Category: Lyrics

The fire is out, the moon is down
The parting glass is dry and done
And I must go and leave this town
Before the rising of the sun
And long’s the road and far’s the mile
Before I rest my soul again
With girls that weep and girls that smile
And all the words and ways of men

but there for those,who cannot bide
But wander to the journey’s end
Nor take a girl to be his bride
Nor take a man to his a friend
And when I’m done with wandering
I’ll sit myself by road and weep
For all the songs I did not sing
And promises I did not keep

As I was sittin’ with my jug and spoon
One fine mornin’ in the month of June
a birdie sang in an ivy bunch
and the song he sang was the jug o’ punch

chorus:
tooriloorilay, tooriloorily
tooriloorilay, tooriloorily
a birdie sat in an ivy bunch
and the song he sang was the jug o’ punch

what more diversion can a man desire
than be sittin’ down by a snug turf fire
a pretty maid seated on the bench
and on the table a jug o’ punch
tooriloorilay, tooriloorily
tooriloorilay, tooriloorily
a pretty maid seated on the bench
and on the table a jug o’ punch


and when I’m dead and laid in my grave
no costly tombstone will I crave
just bury me in my native peat
with a jug o’ punch at my head and feet
tooriloorilay, tooriloorily
tooriloorilay, tooriloorily
just bury me in my native peat
with a jug o’ punch at my head and feet

Chorus.

Oh, there’re sober men and plenty,
And drunkards barely twenty,
There are men of over ninety
That have never yet kissed a girl.
But give me a ramblin’ rover,
Frae Orkney down to Dover.
We will roam the country over
And together we’ll face the world.

There’s many that feign enjoyment
From merciless employment,
Their ambition was this deployment
From the minute they left the school.
And they save and scrape and ponder
While the rest go out and squander,
See the world and rove and wander
And are happier as a rule.

I’ve roamed through all the nations
In delight of all creations,
And enjoyed a wee sensation
Where the company, it was kind.
And when partin’ was no pleasure,
I’ve drunk another measure
To the good friends that we treasure
For they always are in our mind.

If you’re bent wi’ arthiritis,
Your bowels have got Colitis,
You’ve gallopin’ bollockitis
And you’re thinkin’ it’s time you died,
If you been a man o’ action,
Though you’re lying there in traction,
You will get some satisfaction
Thinkin’, “Jesus, at least I tried.”

Oh fare you well my own true love,
Fare you well my dear;
For the ship is waiting and the wind blows high,
And I am bound away for the sea, Mary Ann. 

And I am bound away for the sea Marie Ann

.

Oh yonder don’t you see the turtle dove
That sits on yonder stile,
Lamenting the loss of her own true love
As I do now for mine love Mary Anne.

As I do now for mine love Mary Anne.

.

And if I should suffer grieve an pain

Tis for a little while 

for thou I must go I’ll return again 

Thou I go ten thousand miles my love Marie Ann

Thou I go ten thousand miles my love Marie Ann

.

And the waves shall cease to beat the shore

The Stars fall from the skys

but I will love you more and more

Until the day I die my lover Marie Ann

Until the day I die my lover Marie Ann


Repeat 1^st verse.

Chorus.

Come o’er the stream Charlie, dear Charlie, brave Charlie
Come o’er the stream Charlie, and dine wi MacLean
And though ye be weary, we’ll mak yer heart cheery
And welcome oor Charlie and his loyal train

We’ll bring doon the red deer, we’ll bring doon the black steer
The lamb fae the brecken and the doe fae the glen
The salt sea we’ll harry and bring to oor Charlie
The cream fae the bothy, the curd fae the pen

Come o’er the stream Charlie, dear Charlie, brave Charlie
Come o’er the stream Charlie, and dine wi MacLean
And though ye be weary, we’ll mak yer heart cheery
And welcome oor Charlie and his loyal train

And you shall drink freely the dews of Glensheerly
That stream in the starlight, where kings dinna ken
And deep be your meed of the wine that is red
Tae drink to your sire and his friend the MacLean

It ought to invite you, or more will delight you
Tis ready a troop of our bold Highland men
Shall range on the heather, with bayonet and feather
Strong arms and broad claymores, three hundred and ten

Oh, Mary, this London’s a wonderful sight
With people here working by day and by night
They don’t sow potatoes nor barley nor wheat
But there’s gangs of them diggin’ for gold in the street
At least when I asked them, that’s what I was told
So I just took a hand at this diggin’ for gold
But for all that I’ve found there, I might as well be
Where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea

I believe that when writin’ a wish you expressed
As to how the fine ladies of London were dressed
But if you’ll believe me, when asked to a ball
They don’t wear no tops to their dresses at all
Oh, I’ve seen them myself and you could not in truth
Tell if they were bound for a ball or a bath
Don’t be startin’ them fashions now, Mary McRee,
Where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea

There’s beautiful girls here, oh, never you mind
Beautiful shapes Nature never designed
Lovely complexions of roses and cream
But let me remark with regard to the same
That if at those roses you venture to sit
The colors might all come away on your lip
So I’ll wait for the wild rose that’s waitin’ for me
Where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea

You remember young Danny Mcloughlan , of course
But he’s over here with the rest of the force
I saw him one day as he stood on the strand
Stopped all the traffic with a wave of his hand
As we were talking of days that are gone
The whole town of London stood there to look on
But for all his great powers, he’s wishful like me
To be back where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea

The Diamond is a ship, my lads
For the Davis Strait we’re bound
The quay it is all garnished
With bonnie lasses ’round
Captain Thompson gives the order
To sail the ocean wide
Where the sun it never sets, my lads
Nor darkness dims the sky

Chorus

For it’s cheer up my lads
Let your hearts never fail
For the bonnie ship the Diamond
Goes a-hunting for the whale

Along the quay at Peterhead
The lasses stand aroon
Wi’ their shawls all pulled around them
And the saut tears runnin’ doon
Don’t you weep, my bonnie wee lass
Though you be left behind
For the rose will grow on Greenland’s ice
Before we change our mind

Here’s a health to the Resolution
Likewise the Eliza Swan
Three cheers for the Battler of Montrose
And the Diamond, ship of fame
We wear the trousers o’ the white
The jackets o’ the blue
When we get back to Peterhead
We’ll hae sweethearts enou’

It will be bright both day and night
When the Greenland lads come hame
Our ship full up with oil, my lads
And money to our name
We’ll make the cradles for to rock
And the blankets for to tear
And every lass in Peterhead sing
“Hushabye, my dear”

Last night I had the strangest dream
I’d ever dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war

I dreamed I saw a mighty room
Filled with women and men
And the paper they were signing said
They’d never fight again

And when the paper was all signed
And a million copies made
They all joined hands and bowed their heads
And grateful pray’rs were prayed

And the people in the streets below
Were dancing ’round and ’round
While swords and guns and uniforms
Were scattered on the ground

Last night I had the strangest dream
I’d never dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war.

Once upon a time in the land of Hushabye
Around about the wondrous days of yore
I came across a sort of box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks
And labeled kindly do not touch; it’s war
Decree was issued ’round about
All with a flourish and a shout
And a gaily colored mascot tripping lightly on before
Don’t fiddle with this deadly box, or break the chains, or pick the locks
And please, don’t ever play about with war
Well, the children understood
Children happen to be good
They were just as good around the time of yore
They didn’t try to pick the locks, or break into that deadly box
They never tried to play about with war
Mummies didn’t either
Sisters, aunts, grannies neither
Cause they were quiet, and sweet, and pretty in those wondrous days of yore
Well, very much the same as now, not the ones to blame somehow
For opening up that deadly box of war
But someone did
Someone battered in the lid
And spilled the insides out across the floor
A sort of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags 
And all the tears, and horror, and the death that goes with war
It bounced right out
And went bashing all about
And bumping into everything and stored
And what was sad and most unfair is that it didn’t seem to care who much it bumped
Or why, or what, or for
It bumped the children mainly
And I’ll tell you this quite plainly
It bumps them every day, and more and more, and leaves them dead and burned and dying
Thousands of them sick and crying
Cause when it bumps, it’s really very sore
Now, there’s a way to stop the ball
It isn’t difficult at all
All it takes is wisdom; I’m absolutely sure that we could get it back into the box
And bind the chains and lock the locks
No one seems to want to save the children any more
Well, that’s the way it all appears
Cause it’s been bouncing ’round for years and years
In spite of all the wisdom since those wondrous days of yore
And the time they came across the box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks
And labeled “kindly do not touch, it’s war”

I have been round this country, from shore to shining shore,

From the swamps of Auchterderren, tae the jungles o’ Lochore,

But in a’ these far flung places, there’s none that can compare,

Wi’ the lily o’ Lumphinans, she’s ma lovely Maggie Blair.

Chorus

O’ she’s just a Kelty clippie, she’ll no tak nae advice,

It’s ach drap deid, awa bile yer heid, or I’ll punch yer ticket twice,

Her faither’s jist a waister, her mithers on the game,

She’s just a Kelty clippie, but I love her just the same.

.

Fae the pyramids up in Kelty, tae the mansions in Glencraig,

We’ve trod the bings together, in many’s the blithe stravaig,

Watched the sun rise over Crosshill, trod Buckavens golden sands,

And many’s the happy night we’ve spent in Lochgelly’s happy land.

.

Noo she hasn’ae got nae culture, she drives me round the bend,

She sits allnight in her old armchair reading the peoples friend,

Her lapels is full o’ badges, fae Butlins doon at Ayr,

And she gangs tae the bingo every night, wi’ the curlers in her hair.

.

Well I met her on the 8.15, that night o’ romantic bliss,

I says hey Mag whit’s in yer bag, gie’s a wee bit kiss,

Noo she didn’ae tak that kindly, she didn’ae like ma chaff,

And being a contrary kind o’ lass, she says c’mon get aff

.

Well things are a wee bit better noo, I’ve gone and bought the ring,

I won it fae Jim at the pitch and toss, last night at the Lindsay bing,

Wi’ her wee black bag and ticket machine, she did ma heart ensnare,

She’s the lily o’ Lumphinans, She’s ma bonnie Maggie Blair.