfinnan; she's my bonny Maggie Blair.
Chorus
She's just a Kelty clippie; she'll no tak' nae advice;
"Ach drap deid, awa ' boil yer heid, or I'll punch your ticket twice!"
Her father's just a waster; her mother's on the game;
She's just a Kelty clippie, but I love her just the same.
I remember on the eight-fifteen, that night o’ romantic bliss,
I said, "Ach Mag, just nip yer fag and give us a wee bit kiss."
She didnae tak'it kindly, she didnae like my chaff
And being a contrary kind of bird, she said, "COME ON, GET AFF!"
She hasnae got nae culture; she drives me roon' the bend,
Sitting every night in the big armchair, reading "The People’s Friend."
Her lapels are fu 'o' badges, from Butlins doon at Ayre;
She goes to the bingo every night, wi the rollers in her hair.
But things is a wee bit better noo, - I've gone and bought the ring
I won it frae Jim, at the pitch and toss, doon by the Lindsay bing.
Wi’ her wee black hat and her ticket machine, my heart she does ensnare;
She's my lily o'Glenfinnan, she's my bonny Maggie Blair.
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4. |
Down In The Coalmine
03:28
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I am a jovial collier lad, as blithe as blithe can be,
And let the times be good or bad, it's all the same to me.
It's little of the world I know and care less for its ways,
For where the dog star never glows I wear away me days.
Chorus:
Down in the coalmine, underneath the ground,
Where a gleam of sunshine never can be found.
It's digging up the dusky diamonds all the seasons round,
Deep down in the coalmine, underneath the ground.
Me hands are hoary, hard and black through working in the vein,
And like the clothes upon me back, me speech is rough and plain,
But if I stumble with me tonque, I've got one excuse to say,
It's not the collier's heart that's wrong, It's the head that's gone astray.
How little do the great ones care, who sit at home secure,
What hidden dangers colliers dare, what hardships they endure.
The very fire they sit beside, to warm themselves and wives,
Mayhap was kindled at the cost of jovial miners' lives.
So cheer up lads and make the most of every joy you can,
And always let your mirth be such as best befits a man,
For whether times be good or bad we'll still be jovial souls;
Where would we all be without the lads who look for coal?
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5. |
The Golden Vanity
04:13
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A ship I have got in the north countery
And she goes by the name of the Golden Vanity;
I fear she will be taken by a Spanish gallilee
As she sails by the lowlands low.
Chorus:
As she sails by the lowlands low
By the lowlands low.
As she sails by the lowlands low.
Then up there spoke a little cabin boy,
And he says, "What is my fee if the galley I destroy?
The Spanish gallilee, if no more it shall annoy,
As you sail by the lowlands low."
"Of silver and of gold I will give to you a store,
And my pretty little daughter that dwelleth on the shore;
Of treasure and of fee as well I'll give to thee galore
If you sink'em in the lowlands low."
So the boy bared his breast and he straight away leaped in,
And he bore all in his hands an auger sharp and thin,
And he swam until he came to the Spanish galleon,
As she sailed by the lowlands low.
Then he bored with his auger, he bored once and twice,
And some were playing cards and some were playing dice.
As the water flowed in, it a-dazzled their eyes,
And she sank by the lowlands low.
Then the boy swam around, all to the larboard side,
Saying, "Captain take me up, for I am drifting with the tide.
"I'Il shoot you, I will kill you!" the cruel captain cried,
"You may sink by the lowlands low."
Then the boy swam around, all to the starboard side,
Saying, "Messmates take me up, for I am drifting with the tide."
They pulled him up upon the deck, and he closed his eyes and died,
As they sailed by the lowlands low.
Then they sewed his body up in an old cow's hide,
And they cast the gallant cabin boy over the ship's side,
And left him without more ado, a drifting with the tide,
And to sink by the lowlands low.
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6. |
Come Me Little Son
05:04
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Come me little son and I will tell you what we'll do;
Undress yourself and get into bed, and a tale I'll tell to you.
It's all about your daddy, he's a man you seldom see
For he's had to roam far away from home, away from you and me.
But remember lad, he's still your dad, though he's working far away,
In the cold and heat, eighty hours a week, on England's motorway.
When you fall and hurt yourself and get up feeling bad,
It isn't any use to go a-running for your dad,
For the only time since you were born that he's had to stay with you,
He was out of a job and we hadn't a bob; he was signing on the broo
But remember lad, he's still your dad, and he really earns his pay,
Working day and night, upon the site of England's motorway.
