Author: David Gilfillan

Chorus.

Ye sporting men of chester I’ll have you all to hear
Of a man called Joseph Baker who lived near Delamere
He ran faster than the old red fox futher than the hound
Of all the men who challanged him no equal could be found

He rose up every morning before the day was clear
And through the shady forest pursued the royal dear
He races the wind across the field the mist right up the hill
And he raced the dust along the road an the stream down to the hill

Chorus

Now sportsmen came from far and near to challanged Bakers Speed
In every race, in every way, they swore to do that deed
A soldier came from Frodsham, a wedger came from Sale
A sailor came from Birkenhead, a butcher came from Hale

Chorus

He was never beaten until that fateful day
When death at last defeated him and took his breath away
But if you should watch on a winter’s night you’ll see him running still
As his ghost runs down from Kelsall church right up to Helsby Hill

Double Chorus.

Twa recruiting sergeants came frae the Black Watch 
Tae markets and fairs, some recruits for tae catch. 
But a’ that they ‘listed was forty and twa: 
Enlist my bonnie laddie an’ come awa.

Chorus: 
And it’s over the mountain and over the Main, 
Through Gibralter, to France and Spain. 
Pit a feather tae your bonnet, and a kilt aboon your knee, 
Enlist my bonnie laddie and come awa with me.

Oh laddie ye dinna ken the danger that yer in. 
If yer horses was to fleg, and yer owsen was to rin, 
This greedy ole farmer, he wouldna pay yer fee. 
Sae list my bonnie laddie and come awa wi’ me

Chorus: 

And its into the barn and out o’ the byre, 
This ole farmer, he thinks ye never tire. 
It’s slavery a’ yer life, a life o’ low degree. 
Sae list my bonnie laddie and come awa with me

Chorus: 

O laddie if ye’ve got a sweetheart an’ a bairn, 
Ye’ll easily get rid o’ that ill-spun yarn. 
Twa rattles o’ the drum, aye and that’ll pay it a’. 
Sae list my bonnie laddie and come awa.

On Raglan Road on an Autumn Day,
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I may one day rue

.I saw the danger, yet I walked
Along the enchanted way
And I said let grief be a falling leaf
At the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November,
We tripped lightly along the ledge
Of a deep ravine where can be seen
The worst of passions pledged.

The Queen of Hearts still baking tarts
And I not making hay,
Well I loved too much; by such and such
Is happiness thrown away.

I gave her the gifts of the mind.
I gave her the secret sign
That’s known to all the artists who have
Known true Gods of Sound and Time.

With word and tint I did not stint.
I gave her reams of poems to say
With her own dark hair and her own name there
Like the clouds over fields of May.

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet,
I see her walking now away from me,
So hurriedly. My reason must allow,
For I have wooed, not as I should a creature made of clay.

When the angel woos the clay, he’ll lose
His wings at the dawn of the day.

When I was young my father said,
“It’s time that children went to bed.”
But we would always cry and roar,
“I want to stay up just a little bit more.

Chorus.

“A little bit more, a little bit more,
Not very much, just a little bit more;
A little bit more, a little bit more,
Not very much, just a little bit more.

And when the morning came along,
You could hear that same old song;
When there came a knocking on the door,
“I want to lie on just a little bit more.

Chorus

I met a girl called Mary Rose,
I said, “Young girl, can I kiss your nose?”
She says, “I’ve met your likes before,
All that you want is a little bit more.

Chorus

The barman cries, “There’s no more beer,
Drink up your drinks and get out of here.”
Still you see them hanging ’round the door,
Hoping to get in for a little bit more.

Chorus

And when your days are nearly done,
Before you cross that Rubicon;
The doctor says, “Your time is o’er.”
But you pray to the Lord for a little bit more.

Chorus

cho: I’m looking for a job with a sky-high pay
A four day week and a two hour day
‘maybe it’s because I’m inclined that way
But I never did like being idle!

I don’t want glory and I don’t want fame
I left school with a modest aim
I went to the Labour Exchange for work
Here is what I sang to the wee broo clerk

Now that, says he, is a rare wee song
To come frae a lad so big and strong
Through the door on the left and take this card
You can sing to the gaffer down in Harland’s yard

I sang it to the gaffer but he thought me daft
I’ve never even heard such a horse’s laugh
He gathered around him all his men
And as one big choir, they sang then

Their voices rang o’er the riverside
And it became the song of the Clyde
Its words were heard the whole world round
And it was known as the Clydeside Sound

Extra verse from.NSG.

Well I found that job with the sky high pay

A four day week and a two hour day

I can’t believe my luck I’ve never had it so good

Now I’m a politician down in Holyrood !!

I’ll tak’ my plaidie contented tae be,
And wear my kilt aboone my knee,
I’ll gie my pipes another blaw,
An’d we’ll gang it ower the hills tae gallowa’.

Chorus

For the gallowa hills are covered wi’ broom,
Wi’ heather bells in bonnie bloom,
Wi’ heather bells aye and rivers braw
And we’ll gang it over the hills tae gallowa.

