Morris Folk Club Songbook
Haul Away Joe
Ho Ro Haradala/Yenamanoa
Mingulay Boat Song
My Son John
Paddy on the Railway
Raggle Taggle Gypsy
Sumer is Icumen In
This Old Hammer/Cluck Old Hen
Three Little Babes / Motherless Child
Wren in the Furze
Ho Ro Haradala/Yenamanoa
Mingulay Boat Song
My Son John
Paddy on the Railway
Raggle Taggle Gypsy
Sumer is Icumen In
This Old Hammer/Cluck Old Hen
Three Little Babes / Motherless Child
Wren in the Furze
Now when I was a little lad,
and so me mother told me,
(way haul away, we'll haul away Joe)
That if I did not kiss the girls
me lips would grow all mouldy.
(way haul away, we'll haul away Joe)
Way haul away, we'll haul away together.
Away haul away, we'll haul away Joe.
Way haul away, we'll haul for better weather.
Away haul away, we'll haul away Joe.
King Louis was the king of France
before the revolution.
And then he got his head chopped off:
it spoiled his constitution
Saint Patrick was a gentleman.
He came from decent people.
He built a church in Dublin town
and on it put a steeple.
Once I was in Ireland
a'digging turf and taties.
But now I'm on a Yankee ship
a'hauling on the braces.
Way haul away,
rock and roll me over
Way haul away,
well roll me in the clover.
and so me mother told me,
(way haul away, we'll haul away Joe)
That if I did not kiss the girls
me lips would grow all mouldy.
(way haul away, we'll haul away Joe)
Way haul away, we'll haul away together.
Away haul away, we'll haul away Joe.
Way haul away, we'll haul for better weather.
Away haul away, we'll haul away Joe.
King Louis was the king of France
before the revolution.
And then he got his head chopped off:
it spoiled his constitution
Saint Patrick was a gentleman.
He came from decent people.
He built a church in Dublin town
and on it put a steeple.
Once I was in Ireland
a'digging turf and taties.
But now I'm on a Yankee ship
a'hauling on the braces.
Way haul away,
rock and roll me over
Way haul away,
well roll me in the clover.
Ho Ro Haradala
Ho Ro Haradala
Ho Ro Haradala
Hindye Handan
dance to your shadow
when it's good to be livin' lad
dance to your shadow
when there's nothin better near ye
hin hin haradala
hin hin haradala
hin hin haradala
hin haradala ho
there are tunes in the river
otter pools in the river
water pools in the river
and the river calls him
Yenamanoa manoa
Yenamanoa manoa
Yenamanoa manoa
boanama fullawitha
Dadanasha adusha
Dadanasha adusha
Ho Ro Haradala
Ho Ro Haradala
Hindye Handan
dance to your shadow
when it's good to be livin' lad
dance to your shadow
when there's nothin better near ye
hin hin haradala
hin hin haradala
hin hin haradala
hin haradala ho
there are tunes in the river
otter pools in the river
water pools in the river
and the river calls him
Yenamanoa manoa
Yenamanoa manoa
Yenamanoa manoa
boanama fullawitha
Dadanasha adusha
Dadanasha adusha
Heel y'ho boys, let her go boys
Bring her head round into the weather
Heel y’ho boys let her go boys
Sailing homeward, to Mingulay!
What care we how white the Minch is?
What care we boys of windy weather
When we know that every inch is
Sailing homeward to Mingulay?
Wives are waiting on the pier heads
Gazing seaward from the heather.
Pull her head round and we’ll anchor
'Ere the sun sets on Mingulay.
Bring her head round into the weather
Heel y’ho boys let her go boys
Sailing homeward, to Mingulay!
What care we how white the Minch is?
What care we boys of windy weather
When we know that every inch is
Sailing homeward to Mingulay?
Wives are waiting on the pier heads
Gazing seaward from the heather.
Pull her head round and we’ll anchor
'Ere the sun sets on Mingulay.
My son John was tall and slim
He had a leg for every limb
But now he's got no legs at all
For he run a race with a cannonball
To me roo dum dar, faddle diddle dar
Whack for the riddle to me roo dum dar.
