DUNLAVIN GREEN 

In the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety eight 
A sorrowful tale the truth unto you I'll relate 
Of thirty-six heroes to the world were left to be seen 
By a false information were shot on Dunlavin Green 

Bad luck to you Saunders, for you did their lives betray 
You said a parade would be held on that very day 
Our drums they did rattle - our fifes they did sweetly play 
Surrounded we were and privately marched away 

Quite easy they led us as prisoners through the town 
To be slaughtered on the plain, we were then forced to kneel down 
Such grief and such sorrow were never before there seen 
When the blood ran in streams down the dykes of Dunlavin Green 

There is young Matty Farrell has plenty of cause to complain 
Also the two Duffys who were also shot down on the plain 
And young Andy Ryan, his mother distracted will run 
For her own brave boy, her beloved eldest son 

Bad luck to you, Saunders, may bad luck never you shun! 
That the widow's curse may melt you like the snow in the sun 
The cries of the orphans whose murmurs you cannot screen 
For the murder of their dear fathers on Dunlavin Green 

Some of our boys to the hills they are going away 
Some of them are shot and some of them going to sea 
Micky Dwyer in the mountains to Saunders he owes a spleen 
For his loyal brothers who were shot on Dunlavin Green 


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DOWN ERIN'S LOVELY LEE 

On March the sixth in sixty three we sailed from Queenstown Quay 
A gallant band of Fenian men bound for Amerikay 
While journeying with that gallant band, as you may plainly see 
We were forced to go from sweet Cloghroe down Erin's lovely Lee 

For six long months we ploughed the sea, from Queenstown Quay in Cork 
Just like an arrow through the sky till we landed in New York 
Them Yankee boys with stars and stripes came flocking down to see 
That gallant band of Fenian men from Erin's lovely Lee 

Then one of them stepped up to me and he asked me did I know 
The hills of Tipperary or the Glen of Aherlow 
Or could I tell where Crowley fell, his native land to free 
And the tower that Captain Mackey sacked, down Erin's lovely Lee 

He also asked me did I know where Wolfe Tone's body lay 
Or could I tell the resting place of Emmet's sacred clay 
What did I know of Michael Dwyer, the Wicklow mountain lion 
And the three Manchester martyrs - Allen, Larkin and O'Brien 

Yes I can tell where Crowley fell, 'twas in Kilclooney Wood 
And the tower that Captain Mackey sacked, 'twas by his side I stood 
When he gave the word, we raised the sword and made the tyrant frown 
And we raised the green flag o'er our heads, the harp without the crown 

When I was leaving Ireland, I passed through sweet Kildare 
And if I do not now mistake, Wolfe Tone is buried there 
In coming down through Dublin Town, we passed Glasnevin too 
And its there young Robert Emmet lies, a patriot loyal and true 

But now I'm tired of roving and the seas I will cross o'er 
To feel the clasp of honest hands when I return once more 
When I go home to sweet Cloghroe the boys will welcome me 
And we'll help to float a Fenian boat, down Erin's lovely Lee. 

 
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DOWN BY THE LIFFEYSIDE 
(Peadar Kearney) 

'Twas down by Anna Liffey, my love and I did stray 
Where in the good old slushy mud the sea gulls sport and play. 
We got the whiff of ray and chips and Mary softly sighed, 
"Oh John, come on for a wan and wan 
Down by the Liffeyside." 

Then down along by George's street the loving pairs to view 
While Mary swanked it like a queen in a skirt of royal blue; 
Her hat was lately turned and her blouse was newly dyed, 
Oh you could not match her round the block, 
Down by the Liffeyside. 

And on her old melodeon how sweetly could she play.; 
"Good-by-ee" and "Don't sigh-ee" and "Rule Brittanni-ay" 
But when she turned Sinn Feiner me heart near burst with pride, 
To hear her sing the "Soldier's Song", 
Down by the Liffeyside. 

On Sunday morning to Meath street together we will go, 
And it's up to Father Murphy we both will make our vow. 
We'll join our hands in wedlock bands and we'll be soon outside 
For a whole afternoon, for our honeymoon, 
Down by the Liffeyside. 