To buy your shoes, your dady built a length of railway track;
He built a hydro dam to put clothes upon your back.
This motor highway pays the bills, but the money soon is spent,
And though we have to live alone, it helps to pay the rent.
But remember lad, he's still your dad, and he's toiling night and day,
But there's food to be had, and it's thanks to your dad on England's motorway.
Sure, I miss your daddy, oh and sure it would be fine
To have him working nearer home, and to see him all the time,
But beggars can't be choosers, and we have to bear our load,
For we need the money your daddy earns, a-working on the road.
For remember lad, he's still your dad, and he'll soon be here to stay,
In a week or two, here with me and you, when he's built the motorway.
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7. |
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8. |
The Oily Rig
03:05
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9. |
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10. |
The Works Outing
03:42
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Chorus:
There were sixty crates of Guiness and a barrel of heavy beer,
A box of mutton brides that would turn your stomach queer,
We hired an Alexander's bus and went upon a spree,
The day the social club it had a day beside the sea.
Well the bus had barely started when big Willie fell off his seat.
He drank ten pints of heavy, and he wouldn't stop to eat,
He cried, "The Kaiser's got me, 'cos I'm wounded in the rear!"
We hadn't the heart to tell him he was sitting in his beer.
And when the poker game got under way, there nearly was a brawl,
For the stakes were raised to tuppence and the weak went to the wall.
Big lan he got off his chair to drain a pint of keg;
He was sair put oot to find that he had lost his wooden leg.
Well, the bus arrived in bags of time, with fifteen pints to spare.
And some went paddling in the sea and some went off in pairs;
And Annie Brown and George McPhee went off among the rocks;
Whatever it was she said she lost, it wasn't just her socks.
And when the hour got round to opening time the season lost its charms,
For we happened to be parked in the back o' the Blacksmith's Arms.
We had wor supper in the pub, a pie and a pint of stout,
And bags and bags o' tattie crisps; a feast without a doubt.
Oh there were games o' darts and dancing, there were jokes and sangs enough,
And some of us that stayed the pace were feeling rather rough.
Just then the driver shouted "Time!" and big Willie shouted, "No!"
And he hit the driver such a clout, his nose began to glow.
"Hey, I'm old enough to be your dad; I'll have ye on the floor!"
"Oh haud yer tongue," said Charlie, "Man, he's only fifty-four."
He hit big Willie wi his stick and a fight got underway;
Now wasn't that the perfect way to end a perfect day?
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11. |
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Chorus:
He's torn a', rippit a', torn a' ma goon (3 times)
Did ever you see sic' an ill-trickit loon?
Oh, the broon coo's broken oot and eaten a' the corn (3 times)
If she disnae eat it a' the day, she'll eat it a' the morn.
Oh the black bull's broken oot and bullied a' the kye (3 times)
If he disnae bull them a' the day he'll bull them by and by.
Oh she widna dae't, she widna dae't, she widna dae't ava'
In the bed or oot the bed or up agin' the wa'
Oh. but she did it on the pantry flair, the best ye ever saw
She hotchit up her petticoat and cried, "ca' awa'!"
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12. |
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Private Jones came home one night,
Full of beer and very tight.
He'd been out all day upon the spree.
He bumped into Sergeant Speck,
Flung his arms around his neck,
And in his ear he whispered tenderly;
'"Kiss me goodnight, Sgt. Major,
Tuck me in my little wooden bed.
We all love you, Sgt. Major,
When we hear you bawling, 'show a leg!'
Don't forget to wake me in the morning,
And bring me up a nice hot cup of tea;
Kiss me goodnight, Sgt. Major,
Sgt. Major, be a mother to me.
Chorus:
Bless'em all, bless'em all, the long and the short and the tall;
Bless all the sergeants and W.O.-ones,
Bless all the corporals and their bleeding sons;
For we're saying goodbye to them all,
As back to the barracks they crawl;
You'll get no promotion this side of the ocean,
So cheer up me lads, bless'em all!
There's many a troopship just leaving Bombay,
Bound for old Bliahty's shore.
Heavilv laden with time-expired men,
Bound for the land they adore.
Oh there's many a squaddy just finished his time,
And man a twerp signing on;
You'll get no promotion on this side of the ocean,
So cheer up me lads, bless'em all.