Oh were you drunk, or were you blind
When you left your two fine legs behind
Or was it sailing on the sea
Wore your two fine legs right down to the knee
I was not drunk, I was not blind
When I left my two fine legs behind
Nor was it sailing on the sea,
Wore my two fine legs right down to the knee
Each foreign war I'll now denounce
'Tween the King of England and the King of France
For I'd rather my legs as they used to be
Than the King of Spain and his whole Navy.
Well I was tall, and I was slim
And I had a leg for every limb,
But now I've got no legs at all,
They were both shot away by a cannonball.
He had a leg for every limb
But now he's got no legs at all
For he run a race with a cannonball
To me roo dum dar, faddle diddle dar
Whack for the riddle to me roo dum dar.
Oh were you drunk, or were you blind
When you left your two fine legs behind
Or was it sailing on the sea
Wore your two fine legs right down to the knee
I was not drunk, I was not blind
When I left my two fine legs behind
Nor was it sailing on the sea,
Wore my two fine legs right down to the knee
Each foreign war I'll now denounce
'Tween the King of England and the King of France
For I'd rather my legs as they used to be
Than the King of Spain and his whole Navy.
Well I was tall, and I was slim
And I had a leg for every limb,
But now I've got no legs at all,
They were both shot away by a cannonball.
Paddy on the Railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-one
My corduroy breeches I put on
My corduroy breeches I put on
To work upon the railway
Tiggery oo-ree oo-ree ay,
Tiggery oo-ree oo-ree ay
Tiggery oo-ree oo-ree ay,
working on the railway.
In eighteen hundred and forty-two
From Hartlepool I moved to Crewe
Trying to earn a bob or two,
Working on the railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-three
I broke me shovel across me knee
And went to work for the company
On the Leeds and Selby railway.
In eighteen hundred and forty-four
I landed on the Liverpool shore
My belly was empty me hands were sore
From working on the railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-five
I said my prayers to stay alive.
I was lucky I survived
Working on the railway.
In eighteen hundred and forty-six
I changed my trade from carrying bricks
I changed my trade from carrying bricks
To working on the railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-seven
Paddy was thinking of going to heaven
Paddy was thinking of going to heaven
And working on the railway.
In eighteen hundred and forty eight
I landed at St Peter's Gate.
St Peter said 'You're very late -
You must be from the railway!'
Raggle Taggle Gypsy
My corduroy breeches I put on
My corduroy breeches I put on
To work upon the railway
Tiggery oo-ree oo-ree ay,
Tiggery oo-ree oo-ree ay
Tiggery oo-ree oo-ree ay,
working on the railway.
In eighteen hundred and forty-two
From Hartlepool I moved to Crewe
Trying to earn a bob or two,
Working on the railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-three
I broke me shovel across me knee
And went to work for the company
On the Leeds and Selby railway.
In eighteen hundred and forty-four
I landed on the Liverpool shore
My belly was empty me hands were sore
From working on the railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-five
I said my prayers to stay alive.
I was lucky I survived
Working on the railway.
In eighteen hundred and forty-six
I changed my trade from carrying bricks
I changed my trade from carrying bricks
To working on the railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-seven
Paddy was thinking of going to heaven
Paddy was thinking of going to heaven
And working on the railway.
In eighteen hundred and forty eight
I landed at St Peter's Gate.
St Peter said 'You're very late -
You must be from the railway!'
Raggle Taggle Gypsy
There were three auld gypsies came to our hall door.
They came brave and boldly-o.
And one sang high and the other sang low
And the other sang a raggle taggle gypsy-o.
It was upstairs, downstairs the lady went,
Put on her suit of leather-o,
And it was the cry all around her door;
"She's away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o"
It was late that night when the lord came home,
Enquiring for his lady-o,
And the servants said on ev'ry hand;
"She's away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o"
"Then saddle for me my milk-white steed
Go and fetch my pony-o,
That I may ride and seek my bride,
Who's away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o
O he rode high and he rode low
He rode east and west also,
Until he came to a wide open field
It was there he espied his lady-o.
"What makes you leave your house and land?
What makes you leave your money-o?
What makes you leave your new wedded lord,
To go with the raggle taggle gypsy-o?”
"O, what care I for my house and my land?