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Doonaree

If you ever go to Ireland I'm sure you will agree
To take the road from Dublin town way down to Doonaree
'Tis there you'll find a wishing well beyond a chestnut tree
In a shady nook, by a winding brook
Will you make this wish for me
Oh to be in Doonaree with the sweetheart I once knew
To stroll in the shade of the leafy glade where the rhododendrons grew
To sit with my love on the bridge above the rippling waterfall
But to go back home never more to roam is my dearest wish of all

(BREAK)

And if you take the hilly path to the woods where bluebells grow
Where we as barefoot children played so many years ago
You'll find a slumbering castle there enshrined in memory
In a shady nook, by a winding brook
Will you make this wish for me
Oh to be in Doonaree with the sweetheart I once knew
To stroll in the shade of the leafy glade where the rhododendrons grew
To sit with my love on the bridge above the rippling waterfall
But to go back home never more to roam is my dearest wish of all
To go back home never more to roam is my dearest wish of all

 back home never more to roam is my dearest wish of all


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Donegal Danny

I remember the night that he came in
From the wintery cold and damp
A giant of a man in an oilskin coat
And a bundle that told he was a tramp
He stood at the bar and he called for a pint
And turned and gazed at the fire
On a night like this to be safe and dry, is my hearts only desire

So here's to those that are dead and gone
The friends that I love dear
And here's to you, and I'll bid you adieu
Since Donegal Danny's been here me boys,
Donegal Danny's been here

Then in a voice that was hushed and low, said listen I'll tell you a tale 
How a man of the sea became a man of the roads
And never more will set sail
I've fished out of Howth and Killybegs, Ardglass and Baltimore
But the cruel sea has beaten me and I'll end my days on the shore

Chorus

One fateful night in the wind and the rain
We set sail from Killybegs town, 
There were five of us from sweet Donegal
And one from County Down, 
We were fishermen who worked the sea
And never counted the cost 
But I never thought 'ere that night was done
That my fine friends would all be lost

Chorus

Then the storm it broke and drove the boat 
To the rocks about Ten miles from shore, 
As we fought the tide we hoped inside to see our homes once more
Than we struck a rock and holed the bow 
And all of us knew that she'd go down 
So we jumped right into the icy sea 
And prayed to God we wouldn't drown

But the raging sea was rising still, as we struck out for the land
And she fought with all her cruelty, to claim that gallant band
By St John's point in the early dawn
I dragged myself on the shore
And I cursed the sea for what she'd done
And vowed to sail her never more

Chorus

Ever since that night, I've been on the road
Travelling and trying to forget 
That awful night I lost all my friends, I see their faces yet 
And often at night when the sea is high
And the the rain is tearing at me skin 
I hear the cries of drowning men floating on the wind

Chorus X 2  (No tag)



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Dirty Old Town 
midi

I met my love by the gas works wall 
Dreamed a dream by the old canal 
I kissed a girl by the factory wall 
Dirty old town dirty old town 
  
Clouds a drifting across the moon 
Cats a prowling on their beat 
Spring's a girl  in the street at night 
Dirty old town dirty old town 
  
Heard a si- ren from the docks 
Saw a train set the night on fire 
Smelled the spring in the smokey wind 
Dirty old town dirty old town 
  
I'm going to make a good sharp axe 
Shining steel tempered in the fire 
Will chop you down like an old dead tree 
Dirty old town dirty old town 
  
Dirty old town dirty old town 


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DELANY'S DONKEY 
(William Hargreaves) 

Now Delaney had a donkey that everyone admired, 
Tempo'rily lazy and permanently tired 
A leg at ev'ry corner balancing his head, 
and a tail to let you know which end he wanted to be fed 
Riley slyly said ""We've underrated it, 
why not train it?" Then he took a rag 
They rubbed it, scrubbed it, they oiled and embrocated it, 
got it to the post and when the starter dropped his flag 

There was Riley pushing it, shoving it, shushing it 
Hogan, Logan and ev'ryone in town 
lined up attacking it and shoving it and smacking it 
They might as well have tried to push the Town Hall down 
The donkey was eyeing them, openly defying them 
Winking, blinking and twisting out of place 
Riley reversing it, ev'rybody cursing it 
The day Delaney's donkey ran the halfmile race 