Now they say that the sergeant's a very nice bloke;
Oh what a tale to tell!
Ask him for leave on a Saturday night,
Oh hell pay your fare home as well.
Oh there's many a squaddy has blighted his life
Through writing rude words on the wall;
You'll get no promotion on this side of the ocean,
So cheer up me lads, bless'em all.
Officers don't worry me,
Officers don't worry me;
Bell-bottom trousers with stripes down the side,
Whacking great pockets with bugger-all inside;
But we're saying goodbye to them all,
As back to the barracks they crawl,
You'll get no promotion on this side of the ocean,
So cheer up me lads, bless'em all.
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13. |
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14. |
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15. |
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Roch the wind in the clear day's dawin'
Blaws the cloods heelster gowdy o'er the bay
But there's mair nor a roch win' blawin'
Ower the great glen o' the warld the day
It's a thocht that would gar oor rottans
A' thae rogues that gang gallus fresh and gay
Tak the road and seek ither loanins
For their ill ploys tae sport an' play
Nae mair will the bonnie callants
March tae war when oor braggarts crousely craw
And wee weans frae pit-heid and clachan
Mourn the ships sailin' doon the Broomielaw
Broken faimlies in this land we've inherit
errWill curse Scotland the Brave nae mair nae mair
Black and white ane til ither mairrit
Mak the vile barracks o' their masters bare
Oh come all ye at hame wi' freedom
Never heed whit the hoodies croak for doom;
In yer hoose a' the bairns o' Adam
Can find breid, barlev bree and painted room
When MacLean meets wi's freens in Springburn
A' the roses and geans will turn tae bloom
And the black boy frae yont Nyanga
Dings the fell gallows o' the burgers doon
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16. |
Over The Gate ( Live)
04:17
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17. |
Arky's Toast ( Live)
02:13
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We'll drink to the downfall of tyrants
We'll drink to Christ the Lord
We'll drink to the twelve apostles who preached His holy word
We'll drink to the saints and martyrs in the dismal days of yore
And whenever our glasses are empty we'll remember one saint more
We'll drink a health to the king me boys
We'll drink a health to the queen
We'll drink to the royal princes wherever they are seen
We'll drink to the dukes and the duchesses and all the royal men
And whenever our glasses are empty, we'll fill them up again
And now we'll drink to the ladies
And all their glorious charms
We'll drink to the pleasure that we find when we are in their arms
We'll hold them very tight me boys but we will make it clear
It's goodbye on the day when they will say they will keep us from our beer
We'll drink to the master and mistress
And their glorious harvest feast
We'll raise our glasses high me boys to the strength of malt and yeast
We'll drink a health to the landlord and his beer so strong and fine
And we hope that he forgets to shout when it comes to closing time
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18. |
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Chorus:
• Our wassail
Wassail, wassail
And joy be to our jolly wassail
Oh the harvest being over and Christmas coming on
Please open your door and let us come in
With...
You master and you mistress sitting down at your ease
Put your hands in your pockets and give what you please
TO..
You master and you mistress sitting down at the fire
While we poor wassail boys do trudge through the mire
With..
This ancient old house we will kindly salute
It is the old custom, you need not dispute
With.
There's a bridle and a saddle hanging up on the shelf
If you want any more you can sing it yourself
With..
Here's a health to you master and long may you live
Since you've been so kind and so willing to give
TO...
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19. |
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20. |
The Dogs ( Live)
02:31
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The dogs they held a meeting
They came from near and far
And some came in by taxi and some came in by car
They went inside the meeting house
And signed the visitors' book
And each one hung his arsehole
Upon the nearest hook
One dog was not invited
Which caused him great ire
He stood outside the meeting house
And boldly shouted, "Fire!"
The dogs got all excited
They didn't stop to look
And each one grabbed an arsehole
From off the nearest hook
So this then is my story
And it is very sore
To wear some other's arsehole
You've never worn before
So that is why when dogs meet
On land or sea or foam
Each one sniffs the other's arsehole
In hopes it is his own
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Laurence Stevenson Brighton, Ontario
Having been born in Scotland and moved to Canada in my high school years, my life has followed parallel (but musically
related) paths.
A career in radio, firstly as a radio news tech then a sound effects guy to creator of the CBC Radio Experimental Audio Room and finally as an international award winning radio producer for the popular show, Outfront, has been tracked alongside a life as a fiddler.
... more
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