What care I for money, O?
What care I for my new wedded lord?
I'm away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o"
"It was there last night you'd a goose feather bed,
With the sheet turned down so bravely-o!
But tonight you lie in a cold open field
In the arms of the raggle taggle gypsy-o"
"O, what care I for a goose−feather bed,
With the sheet turned down so bravely, O?
For tonight I'll sleep in a cold open field,
I'm away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o"
"For you rode east when I rode west,
You rode high and I rode low.
I'd rather have a kiss of my gypsy's lips
Than all of your cash and money-o"
There were three auld gypsies came to our hall door.
They came brave and boldly-o.
And one sang high and the other sang low
And the other sang a raggle taggle gypsy-o.
She’s away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o!
They came brave and boldly-o.
And one sang high and the other sang low
And the other sang a raggle taggle gypsy-o.
It was upstairs, downstairs the lady went,
Put on her suit of leather-o,
And it was the cry all around her door;
"She's away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o"
It was late that night when the lord came home,
Enquiring for his lady-o,
And the servants said on ev'ry hand;
"She's away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o"
"Then saddle for me my milk-white steed
Go and fetch my pony-o,
That I may ride and seek my bride,
Who's away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o
O he rode high and he rode low
He rode east and west also,
Until he came to a wide open field
It was there he espied his lady-o.
"What makes you leave your house and land?
What makes you leave your money-o?
What makes you leave your new wedded lord,
To go with the raggle taggle gypsy-o?”
"O, what care I for my house and my land?
What care I for money, O?
What care I for my new wedded lord?
I'm away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o"
"It was there last night you'd a goose feather bed,
With the sheet turned down so bravely-o!
But tonight you lie in a cold open field
In the arms of the raggle taggle gypsy-o"
"O, what care I for a goose−feather bed,
With the sheet turned down so bravely, O?
For tonight I'll sleep in a cold open field,
I'm away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o"
"For you rode east when I rode west,
You rode high and I rode low.
I'd rather have a kiss of my gypsy's lips
Than all of your cash and money-o"
There were three auld gypsies came to our hall door.
They came brave and boldly-o.
And one sang high and the other sang low
And the other sang a raggle taggle gypsy-o.
She’s away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o!
Sumer is icumen in, lude sing cucu.
Groweth sede and bloweth mead and springs the wood anew.
Sing cucu.
Yow now bleteth after lamb, loweth after calve cu
Bullock starteth, buck now verteth, Merrye sing cucu.
Cucu, cucu, well singest thou cucu, nor swick tha naver now.
Groweth sede and bloweth mead and springs the wood anew.
Sing cucu.
Yow now bleteth after lamb, loweth after calve cu
Bullock starteth, buck now verteth, Merrye sing cucu.
Cucu, cucu, well singest thou cucu, nor swick tha naver now.
This Old Hammer rings with silver
But it won't kill me, won't kill me
My old hen's a good old hen,
She lays eggs for the railway men
Sometimes one, sometimes two,
Sometimes enough for the whole damn crew
Cluck old hen, cluck and sing
Ain't laid an egg since way last Spring
Cluck old hen, cluck and squall,
Ain't laid an egg since way last fall
My old hen, she won't do
She lays eggs and 'taters too
This old hen, she's raised on a farm
Now she's in the new ground digging up corn
Cluck old hen, cluck and sing
Ain't laid an egg since way last Spring
Cluck old hen, cluck and squall,
Ain't laid an egg since way last fall
My old hen's a good old hen,
She lays eggs for the railway men
Sometimes one, sometimes two,
Sometimes three an' sometimes four
Sometimes five an' sometimes six
Sometimes seven an' sometimes eight
Sometimes nine an' sometimes ten…
An' that’s enough for the railway men
But it won't kill me, won't kill me
My old hen's a good old hen,
She lays eggs for the railway men
Sometimes one, sometimes two,
Sometimes enough for the whole damn crew
Cluck old hen, cluck and sing
Ain't laid an egg since way last Spring
Cluck old hen, cluck and squall,
Ain't laid an egg since way last fall
My old hen, she won't do
She lays eggs and 'taters too
This old hen, she's raised on a farm
Now she's in the new ground digging up corn
Cluck old hen, cluck and sing
Ain't laid an egg since way last Spring
Cluck old hen, cluck and squall,
Ain't laid an egg since way last fall
My old hen's a good old hen,
She lays eggs for the railway men
Sometimes one, sometimes two,
Sometimes three an' sometimes four
Sometimes five an' sometimes six
Sometimes seven an' sometimes eight
Sometimes nine an' sometimes ten…
An' that’s enough for the railway men
There was a knight, and lady bright
And three little babes had she.