The muscles of the mighty never known to flinch, 
they couldn't budge the donkey a quarter of an inch 
Delaney lay exhausted, hanging round its throat 
with a grip just like a Scotchman on a five pound note 
Starter, Carter, he lined up with the rest of 'em. 
When it saw them, it was willing then 
It raced up, braced up, ready for the best of 'em. 
They started off to cheer it but it changed its mind again 

There was Riley pushing it, shoving it and shushing it 
Hogan, Logan and Mary Ann Macgraw, 
she started poking it, grabbing it and choking it 
It kicked her in the bustle and it laughed ""Hee - Haw!"" 
The whigs, the conservatives, radical superlatives 
Libr'rals and tories, they hurried to the place 
Stood there in unity, helping the community 
The day Delaney's donkey ran the halfmile race 

The crowd began to cheer it. Then Rafferty, the judge 
he came to assist them, but still it wouldn't budge 
The jockey who was riding, little John MacGee, 
was so thoroughly disgusted that he went to have his tea 
Hagan, Fagan was students of psychology, 
swore they'd shift it with some dynamite 
They bought it, brought it, then without apology 
the donkey gave a sneeze and blew the darn stuff out of sight 

There was Riley pushing it, shoving it and shushing it 
Hogan, Logan and all the bally crew, 
P'lice, and auxil'ary, the Garrison Artillery 
The Second Enniskillen's and the Life Guards too 
They seized it and harried it, they picked it up and carried it 
Cheered it, steered it to the winning place 
Then the Bookies drew aside, they all commited suicide 
Well, the day Delaney's donkey won the halfmile race" 




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Dear Old Galway Town

I have travelled all 'round Ireland
From Dublin to Mayo
From Donegal to Kerry, from Leitrim to Sligo
But in all the miles I've travelled
All the roads that I've been down
There's one place I remember best
That's dear old Galway Town

If you ever go to Galway
And just walk down by the sea
I'm sure you will understand
Why it means so much to me
You see the smiling faces
Of the people all around
I'll not forget the folks I met
In dear old Galway Town   

When I go across to England
And meet the people there
There some from Cork and Wexford
And others are from Clare
Each one of them are friendly
But I have always found
You could not meet more nicer folk
Than those from Galway town

Chorus twice & repeat last line
Chorus


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DAWNING OF THE DAY, THE
midi

One morning early I walked forth
By the margin of Lough Leane
The sunshine dressed the trees in green
And summer bloomed again
I left the town and wandered on
Through fields all green and gay
And whom should I meet but a colleen sweet
At the dawning of the day

No cap or cloak this maiden wore
Her neck and feet were bare
Down to the grass in ringlets fell
Her glossy golden hair

A milking pail was in her hand
She was lovely, young and gay
She wore the palm from Venus bright
By the dawning of the day

On a mossy bank I sat me down
With the maiden by my side
With gentle words I courted her
And asked her to be my bride
She said, "Young man don't bring me blame"
And swiftly turned away
And the morning light was shining bright
At the dawning of the day


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THE DAWNING OF THE DAY 

God rest you Robert Emmet 
And God rest you noble Tone 
God rest you Hugh O'Donnell 
And O'Neill of brave Tyrone 
God rest you Patrick Sarsfield 
In your grave far, far away 
God rest you all who strove to speed 
The dawning of the day 

Freedom's bright and blessed day 
Free from Saxon sway 
Lift your hearts and pray 
God speed us to the dawning of the day 

Not in vain you poured you life blood 
Gallant hearts of ninety-eight 
Not in vain you stood undaunted 
'Neath the scourge of English hate 
Men of Wexford, men of Aughrin 
Men whose names shall ne'er decay 
But will shine like stars to lead us 
To the dawning of the day 

Chorus 

Foreign foe and native traitor 
Both have failed to quench the flame 
That has guided Ireland's armies 
Through the years of pride and shame 
And 'twill flash the deathless glowing 
Making bright the upward way 
When our men shall march to freedom 
At the dawning of the day 