Hi bonnie lassie will ye come wi’ me
And share your lot in a far country
Share yer lot when doon fa’s a’
And we’ll gang it over the hills tae gallowa

Chorus

I’ll sell my rod, i’ll sell my reel,
I’ll sell my granny’s spinning wheel,
I ll sell them a’ when doon fa’s a’,
And we’ll gang it ower the hills tae gallowa.

Chorus.

O’wail for the mighty and battle
Loud lift ye the coronach strain
For Hector the Hero of deathless fame
Will never come back again

Lament him, ye mountains of Ross-Shire
Your raers be the dew and the rain
Ye forests and straths, let the sobbing winds
Unburden your grief and pain
Lament him ye warm hearted clansmen
And mourn for a kinsman so true
The pride of the highlands the valiant MacDonald
Will never come bach to you

Chorus

Lament him ye sons of old scotia
Ye kinsman on many a shore
A patriot warrior fearless of foe
Has fallen to rise no more
Has fallen to rise no more

O’wail for the mighty and battle
Loud lift ye the coronach strain
For Hector the Hero of deathless fame
Will never come back again

O cherish his triumph and glory
On Omdurman’s death stricken plain
His glance like the eagle his heart like the lion
His laurels a nation’s gain

Chorus

O rest thee brave heart in thy slumber
Forgottenshall never be thy name
The love and the mercy of heaven be thine
Our love thou must ever claim
To us thou art Hector tht hero
The chivalrous dauntless and true
The hills and the glens and the hearts of a nation
Re-echo the wail for you

Double chorus

O’wail for the mighty and battle
Loud lift ye the coronach strain
For Hector the Hero of deathless fame
Will never come back again

I’m a freeborn man of the travelling people
Got no fixed abode with nomads we are numbered
Country lanes and by-ways were always my ways
I never fancied being lumbered.

Oh, we knew the woods and the resting places
And the small birds sang when winter days were over
Then we’d pack our load and be on the road
Those were good old times for a rover.

Now I’ve known life hard and I’ve known it easy
And I’ve cursed the life when winter days are dawning
But we’ve laughed and sung through the whole night long
Seen the Summer sunrise in the morning.

There was open ground where a man could linger
For a week or two, for time was not our master
Then away you’d jog with your horse and dog
Nice and easy no need to go faster.

All you free born men of the travelling people
Every Tinker, Rolling Stone and Gipsy Rover
Winds of change are blowing, old ways are going
Your travelling days will soon be over.

Come the winter, cold and dreary
Brings the hawk down from the high scree
To the whins where snowy hares hide
All around the Lochanside

Come the spring the land lies weary
Till the sun shines out so cheery
Brings the bloom, for all of June¹s pride
All around the Lochanside

If you’d been you¹d have seen the scatter
O the peezies o¹er the machair
When above the tawny owl glides
All around the Lochanside
And the heron he comes a-creeping
Through the rashes so green and dreeping
To the pool where wily trout slide
All around the Lochanside

Aye if you ever have a reason
To be here in any season
Come and try the barley bree in
Round the fire on Lochanside

Summer time the fish are louping
Dippers in the burnies couping
Swallows fly from dawn til evens-tide
All around the Lochanside
By the autumn the pinks are winging
Blaeberries o¹er the moors are hanging
Salmon through the surging spate fight
All around the Lochanside

If ye¹d been ye¹d have seen the scatter
O the peezies o¹er the machair
When above the tawny owl glides
All around the Lochanside

Aye if you ever have a reason
To be here in any season
Come and try the barley bree in
Round the fire on Lochanside
Aye if you ever have a notion
To be welcomed with devotion
Travel home o¹er any ocean
To be here on Lochanside.

There once was a troop of Irish dragoons
Come marching down thru Fyvie, O
And the captain feel in love with a very bonnie lass
And the name she was called was pretty Peggy-o

Chorus
There’s many a bonnie lass in the howe o’ Auchterlass
There’s many a bonnie lass in Gairioch-o
There’s many a bonnie Jean in the toon of Aberdeen
But the flower of them all lives in Fyvie, O

O come down the stairs, Pretty Peggy, my dear
Come down the stairs, Pretty Peggy-o
Come down the stairs, comb back your yellow hair
Bid ye’r last farewell to your mammy-o


I never did intend a soldier’s wife for to be
A soldier shall marru a Soldier-o
I never did intend to gae tae a foreign land
And I will never marry a soldier-o


The colonel he cried, mount, boys, mount,boys, mount
The captain, he cried, tarry-o
O tarry yet a while, just another day or twa
Til I see if the bonnie lass will marry-o

Twas in the early morning, when we marched awa
And O but the captain he was sorry-o
The drums they did beat on the merry braes o’ Gight
And the band played the bonnie lass of Fyvie, O

Long ere we came tae old Meldrum toon
We had our captain to carry-o
And long ere we cam by Bonnie Aberdeen
We had our captain to bury-o

Green grow the birks on bonnie Ethanside
And low lie the lowlands of Fyvie, O
The captain’s name was Ned and he died for a maid
He died for the bonny lass of Fyvie, O