She sent them away, to a far country,
To learn their grammerie.
They hadn't been gone but a very short time,
About three months and a day,
'Til the lark call o'er this whole wide world
And taken those babes away.
It was on a dark, cold Christmas night
When everything was still
She saw her three little babes come running,
Come running down the hill.
She spread a table of bread and wine,
So they might drink and eat;
She spread a bed of winding sheet,
That they might sleep so sweet.
"Take it off, take it off," cried the oldest one;
"take it off, take it off," said she,
"I can't stay here, in this wide wicked world
When there's a better one for me."
"Cold clods, cold clods, down by my side,
Cold clods, down at my feet -
The tears my dear mother shed for me
Would wet my winding sheet."
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
A long way from home.
And three little babes had she.
She sent them away, to a far country,
To learn their grammerie.
They hadn't been gone but a very short time,
About three months and a day,
'Til the lark call o'er this whole wide world
And taken those babes away.
It was on a dark, cold Christmas night
When everything was still
She saw her three little babes come running,
Come running down the hill.
She spread a table of bread and wine,
So they might drink and eat;
She spread a bed of winding sheet,
That they might sleep so sweet.
"Take it off, take it off," cried the oldest one;
"take it off, take it off," said she,
"I can't stay here, in this wide wicked world
When there's a better one for me."
"Cold clods, cold clods, down by my side,
Cold clods, down at my feet -
The tears my dear mother shed for me
Would wet my winding sheet."
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
A long way from home.
Oh the wren, oh the wren; he's the king of all birds,
On St. Stephen's Day he got caught in the furze,
So it's up with the kettle and it's down with the pan,
Won't you give us a penny for to bury the wren?
Well it's Christmas time; that's why we're here,
Please be good enough to give us an ear,
For we'll sing and we'll dance if youse give us a chance,
And we won't be comin' back for another whole year!
We'll play Kerry polkas; they're real hot stuff,
We'll play the Mason's Apron and the Pinch of Snuff,
Jon Maroney's jig and the Donegal reel,
Music made to put a spring in your heel!
If there's a drink in the house, would it make itself known,
Before I sing a song called "The Banks of the Lowne",
A drink with lubrimacation in it,
For me poor dry throat and I'll sing like a linnet!
Oh please give us something for the little bird's wake,
A big lump of pudding or some Christmas cake,
A fist full o' goose and a hot cup o' tay,
And then we'll all be goin' on our way!
The wren, oh the wren; he's the king of all birds,
On St. Stephen's Day he got caught in the furze,
So it's up with the kettle and it's down with the pan,
Won't you give us a penny for to bury the wren?
On St. Stephen's Day he got caught in the furze,
So it's up with the kettle and it's down with the pan,
Won't you give us a penny for to bury the wren?
Well it's Christmas time; that's why we're here,
Please be good enough to give us an ear,
For we'll sing and we'll dance if youse give us a chance,
And we won't be comin' back for another whole year!
We'll play Kerry polkas; they're real hot stuff,
We'll play the Mason's Apron and the Pinch of Snuff,
Jon Maroney's jig and the Donegal reel,
Music made to put a spring in your heel!
If there's a drink in the house, would it make itself known,
Before I sing a song called "The Banks of the Lowne",
A drink with lubrimacation in it,
For me poor dry throat and I'll sing like a linnet!
Oh please give us something for the little bird's wake,
A big lump of pudding or some Christmas cake,
A fist full o' goose and a hot cup o' tay,
And then we'll all be goin' on our way!
The wren, oh the wren; he's the king of all birds,
On St. Stephen's Day he got caught in the furze,
So it's up with the kettle and it's down with the pan,
Won't you give us a penny for to bury the wren?