Chorus 

For the fields your blood has hallowed 
O you host of Irish dead 
In the light of Freedom's morning 
Men of Ireland yet shall tread 
When the foemen reel before them 
In the thunder of the fray 
They shall shout your name in triumph 
At the dawning of the day 

Chorus 

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DEAR BOSS
(also known as THE SICK NOTE)

Dear Boss, I write this note to tell you of my plight
And at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight
My body is all black and blue, my face a deathly gray
And I hope you understand why Paddy's not at work today

While working on the fourteenth floor, some bricks I had to clear
And to throw them down from off the top seemed quite a good idea
But the foreman wasn't very pleased, he was an awful sod
He said I had to cart them down the ladder in me hod

Well clearing all those bricks by hand, it seemed so very slow
So I hoisted up a barrel and secured the rope below
But in my haste to do the job, I was too blind to see
That a barrel full of building bricks is heavier than me

So when I had untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead
And clinging tightly to the rope I started up instead
I took off like a rocket and to my dismay I found
That half way up I met the bloody barrel coming down

Well the barrel broke my shoulder as to the ground it sped
And when I reached the top I banged the pulley with me head
I held on tight, though numb with shock from this almighty blow
And the barrel spilled out half its load fourteen floors below

Now when those building bricks fell from the barrel to the floor
I then outweighed the barrel so I started down once more
I held on tightly to the rope as I flew to the ground
And I landed on those building bricks that were all scattered 'round

Now as I lay there on the deck I thought I'd passed the worst
But when the barrel reached the top, that's when the bottom burst
A shower of bricks came down on me, and I didn't have a hope
And as I was losing conciousness, I let go the bloody rope

The barrel being heavier, it started down once more
And landed right on top of me as I lay there on the floor
It broke three ribs and my left arm, and I can only say
That I hope you'll understand why Paddy's not at work today


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DEAR LITTLE SHAMROCK, THE

There's a dear little plant that grows in our isle
'Twas St Patrick himself sure that set it
And the sun on his labour with pleasure did smile
And with dew from his eye often wet it
It shines thro' the bog, the brake and the mire-land
And he called it the dear little shamrock of Ireland

Chorus:
The dear little shamrock, the sweet little shamrock
The dear little, sweet shamrock of Ireland

That dear little plant still grows in our land
Fresh and fair as the daughters of Erin
Whose smiles can bewitch and whose eyes can command
In each climate they ever appear in
For they shine through the bog, through the brake, through the mire-land
Just like their own dear little shamrock

That dear little shamrock that srings from our soil
When its three little leaves are extended
Denotes from the stalk we together should toil
And ourselves by ourselves be befriended
And still through the bog, through the brake, through the mire-land
From one shoot should branch, like the shamrock of Ireland



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DEATH OF SCHOMBERG

'Twas on the day when kings did fight
Beside the Boyne's dark water
And thunder Roared from every height
And earth was read with slaughter;
That morn an aged chieftain stood
Apart from mustering bands
And, from a height that crowned the flood
Surveyed broad Erin's land

His hand upon his sword hilt leant
His war-horse stood beside
And anxiously his eyes were bent
Across the rolling tide;
He thought of what a changeful fate
Had born him from the land
Where frowned his father's castle gate
High o'er the Renish strand

And placed before his opening view
A realm where strangers bled
Where he, a leader, s carcely knew
The tongue of those he led;
He looked upon his chequered life
From boyhood's earliest time
Through scenes of tumult and of strife
Endured in every clime

To where the snows of eighty years
Usurped the raven's strand
And still the din was in his ears
The broad-sword in his hand;
He turned him to futurity
Beyond the battle plain
But then a shadow from on high
Hung o'er the heaps of slain

And through the darkness of the cloud
The chief's prophetic glance
Beheld, with winding-sheet and shroud
His fatal hour advance;
He quailed not as he felt him near
The inevitable stroke
But dashing off one rising tear
'Twas thus the old man spoke:

"God of my fathers! Death is nigh
My soul is not deceived
My hour is come, and I would die
The conqueror I have lived!
Four Thee, for Freedom, have I stood
For both I fall to -day:
Give me but victory for my blood
The price I gladly pay!

"Forbid the future to restore
A Stuart's despot gloom
Or that, by freemen dreaded more
The tyranny of Rome!
From either curse let Erin freed
As prosperous ages run
Acknowledge what a glorious deed
Upon that day was done!"

He said--fate granted half his prayer
His steed he straight bestrode
And fell as on the routed rear
Of Jame's host he rode;
He sleeps in a cathedral's gloom
Amongst the mighty dead;
And frequent o'er his hallowed tomb
Redeedful pilgrims tread:

The other half, though fate deny
We'll arrive for one and all
And William's Schomberg's spirits nigh
We'll gain or fighting fall!



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DECOMMISSIONING SONG, THE

We remember back in time in the year of '69
You unleashed your dogs of war onto our streets
We could not stand idly by and let our families die
We fought you back and joined the IRA


Chorus:
So stuff your f-ing crown we Irish won't lie down and give away our guns to foreign lands
No semtex not our guns will you ever get from us
You can stick your decommissioning up your arse

Well you murdered free young men and you'll do the same again
Decommissioning you will never ever see
As long as we have men like those famous fighting men
Yes those famous fighting men from Crossmaglen

Chorus

In memory of the ten they were Ireland's bravest men
We will not forget the ones who fought and died
Decommissioning you can see will never ever be
'Cause the IRA will always be around

Chorus

You can tell the RUC those black bastards from Drumcree
You'll never march down Garvaghy road
If you want to make a fight we will stand up for our rights
You can take your fucking march and give us peace

Chorus

Now Trimble you're an ass if you think that it will last
Six counties are under tyranny
You can tell wee Tony Blair and Mo Mowlam if you dare
They can stick their decommissioning up their ass

Chorus


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DEVIL AND BAILIFF MCGLYNN, THE

[This ballad was collected in Northern Ireland by
Sean O'Boyle and Peter Kennedy in 1952. The tune is a traditional
jig. (banbh = pig)]

One fine sunny evening last summer
I was straying along by the sea
When a pair of quare playboys a-roving
before me I happened to see
Now to learn what these boy-os were up to
A trifle I hastened me walk
For I thought I could learn their profession
When I got within range of their talk

Now, one of these boys was the devil
And the other was Bailiff McGlynn
And the one was as black as the other
And both were as ugly as sin
Says the old boy, says he, "I'm the devil
And you are a bailiff, I see"
"Ah! 'tis the devil himself," cries the bailiff
"Now that beats the devil," says he

A gossoon ran out from a cottage
and took him up over the fields
"May the devil take you," said his mother
As she rattled a stone at his heels
"Ah now, why don't you take the young rascal
your highness?" the bailiff he cried
"It was not from her heart that she said it"
the devil he smiling replied

Close by a small patch of potatoes
A banbh was striving to dig
When the owner come out and she cried
"May the devil take you for a pig!"
Said the bailiff, "Now that's a fine offer
Why not take the banbh?" says he
"It was but with her lips that she said it
And that's not sufficient for me"

As they jogged on, the gossoon espyed them
and into his mother he sped
Crying, "Mother!" says he, "There's a bailiff!"
She clasped her two hands and she said
"May the devil take that ugly bailiff!"
Said the old boy, "Bedad! That'll do
It was straight from her heart that she said it
So Bailiff McGlynn, I'll take you"



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DICEY REILLY

Oh poor old Dicey Reilly, she has taken to the sup
And poor old Dicey Reilly, she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pop that she goes in
for another little drop
But the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly

She will walk along Fitzgibbon Street with an independent air
And then it's down by Summerhill, and as the people stare
She'll say, "It's nearly half past one"
Time I went in for another little one
But the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly

Now at two, pubs close and out she goes as happy as a lark
She'll find a bench to sleep it off at St. Patrick's Park
She'll wake at five  feeling in the pink
And say, "Tis time for another drink"
But the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly


Now she'll travel far to a dockside bar to have another round
And after one or two or three she doesn't feel quite so sound
After four she's a bit unstable
After five underneath the table
But the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly

Oh, they carry her home at twelve o'clock as they do every night
Bring her inside, put her on the bed and then turn out the light
Next morning she'll get out of bed
And look for a cure for her head
But the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly



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DID YOUR MOTHER COME FROM IRELAND

Oh I've never seen old Ireland o'er the ocean
Tho' I've wished for the chance to greet it
In my mind I've always had a crazy notion
That I'd know a bit of Irish when I meet it

Did your mother come from Ireland?
'Cos there's something in you Irish
Will you tell me where you get those Irish eyes
And before she left Killarney
Did your mother kiss the Blarney?
'Cos your little touch of brogue you can't disguise

Oh I wouldn't be romancin'
I can almost see you dancin'
While the Kerry pipers play
Shure! And maybe we'll be sharin
in the shamrock you'll be wearing
On the next Saint Patrick's Day

Did your mother come from Ireland?
'Cos there's something in you Irish
And that bit of Irish steals my heart away



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DINGLE BAY

The sun was sinking oer the westward
The fleet is leaving Dingle shore
I watch the men row in their curraghs
As they mark the fishing grounds near Scellig Mor
All through the night men toil until the daybreak
while at home their wives and sweethearts kneel and pray
That God might guard them and protect them
and bring them safely back to Dingle Bay

I see the green Isle of Valencia
I mind the days around Lough Lein
The gannets swinging with abandon
As they watch the silver store that comes their way
I also see a ship on the horizon
She is sailing to a country far away
on board are exiles feeling lonely
As they wave a fond farewell to Dingle Bay

Now years have passed as I came homeward
And time has left me old and grey
I sit and muse about my childhood
And the happy times I spent near Dingle Bay
I see again the green isle of Valencia
And the Isle of Inishmore seems far away
And I'm always dreaming of my childhood
And the happy days I spent near Dingle Bay



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DOWN BY THE GLENSIDE (Bold Fenian Men)
midi midi

'Twas down by the glenside, I met an old woman
She was picking young nettles and she scarce saw me coming
I listened a while to the song she was humming
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men

'Tis fifty long years since I saw the moon beaming
On strong manly forms and their eyes with hope gleaming
I see them again, sure, in all my daydreaming
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men.

When I was a young girl, their marching and drilling 
Awoke in the glenside sounds awesome and thrilling 
They loved poor old Ireland and to die they were willing 
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men.
 
Some died on the glenside, some died near a stranger
And wise men have told us that their cause was a failure
They fought for old Ireland and they never feared danger
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men

I passed on my way, God be praised that I met her
Be life long or short, sure I'll never forget her
We may have brave men, but we'll never have better
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men



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DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS (or ...Sally Gardens)
[By W. B. Yeats]

Down by the Salley Gardens my love and I did meet
She passed the Salley Gardens with little snow white feet
She bid me to take love easy, as the leaves grow on the trees
But I, being young and foolish, with her did not agree

In a field by the river, my love and I did stand
And on my leaning shoulder she placed her snow white hand
She bid me to take life easy, as the grass grows on the weir
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears



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DO YOU WANT YOUR OLD LOBBY WASHED DOWN

I've a nice little cot and a small bit of land
In a place by the side of the sea
And I care about no one because I believe
There's no body cares about me

My peace is destroyed and I'm fairly annoyed
By a lassie who works in the town
She sighs every day as she passes the way:
"Do you want your old lobby washed down?"

Chorus:
"Do you want your old lobby washed down, conshine
Do you want your old lobby washed down?"
She sighs every day as she passes the way:
"Do you want your old lobby washed down?"

The other day the old landlord came by for his rent
I told him no money I had
Beside t'wasn't fair for to ask me to pay
The times were so awfully bad

He felt discontent at no getting his rent
And he shook his be head in a frown
Says he: "I'll take half", and says I with a laugh:
"Do you want your old lobby washed down?"

Do you want your old lobby washed down, conshine
Do you want your old lobby washed down?
Says he: "I'll take half", and says I with a laugh:
"Do you want your old lobby washed down?"

Now the boys look so bashful when they go out courtin'
They seem to look so very shy
As to kiss a young maid, sure they seem half afraid
But they would if they could on the sly

But me, I do things in a different way
I don't give a nod or a frown
When I goes to court, I says: "Here goes for sport
Do you want your old lobby washed down?"

"Do you want your old lobby washed down, conshine
Do you want your old lobby washed down?"
When I goes to court, I says: "Here goes for sport
Do you want your old lobby washed down, conshine?"



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Dublin Town in 1962

(Dermot O'Brien)
Me kids said Dad, just tell us one more time About when you were young and in your prime And the way that you met Ma, all the things you saw Tell us about the things you used to do Well I closed my eye and rolled the years away Everything's the same as yesterday How could I forget the summer when we met In Dublin town in 1962. All the days were sunny, all the skies were blue In Dublin town in 1962. Oh we climbed the hill of Howth and down again We walked home from the Pillar in the rain We courted in the park we're the lights glow in the dark We danced in Clery's and the Metropol to two We crossed the Ha'penny bridge at evening tide It felt so good to have you by my side We watched the mailboats sail Paperboys cried Herald or Mail In Dublin town in 1962. Like many more we kissed it all goodbye We sailed away to give our luck a try In the land across the sea that's been good to you and me Where our children played like we once used to do Me kids said Da that's really quite a tale We know you have the pirit of the Gael And we have no regrets we're very glad you met In Dublin town in 1962.
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DUBLIN JACK OF ALL TRADES

Oh I am a roving sporting blade, they call me Jack of all Trades
I always place my chief delight in courting pretty fair maids
So when in Dublin I arrived to try for a situation
I always heard them say it was the pride of all the Nations

Chorus:
I'm a roving jack of all trades
Of every trade of all trades
And if you wish to know my name
They call me Jack of all trades

On George's Quay I first began and there became a porter
Me and my master soon fell out which cut my acquaintance shorter
In Sackville Street, a pastry cook; In James' Street, a baker
In Cook Street I did coffins make; In Eustace Street, a preacher

In Baggot street I drove a cab and there was well requited
In Francis Street had lodging beds, to entertain all strangers
For Dublin is of high reknown, or I am much mistaken
In Kevin Street, I do declare, sold butter, eggs and bacon

In Golden Lane I sold old shoes:  In Meath Street was a grinder
In Barrack Street I lost my wife. I'm glad I ne'er could find her
In Mary's Lane, I've dyed old clothes, of which I've often boasted
In that noted place Exchequer Street, sold mutton ready roasted

In Temple Bar, I dressed old hats;  In Thomas Street, a sawyer
In Pill Lane, I sold the plate, in Green Street, an honest lawyer
In Plunkett Street I sold cast clothes; in Bride's Alley, a broker
In Charles Street I had a shop, sold shovel, tongs and poker

In College Green a banker was, and in Smithfield, a drover
In Britain Street, a waiter and in George's Street, a glover
On Ormond Quay I sold old books; in King Street, a nailer
In Townsend Street, a carpenter; and in Ringsend, a sailor

In Cole's Lane, a jobbing butcher;  in Dane Street, a tailor
In Moore Street a chandler and on the Coombe, a weaver
In Church Street, I sold old ropes-  on Redmond's Hill a draper
In Mary Street, sold 'bacco pipes- in Bishop street a quaker


In Peter Street, I was a quack:  In Greek street, a grainer
On the Harbour, I did carry sacks;  In Werburgh Street, a glazier
In Mud Island, was a dairy boy, where I  became a scooper
In Capel Street, a barber's clerk;  In Abbey Street, a cooper

In Liffey street had furniture with fleas and bugs I sold it
And at the Bank a big placard I often stood to hold it
In New Street I sold hay and straw, and in Spitalfields made bacon
In Fishamble Street was at the grand old trade of basketmaking

In Summerhill a coachmaker; in Denzille Street a gilder
In Cork Street was a tanner, in Brunswick Street, a builder
In High Street, I sold hosiery; In Patrick Street sold all blades
So if you wish to know my name, they call me Jack of all Trades


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